I shrugged. ‘He tried, as much as a slave tried to save anyone,’ I said.
Brasidas raised an eyebrow, a very un-Spartan gesture he’d learned from us, I suspect. I think he had already decided at that point that Themistocles was a traitor. I wasn’t sure.
I wasn’t sure, but the evidence was building.
We landed on the Athenian beach, as close to the tents of the commanders as we could, although ships were all but wedged in there. Seckla put our stern between two rocks and I hopped down, dry-shod, with Brasidas. Even from the beach we could hear that the ‘council’ was over-full. The murmur of voices and the shouts cut the dark air like Persian arrows, and they were so loud that the gulls that roosted on the point complained, which might have been the voice of the gods, for all I know.
We climbed the headlands into a melee of oratory.
One of the Peloponnesian trierarchs was talking, saying he had his ships laden and he was leaving in the morning, no matter what the council decided.
I looked for Themistocles, and found him near the speaker’s rostrum, standing with Eurybiades. He wore the slight smile of the superior man.
I continued to watch him while first Phrynicus reviled the Corinthians as traitors — not, perhaps, the most politic speech, but Phrynicus, much as I love him, was a hothead. In fact, his heat made him the greatest playwright of his day. But he offended some waverers, and the Peloponnesians began to shout at the Athenians that they were a conquered people.
Still Themistocles smiled to himself. If anything, he looked bored, his eyes moving from one man to the next as if savouring their reactions.
I was careful to remain hidden.
Eumenes of Anagyrus spoke up, repeating, in effect, what other Athenians and Aeginians had said — that if the fleet broke up, the Great King would win.
Adeimantus watched Themistocles.
It was, by then, very late indeed. The oarsmen were, one hoped, asleep. But here were two hundred captains, bellowing like fishwives, screeching, and twice there were blows given.
For perhaps the hundredth time that autumn, I considered leaving. My town was already burned. I had property in Massalia, and I could trade tin and marry a buxom Keltoi girl or keep five for my pleasure.
But I wanted two things. I wanted to beat the Great King, because he had humiliated me, and because he meant to humiliate Greece, and because, to be honest, I was a man of Marathon and I had tasted the fruit of the gods in that victory and I wanted it again. And because I wanted Briseis, and she had called me to her, and the road to her lay through the Great King’s fleet.
And I had escaped. They had had me, the Persians and Medes. My escape seemed to me a sign from Heracles, my ancestor, that I should fight. By Zeus, I have always taken omens as signs I should fight, I confess it. But why free me to die an empty death, or flee to some forgotten grave in Gaul?
So the real question was how to make sure that the fleet fought and didn’t run. I knew that it came down to men — a few men. Really, it came down to two men — Adeimantus and Themistocles. Perhaps Eurybiades, but I thought him both sound and just. Adeimantus I thought a traitor, although I never heard a word from Mardonius or any of the Medes to suggest that he was. But he had just sixty triremes.
Themistocles — was he a traitor? Or was he playing both sides for his own profit? Did he, in fact, even have a plan?
I made my decision. It depended on Eurybiades. I suppose it says something about me, and the situation, that when the dice were thrown, I trusted a Spartan. I said a few words to Brasidas and the Spartan nodded and went off to my right, into the crowd.
I walked around the outside of the council fire and moved cautiously through the crowd of Athenian captains behind the great man. Ameinias of Pallene recognised me, as did Cleitus. Both started.
I pulled my chlamys over my head. Ameinias shrugged.
Cleitus stepped closer. He was tense; his entire body conveyed his tension, so that my body reacted as if he was about to attack me. I didn’t believe he would, but such were our feelings for each other.
‘Where have you been?’ he hissed, an odd greeting from a sworn enemy. And in this case, ‘sworn enemy’ is not an empty phrase. He had sworn my death to Olympian Zeus. ‘Everyone is looking for you!’
That told me a great deal. It told me, unless Cleitus was lying, that Themistocles had kept my capture a secret. To cover his own treason?
I still don’t know.
‘I need to get to Themistocles,’ I said. ‘Victory and death depend on it.’
Hate is akin to love, all the poets say it. Men who truly hate, men who have gone word to word and sword to sword, can know each other like lovers, or be as ignorant as fools. These are the only ways to hate, and Cleitus and I knew each other so well … He looked into my eyes by firelight and then he turned without a word and began shoving men out of my way.
Just at that moment, I forgot that he was the engine of my mother’s death and saw that he put Greece before his enmity.
Then I followed him. He burrowed through the retainers, the captains, the desperate men. Off to the left, I saw Siccinius and he saw me, despite my filthy chiton and the chlamys over my head like a beaten slave. His eyes grew wide and he started for his master.
But he was too late. And Cleitus, as if he was my partner and not my adversary, stepped past Themistocles, blocking his view of the council and forcing him to turn by the sort of pressure you exert when you put a hand in a man’s face and make him be silent without speaking.
Themistocles turned and saw me. His expression flickered. In that moment, I tried to read him — and failed. There was no open hostility, no guile, no obvious guilt.
Just that flicker of change, as if, for a moment, he was several different men.
Quietly, I spoke to him, leaning my head close. ‘My friend,’ I said, ‘I have just come from the Great King. We can talk here, if you like, or in private.’
Cleitus couldn’t help but hear the words ‘Great King’. Again, our eyes met. What passed then?
Both of us made decisions, that’s what passed.
Themistocles sighed. ‘Always I am at your service, brave Arimnestos,’ he said. ‘Let us hold a private parley.’
I took his hand like a maiden leading a man to a dance, and I would not let go of it. I pulled him free of the crowd, and when men began to follow, Cleitus — Cleitus! — bade them go back to the council.
But Cleitus himself followed us under an old oak tree by the sacred well. There was a stone bench there and I sat. Themistocles sat.
Cleitus leaned against the tree.
‘Your plan is working perfectly,’ I said. ‘Even now, the Great King’s ships are loading their rowers. They are on the way.’
Cleitus folded his arms, but his right hand was close to the hilt of the small, Spartan-style xiphos he wore under his left arm.
‘My plan?’ Themistocles asked.
‘Your plan to force the Greek fleet to fight by luring the Persians into the bay,’ I said. ‘In an hour, they will be at sea.’
The skin around Cleitus’s eyes tightened. Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes. He was a brilliant man — I think he understood everything.
Themistocles sat very still. ‘What — how — how do you know?’ he asked.
‘Brasidas and I have just escaped from the Great King,’ I said. ‘We escorted a certain slave to the Great King himself, and he took us prisoners. Hostages.’
‘I knew nothing of this!’ he said suddenly. He was lying, and it was a foolish lie, but Themistocles was such an able politician and so contemptuous of other men’s minds that he thought — and perhaps he was right — that anything my friends said after the fact would be forgotten.
I shrugged. ‘It is true. Not a few hours ago, I lay on my face before the Great King while his commanders discussed their attack and a spear was pressed into my neck.’