Tides of War (48 page)

Now I myself became ensnared in politics’ web.

I had taken residence with my aunt at Melite. To her I confided my plans to secure exemption or retirement from service and with my wife and child remake to Road’s Turn. It was my ardent wish that my aunt make her home with us. I would build her a cottage; she may play the matriarch and lord it over all. She said she had always fancied a cottage. I
took her hands in mine. It seemed happiness lay beyond one final bar of shoal.

I went to the Registrar to record my intent to build on our land at Acharnae. To my shock the clerk informed me that a claim had been placed against it. What was this, a joke? The recorder displayed the documents. One Axiomenes of Colonus, of whom I had never heard, had filed a petition of decedent estate, citing my death overseas, and the demise of my brother and father prior, and laying claim to the property. He had even deposited the
parakatabole,
equal to a tenth of the estate’s value.

Dawn found me before the archon’s clerk, scheduling a
diamartyria,
that hearing at which witnesses known to the court would testify that I was indeed my father’s son and legitimate heir. That should put a period to this nonsense, I thought. But when I rode out to the farm at noon, I discovered labor gangs at work upon the site. The sons of the aforementioned Axiomenes chanced to arrive at this juncture, three in number, and, comporting themselves with insufferable arrogance, displayed their papers and proceeded to order me off my own land. I was in military kit, it chanced, with a ceremonial sword at my hip. Perhaps an evil
daimon
took hold of me. My hand flew to the weapon’s hilt, and though self-command reasserted before I could bare its blade, the act itself and the fury behind it sent my antagonists backpedaling in fright and outrage. They withdrew with oaths and pledges to eviscerate me in court. “And do not run to your patron, Alcibiades,” the eldest squealed. “For not even he stands above the law.”

A man of politics would have grasped at once the covert design understationing this ruse. I did not. My distress was such that I took counsel with a number of friends, including my commander, the younger Pericles, who, guileless as myself, accompanied me to address this Axiomenes at his home. I begged the fellow’s pardon and, maintaining a tenor of temperance, restated my position which was unassailable; I had not been slain in war; the farm was mine; let us put this affray behind us. I would make restitution, I promised, for my unfortunate outburst.

“Indeed you shall,” this villain responded. He had filed an impeachment against me before the Council.

On what charge?

“Treason.”

He had done his diligence, this rogue, and unearthed the particulars of my deliverance from the quarries at Syracuse. I was, the denunciation of
eisangelia
professed, an “agent and instrument of Sparta.” My schooling in Lacedaemon was cited, my repatriation to that country after Sicily, my service with Alcibiades in Asia “in league with the enemies of Athens,” and even the derivation of my own and my father’s names, along with diverse other perjuries, slanders, and falsehoods.

This was serious business; not only did the charge carry the penalty of death, but the object of such a motion was liable to
apagoge,
summary arrest. I may not close my eyes without fear of enemies snatching me at swordpoint.

I resolved to settle this without plaguing Alcibiades. But he heard of it on his own and called me to him. This was at his horse property at Erchiae, where he rode early for exercise and to clear his head. “This action,” he declared at once, “is not aimed at you, my friend, but me. It is not the only one.”

Some forty lawsuits, he reported, had been filed over the prior eleven days, all targeting colleagues and sharing the same theme: converse with the enemy. The cumulative effect, his opponents hoped, would be to enlarge mistrust of Alcibiades and portray him as in secret complicity with Sparta. My case was small potatoes. This Axiomenes, Alcibiades imparted, was a flunky of Euthydemus of Cydathenaeus, an uncle of Antiphon and member of the cult of Heracles of that district, an ultra-oligarchic political club, allied with scores of others in their hatred of Alcibiades and resolve to bring him down. “I’m sorry your affairs have gotten mixed up with mine, Pommo. But our enemies may have unwittingly handed us a stroke in a greater game. Do you trust me, old friend?”

He could put me to use, if I would consent.

He would interdict the petition of vacancy by bringing a
dike pseudomartyriou,
a suit for false witness; after which he would contrive to have the farm placed in provisional stewardship of any kinsman I wished, to be held over for me until I returned.

“Returned? From where?”

“Meanwhile, Pommo, you must not contest the other charge, the impeachment for treason, but act in fact as if it were true. You must flee.”

I could think only of my bride and aunt. How would I explain this to them? How care for our child? If I absconded under indictment, Aurore and the babe could not come to Athens. As for me, would I not be confirming my guilt by flight and risking banishment forever?

“Have I ever failed to shield you, Pommo?” Alcibiades assured me that so long as he ruled, no action of man or law would work harm to me or my family. He would set all to right, and with interest.

“Our foes wish to paint you a partisan of Sparta. Very well. We’ll let them.”

He wished me to go over to the enemy. Make my way to Ephesus, the Spartan bastion of the Aegean, now under Lysander, newly elevated to fleet admiral. Lysander’s prior acquaintance of me, supplemented by these credentials of the charges lodged against me, would open doors to his person. At large I was to represent myself as a private individual only but apart, when summoned by Lysander for interrogation, which summons was certain, disclose my charge as envoy from Alcibiades. I was to attest the good faith of his overtures of alliance with the Spartan and stand by as courier for such communications as Lysander wished to rejoin.

As for any sentence passed against me at Athens, Alcibiades would simply issue a pardon in his capacity as
strategos autokrator,
supreme commander.

“Then do that for me now,” I demanded.

