The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae

by Nick Brown

  “How do you find Sparta this time, Mandrocles?”

  “Better than last: at least no one’s tried to kill us.”

  “That’s because you Athenians have become surprisingly popular since Marathon.”

  “You’re good at hiding it then.”

  “That’s our way, but Marathon came as a shock here, most Spartans never thought you’d fight and the ones who did bet on you to lose.”

  “So you must be feted then, being the only Spartan there?”

  “It’s not our way to fete anybody, I thought you knew that. Anyway, as you can see, Marathon’s been the cause of death for me. Even if it’s a death that’s very slow in coming.”

  He smiled, there was no trace of self-pity in what he said and now it was in the open.

  “There’s no hope.”

  “No, the wound’s too far gone, all I can hope for is too hang around long enough for one last chance to help redeem Sparta’s honour.”

  He was as good as his word.

  Cimon returned from the exercise in high spirits, flushed and carrying a collection of slight wounds and bruises. To my surprise I too felt the benefits: I was fit enough to fight which, bearing in mind what was headed in our direction, was fortunate. We bathed in a clear cold stream that gushed down from the mountains. The season was turning and the leaves on the scrub oaks turning brown and falling. Too late in the year to be sailing a trireme. As we climbed back onto our mounts Brasidas said,

  “Tonight there is a supper being held in the honour of your delegation hosted by both kings and you will attend.”

  It was the most un-Spartan affair I’ve ever seen and although it doesn’t appear in any of the heroic stories that are told of the coming war, it did as much as anything to decide the outcome. The supper was held in the house of Leonidas, which had more of the atmosphere of a shrine than a dwelling.

  The bewitching Gorgo made an appearance to welcome us. I don’t know if it’s possible to be both exotic and modest but that’s how she seemed, more like a priestess than a queen.

  But the place was tainted and the scandal of how this daughter and brother of Cleomenes had benefitted from his death through their unholy alliance seemed to pollute the very pillars of the house. You could sense the ghost of the mad king lurking in the shadows.

  We ate in a dimly lit hall but were kept waiting by the late arrival of Leotychidas. Themistocles, full of confidence, affected not to notice; he was like a man on the brink of achieving something great.

  Eventually Leotychidas swept in and the glance he exchanged with his fellow king revealed the lack of any love or trust between the two. In that sense it was a typically Spartan arrangement and exactly the type of situation the Ephors liked. With each king keeping a suspicious eye on the other, they could divide and rule. At Leotychidas’s entrance Gorgo did everything except arch her back and spit before withdrawing to her own quarters.

  The food was poor but better than expected, as was the wine, which also had the virtue of being less watered than usual. The conversation was dull and repetitive until the tables were cleared, the slaves withdrew and a last crater was mixed. Then it happened.

  It started badly and, to me, it seemed disaster confronted us. Leotychidas was speaking at length, putting a Spartan gloss on Marathon. He’d just reached the concluding point.

  “You Athenians fought well. We respect that: but of course you had to, because in the Persian ranks there was an Athenian traitor …”

  He hadn’t finished but Themistocles interrupted him with a statement that not only ran counter to all rules of guest friendship but was also a direct insult to our hosts.

  “Just as there is now a Spartan one.”

  A few words, but I’ve seen draggers drawn and blood spilled over less. Leotychidas was speechless but Leonidas, flushed and furious rasped,

  “That is a lie which you will retract.”

  This was a man whose favoured response was physical rather than intellectual. Themistocles shrugged his shoulders with the palms of his hands outwards in an expression of puzzled resignation. He smiled then spoke, but it wasn’t the apology Leonidas was expecting.

  “I meant no offence; I had wrongly assumed that the whereabouts of the recently deposed King Demaratus of Sparta would be as well known here as they are in every other polis in Greece.”

  Leotychidas and Leonidas exchanged glances, firmly on the same side now. Leotychidas made as if to speak but Themistocles hadn’t finished. The room, the earth and the stars stopped in their tracks as we waited for what would come next.

  We didn’t have long: Themistocles smiled affably at each king in turn then began one of the speeches that would change the world. Whether it would be for good or evil hung in the balance. It was only short and I remember every word so I’ll recount it here. It is worth your attention, reader, and after you’ve read it you will be among the select band who understand the truth.

  “Forgive me, generous hosts and allies. I am a simple man, plain of speech which can sometimes unintentionally offend. All I intended was to lay a platform of understanding upon which we can build. You Spartans are reputed to respect plain speaking?”

  He phrased this as a question, looking at each in turn. Neither responded in any way and he took this as assent to continue. I could feel the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I glanced at Cimon, two emotions chased each other across his face: anger at Themistocles’s betrayal of guest friendship, and anticipation of what was coming.

  “You are correct about the traitor Hippias as I am about Demaratus: in this way we sit in the same trireme. You are also correct that we fought well at Marathon. Marathon changed the world in many ways. Two of these are of particular interest to Sparta.”

  The chamber continued to hold its breath and he continued to speak into the cold silence.

