Salamis (11 page)

He’d spent most of the last five years aboard Paramanos’s ships, but now he’d taken citizenship in Plataea and here he was swaggering his way across Attica.

‘Careful he doesn’t get you lost,’ he said aloud to a mate, cocking an eye at me. ‘
Lord Arimnestos
has been known to take a few long ways to get home, eh,
lord
?’ He laughed his big laugh.

Men muttered about the lack of rations and the fatigue, but Leon shouted, ‘What’s our hurry, Navarch? We’re running from the fucking Medes so that other Medes can kill us, eh?’

I jogged over alongside him.

‘I notice you’re still alive,’ I said.

‘Not for long,’ he said. But he grinned at me.

Where the road splits for Megara and Eleusis I halted them and let them rest in the olive grove. We fetched water from a well. The owner wasn’t there to ask. No one was there. It was
wrong
, somehow, to ride through villages with no people, or with one sad dog.

The sad dog was at the crossroads. He was a fine tall brute with a brindle hide, not a farmer’s animal but a hunting dog like those my friend Philip of Thrace raised, or Lykon of Corinth, my sister’s favourite. I fed him and he took the food with considerable dignity for a dog and looked at me that way that good dogs do. As if to say,
I trust you, man. Are you worthy of my trust?

I have never been a great man for dogs or cats. But that dog – he was alone. He had known better days, and he deserved better than dignified starvation in a small town in a deserted Attica – or being killed by Persians for food.

I pulled the rope out of the lining of my good aspis and made a quick collar to hold him, but from the moment I fed him, he showed little inclination to run. He just wanted more sausage. I fed him most of what I had, noting that I seemed very hot for a man who had only walked a few stades, and that my left hand was bright red, which worried me.

But the grumbling was quite loud, so I wandered in among the oarsmen. ‘We must have taken four or five mina of gold,’ I said. ‘Tonight on the beach of Salamis, we’ll divide it in shares. I’d be surprised if every man didn’t get a daric.’

I suppose I could have given them a speech about saving Greece, but usually a little loot is better.

Or perhaps I’m just an old pirate.

We had to climb the low ridge that towers above the beach at Eleusis, and we were too strung out. I was conscious that we could meet Persian cavalry going in any direction at that point; they could be behind us, ahead of us, all around us. So I sent mounted men racing to the highest point, closer to Athens, and I ordered men to pick up their spears and shields when I saw two of the prodromoi galloping back to me.

But I smelled it before they reported on it.

‘Attica is on fire!’ they said.

And it was true. The Persians and the Medes must have struck the southern slopes of Mount Parnes that very morning, because we hadn’t seen anything from the top of the pass. From the ridge, though, we could see smoke to the north and east, as far as the eye could see. And we could smell it, too.

My new dog sat and howled.

I patted his head and gave him some sausage, which quieted him. Much like the oarsmen with Saka gold, come to think of it.

Before darkness fell, a pair of tubby tuna boats came and took forty of my people across to the Salamis side, where Harpagos and Seckla were waiting. As soon as they knew we were there, they got the hulls in the water with only the top decks manned, and skimmed across.

We saw them coming – five ships under a third of their oarsmen, and we knew they were for us. We’d only been gone from them a week, but it was like a homecoming. For most of the oarsmen it was more of a homecoming than going to an empty Plataea. We put the oarsmen into the ships, packed the top decks with terrified donkeys – not a story I’ll tell, but also not an experience I’d willingly repeat – got the horses aboard one of the tuna boats, and made it to Salamis before the Great Sickle rose into the heavens. Brasidas had made a tight camp, with sentries, and we landed like champions, stern first, and waded ashore with our menagerie of stock to find a hot dinner and fresh bread waiting.

Eugenios moved into my tent without a backward glance and for the rest of the war my food was hot and my dishes were clean. Styges served out the former slaves to Giannis, commanding
Black Raven
, who was the shortest-handed.

I’d missed a week of meetings, councils and officers’ calls. Fighting the Persians seemed like a worthwhile way to spend my time.

