The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae Read online

  “But friends, today you have done well. Today you were strong and as I have explained, you will have further need of courage. So you will find that in all the bars where friends of the Demos gather tonight there will be no charge for the drinks. That is the least I can do.”

  That got the loudest cheer of the day and consciences were forgotten. He accepted the cheer and concluded.

  “But freedom-loving Athenians, you will have to excuse me as my heart is too sick with grief for me to drink.”

  He staggered and was helped away by his brother having covered his head with the cowl of his mantle and wailing in a piteous manner.

  I was so astounded by the performance I didn’t even laugh, just thought back to sitting on deck with him on the return from Sparta and listening as he’d explained exactly this strategy.

  Much later, when the earthen floor of ‘The Bald Man’s Tavern’ was slippery with wine and vomit, I did get round to laughing. We’d been there for some time and finished three chous of thinly cut, alleged Samian, when Aeschylus walked in with some of the girls from Lyra’s stable of flute girls. It seemed that night was a holiday for everyone. Lyra came in last; Aeschylus put an arm round her shoulder and led her over to me.

  So with her sitting on my lap, I watched Aeschylus mimic Themistocles’s performance complete with painted wounds and tears. Comic theatre lost a performer of genius when his saturnine disposition inclined him towards tragedy. Most of our table wept for the second time that day, on this occasion with tears of laughter. Another free chou of wine accompanied by some sausage and bread had disappeared by the time he finished to roars of applause and beating on the table.

  Aeschylus slipped away and my sailor friends had reached the stage of drink when, according to inclination, they started to shout out bawdy songs or started to touch up the girls. The place was too full and the acrid smoke from the cheap grease lamps was beginning to sting my eyes. Lyra was still, her head on my shoulder. I thought she was asleep but she whispered,

  “Can we go home, Mandrocles, perhaps if you were gentle we could …”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next months are a blur; perhaps not much happened or perhaps it did and I’ve forgotten. All I recall are a few scattered images: serving Cimon and helping him maintain a household commensurate with his status. I remember time with Lyra and I know that it was then early, too early, in her marriage to Callias that Elpinice miscarried. But it’s all mixed up.

  What came next is clear, vivid like it were yesterday; a harsh stony landscape, no softness or colour, no trees or grass, just pitted rock and waste heaps. All of it wind-blasted and scorched by the pitiless gaze of the sun. And of course the smell: a foul mixture of human misery and smoke from the furnaces.

  We were visiting the state owned silver mines at Laurium, a few stades south of the city by the coast not far from Sounion. I didn’t even know such a place existed but despite that, one night just before the time of lighting the lamps, a messenger from Themistocles had arrived at the house. Cimon was just back from hunting and had called for wine. When I showed him the message he forgot about that.

  “To Cimon, son of Miltiades, from Themistocles, son of Neocles.

  There are things I need to show you; meet me the hour before dawn at Piraeus by the Athene Nike. Bring Mandrocles, tell no one else.”

  No one loved a mystery like Themistocles but a message liked this indicated a serious purpose, so we were there on time. The ship was fully crewed, including some from the household like Ariston, so they obviously knew in advance. We climbed onboard, savouring the scents of recently dried out timber and resin. Themistocles was in the trierarch’s chair in great good humour but excited. Behind him Ariston knuckled his forehead in respectful greeting to Cimon, who started to ask,

  “What’s all this for, son of Ne …?”

  Themistocles cut him off.

  “Ssh, not till we’re well clear of land and eavesdroppers.”

  So we watched in silence as the ropes were cast off and the Athene Nike slipped across the smooth water of the harbour and through the new fortifications at the port’s mouth. Only when we were well clear of land round the bay did he deign to give any sort of an answer.

  “An agent of mine arrived yesterday with some interesting news he’d ridden hard to bring. News that I’m rather keen to check out for myself; I thought it would interest you.”

  This told us nothing, but it’s all he’d say. We passed Sounion with its temple to Earth Shaker Poseidon gleaming in the sun. Theodorus was explaining the differences of the new Athene Nike.

  “Pushing the outrigger further out gives more room to carry soldiers, but it’s more difficult for the Thranitai who have to row through it. The angle of the oars to the waters changed, see? So we’re not as fast as the old Athene, bless her, but we can modify that with a bit of work. But she turns quicker so once we get the hang of her she’ll be the equal of any other barky afloat.”

  I was more interested in this and watching how she handled so our destination crept up on me unexpectedly. A dismal dirty dockside with timber hoists and cranes and a row of deep bottomed hulks only fit for shoreline crawling. The smell was unexpected though; not a sea smell at all and despite the wind blowing in from the sea, the odour seeped out from the land. Stronger even than the fumes from the furnaces. Slaves.

  The docks were crude and filthy but compared to what lay just inland they were the enchanted glades of Arcadia. Broken rock pitted with manmade fissures and tunnels. A warren of them part-obscured by greasy smoke. If it weren’t for the wretched men women and children swarming all over, it might as well have been the surface of the moon.

  The sight seemed to cheer Themistocles.

  “You’re looking at the wealth of the city, son of Miltiades. At the wealth that’s going to build us the best fleet of fighting ships the world’s ever seen.”

