Spartan (31 page)

K
LEIDEMOS AND
L
AHGAL LEFT
Kelainai with Satrap Artabazus’ answer for King Pausanias and travelled without interruption
for about a month. They came within view of Sardeis by the end of the summer. They had left when the wheat in the fields was still green; now the farmers had already threshed it and were winnowing:
tossing it into the air with blades so that the wind could separate the chaff from the grains. Near one of the farms, Kleidemos tied his horse to a fence post and gestured for Lahgal to follow him
into a poplar wood.

‘Lahgal,’ he said, ‘it’s time for us to part. Someone may recognize you in Sardeis. I will tell Pausanias that I have carried out his orders, but you must disappear
forever.’

‘And so I shall, Two-Names,’ answered the young man. ‘Thank you for saving my life. I’ll never forget it.’

‘Where will you go?’ asked Kleidemos.

‘I don’t know. It’s not easy for a runaway slave to find a safe haven. Maybe south, to Patara; I should be able to find a ship sailing west. They say that Sicily is a rich and
beautiful land. The money that you’ve given me will pay for my passage.’

‘That seems like a good decision. No one will look for you there, but you’ll have to find a new name.’

‘Yes, just like you. I’ve never told you that I’d already been given a Greek name by Pausanias, because he couldn’t pronounce Lahgal. Haven’t you ever heard me
called by another name?’

‘Perhaps, once or twice, but I can’t remember it now . . .’

‘Argheilos. He called me Argheilos, but I don’t like it. I’ll find another.’

The two men were silent for a while.

‘This moment is very bitter for me,’ said Kleidemos. ‘Regaining a friend only to lose him forever is very sad.’

‘Don’t say that, Two-Names. Would you ever have imagined when you left Cyprus that one day you would find that little boy, again as a man, on a lonely grey morning in Thrace at the
foot of a solitary oak tree? Who knows, Two-Names – A man’s destiny is on Zeus’ knee; perhaps one day we’ll meet again.’

‘Perhaps,’ murmured Kleidemos.

‘Farewell, then,’ said Lahgal, with a slight tremor in his voice.

‘Won’t you embrace an old friend before abandoning him forever?’

Lahgal held him tight. ‘May the gods protect you, Two-Names. Your life has been hard, as has mine,’ he said without letting go. ‘What’s to come can’t help but be
better.’

‘May the gods grant it,’ said Kleidemos, separating from his friend. ‘Go now.’

Lahgal jumped onto his ass, dug in his heels and rode off across the green plain. He would vanish in the golden clouds of chaff the farmers were pitching into the air, then reappear as they
cleared. Kleidemos watched him until the wind picked up, whirling the sparkling straw dust. He untied his horse, preparing to continue on his journey. As he hoisted himself onto the saddle, he
heard a far-off sound, carried by the wind. He turned: beyond the dust, on the top of a hillside lit up by the sun, he could just make out a small black figure, waving its arms. He heard, just for
an instant, distinctly, ‘Two-Names!’ Then the wind changed direction and the figure was hidden by a cloud of dust that rose to cover the sides of the hill.

*

Pausanias urged his mount up the steep climb, headed towards the ruins known as the ‘tomb of Menelaus’. Close now, he pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a
lope. He turned around to scan the road that he’d taken from Sparta: no one had followed him. The king dismounted and tied the bridle to a tree. He walked towards the ruins, invaded by
brambles and the stumps of wild fig trees. The sun was setting in the distance behind the Taygetus range. He entered the crumbling walls, sword in hand, proceeding cautiously. A time-eroded pillar
hid the structure’s main room – what must have been the funeral chamber – from sight, while the collapsed ceiling let in a wide stretch of sky. He leaned forward soundlessly, and
saw ephor Episthenes sitting on a square stone. He stepped out into the open then, and returned his sword to its sheath. ‘Hail, Episthenes. Have you been waiting long?’

‘No, not too long. I left the city yesterday morning, saying that I was going to my farm, which as you know is quite nearby. If you were not followed, no one will learn of this
encounter.’

The king sat on a tree stump. ‘Don’t worry; no one followed me. Well, what have you to tell me?’

‘The council of ephors found no cause to incriminate you.’

‘What about the
krypteia
?’ asked Pausanias uneasily.

‘The
krypteia
can fabricate proof where none exists, as well you know. You are fortunate that justice still has the upper hand in the city.’

‘So I’m free to resume my command at Byzantium. The season most propitious for navigation is coming to an end; I’ll have to leave as soon as possible.’

The ephor’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Beware, Pausanias: this is not over yet. Despite the fact that nothing emerged against you, keep in mind that the ephors and the elders are wary of
you, and sooner or later will succeed in toppling you.’

‘But the assembly—’

‘You know better than I do that the assembly does not have decisional power. It wouldn’t be the first time that the elders acted contrary to the opinion expressed by the assembly of
equals.’

‘What do you think will happen?’ asked Pausanias, with a note of apprehension.

‘Nothing for the time being, but I’m very worried nonetheless. The ephors won’t need to strike out directly at you with a trial or dismissal. They can have you destroyed
without compromising themselves in the least.’

‘Who would dare—’

‘Listen to me,’ the ephor interrupted him brusquely. ‘You have been away for a long time and you are unaware of many things that have happened in your absence. Themistocles has
been ostracized – the city aristocrats succeeded in stirring up the people of Athens against him, and he was driven into exile. The enormous prestige of his victory at Salamis was not enough
to save him, and you can easily draw the conclusion that the glory of Plataea won’t serve you any better. The Persian invasion is long over, and people forget so quickly. The democrats in
Athens are very weak; the man of the moment is Cimon.’

