“And he went?” I said. “Had he lost his wits?”
“No, he was too clever by half. He sent an envoy to view the gold. The man was shown chests and chests of it, so he said. Spread thin over pebbles, I daresay, it’s a trick as old as the hills. At any rate, he reported this great hoard; so then Polykrates went.”
“But, if he was satisfied, why not have sent the Persian a safe-conduct under his seal, and a ship to carry him? He claimed he was living in fear. Why should Polykrates go to Sardis?”
“He was taken when he stepped ashore at Ephesos. Don’t ask me why he went; I asked in vain. Of course I met no one from the Palace, where I expect they were all running mad. But they said in the harbor that half his friends followed him down to his galley, begging him to change his mind. Even that daughter of his, crying out like Kassandra and telling her bad-luck dream. He told her to shut her mouth or he’d never get her a husband; and she called on the gods to grant her even that, if he came home safe again. And that was the last they saw of him.”
I did not pretend to mourn; I had too much to remember. While everyone was talking, I was thinking my own thoughts. Presently I said to Theas, “Will this have reached Athens yet?”
He looked round sharply. He saw what I was at. “I doubt it. The ship that brought it from Miletos was going on to Rhodes, to take word to young Polykrates; and no other shipmaster was ready to put out. What do you say, Sim? Shall we go and tell your Archons?”
“It could do neither of us harm. How soon could you sail?”
“Now, if I make it worth my fellows’ while. A good moon; the wind’s right; and my pilot knows that passage as well as he knows his wife’s. If he’s drunk by now, I can take the helm myself.”
He went over to his own wife, who was sitting among the women, and hoping no doubt for a night with him. But she was used to such things by now; and he’d brought her some earrings set with Arabian pearls. Kean dress laws were getting dented, since Laertes and Theas went into trade.
Down in Koressia we found the pilot nearly sober, only two seamen helpless, and two Keans on the dock ready to take their places. The cargo had been off-loaded, and we sailed at once. For some time Theas had no time to spare for me; but after a while he came aft and said, “It must be chaos and old night by now in Samos. I hope you have no friends there.”
As if a snake had bitten me, I cried out, “Anakreon!” Being with the family, I suppose, had put it out of my mind. “He must be there.”
“Who?” Theas went to the side to peer at the steeps of Sounion, black against a shimmering sea. Its fickle winds were quiet; he spoke to the pilot and came back. “Is that the poet fellow, the Tyrant’s sycophant?”
“Poet yes, sycophant no. He is Anakreon … Well, never mind. I’m his guest-friend, Theas. He was good to me when I was poor and unknown, and he a great man already.”
“Oh,” said Theas at once, “that’s different. Then you must do whatever you can for him. Let’s see when you get to Athens.”
Between oars and sail, we made Piraeus by noon, and rode straight to Athens on the fastest beasts we could hire. Hippias saw us without delay (I had never wasted his time with trivialities) and sent at once for Hipparchos.
Theas told his tale. He was quite at ease before the Pisistratids. As Lyra had said, he was well known in many cities. At the outset I could see them comparing his looks with mine, and wondering which of us was the bastard; but we were used to that, and they soon had other things to think about. It was even plainer to them than it had been to us that the whole of Hellas, its balance and counterpoise with the Great King’s empire, would be changed if Samos fell.
All over Greece, the Pisistratids had allies, guest-friends, envoys and secret agents, who must be advised or warned; enemies too, who must be kept in the dark. This early news was worth gold to them; and with gold they paid for it. They were never cheese-parers. From what they gave Theas, he built himself a warehouse on Piraeus. He thanked them with unfeigned warmth—he had hugely enjoyed the whole adventure—saying with his open smile, “All this good fortune I owe to my young brother, who dragged me from a feast when I had only downed one cupful, telling me you must be the first to know.”
At this they turned to me and started all over again. But now Theas was taken care of, there was no more time to waste. The first time they paused for breath, I turned to Hipparchos. “Sir, as always you are too kind. But first let me say that when my brother left Samos, Anakreon was still there. What will become of him?”
Hipparchos started, much as I had done before. “What? By Herakles, Anakreon! Even that had been driven from my mind! Hippias, did you hear? Anakreon is still in Samos. We must get him out. Hippias, we must send a warship.”
“Let me go,” Theas said. “A small return to such princely givers. It will be a pleasure.” Hippias looked inclined to accept; chiefly I think to get the business out of the way; but Hipparchos cried out that Persians would be everywhere, if Samos no longer held the straits, and he would not repay Simonides’ gallant brother by making him their prey. Besides, a trader would be too slow. Without getting consent from Hippias, a thing never seen before, he summoned an officer of his guard, and sealed an order to take command of a naval pentekonter; let it be the fastest in the fleet, with the strongest rowers.
“Sir,” I said, “may I ask a favor? Let me go with the ship. I should be honored to fetch Anakreon here.”
At first he did not like it. (Hippias had gone, to attend to more important matters.) Putting out all his charm, he said, “We should all be poorer for Anakreon’s loss; but he at least is not an old and dear friend, as you are. To lose you would be insupportable.”
“I don’t think, sir, I shall be in danger. I’ve never taken part in Samian faction. But I do know a great many people there; and even if Anakreon has left already, I might be able to learn things that you would find useful.” This tempted him; and he let me go, ordering the captain not to put me ashore if he found the city in stasis, for no one was safe in a civil war. We sailed from Munychia at dawn next day.
I had never before traveled by warship, or guessed what speed is like on those long snaky galleys with twenty-five oars a side, helping the sail. The wind had changed, and again was in our favor. The rising sun glittered laughing along the sea; the plash and creak of the oars kept time to the chanty-man’s bawdy song (these were crack rowers, not to be spoiled with the whip); and I felt a new song of my own twining around the beat, like a vine upon a trellis.
I was glad to be going; even though, with all these soldiers, Anakreon would have no need of me to save his life. I had other reasons. He and I were friends, and sharing a patron would not alter it—not that in itself. Athens had room for both of us; we could only gain from each other’s company and the lift of each other’s art. What I feared were the fools about the court and city who, measuring us by their own mean minds, would from the first expect us to be rivals. In my life here and there, I’ve seen poets who would never have wished each other harm, or envied each other’s honor, set almost at each other’s throats through base men’s expectations. So I was resolved his first welcome should come from me, to cut such things at the root.
We met no Persians; the soldiers played knucklebones in the waist. As we neared Samos, trade looked to be much as usual. The harbor, when we rowed in, was full of men gathered to talk; which, as I have found in my many travels, means trouble, but not the worst; then there will be men in arms, or nobody in sight. There could be no stasis yet. But the captain had been so hammered with orders to keep me safe, he’d have bound me to a thwart if I’d tried to go ashore before news had come back to him. This was brought at last by the pilot, who had not hurried, having found some old friends to drink with. They had all told him there was still law in Samos, no Persian fleet in sight; the city was being governed by the regent whom the Tyrant had left behind when he crossed the strait, one Maiandrios. I demanded my freedom, went ashore, and, avoiding any place where people might keep me talking, made straight for Anakreon’s house.