  Cimon made no reply. I could tell he still didn’t understand.

  “Silver, lad! These are the mines of Laurium, owned by the city and franchised out to merchants to be worked for us. They take a percentage and the city gets the rest. Today there’s something special we’ve come to see.”

  He set off following a track across the broken landscape, led by a black bearded man with a face weathered to the complexion of a walnut, wearing a filthy stained cloak. We joined the track in his wake, stumbling on the pitted and crumbling crust of the earth. We wound between great spoil heaps, detouring round crude furnaces fed by slaves pushing barrows heaped with ore while others raked out the clinker and ash.

  The track forked several times with tributaries ending in deep chasms gouged into the rock. We kept to the main path, Themistocles explaining to Cimon. Walking behind them I could catch fragments of what he said. Not all of it, even though I followed close behind: the din of the place was too great for that.

  “Around twenty thousand slaves live here and work the mines----- --- Deep tunnel, follow the vein--some passages so small, only children …”

  Then we came to a stop. We were covered in dust, ash and sweat. The sun seemed determined to burn this place; outside the hell of the shafts there was no shelter and heat bounced back off the scorched rock in waves. I felt sick. The Gods know how the slaves lived. These weren’t like house slaves or farm slaves. These were filthy and dwarfed, skins ingrained with soot, clad in rags, eyes devoid of hope.

  You’ve come to know me pretty well by now, reader. You know I’ve lived hard and can deal the blows that steal a man’s life with the best of them. But standing there with my eyes stinging from the smoke and grit in the air, I thanked the Gods that this was a life I didn’t know. Those poor wretches, malformed and twisted. They didn’t last long, which was clear from the rag-covered bundles scattered across the site waiting to be tipped into a pit or burnt.

  “Are you coming, Mandrocles?”

  Cimon’s voice. Whatever he was suggesting I’d no idea, but he set off after Themistocles down a narrow path leading into a newer
looking shaft so I followed. After a few paces we passed into the mine under a crude wooden lintel. Then we were forced to crouch to follow the track. The way led sharply down and in an instant all trace of daylight had vanished. The only light came from guttering tallows set in niches in the rock. They cast off as much greasy smoke as light.

  Cimon stopped ahead and I barged into him. I hate enclosed spaces. We’d reached a pit that descended vertically down: the bottom of this shaft was lost in darkness; the tip of a crudely hewn ladder extended a few inches above its lip.

  By the light of a lamp the guide was holding I could see Themistocles’s face. He was grinning; in that light his chipped discoloured teeth seemed to gleam white.

  “Well, this is what we’ve come to see. What’s the problem, Mandrocles? Not got the stomach for it?”

  He laughed then climbed onto the ladder and began his descent, following the guide into the bowels of the earth. I followed Cimon onto the ladder: it was like descending into an unusually deep grave. The air was fetid and grew warmer as we got further down. The guttering light from the lamps flickered and faded. They missed the surface air as much as I did.

  Then we were at the base of the shaft on a crumbling path of grit. I shuffled after the others, my shoulders brushing the walls on both sides, my head bowed to avoid the rock roof. Cimon stopped and I stumbled into him. Down there, in that Hades, I found it more difficult to control my fear and my breathing than I do before battle.

  We were in an open space with a series of dark passages running off it, some so small that they could only be worked by young children. The whole of the earth piled above us and down here only darkness. I began to worry that the lamps would die. I wanted to scream. After a brief pause, the guide set off down the largest galley. It settled down into a narrow passage low enough to force all of us to stoop. The passage changed direction a couple of times; I’d no idea which way we were facing. Ahead of us now there was noise, like the demons of Hades were tending their forge.

  It grew louder, the walls fell away and we found ourselves in a long narrow cavern. I hadn’t been wrong about the demons. The right hand wall was lined with filthy unkempt figures, some naked, some in loincloths. They were hammering and picking at the rock face, which glowed a dirty grey colour. Behind them groups of boys carried what they excavated and sorted it into heaps. Despite the desperate state of the pathetic workforce, Themistocles threw back his head and crowed with delight.

  “Look the great seam, the mother lode: see, it stretches on beyond sight. This is the future of Athens. This is ships and the defeat of the Great King. This is no longer having to fear Sparta. This is the triumph of the Demos. This is the miracle.”

  It didn’t look much like a miracle to me; all I wanted was to get out. Cimon was impressed though, it seemed he was unaffected by this sojourn in Hades. He asked,

  “How much is there?”

  “Enough for the merchants who run this place to take their profit and for a public dole to be given to each Athenian citizen.”

  Cimon saw through this dissembling answer.

  “But that’s not why you’ve brought us here, is it?”

  “No, of course not. What do you take me for?”

  “So why are we down here choking on these fumes? You’d better tell us quickly, Mandrocles doesn’t look like he can take much more of this!”

  Themistocles looked at me as if just noticing I was with them. He grinned and said,

  “What’s wrong with you, Luck Bringer, your face has gone green, don’t you like it down here in the city’s main treasury? Lucky you weren’t born a slave then or you might have to live here.”

  He paused before adding, as if to himself,

  “Not that it would be a particularly long life.”

