Salamis (39 page)

Brasidas looked him over. ‘Did you fight at Salamis?’ he asked.

Phayllos shrugged. ‘We fought, and fought well,’ he said.

Brasidas gave me the movement of his eyebrows with which he expressed approval and admiration.

‘Are you worth a ransom?’ I asked.

‘I am, and so is my nephew,’ he said. He pulled under his arm a very thin, not very handsome young man in beautiful armour. The fit of the armour almost made the boy – and I use the term carefully – look like a man.

But despite his spotty face and his starveling build, the boy had a certain presence and good manners. He bent his knee. ‘It is an honour to be taken captive by the famous Arimnestos of Plataea,’ he said.

Brasidas laughed outright. He didn’t speak, but his laughter spoke volumes.

‘You made no bargain,’ I said. ‘I could take the two of you and clear your benches over the sides – in pursuit, it’s within the laws of war.’

Phayllos was a brave man. He was afraid, but he bore it with nobility. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I told the oarsmen and the marines that very thing.’

I nodded. Brasidas did his eyebrow thing again. We were in agreement that these were good men and deserved decent treatment. I’m not saying that, had they been oily or arrogant, we’d have massacred their crews. Merely that honour calls out to honour, and dishonour encourages the same, or so I have often found it.

The time it took us to take those three ships cost us any chance of snapping up any more Ionians. So we turned, left our masts down, and rowed a little north of west onto the beaches by Cape Zoster. We landed early enough, but it was a major chore fetching water from the one creek big enough and deep enough to water us, and there were neither shepherds nor sheep to feed more than three thousand men.

However, we were well prepared, with dried meat and sausage. I saw to it my own people were fed and then we squandered our reserves on our captives.

Cimon and I had a meeting over garlic sausage and onions and very, very good wine.

‘It’s like going to a good symposium at a poor man’s house,’ Cimon joked. ‘We spent all our money on the wine!’

‘We need some merchants full of supplies. Mine are all running in the Bay of Corinth.’ I shrugged.

Cimon nodded. ‘What are we going to do with our captures?’ he asked.

‘Ransom the trierarchs and let the rest go,’ I said. ‘If we’re lenient, we might pick up more and we won’t have to fight.’

Cimon chewed a bit of gristle and spat. ‘Just what I was thinking. I’m going to be a very poor oligarch, friend. I enjoy this far too much.’

‘Stealing money from those too weak to defend it and spending it all on symposia and flute girls?’ I chided him. ‘You’ll be the
perfect
oligarch.’

‘You were right, too,’ he said. ‘We beat the Medes.’

The stars were rising. I could hear Phayllos, who was already friends with Brasidas, laughing his deep laugh.

‘I don’t want to be Tyrant in Athens,’ Cimon said suddenly. ‘I don’t give a shit. I’m ruined, and my father would be enraged. I want this – for ever. I want to sail and sail, to beat Persia every day, to conquer them and rule a great empire.’ He paused. And grinned – self-knowledge is always the best tonic, or so Heraclitus used to say. ‘All that on one cup of good wine. I’m sorry, my friend. What do you want?’

‘I want Briseis,’ I said. Indeed, I felt like a young man, with his first woman before him – and I felt the cold hand of time and fortune on me, too. She might already be dead, with some eunuch’s hands round her lovely throat. I had not hurried, or so I told myself when I was honest.

Cimon laughed. ‘You are consistent, I’ll give you that.’

After a pause, he said, ‘I expect we’ll get more surrenders tomorrow.’

I sat with my back against a rock, still warm from the sun. ‘I can take the Chians home and the Lesbians too. I can use them as cover when I move into Ephesus. If I get ransoms out of them, so much the better.’

Cimon nodded. ‘Well, I got two good ones, ten days’ pay for all my rowers in each ship.’

I smiled. I knew something Cimon did not know and I had no reason to tell him. I remembered his father all too well. All Cimon had to do was say ‘walk with me’ and he’d
be
Miltiades come to life.

‘So you are content that I keep mine and you keep yours?’ I asked.

‘Seems simple,’ Cimon said.

While we were talking, more allied ships appeared. They were from the northern column, and we had Themistocles with us, and Eurybiades, in an hour. I fed them both sausage and Eurybiades opened an amphora of good Aeolian wine and we sat at a small campfire. Siccinius waited on us.