My commander drew up. His eyes met mine, neither cold nor malign, yet intractable.

“These are great affairs, Pommo.”

“Your great affairs.”

“I am as constrained by them as you.”

He had an additional wrinkle to my defection. Some ten days previous, several companies of war prisoners had been brought in from Chalcidice. Among them was my old mate Telamon. I had got him released; he was in hospital now, recovering from wounds. I had not informed Alcibiades or any of my superiors, deeming it beneath their notice. Of course he knew. “Prize your man out of the sawbones’ shack. Make your easting together, as if to advertise your availability as assassins. This will further enlarge your credibility with Lysander; he may even seek to employ you as such against me.”

I would go. What else could I do?

“I take no joy in exploiting your predicament, Pommo. But desperate straits require desperate measures. You care nothing for such sentiments, I know, but this chore, if it succeeds, will alter the fate not alone of Greece but of the world.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I care nothing.”

Euryptolemus and Mantitheus chanced to return at that moment from their own rides in the hills. My predicament was remarked, and the ordination of our commander’s coercion. By all means, Euryptolemus attested, I must bolt this charge of treason; I must not let myself be packed off behind bars. Months could pass before trial; who could predict the
demos
’s disposition then? It would be madness to tempt fortune before an Athenian jury, particularly since those who would be my defenders must, like myself, depart to war again, and soon.

“Cheer up, Pommo, this rounds out your résumé.” Our commander’s cousin laughed and placed a hand upon my shoulder. “Don’t you know, one may not account himself a true son of Athens until he has been exiled and condemned to death!”

My plight had been brought about as a by-product of a stratagem Alcibiades had put in play some days prior. The campaign of actions at law was an element of his foes’ reply. You have kinsmen and colleagues, Jason, who were present on the evening to which I now refer; no doubt you recall its occasion. Let me relate it as memory serves:

Some days after his return to Athens, not long subsequent to his triumph at Eleusis, Alcibiades organized a hunt on the slopes of Parnes, inviting not only those disposed in his favor but a number of personal and political enemies, including Anytus and Cephisophon, the later tyrant Critias, also Lampon, Hagnon, and your own uncle Myrtilus, the latter trio representing the extreme wing of the “Party of the Good and True,” who had been the most virulent of Alcibiades’ prosecutors during the affair of the Mysteries. Cleophon and Cleonymus stood for the zealots of the radical democrats. Charicles was invited as well, who with Peisander had inflamed the people against Alcibiades in those days and, among other measures during the reign of terror their stridency had abetted to foment, had proposed repealing the decree banning the torturing of citizens. This hunt on Parnes, Alcibiades put about, was an extension of the olive branch to his former foes. He wanted to make peace with them.

The hunt itself was a grandstand gesture by its host, as considerable Spartan elements still infested the region, the fort at Decelea lying only seven miles east, and this audacity on Alcibiades’ part seized the imagination of the city, as not even the keenest hunters had dared take a party into those hills in years. So thoroughly had the invaders made the place their own, in fact, that Spartan rangers had at seasons set up digs in the lodge itself, stocking the larder and even rebuilding the stone chimney when it toppled in a quake. One could not say no to such an
invitation, not with the city buzzing and volunteers of the cavalry trooping forth to provide protection. In addition of course all were aflame to learn what Alcibiades had up his sleeve.

The elements proved wildly inclement; downpours drenched the party both days. The hunting was grand, however, and, it may be recounted of the hunters—returning to the lodge to strip their sodden tunics and hang them steaming before the fire, soaking their aches in the great cauldron baths, to be followed by rubdowns with warm oil and then leisure to indulge in the notorious red vintage of the region with pears, figs, and cheese—that no complaints were posted, nor did the meal of game hen, venison, and roast goose engender distress. At last the weary but replete guests settled upon couches in the great hall whose four copper-belled flues each accommodated two hearth fires. Stalkers, beaters, houndsmen, and servants having been dismissed, save those personal attendants whose confidentiality could be relied upon, there remained some thirty gentlemen. Euryptolemus, Adeimantus, Mantitheus, Aristocrates, and the younger Pericles constituting the cabinet of our host, with Theramenes, Thrasyllus, Procles, Ariston, and his party making up the moderates, and those cited above forming the opposition. The distinction of inclusion had done much to disarm hostility. All seemed softened up when their host, clad in huntsman’s cloak, arose beside the hearth and began.

He launched without preamble, proposing at once an end to the war and alliance with Sparta. While his guests still goggled at this, he proposed the joint undertaking of war against Persia, its object not limited to liberation of the Greek cities of Asia Minor but, that accomplished, to press inland against Sardis, Susa, and Persepolis. In other words, to conquer the empire entire, clear to India.

The temerity of such an undertaking was so breathtaking that several of the listeners, recovering speech, laughed outright, while others inquired if their host had taken leave of his reason.

Alcibiades addressed first the practical benefits, the most immediate of which was getting the Spartans out of Attica and all back to our estates. That alone would accomplish prodigies: propitiating the hostility of the rich and abating their intriguings against the democracy. Restore them to their vines and horses and they’ll give back on overthrowing the state. Nor would the dividends of such an undertaking
be confined to the aristocracy. The
demos
would prosper as well, not only our own unpropertied citizens but the unfranchised orders of resident aliens, foreigners, and even slaves, the main of whom are more eager for action than our own citizens. Give them an enterprise of profit and glory, no longer against each other, but barbarians dripping with gold, and they will shut up too.