I was just lying on a pile of straw that Eugenios had produced and had my favourite silver cup in my hand, full of good wine, when Themistocles appeared out of the starlit darkness like a god in some play. Probably a comedy about men’s folly. At his shoulder was his slave – we all assumed he was a slave – Siccinius. We’d all met him, and he was rumoured to be the Athenian’s lover, although Themistocles was not a man to be kept to just one lover, or even just one kind of lover. At any rate, Siccinius was a handsome man, a Phrygian who had been enslaved in war, an educated man. Siccinius went wherever his master went.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he asked. Then, before I could sputter, he said, ‘Thank Hermes you’ve made a safe return. The Corinthians insisted you were gone for ever – gone to Hermione.’ He nodded to Brasidas. ‘But this worthy man swore you would return, and none of us has ever met an apostate Spartan.’

‘I am a Plataean,’ Brasidas said.

Home, sweet home.

I followed Themistocles and his pais up the beach and over the next shoulder of land, a high outcropping. There, on the spur of rock that divides the beaches, is a small temple, and half a dozen tents. As it turned out, it was where Eurybiades had set his tent, and with him, a dozen Spartan messes, Themistocles, and some other wealthy Athenians. Sometime I’ll tell you about Themistocles’ tent, which was beautiful.

It was inspiring just to stand there, between the two main beaches. Oh, Salamis has many beaches – dozens if not hundreds. But it has three huge beaches that face Attica, and another at the base of a long finger that points right at Athens. The Aeginians had that beach, as it was closest to their home island, to our south, but the Athenians’ ships filled the other three, with the Spartans. The Corinthians were farther west, on the same beach as my daughter’s school in exile. From Eurybiades’ camp, you could see the campfires stretching away east and west.

We were a mighty fleet.

Eurybiades embraced me, which was an honour in itself. I told a little of our journey and produced some of the gold, lest some naysayer like Adeimantus of Corinth say I’d invented the whole thing, but he was gracious, which suggested to me that he was up to something.

On the other hand, they were all still there, which I took as a very favourable sign indeed. It had seemed possible in my darker hours that we would come to find no one but Athenians on the beaches.

‘So Boeotia has fallen,’ Eurybiades said. He frowned.

‘In Plataea, they say that Thebes gave more than earth and water,’ I said. ‘In Plataea, men are saying they opened their gates and fed the Persian cavalry.’

Eurybiades stood straight. ‘May the Gods curse them,’ he said, the strongest thing I think I ever heard a Spartan say.

Themistocles looked out over the bay. ‘And now they are burning Attica,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Thebes will do what she can to protect her towns,’ I said. ‘So if they want loot, they won’t lose much time on Plataea.’ I smiled, still, in my heart, a cocky boy. ‘Perhaps we taught them to be careful crossing Cithaeron, though.’

‘And what word from the isthmus?’ Adeimantus asked, as eagerly as any. These men were starved for news, and I noticed that Cimon was not among them.

I hoped he was still at sea, keeping watch on the enemy fleet.

‘My lord, no word, beyond that the wall is being built and we were invited – that is, the Plataeans – to send our goods there.’ I nodded pleasantly. ‘My town’s phalanx went to join the allied army.’

Adeimantus nodded. ‘So … the League is waiting at Corinth. No reason for us to linger here, then. Let’s move the fleet to where the army is.’

This had the ring of an old argument and I knew I’d been used.

Themistocles said, ‘We were told that the League army would march, if not to save Boeotia, then to help defend Attica,’ he said.

‘A foolish dream,’ Adeimantus said. ‘Which I told you days ago. Attica is indefensible. You are lost. Let us take the fleet and save the rest of Greece.’

Themistocles was clearly tired of all this, and yet in those days of his greatness he did not give way to anger. ‘If you go to the beaches of Corinth,’ he said, ‘you will go without the fleet of Athens.’

A man I knew very little, although he commanded thirty ships and had fought brilliantly the last day at Artemisium, stood forth. He had beautiful white hair that flowed like a horse’s mane down his back, and muscles like Heracles. His name was Polycritus of Aegina, son of Crius. He was one of many heroes in our fleet, and men listened when he spoke.

He smiled at Themistocles – a smile of the purest dislike, almost hate. And he laughed, as men will when they laugh at themselves. His lips curled, anyway. ‘It pains me like bad milk in my stomach to agree with Themistocles, or indeed with any man of Athens,’ he said. ‘But Adeimantus, if you take the so-called “Allied Fleet” to Corinth, you take no Aeginian ships, no Megaran ships, no ships of Naxos or any of the islands. While we stand here, we cover our homes. If we follow you to Corinth, our homes are open to rape and sack.’