Probably the most remarkable thing was that as we all settled in to drink, Brasidas came up – and Eurybiades greeted him by name, rising as if Brasidas was one of the peers.

After a hesitation so brief that I think I’m the only one to have noticed it, Brasidas accepted this and saluted Eurybiades as one man does another and then settled comfortably, as if this was not an epochal event in his relations with his former city.

It was a fine fire, and just because I know that Themistocles was a black traitor didn’t mean he could not be good company, especially when he was relaxed and victorious. Eurybiades treated him with deference, which he craved. I was polite.

But when the opportunity came, I pounced. I made the face men make when they want to piss, and leaped to my feet. Then I followed Siccinius a few paces into the darkness, to where he and two of my sailors had set a couple of boards over three small rocks and put wine on them for serving – like a crude symposium, in truth.

But I didn’t have to chase him. In fact, when he saw me coming, he placed his amphora on the side table, gave orders about mixing the water and the wine, and then beckoned me, and we went around a great boulder – some god or some titan had thrown it there, no doubt – and it was he, not I, who began.

‘Will you truly see me a free man?’ he asked.

‘I will,’ I said, not only because I would, but because I knew he had something important to say. Even in the darkness, everything from his posture to his voice betrayed his tension and his emotion.

‘The Great King is running for home,’ he said. ‘He is going overland – with half his army.’

I stroked my beard. ‘How do you know?’ I said. I raised my hand for silence. ‘I mean, do you
know
, or were you simply told?’

‘I saw the horses prepared, I heard him order Mardonius into motion, and I heard the orders he gave Artaphernes.’

It was too dark to read his face, but I could guess.

‘You know how important Artaphernes is to me,’ I said.

‘I know he is your enemy,’ he said. ‘Lord Cyrus could scarcely hide that. And let me say, my lord – I have earned your citizenship. I took a risk, a very real risk, in approaching Lord Cyrus.’

‘Really?’ I asked as urbanely as I could manage. ‘A smart boy like you should have used my request as a cover for his whole mission.’

Silence passed, like time, but heavier.

‘What do you want me to say?’ he asked.

‘I want you to tell me the truth,’ I said. ‘Did you speak face to face with Cyrus?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

Most men give themselves away when they lie. It is a simple thing, but liars tell stories and truth-tellers say things like ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Some men are verbose by nature so it is not an absolute law, but it is a good guide.

‘And what order did Xerxes give to Artaphernes?’ I asked.

‘My lord, I can tell you more than that – I can relate to you what conversation Artaphernes had with Diomedes of Ephesus,’ he said. ‘But then I will require your oath, and some reward, because I will be leaving my own lord.’

I was, in my turn, silent. Just by pairing Artaphernes and Diomedes he made my blood run cold and my heart beat fast. In fact, I didn’t really need to know what they said to each other. But the mere idea that they had talked was a terror to me. And the fact that this spy knew my affairs so well that he knew that these two names would affect me meant that, on the one hand, he must be telling the truth, and on the other, than he was appallingly well-informed.

‘Freedom, citizenship in Plataea or Thespiae, and a farm and ten talents of silver,’ I said. ‘But that’s all I can ever offer. Be bought, or do not be bought.’

He moved, and I realised that he – as slave – was holding out his hand for a gentleman’s hand clasp.

I’d been a slave, and I gave it.

‘I give you my word, and my oath to Zeus, Lord of Kings, and Poseidon, my master every day at sea, Horse Tamer and Giant Killer, that I will give you your full reward, citizenship, ten talents of silver, and a good farm, or I shall be accursed, if you will aid me to your fullest in the recovery of the woman I love and the saving of her children,’ I said. I had learned a little about oaths.

‘Wow,’ he said, or words to that effect. ‘Very well, lord. All know you are a man of his word. Here is what I have. Diomedes and Artaphernes are allies in this – they both hate Archilogos and his sister too. Archilogos was to be held as long as possible on the beaches to let Diomedes have the start of him. Artaphernes is racing to Ephesus on the Royal Post, taking the place of the messenger the Great King was sending to Sardis.’

‘Heracles!’ I swore. ‘Artaphernes is putting his revenge on his father’s wife over the Great King’s commands?’

Siccinius shrugged. ‘I find Persians even harder to understand than Greeks,’ he admitted. ‘But he hates her, and he claims she has humiliated him. He means her to die very badly.’

I didn’t need to hear a description.

