by Paul Waters
The binding came away and I pulled a spear from the top of the pile. ‘I am going to fight,’ I answered. ‘And you?’
For a moment he stared at me as if it had occurred to him only now that there might be a battle. He was a young sea-cadet, an ephebe on military training. His first beard showed like fine down on his cheeks.
But whatever was going through his head took only a moment.
He leapt down beside me, and seized a javelin from the pile. ‘I fight,’
he said, looking at me squarely.
And then we turned to face the enemy.
The first of the Macedonian warships had come alongside. Troops were leaping down and forming a defensive circle. Then, seeing they were unopposed, they began swarming along the quay. The leading ship stood out. From the prow Dikaiarchos was shouting out orders, pointing and waving his arms. The harbour front was deserted, the ground strewn with abandoned carts and crates and baskets. The Athenians had clearly been taken by surprise. There was no sign of defenders anywhere.
The young Athenian beside me saw all this and met my eye. He had a gentle, expressive face. I could see his mind working in his features, summoning up his courage. His jaw firmed, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say: If today is the day, then so be it – I shall die a credit to my people, and to myself. Then his muscles tensed, he balanced his spear in his hand, aimed it, and threw.
He had aimed well. The shaft sliced through the air and impaled a running soldier, catching him in the throat, where his cuirass did not protect him. Then I threw too, and hit the man behind him. We grabbed fresh spears from the stack and took aim for a second time.
All of a sudden, just as I was in the middle of my throw, the deck under me lurched, making me stumble and causing my spear-throw to falter. I swung round to look, thinking we had been rammed.
Behind, on the side facing the water, the warship bearing Dikaiarchos had come alongside us. The Macedonians were struggling with ropes and hooks, preparing to board.
I ducked down and grabbed two more spears, tossing one to the Athenian. He caught it expertly with one hand and we advanced together. The Macedonian troops were boarding now – warily at first, in case we had reinforcements waiting below. It would not take them long to realize we were alone.
But my mind was not on that: I was watching Dikaiarchos. From the Macedonian ship he was calling, ‘Cut the lines – quickly now.’
His fox’s eyes were bright and darting; he wore a cuirass embossed with a bursting sun, and where his bare skin showed from under it, it was deep-tanned, brown as walnut. All the while, as he shouted out orders, he was smiling and laughing. He was enjoying himself, like some wild child let out to play.
I took careful aim.
Running feet sounded on the deck behind me. I should not get another chance. I inserted my finger in the javelin-thong, bent my knees, and balanced the shaft in my palm.
Dikaiarchos had been looking away. Just then, someone shouted up to him. He broke off what he was saying and began to turn. I drew the air into my lungs, and with a great cry and twist of my body I let the spear fly, just as his eyes met mine.
His brows went up. A look of surprise crossed his face. Then the javelin was home.
I had aimed for his throat. I do not know if my aim was bad, or whether the ships moved. The spear came to a jarring halt in the neck of the carved figurehead, at the place where his hand held it.
I stared, appalled, knowing I had no other chance. Then his hand moved, and I saw the smear of his blood on the painted wood.
There was no more time. The Macedonians were upon us. The young Athenian ephebe leapt down to the lower deck. Three of them rushed at him.
The first one he killed. I leapt across the deck, snatched up another javelin, and took aim. But even as I did so, someone seized me from behind, jerking my arm back, twisting the weapon from my hand.
I heard the Athenian cry out and turned my head. A group of Macedonians had closed around him. The steel of their swords flashed in the sun, crimson with his lifeblood. He did not cry out again.
My other arm was pinned back. I could feel the heat of the man’s body behind me. I held my breath and waited for the deathblow.
There was a pause. The blow did not come. Then I heard a voice saying, ‘Leave him; leave him for me,’ and Dikaiarchos stepped into view.
But he did not turn his attention to me straight away. For a while he was occupied with directing the men, calling to the ships, shouting orders across the quay. Men began to scramble below deck.