Adeimantus shrugged. ‘While we wait on these beaches, our homes are undefended.’

Themistocles shook his head vehemently, but his tone was measured. ‘That is
not
true. While we stand here, the Persians cannot pass us. The beaches of Salamis face in every direction and we can, if we must, be the hub of a wheel – we can move from beach to beach around the island as the Persians try to pass us.’

Adeimantus smiled in triumph. ‘So – you would fight in open water to keep the Persian fleet from moving west? So your argument about fighting at Corinth is a lie – you can fight there as easily as here. Better, with one secure flank.’

Polycritus shrugged as if he didn’t care. ‘If you fall back on Corinth, we will not be with you.’

Adeimantus looked at the Peloponnesian trierarchs standing with him. ‘So be it. Go over to the Medes like the soft Ionians you are. We will defend the isthmus.’

Themistocles shook his head in wonder at the man’s stupidity. And truly, my friends, I have to say that sometimes it is painful to listen to the self-delusion of men who should know better. Aye, and women too, though men excel at it.

‘With your sixty ships?’ he asked. ‘Your sixty ships that we have protected in every fight because you cannot row well or keep in line?’

‘You
lie
,’ Adeimantus said. ‘My ships keep the best order. My ships are the finest. I have rowers who cannot question my orders, proper captains of gentle birth, and years of victory behind us.’

‘Name one,’ Themistocles said. ‘None against Athens, I guess.’ He made a lewd gesture, indicating broadly what the Persians would do to the Corinthians. Many of the assembled Athenian trierarchs laughed. I noted that one of them was Cleitus, a member of the Alcmaeonid family and a pillar of the conservatives. Laughing with Themistocles. War does make for strange alliances. I caught his eye. He didn’t avoid mine. We neither smiled nor spat. It was a little like seeing a woman you used to love with her new husband. Bah – no, that’s a false allegory, because that sight might give me pleasure, and Cleitus
never
gave me pleasure.

‘Athens didn’t even
have
a fleet until a few years ago!’ Adeimantus complained, with some accuracy. ‘You just tell your stupid lies. In a few days, you will be
nothing.’

‘At least I will not be a Corinthian,’ Themistocles shot back.

Eurybiades’ face never changed. His eyes did catch mine, for a moment.

I smiled. I knew Spartans better than most men, by then. A year with Brasidas and Bulis and Sparthius had taught me a good deal. The old Spartan prince was letting them talk because, to a Spartan, most Greeks talk far too much but do too little.

I moved to stand by him. He put a hand on my shoulder in greeting and managed a small smile.

He was under enormous pressure and mostly he bore it with grace. I suspected that he wanted to kill Adeimantus with his bare hands, and possibly Themistocles into the bargain. I mostly agreed with the Athenian democrat, but he had the most annoying, patronising, intellectually superior tone that won him no friends among fighting men, even when he had himself fought very well at Artemisium. He always had to demonstrate that he was the smartest man in any assembly and his very demonstrations could make you doubt him. How could a man with so many merits need so much applause?

And just then he began a speech with the words, ‘In Athens …’

Now, friends, I love Athens, but many back then did not – aye, and many hate her today. Athens is not a mellow old nobleman like Sparta, but a brash, pushy vendor hawking sweets at the top of her lungs and willing to show a bit of breast to get you to buy. Let us be frank: there is a lot not to like.

So whenever Themistocles started a speech with the words, ‘In Athens’, he was busy making enemies.

Perhaps the problem, obvious to those of us from the small poleis, and invisible to the mighty, was that when Themistocles talked, he talked for his Athenian audience, and when Adeimantus talked, he talked for his Corinthian audience, and neither was actually speaking to the other.

‘Where is Cimon?’ I asked the navarch.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Not here,’ he said in his Laconian way. And then, ignoring Themistocles, he turned to me.

‘I am concerned that he has been rash,’ he said.

Speaking to Spartans is like visiting the oracles – you have to interpret what they say, because they use as few words as they can.

Eurybiades didn’t look at me, but he spoke carefully, as if I was a slightly slow but well-beloved child. ‘Cimon spoke of “commerce raiding”,’ he admitted.