‘Him, or some other of my choice,’ Xerxes said. I had raised my head from the floor when I spoke, and now I saw Xerxes cast an affectionate look at Hippias, the sort of look a man gives his favourite dog.
For a Great King, Xerxes was a very fragile man. Even from the miserable cold of Aristides’ best mosaic floor, I could see that he needed the Greeks to be coming over to his side. His intimates had promised him triumph. Men like Hippias had insisted that the miserable Greeks longed for his enlightened rule.
Every man desires to be the hero in his own epic, thugater. Even the Great King. And he was more the victim of his own desires than most.
And if you want to lie to a man, promise him what he most desires. Think, if you will, of the horse the Achaeans sent to the Trojans as tribute, a sort of huge trophy of victory. The Trojans desired nothing more than to have won.
Siccinius, greatly daring, went on. ‘My master bids you set up your throne where you can see the Bay of Salamis,’ he said. ‘To watch and truly see how he conducts himself, and what reward he deserves.’
I thought he’d overplayed our hand, myself. Perhaps it was best to send a slave — a slave understands how obsequiously a master wants to hear his dreams laid out. I would not have dared.
Xerxes sighed with satisfaction. ‘What a beautiful notion,’ he said.
I managed to see Mardonius out of the corner of my eye. He was staring at me and Cyrus was whispering to him.
Damn Cyrus and his honesty.
‘When does my new servant Themistocles think I should attack?’ Xerxes asked.
‘Tomorrow night, which is the dark of the moon,’ Siccinius said. ‘There is no better night for your fleet to surround the beaches of the Greeks.’ He paused. ‘And my master will need time to prepare. He needs to know by morning. We … lost much time with your guards.’
Mardonius laughed. ‘Slave, you expect that we will send you back?’
Siccinius spoke again. ‘If you want Athens to defect to you, Great King, we will all three have to be sent back. I am but the herald: these two men are greater than I, and were sent as proof for me. They are Themistocles’ friends.’
At first I thought he’d spoken in our favour. In retrospect, though, it sounded as if he’d offered us as hostages.
Mardonius shook his head and I was slammed back to the floor and lost sight of him. ‘I say no!’ he said with some force. ‘Let this Themistocles do as he will; we will surround and shatter this little fleet regardless.’
But Xerxes had the bit in his teeth. ‘Be calm, Mardonius. Gentle yourself. If we defeat this fleet, a fleet which has beaten mine twice, if we defeat it, we will have to fight the survivors again, and perhaps again and again. But if the Athenians and the Aeginians change sides, their League will be no more and every one of their little towns will make peace. I know it. I feel this in my bones.’
Demaratus agreed. ‘Great King, in this I agree. The defection of Athens would finish the League. Even the Spartans would have to sue for peace. Whereas — I speak only as a soldier — as long as their fleet exists somewhere, it forces you to a long and expensive land campaign. Sparta will not be beaten easily.’
Mardonius laughed. ‘Demaratus, you vastly exaggerate the power and importance of a tiny state with no real power, because it was once yours. We defeated the Spartans at the Hot Gates and killed their king. They are nothing.’
Hippias spoke up. He saw a change in his fortunes — Athen’s treason meant his own restoration, perhaps. ‘Trust this man, Great King. You have little to lose; as Great Mardonius says, your fleet will win anyway.’
The lickspittle knew he’d get some of the credit, too.
‘Send the slave back, then, and leave the Spartan and the Plataean as hostages.’ Mardonius’s suggestion made far too much sense. I began to suspect I was going to die for Greece.
The worst of it was that I no longer trusted Siccinius or Themistocles, for all that the slave had done his level best to have us returned.
Xerxes nodded. ‘That is reasonable,’ he said.
I raised my head and was not killed. ‘Great King,’ I said. ‘I beg leave to speak.’
‘Now you are more polite,’ he said. ‘Speak.’
‘Great King, many Spartans, and many other ships, will follow Themistocles, if we are there. If we are not — if you keep Brasidas, who leads the party of men who support the exiles — the Spartans will fight. I too command ships, and they will fight.’ I was making things up as fast as I could.
Mardonius laughed. ‘Let them fight — the whole Plataean fleet!’ he mocked. ‘How many ships? None? One?’
‘Or perhaps they will all sail away,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow morning when I do not return.’
‘That is a small risk I will accept,’ the Great King said. ‘Take the Spartan and the Boeotian and throw them in the storehouse. If Themistocles does as he promises, they will be released with honours. If not, I will have them dragged to death by chariots.’ He smiled.
Siccinius was taken away. He did not protest again. I don’t think he was sorry to leave us behind. After all, he was being led to freedom.
I had never been in Jocasta’s storage shed. It was getting light outside and they threw us in, none too gently.
When they were gone, we found some sacking and used it to get warm. And bless Jocasta, there were old blankets, no doubt moth-eaten, and we made ourselves as comfortable as we might on a chilly autumn morning.
It would be hot when day came, but at the very break of day it was cold, and the floor had been cold — and of course, nothing is colder than fear.
Then we sat back to back, for warmth, bundled in old sacking and blankets.
‘I am not afraid to die for Greece,’ I said.
Brasidas grunted.
‘But I am worried that Themistocles is fucking us all,’ I said.
Brasidas, who never swore or talked bawdy, stiffened. ‘What?’ he asked.
I spoke very quietly. ‘I worry that I have been used, that Siccinius just did exactly what he appeared to do, that Themistocles used the veil of honesty to pull the wool over our eyes, and that Themistocles will, in fact, attempt to betray the League tomorrow the same way Samos betrayed us at Lade.’
Brasidas grunted.
‘And you and I will be seen as traitors to the end of time,’ I noted.
Brasidas grunted again. ‘That is bad,’ he admitted.
I sighed. ‘Brasidas, I apologise for bringing you into this.’
He made no comment. After a long while, he said, ‘We must escape.’
I suspect I rolled my eyes, even in the darkness.
‘Listen, brother,’ I said. ‘If we escape too early, we ruin the plan — if Themistocles was telling me the truth. And it is, in fact, the only plan that might have a chance of giving us a battle that we still, of course, have to win.’
Yet even as I spoke, I could see a plan shaping in my head.
‘But if we escape at nightfall,’ I said. I paused and tried to find a stitch in my logic, but the net held. ‘If we escape at nightfall, his fleet orders will already be issued and we’ll have time to warn the Greeks.’
There was a long pause.
‘That’s quite good,’ Brasidas said. In fact, he chuckled. ‘I see it. By arriving, we force Themistocles to behave as if he meant to fight for the League all along.’ For Brasidas this was a long speech. He was deeply amused.
‘Perhaps he did,’ I said.
We were both silent for a while.
Brasidas laughed aloud. ‘Gods, you Athenians,’ he said.
‘I’m a Plataean,’ I said.
‘Oh, so am I,’ Brasidas said, and laughed again, as long and hard as I’d ever heard him laugh.