  As if on cue one of the slaves working at the seam collapsed in a faint. He was pulled to his feet and slapped by an overseer. His mates ignored him as he tottered back to his place; he didn’t look like he’d last much longer. The overseer looked towards Themistocles, which made me think that if we hadn’t been here the slave would have got a worse beating. Themistocles took the hint saying,

  “Take one last look at what these poor wretches are hacking out of the earth, because before too long you’ll have reason to be thankful to them.”

  He signalled to the guide to lead us out. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to get out of anywhere in my life. I can’t remember much about the scramble up and out of the mine, only that the surface atmosphere which had seemed so toxic before we’d descended now seemed pure and ethereal. We sat on timbers scattered amongst the waste heaps and a wineskin was produced. Themistocles had it passed to me first: I could have emptied it in one swallow. Then I sat in a trance until a kick from Cimon disturbed me.

  “Are you not interested in why we came here, Mandrocles?”

  For me it was good enough just to be out of the place, but I nodded in feigned interest. It shouldn’t have been feigned because what Themistocles was about to tell us bordered on the fringe of madness – but to look at him casually reclining back against a rock while he spoke, you’d have thought it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “That silver lode is going to build my fleet: the fleet that will transform Athens into the most powerful city in the world.”

  He grinned, then modified that incredible statement.

  “Well, if we have luck on our side that is.”

  There wasn’t need to prompt him further.

  “That’s the largest vein these mines have produced, and no one knows about it but our guide and the wealthy man whose section of Laurium this is, and he’s a friend of mine. Oh, and a few hundred slaves but they’re not about to go anywhere and spread the news. We know it and knowledge is power as your Samian philosopher keeps telling us, Mandrocles.”

  He was certainly right about the slaves; a grubby discoloured rag shroud covering a pathetic bundle a few paces away showed us the only way they escaped from this hellish inferno. I saw him follow my gaze; he stood up and said,

  “Perhaps better if I tell you how we’ll do it back on board the Athene Nike.”

  I needed no second invitation.

  Maybe it was just my imagination but we were well out of sight of Laurium before the stink of the place was out of my nostrils. Themistocles must have been thinking something similar; he said,

  “Strange, isn’t it, that the wealthy estate of our aristo friend Aristides lies just over there between Sounion and Laurium, and I’d wager that’s where his difficult slaves end up. Serve as a good example to the others.”

  Cimon, who always liked a sense of balance asked,

  “But what about his reputation as a just man?”

  Themistocles laughed.

  “You have to be rich to afford a reputation as a just man. Not that they matter but I’d guess that not many of his slaves refer to him as Aristides the Just.”

  The Athene Nike was cutting a fast track through the wine dark waters, turning our wake to churning froth: the crew were using the opportunity to put her through her paces. Apart from Ariston and the three of us, the stern deck was empty, so that’s where I learnt of the plan, the real plan, reader, not whatever jumble of misunderstanding you’ve heard. An appropriate place too, on the deck of the first of the new breed which would change the world.

  Themistocles was sprawled in the trierarch’s chair; we sat on the deck either side of him. I’m not sure but I think he’d put the flesh on the bones of his plan as we’d pulled away from Laurium. So to borrow the new meaning young Herodotus has applied to the old word, we were present as history was being made.

  “We either let that fortune be wasted by doling it out to be dribbled away into buying goats or roof tiles or whores or wine, or –”

  He paused, spinning the moment out, or perhaps not because his eyes were bulging and the veins on his bull-like neck swelled out. It may have been a type of possession and that while we saw his body he was in another place walking with th
e Gods.

  “Or we do what fate dictates we should, we roll it all up into one pithos and build two, no three, hundred triremes like this one once we’ve modified and smoothed out the faults. The Gods have put this into my hands.”

  I was about to warn him of the dangers of hubris, having already spat on the deck to avert evil influence, but it was Cimon who spoke first: cool and confident and for the first time I caught the cadence of his father.

  “And how, son of Neocles, will you manage to pull that off?”

  “By suggesting we act for the city of the Goddess and sacrifice the individual for the good of all.”

  “Just like that?”

  Now Cimon was sounding like Themistocles at his most provoking. Only he wasn’t provoked.

  “Not quite just like that, young man. I’ll supply other good reasons.”

  “But your supporters are the very men most in need of the money.”

  “I’ll point to the growth in jobs building and crewing the ships, there’s more money to be had that way.”

  “But not cash in hand and for doing nothing.”

  “Then I’ll scare them into it.”

  “What, with the Persians? That’ll scare them off the ships; they’ll think it will just bring the war closer.”

  “Then I’ll scare them with something a little less frightening, son of Miltiades. You can’t expect all the details at once. But don’t worry, I can be very persuasive when I have to.”

  “With your own I’ve no doubt, son of Neocles; but with your enemies and the farmer hoplites who hate the sea? Think of what their leaders will say to them.”

  For a moment I had a flash of what the future might be like if these two were to become enemies. But that thought was dispelled by a greater surprise.

  “They too will be dealt with, son of Miltiades.”

  “And do you have the details to hand for how you will achieve this dealing?”