Themistocles sent for me as soon as I arrived. He was not in my good graces — despite the various arguments he had been offered, the Athenians were one of the first contingents to march away from the Vale of Tempe and they had caused the break-up of the army.
And Themistocles had made the decision to retreat.
Now he sat on a canvas and iron stool in a tent — a large tent like those the Etruscans use in war. While his slaves served me wine, a herald announced the King of Sparta.
‘Do you have my nemesis Aristides with you?’ Themistocles asked.
I shook my head. I tried never to discuss the one with the other.
‘When you see him, please tell him that I will be sending out an amnesty asking all the exiles to return,’ he said.
‘He was at Tempe, with the Plataeans,’ I said.
Themistocles had the good grace to look away. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Let me tell you the worst of it, Arimnestos. The Persians have not yet marched. Only their first division is even in Europe. The Great King is still in Asia.’ He looked at the ground. ‘Amyntas of Macedon thought he was sending good information.’
Leonidas entered and we rose to our feet, but he made a motion that sent us back to our stools. ‘Xerxes and Amyntas have done us a favour,’ Leonidas said. ‘We sent an army to Tempe for a contest of equals. Xerxes has no interest in such a contest. He would have marched around our army — and thus trapped it. To us — this is dishonourable. It solves nothing. We all know that war is about one group of strong men convincing another group of which is in the right. Xerxes does not. As he is a tyrant, so he believes that by manoeuvre and outright murder, he can cow us. And he may be correct.’ Leonidas ran his fingers though his beard. ‘I will not forget this lesson.’
Silence fell. ‘And Euanetus was not the man to command an army.’
‘He is an excellent commander for an army of Spartans,’ Leonidas said mildly. ‘He complained of you, sir. He said you refused to know your place.’
I considered a variety of answers, and elected to smile. ‘I’m sure he is correct,’ I said.
Not quite the dignity of Aristides, but I was learning.
Leonidas either didn’t understand my answer or chose to ignore it. ‘I will lead the next effort in person.’ He glanced at me. ‘Gorgo has another mission for you, if you will accept it.’
‘Another peace offer for Persia?’ I asked.
Themistocles leaned forward. ‘We want to try Gelon again,’ he said. ‘Gelon offered us two hundred ships if we would give him the command, and we spurned him. Gorgo has proof that Xerxes has almost twice the number of ships we have.’
He looked around.
I did a quick count in my head. ‘Xerxes has seven hundred ships?’ I asked.
Leonidas looked up, and Gorgo entered the tent. She smiled at me, and I rose and bowed, and she raised her odd eyebrow.
‘Men bow more deeply to my wife than to me,’ Leonidas said, with real humour. In another man, it might have been a bitter statement. Not from the king.
I had a nice piece of flattery ready to deploy, but Gorgo beat me to it and shook her head. ‘Men bow to you,’ she said. ‘They only bow to my beauty.’
He looked at her lovingly. ‘Nay, woman,’ he said. ‘Men bow to the King of Sparta, but they turn and bow to Gorgo.’
She showed her dimples, then.
And turned to me, a little too brusquely. ‘Carthage is sending a hundred ships to Tyre,’ she said. ‘Even as she sends three hundred against Syracusa.’
That was bad news. Mind you, until that moment I hadn’t imagined that Carthage had four hundred ships.
‘Syracusa is a mighty city,’ Gorgo said. ‘Go and beg Gelon in my husband’s name to bring his fleet here, and we’ll give him the command — and when we stop Persia, we will send a Spartan army to Sicily to defeat Carthage.’
Leonidas winced. ‘I detest asking a favour of any man,’ he admitted. ‘But you know this man.’
Themistocles winked. ‘He knows everyone,’ he said.
‘All my ships are at Piraeus,’ I said. But I knew I would do it. I knew that this was what Apollo had sent me to do.
I was two weeks sailing from Corinth to Syracusa, laden in wine and Corinthian pottery. The Spartans couldn’t believe I was sailing fully laden, but no one was paying me to play Hermes to the tyrant of Sicily, and as far as we could tell when I left, we had a year. We knew a fair amount about the Great King’s preparations in Asia, and his ships gathering — indeed, although I didn’t know it, Sekla made a similar decision at Piraeus and took a ship all the way to Aegypt and back on the first good winds, because it was obvious that despite the Greek failure at Tempe, Xerxes was not going to march that year. The season was advancing, but Xerxes’ army was still near Sardis.
I had a fine voyage, and we ran up the great harbour of Syracusa with the wind at our backs, having scarcely touched an oar all the way. We’d sighted a Carthaginian blockading squadron to the south, but the wind was in their faces and they never had a chance to snap us up. I landed my wares and had Hector and Hipponax — who had now rowed for two solid weeks and looked like Achilles and Patrokles — sell them on the dock. I pinned on a salt-stained cloak, identified myself to the tyrant’s bodyguard, and was escorted to the citadel.
It had occurred to me twenty times during my trip that, having extracted Lydia from the tyrant’s clutches, I was probably not the right man to flatter him and beg his indulgence. But I stood before him in his magnificent rose garden, high above the city. He looked as hard as rock — he clearly expected to spend the summer in harness, and he had trained hard.
‘I thought you would bring me five triremes, and you have come with one triakonter?’ he asked.
‘Two of my ships are serving Athens against the Medes,’ I said. ‘Doola should be here with his ship, and Caius with his.’
The tyrant relented and offered me an embrace. ‘Dionysus and his contingent have come and gone and come again,’ he said. ‘Massalia is a loyal ally this summer, and I count your dues as paid. You are here to beg for the Greeks?’
In some ways, it was harder to speak to Gelon than to Xerxes. Gelon looked a bit like my idea of a god, and he was absolutely his own master. He would not ever have ordered the waves lashed. And yet, of all the men who led armies that fateful year, it was Gelon who most likely thought he was a god, himself.
I nodded. ‘Lord, I am here to beg for all Greece.’
He nodded. ‘The answer is no. Save your breath, my friend. My fleet has sailed — did you see a single galley in the harbour? The dice are thrown. My fleet will try a pre-emptive raid on Carthage which may save us all. I have heard that the Libyphoenicians have sent a hundred ships to Xerxes in exchange for Persian help against me.’
‘We hear the same,’ I confessed.
He sat back against a marble bench — shoulders still upright, not ever truly relaxed.
‘This is the war of the world,’ he said. ‘Our names will live for ever.’
I didn’t roll my eyes, but only from Jocasta’s training. ‘We will face the Medes without your might, then, lord.’
He shrugged. ‘Sparta and Athens wanted my help and didn’t want to pay my price,’ he said.
‘So in the end, you, too, are a huckster,’ I said.
He flushed. ‘Where is my Lydia?’ he asked.
‘I do not have her,’ I said. ‘She is now a wife — probably a mother. I beg you let her go.’
He tapped his marble bench with one hand — the greatest sign of agitation I ever saw from him.
‘Confess that you stole her,’ he said.
Some sinners never relent.
I stood as straight as I could. ‘I confess that I stole her to return her to the life that should have been hers,’ I said. ‘You had no more right to her than Anarchos, or me. I merely restored her to what she ought to have had.’
He turned to me a bland actor’s mask. ‘Ah, very well. What’s a strumpet more or less? You are forgiven.’
In that moment, I knew that I’d rather die beside Leonidas than defeat Persia with this man. I bowed. ‘I must take your answer to the League,’ I said.