  “The first is that Persian defeat at Marathon means that no King can safely rule the Persian Empire unchallenged until that defeat is avenged. So it has become inevitable that the Persians will return with a far greater force, and this time you will have to fight or be destroyed. We Athenians will not be capable of another Marathon against far greater odds. Do we agree?”

  The two kings nodded. Their mood altered, they were hooked.

  “The second is a direct consequence of your failure to fight with us that day. You know as well as any that Greeks wonder why you, defenders of the mainland and leaders of Greece, were not present. They now look towards Athens with different eyes. So this is your dilemma. You will have to fight, but –”

  He paused on this word ‘but’, left it hanging in the air. We knew that the kill was seconds away.

  “But things have changed: your hegemony over the Greeks is no longer unquestioned. There are many who would rather be led by us and, even worse for you, there are some who would love to see you weakened, fighting alone against the Persians. I speak of your slave population, the Messanian Helots, who would rise against you.”

  At this, I expected both kings to leap at him. But they didn’t: maybe Spartans really do appreciate plain speaking. They nodded for him to continue but I sensed if he misjudged this next bit disaster would follow.

  “So your position has weakened since Marathon whilst ours has strengthened. And not only in terms of reputation.”

  He paused, not only for effect; I think he was truly relishing the moment and wanted to draw it out. What he said next astonished everyone in the chamber, Spartan and Athenian alike.

  “When the Persians return they will face a fleet of three hundred new and specially modified Athenian triremes.”

  I almost fell off the bench at this lie but managed to control myself; Cimon was staring at him now with undiluted admiration.

  “The coming war will be fought as much at sea as on land. But mark this well: it is only at sea where it can be won.”

  He paused again, giving time for this to sink in.

  “The Great King will have to supply a large army on hostile ground. For this he
will have to control the sea routes and the Greek coastline. We can prevent this. Athens now has, if not the biggest - that will still be the Great King’s - the most effective and deadly fleet the world has seen.”

  Then he finished, shrugged again and looked from one king to the other.

  For a moment there was silence as the kings exchanged glances and Themistocles beamed benevolently at them. Leotychidas nodded and Leonidas asked tersely,

  “So what are you proposing?”

  Themistocles replied with the slightly hurt demeanour of one whose charity has been rejected.

  “Offering, not proposing.”

  He was enjoying this. Leonidas controlled himself sufficiently to snap back.

  “Offering, then?”

  “I’m offering you leadership of a Greek alliance, including command of the mighty Greek fleet.”

  The two kings silently interrogated each other for a few seconds and then, to my astonishment, they began to clap.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first glimpse of danger was just a tiny speck on the horizon. You needed good eyes to see anything. So nobody got too excited, except perhaps Ariston; his mood changed and he became gradually more subdued. This we did notice because he hated Sparta and had been in high spirits from the moment we rounded Hell’s Mouth and set off back north down the Peninsula towards Athens and freedom.

  Everyone except Cimon was happy to be away: there’s a feeling of tension and unease hanging over Sparta. Maybe they’ve got used to it, but it’s no place for Athenians. Themistocles put on a great act while we were there, good enough for any of our dramatists to want him on their cast. I remember Aeschylus once saying that when Themistocles decided to devote his life to the polis it was a bad day for the drama festivals.

  But once we were away from that place of dread and cruelty, whose atmosphere you inhale daily alongside air, he visibly relaxed and wanted to talk. Thus he indulged himself and educated Cimon and the rest of us in the stern as we rattled down the coast driven by a strengthening breeze. It was useful having Cimon because he was sufficiently proud of his birthright to be any man’s equal and artless enough to ask any question that came to him.

  “When did you manage to procure three hundred new triremes, son of Neocles?”

  Maybe it wasn’t artless; perhaps he was teasing. Whichever, it didn’t bother Themistocles in the least, and he boomed with laughter.

  “You know the answer to that as well as I do, son of Miltiades. I haven’t got any of them, I made it up on the spot; the Gods inspired me.”

  He beamed back at the puzzled faces staring at him, and then answered more seriously.

  “But if they don’t exist now then they’ll soon have to, and not just because I promised them to those twin boobies who rule Sparta.”

  Cimon started to ask,

  “But how …?”

  “Doesn’t matter how. We have to find a way of building those ships because without them Athens will die and the new ways of the Demos will be finished. So when we get back, that’s what we’ll turn our hands to.”

  The breeze continued to strengthen and the day was dying so Ariston turned our prow towards a sheltered cove with a gently sloping shingle beach. That night Themistocles broached a jar of decent quality wine he’d brought along for this moment. We sat round the fires drinking and talking as the breeze dropped and the moon rose. Tomorrow would be a good day for voyaging. Any thoughts concerning the distant speck on the horizon were forgotten.

  Next day we got away slightly later than usual; the festival mood of the night relaxed our vigilance. It was a mistake. As we pulled out of the bay to resume our course northwards we saw them. Still some distance off, but lying across the course we had to steer. Not just a tiny speck on the horizon: two ships with a third lagging some way behind. Theodorus sent one of the Thranitai scuttling up the mast for a better view.

  “Two ships, like us low in the water and another so far behind it must be in trouble. They’re too far off to be sure, but I’ll wager they’re triremes.”