Only then did I realize what was happening: the Macedonians were manning the triremes.
I turned my head. Already the mooring lines had been cut. They hung limply from their bollards. The ship was yawing, parting from the quay. Down below I could hear men taking their places on the rowing-benches, and the clatter of the oarlocks. Dikaiarchos was stealing the Athenian warships.
Order returned. The oars began to beat the water. The ship moved out into the middle of the harbour, gaining speed. I saw two troopers carry off the corpse of the young Athenian and sling him over the side. Then Dikaiarchos crossed the deck and stood before me.
I wondered whether he would know me; but he showed no signs of it.
He raised his left hand, holding it in front of my eyes. Blood oozed from a wound, where my javelin had pierced him. He glanced aside, and held out his arm, and at this the soldier beside him handed him his sword. I noticed, as he gripped it, his eyes narrowed momentarily in pain. Then he took a pace forward, and levelled the point at my throat.
The sunlight glanced off the flat of the blade, dazzling me. I waited for the final thrust. But with a sudden swift movement he drew the sword aside, and I felt the sting of the blade as it cut into my forearm.
‘Like for like,’ he said with a grim smile, and I realized he did not intend a swift death for me; he was going to torture me first.
‘Kill me!’ I yelled at him.
He stepped up close, and gripped my chin hard in his bloody hand. I could feel his breath, and smell the rank smell of his sweat and his blood. All the time his eyes were locked on mine; I felt the power of his life force like something surging and living within me.
He paused, then drew back grinning. ‘Not now; there will be another time for us, my beautiful black-haired friend.’
Then his arm shifted, and he stood back.
He glanced to one side. We were far from the quay now, nearing the harbour entrance.
‘It’s a shame to cast you away,’ he said. ‘I could have enjoyed you; but I cannot have Romans here. Now let us see if you can swim.’
He turned to the Macedonian trooper beside him and said, ‘Throw him off!’
EIGHT
‘HOLD STILL, WILL YOU?’
‘I am holding still.’
‘It’s as well you can swim.’
‘Well I can. You know I can.’
‘Even so, you shouldn’t fight without the right weapon. It’s madness. What did you think you were doing? Taking on the whole of Macedon yourself?’
‘You’re angry.’
He frowned at the bandage he was fixing on my arm and gave it another tug.
‘Menexenos, listen. It was him. It was Dikaiarchos. I already told you.’
‘I know; I know.’
‘But you are angry all the same.’
‘If he hadn’t realized you were Roman, I’d be dressing your corpse, just as poor Eudoxos’s father is doing.’
I fell silent, remembering the Athenian ephebe who had fought with me. I had seen his father’s face, when he came to claim the body.
I said, ‘Well I am here.’
‘Yes. Some god is watching over you.’ He paused and sighed. ‘I don’t want to lose you. Not yet. I have only just found you.’
We were sitting on the edge of the bed, side by side. Using my good arm I gently turned his face to mine, and kissed his mouth.
‘You will never lose me, Menexenos.’
&n
bsp; ‘I said keep still,’ he said grumpily, pushing me away. But I could tell from his voice that he was softened.
I sat still, and he finished the last knot on the bandage.
‘There, that should do it. Be careful not to knock it; it’s your sword-arm, after all.’
He looked up towards the window. From outside, rising up from the agora and the street, came the angry buzz of many men’s voices.
The Council had called the people to assembly. They were waiting for the signal trumpet to sound, summoning them to the Pnyx. In the courtyard I could hear Kleinias talking to a group of his friends.
Everywhere there was outrage.
‘I’d better go,’ said Menexenos. ‘Lie down. Get some sleep.’
I lay on the bed and closed my eyes, and listened to the passing crowd. I wished I could go myself, to hear what the people said; but the assembly was only for citizens.
I must have drifted into sleep. I was woken by the sound of someone beating on the main outer-courtyard door. I heard the slave go hurrying. Then came the voice of Pomponius, demanding in his heavily accented Greek to see me.