‘But her brother means to save her?’ I asked.

Siccinius shrugged. Even in darkness, that gesture is unmistakable. ‘You ask me as a spy? I do not know. As a judge of events? I would say that both men fear him. He is one of the most famous warriors in the Great King’s forces. They say that, without him, Miletus would still be free, and they say that his ship scored more kills at Artemisium than any other Ionian or Phoenician.’

I laughed. ‘That’s no surprise,’ I said. ‘He was always best.’

I admit it – I smiled to think that we were about to be on the same side, to rescue his sister.

Half a world at war, and heaps of dead men, oceans of blood, and the three of us were about to be at the centre.

Sometimes, it is like living in the Iliad.

He told me more, everything he knew about the Great King’s plans to abandon Mardonius and run for Susa. I admit it: I doubted what he was telling me as the Xerxes I’d met was far braver than that. I had a hard time imagining any Persian monarch cutting and running on an unbeaten army and a single naval defeat.

But it didn’t matter.

Almost nothing mattered but getting to Ephesus.

‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘If my master knew I was telling you this, I’d be dead.’

I nodded. What more could he tell me?

I saw his head move, his unconscious glance to left and right to make sure that we were not overheard. ‘Xerxes has lost three brothers and two sons in this campaign,’ he said. ‘He’s putting all the rest of his boys on two of the fleet’s fastest ships. They’re running for Sardis via Ephesus. Artemisia is taking two of them, and Diomedes the other two.’

I could see – I still see – the hand of the gods in all of it, and like any good tragedy I had been manipulated by my own needs and desires, and only allowed, now, at the last hour, to know what the stakes were, and what my role might be.

I did not dare even allow myself to imagine what fate Artaphernes had in mind for Briseis. It would be horrible, and it would not allow her either dignity or repute. And I knew Diomedes hated her and was weak enough to seek such a horrid revenge.

Perhaps it says something about me that, until that moment, I had never really considered that either man would exact ‘revenge’, because it’s
such
a waste of a strong man’s time to do such a thing. But they were both weak men and they needed to hurt something they were strong enough to hurt.

Artemisia was made of different stuff. I wondered if she could be brought to bargain – if she might mislike the killing of another woman. Or perhaps not. Common gender had never stopped me from killing a man.

Let me say one thing more as we head for the finish line in an ugly race. Briseis knew the odds against her – had, in fact, warned me herself. And she was not a poor weak woman who needed my sword arm; that is, she might, but she was the mistress of her own life and her own fate. I knew that, short of outright swordplay, she could probably master Diomedes by politics alone. Artaphernes would be trickier – but I knew she would not go lightly.

I knew that, in the last case, she would kill herself rather than fall into their hands. And that the knife she fell on would be red with the blood of her foes.

But I
wanted her alive.
At my side. And that was going to take the luck of the gods and some serious planning.

The
Royal Post
was as fast as the wind. Diomedes was at sea and had a full day head start.

All this was through my head in an instant.

‘I will do as I promised,’ I said. ‘Find me in Hermione in a month, or in Plataea in a year, and I will do my part.’

‘And if you are killed?’ he asked.

I laughed. ‘Then I will have to bear my own curse,’ I said.

In the end, I decided to take all my ships. My people – my oikia, the men who’d been with me for years – they were family, and I was about to tempt the Fates to overthrow me. Indeed, I already had the blackest picture. Diomedes’ head start concerned me most of all.

And besides, Moire and Seckla and Hector, Hipponax and Brasidas – there were petty rivalries among them, but they were also united, and they made it plain to me that they were coming. All of them. My clever plan of a single ship slipping unnoticed through the rout of the Ionians was derided. And probably with good reason.

So instead, I led five other ships.

Cimon was bitter and proclaimed that I would take all the good prizes and leave the seas empty. But he promised to cover me with Themistocles.

One thing more you need to understand. From the beaches east of Cape Zoster there are two equally good routes to Ephesus. A good trierarch can hop from Attica to Andros, and from Andros to Chios, and then drop down into Ephesus – there’s some blue-water sailing there, but not much, and if you know your landfalls, it’s not that difficult. However, autumn was coming on; we were entering the ‘season of winds’ and ships were lost in autumn. A more cautious trierarch or helmsman would stay in with the land and go along Euboea and then nip past Thessaly and Thrake before turning south, with good beaches and mutton all the way. I’ve done both, as you may have noted.