  Ariston shouted up,

  “What course?”

  “Can’t tell, but if it’s what we saw yesterday then they must be after us cos they’re getting closer on a course to intercept us.”

  Ariston turned back towards Themistocles.

  “What course do you want: we can either meet them or run?”

  “Depends on if it’s two or three.”

  Ariston shouted back up the mast.

  “How far behind is the third one lagging?”

  “Hard to say: two, maybe three hours.”

  “How long till we hit the other two?”

  “If we take it nice and slow, sometime after noon.”

  Ariston looked at Themistocles; he didn’t need to say anything, everyone on the Athene Nike had heard the shouted interchange. Themistocles said nothing, just stood staring out to sea. He was going to have to make the decision on which all our lives depended. A decision that had nothing to do with the Polis and his experience. He’d never commanded at sea, knew nothing about sea fights. He was at a crossroads and managed nothing more than,

  “Where could we run to?”

  I don’t think he wanted an answer: he was playing for time. Time which Ariston gave him by asking me,

  “What about you, Mandrocles? You’ll have to lead the hoplites if it comes to a fight.”

  I hadn’t considered that, but looking round I saw he was right; there wasn’t much leadership to be had from the other seven or the four archers and Cimon was too precious to risk. I didn’t know what to say. Theodorus had joined us in the stern and prompted me.

  “You fought against two ships on the escape from Samos.”

  It gave Themistocles the space he needed.

  “Helmsman, rowing master, is the ship up to it?”

  Ariston, who wouldn’t have gone back to Sparta for anything, nodded then Theodorus said,

  “The Athene Nike’s the equal of any two ships. Just need to do what we did last time: get between ’em then pull out the Diekplous.”

  “Diekplous?”

  “Means we get between ’em like, sir, then veer left and ram one of the bastards.”

  Ariston grunted while Themistocles asked,

  “What about you, Captain of the Marines?”

  It took some seconds before I realised he was talking to me, then I managed to grunt,

  “It worked last time.”

  And that’s how it was settled.

  In that way I assumed my first command. But it would be a long time before I’d need to do anything and the agonising period of watch and wait that precedes any fight at sea began its slow unravelling. It doesn’t take long to check your gear’s in order: the armour straps aren’t too slack or tight, and that the edge of your sword and spear are sharp.

  Then it’s just sit and wait, trying not to fidget or run off at the mouth. Cimon helped fill in those unforgiving hours. Once he’d equipped himself in the parts of his father’s panoply that fitted comfortably enough, he carried on with the questions he’d been asking.

  “So, how will you persuade the best men to support your plans?”

  “Once we’ve replaced Aristo-Kratia with Demo-Kratia then I won’t need to.”

  I recognised an evasive answer when I heard one and so, apparently, did Cimon.

  “But for now the assembly just listen and shout, it’s the five hundred who make the decisions and most of them don’t want your ships or dreams of the sea.”

  “It won’t always be that way, but for the moment you’re right so I’ll have to find a way of convincing them.”

  They went on like this for some time and we were glad of the diversion. Thinking back over it I realise that Cimon, even when so young, had a good sense of how to turn the wheels of power. Themistocles was proved right of course about the coming of demokratia but it came too late for him. The system that you are so familiar with, reader, and which onion head manipulates with such skill is precisely
what Themistocles envisaged.

  By the time the sun shone directly overhead we could see clearly what we were up against. Two triremes from Aegina were powering their way towards us, obviously anxious we wouldn’t escape. They were coming on to us at considerable speed. Fortunately the third must have been severely incapacitated and had fallen further behind. Whatever was to happen, this ship would be in no position to play a hand.

  We’d been betrayed, but by whom? There was no time to speculate; we had too much else on our minds. Our tactics puzzled Cimon and Themistocles at first, both of them being novices at sea. Themistocles had shrewdly left the running of the boat to Ariston and Theodorus. In those hours waiting for contact I believe I missed the presence of Lysias as much as I’ve missed anyone in my life. If he were there he’d have taken command and judged when to turn and ram. As it was, it would be down to the helmsman and bosun to manoeuvre and to the fighting man in command to give the orders. That man was now me.

  Cimon asked the question for the both of them.

  “Why are we going so slowly when they’re racing at us?”

  Ariston shrugged.

  “We’re not the ones who want this. Let them tire themselves out: see where that gets them.”

  All the same our pace was increasing and as the tension ratcheted up, the leisurely manner aboard the Athene Nike was replaced by sweaty-handed fear. Skins of watered wine were passed round, along with food for those who could stomach it. There are men whose appetite is sharpened by the approach of battle, but I think that most are like me and their guts shrivel up with apprehension. Everyone drinks, though.

  Waiting is a lonely time and you never get used to it but I found, to my surprise, that responsibility helps. Here, for the first time, I had others to think of and even if I hadn’t been thinking about them, Themistocles had.

  “Whatever happens in the next couple of hours, Mandrocles, keep this thought in your head: Cimon and I must be saved.”

  I stared back at him blankly. Cimon yes, but I thought Themistocles would fight in the front rank like Miltiades, and like he had at Marathon.