‘What did I tell you?’ he cried, as soon as the slave brought him in. ‘Not only have you not kept out of trouble, you have got yourself involved single-handedly in a war with Macedon. I should not have thought such a thing possible. The last thing I want, with matters as they are, is a diplomatic incident with King Philip.’
I began to explain how I had been in Piraeus by chance, how I had been caught by circumstance.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, interrupting. ‘Every fool blames Fate when it suits him. And I suppose it was Fate that prevented you running off, was it? The Athenians managed to flee successfully enough. But not you. What happened to your arm?’
I told him about my arm, and then asked if he had heard any more news.
‘Well I was not there,’ he said, giving me a pointed look, ‘but I did hear that the pirate commander – what was his name . . .?’
‘Dikaiarchos.’
‘Ah yes; Dikaiarchos. I heard he tried to attack the military harbour first. He must have intended to set fire to the ship-sheds and burn the fleet while it was on the stocks. But the harbour entrance was chained and blocked. So he sailed round to the north side instead.’
In the end, he said, the Athenians had lost only four warships. ‘Of course, they don’t like it; but it would have been much worse if he had got at the main fleet. It is the effrontery of it that angers them most. They still like to think of themselves as the chief city in Greece, and to have some brigand come sailing into their great harbour as if it were the anchorage of some island pleasure resort and help himself to their warships is more than they can bear.’
I said, ‘But where is Philip? He cannot be far away.’
Pomponius had crossed to the wall and was peering at the tapestry – a fine woven image of a crouching youth, fishing beside a stream. He dabbed at the threadbare material and frowned at it, wondering, I suppose, why something so old and dull should be in the house of a man like Kleinias.
‘No one knows where he is,’ he said, turning. ‘Some say he is in Boiotia; others say he is in Euboia; others again that he has sailed round to Korinth, where he has a garrison.’
‘Then could it not be, sir,’ I asked, propping myself on my elbow and looking at him, ‘that he might be preparing to attack? Or what was this morning’s raid about?’
‘Oh no,’ he said, smiling tolerantly. ‘You forget, Marcus, I am here. He would not dare attack while a Roman legation is in Athens.
It would cause a scandal. Not even Philip would be so reckless.’
He chuckled, the expert diplomat amused at the fool. ‘Oh no,’ he said again. ‘It will all blow over in a few days. For all their bluster and talk of war, even the Athenian Demos knows there is nothing they can do. Taking on Akarnania was one thing, an easy little war without pain – or so they thought. But now Philip has given them a warning, and they will heed it. They will not dare rouse the lion from his den.’
‘So what will they do?’
‘Talk. That is what they are good at. They will bark for a while, and then slink off back to their kennel.’ He crossed to the window and looked out. ‘Ah, at last. It sounds as if they’re finished. Then I must go; I have arranged to meet the magistrates straight after the assembly.’
He wished me a brief good day, then said, ‘Next time, use your legs and run, as everyone else did. You are not here to get involved in someone else’s war.’
And then he left me.
The wound on my arm healed. When the bandage was off there was a long diagonal scar across my forearm: a memento, just as Dikaiarchos had intended.
Menexenos was training every day for the games, which were drawing near. As soon as I was up, I ran with him, out beyond the Akademy, along the banks of the Kephissos.
It was my first day out of the house since the raid on Piraeus, and I felt the mood of the city straight away. In the Street of the Tripods, on the way to the Dipylon Gate, people had left off their business and were gathered in small groups, grave-faced, nodding and talking.
‘Are they afraid?’ I said.
Menexenos tossed his head. ‘Probably; but that is not what they are gossiping about. They are unhappy, because they have not yet found someone to blame. Eventually they’ll settle on one of the port officials, or someone in the Council too weak to fight his corner. He will be punished, and then they will feel better.’
We passed out of the Gate, and took the track past the orchards and smallholdings, increasing our pace.
Menexenos, who was faster, could always beat me in a contest; but today he was going slowly, keeping beside me, breathing easily.
We passed the Akademy gardens, then joined the path beside the Kephissos. It was a fine morning. Red poppies and clumps of white hemlock grew on the bank. Little brown fishes, startled by our shadows, darted in the clear water among the reeds.
Presently we left the suburbs behind and ran on beside green meadows.
‘See there,’ said Menexenos presently. ‘It is just what I was talking of. Every day the people walk past it, yet they do nothing.’
In the distance, across the flower-studded fields, was the line of the Long Walls, which once had run all the way from Athens to Piraeus, linking the city with its harbour in an impregnable defence.
Now sheep grazed among the neglected masonry. The grassy stones looked pretty in the morning light; pretty, but useless.
I said, ‘Yet once they had the foresight to build such a thing. Why leave it now to crumble? Does no one tell them?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But when it comes to deciding how the treasury funds are spent, they vote not for defence of the city, but for festivals and the public dole. They are like the man who banquets every night, but neglects to fix the roof. The truth is, they have grown complacent, and soft with pleasure.’
‘Well they can’t have it both ways.’
‘They think they can, because when the elections come, they choose the man who tells them so. In the end, good men stay silent, and tend their own gardens, and the walls crumble.’
I shook my head, and was about to draw my breath to say more, when, up ahead, coming from the direction of Piraeus and the sea, I heard a din.
We looked at each other with the same thought, and turning off the path made for the Piraeus Gate. We were still perhaps two furlongs distant. But as we drew closer the noise resolved. It was not cries of battle, as I had supposed. It was the sound of men cheering.
As soon as we were inside the gateway Menexenos called to a stallholder who was hurriedly packing away his wares and asked what the fuss was. The man shook his head and carried on what he was doing. But then another, rushing up from the harbour, cried, ‘Rejoice! They have brought back our ships!’
‘What are you talking about, man? Who has brought them?’
He was already hurrying away, to be first at the city with the news. ‘The Rhodians!’ he cried over
his shoulder. ‘The Rhodians and King Attalos.’
We pushed through the crowd and emerged onto the waterfront.
At the quayside, making fast, were the four Athenian triremes that Dikaiarchos had stolen; and all about them an escort of other warships, flying on their masts the standards of Rhodes and Pergamon. From the decks the sailors, dressed in their liveried uniforms, were waving and grinning and calling out to the crowd on the quay; and the crowd, wild with joy, were waving and cheering back at them.
Close by, a captain from the Pergamene fleet was telling those around him what had happened. We pushed up to listen.
They had been trying to engage the Macedonians, he was saying, ever since Philip had raided the territory of Pergamon the previous year. As soon as they heard rumours that he was in the area, King Attalos had ordered them to put to sea. And so it was they were nearby, out in the gulf off Aigina, when Dikaiarchos launched his raid. They saw the Macedonians making off with the stolen Athenian triremes and gave chase, and, since the triremes were undermanned, they proved no match for the Rhodian and Pergamene ships with a full complement of rowers. Before long the Macedonians, seeing they could not escape, had abandoned their prizes and fled on their own ships.
‘And Dikaiarchos?’ I asked.
One of the Athenians in the crowd turned and said crossly to me, ‘What does he matter, Roman? We have our warships back. Our honour is restored.’
The others loudly agreed, and I said no more. Dikaiarchos was my concern, not theirs.
Later that day the people met on the Pnyx, and passed a resolution inviting King Attalos to come from Aigina, which at that time he was visiting, and address the assembly. When he arrived, soon after, it seemed the whole body of citizens came out into the streets to cheer him, lining the route that led from the Dipylon Gate to the agora. At the head of the procession, basking in the adulation, was the chief Archon, and clustered around him the other magistrates of the city. People threw flowers. Everyone cheered and waved. It was like a festival.