‘The son of Miltiades?’

‘That’s right, his father was the victor of the battle of Marathon. Cimon is intelligent, able, with old-fashioned ideas; he’s very popular here as well. As far as I can see,
there’s an air of agreement, which should culminate in a pact between the aristocratic party in Athens, with Cimon at its head, and the government of Sparta. If a treaty of this kind were
made, I doubt that there would be any room for you.’

‘I don’t understand,’ protested Pausanias. ‘I’ve never met Cimon, but I know that he regards me highly. His politics are anti-Persian – why would he want to
take sides against the victor of Plataea?’

‘It’s very simple, although it may seem complicated to you,’ explained the ephor. Pausanias could not hide his irritation.

‘Running an army and wielding a spear are not the same thing as dealing with politics,’ continued Episthenes, calmly. ‘Listen to what I have to say; all I want to do is help
you. It’s clear that Cimon doesn’t have anything against you personally, and he considers you a great commander, but if what he wants is an alliance with Sparta, and the government of
Sparta is against Pausanias, then Cimon will be against Pausanias as well. When Themistocles was in power, our relations with Athens deteriorated to such an extent that war seemed imminent. Now
that Themistocles is out of the way, Cimon is ready to contract an alliance with Sparta against the Persians. It’s really none of our concern if the patriotic goal of combating the barbarians
coincides with the much more practical goal of silencing the democrats in Athens. The fact is that relations between the two greatest powers of Greece stand to be stabilized. Illustrious men and
eminent leaders have been sacrificed for much less.’

Pausanias let his hands go in his lap, greatly discouraged. ‘Tell me, at least, what is the true reason for which the ephors and the elders want me out of the way?’ he said, raising
his head.

‘There are many reasons, Pausanias, and unfortunately, all valid: since King Pleistarchus is but a child, you are actually the true king. By occupying Byzantium you control the straits,
and thus the commerce of wheat from the Pontus in Greece is entirely in your hands. You have great influence over the equals who fought in your army and the majority of the assembly supports you.
Moreover, many rumours have been circulating about the way you behave as an oriental king in Byzantium, dressing in Persian gowns and dealing with barbarian commanders without consulting your
government. It is said that you have great sympathy for the Athenian democrats, and direct contact with Themistocles – although this has not been proven. Some have found fault in the personal
interest you’ve taken in that young Talos—’

‘His name is Kleidemos, son of Aristarkhos, Kleomenid!’ burst out Pausanias vexedly.

‘As you like,’ said Episthenes with an air of condescension. ‘The fact is that that man is now a high officer of the Spartan army, although we do not know what relations he has
maintained with the Helots.’

‘What relations are you talking about? He fought in Thrace for four years, spending no more than a couple of weeks in all at Byzantium. Kleidemos did battle like a hero at Plataea and he
is one of my best officers.’

‘I understand. But you know that any relations between Spartiates and Helots that are not exactly . . . traditional, are seen with much suspicion.’

‘Kleidemos is not a Helot.’

‘No one can say that. He lived with them for twenty years, and he practically never knew his true parents. You have been warned; you now know the danger you are in.’

‘Thank you, Episthenes, I won’t forget this,’ said the king, getting to his feet. ‘I must go now. I don’t want my absence from the city to be noticed.
Farewell.’

‘Farewell,’ replied the ephor. ‘And stay on your guard.’

Pausanias walked out, glancing around carefully. He waited until a farmer with a load of hay disappeared behind a curve in the road, then leapt into his saddle and galloped off across the
countryside.

*

Kleidemos reached Byzantium shortly before Pausanias arrived aboard a warship. He was received immediately by the king, who greeted him warmly.

‘I’m very glad to see you,’ said Pausanias, embracing him.

‘As am I,’ replied Kleidemos, returning the embrace.

‘How was your journey? Did you encounter any difficulties?’

‘No, the journey went well and I was able to carry out my mission.’

‘Completely?’ asked the king, looking away.

‘Completely,’ replied Kleidemos coldly.

‘Do not judge me too harshly,’ said the king. ‘The servant I sent with you was very dear to me, but I had no choice. I had to send someone I could trust completely, and yet I
could not allow him to survive. The stakes are so high that no risks can be taken.’ The king stopped for a moment, and then asked with a touch of embarrassment, ‘Did he understand he
was going to die?’

‘No,’ answered Kleidemos, ‘he didn’t realize a thing.’

‘Better that way. I was fond of him.’

‘I understand,’ replied Kleidemos, his tone indicating that the matter was closed.

‘Tell me, then,’ continued Pausanias, ‘what did Artabazus say?’

‘The Great King greatly appreciated the favour you did him by liberating the persons you know of, and considers this gesture proof of your sincerity. He is also willing to satisfy your . .
. request for his daughter’s hand.’

‘Fine, fine,’ said the king, pretending indifference. ‘Is that all?’

‘No, there’s more. I spoke at length with Artabazus and I’ve come to understand the Persian point of view on this matter. They feel that the time to act has come. They realize
that you are at the peak of your power right now, but don’t know for how long this situation may last. They know that Admiral Themistocles has been exiled from Athens, and I had the
impression that they would be glad to welcome him among them. From now on, you will report to the satrap of Dascylium.’

‘
We
will report to him,’ said the king. ‘Am I right, Kleidemos?’

‘Certainly, sire,’ answered Kleidemos.

‘You don’t seem entirely convinced of what you say, but perhaps you – like the Great King – require proof of my friendship. I can give you that proof. Since my plan
relies extensively on you, it is only fair that you have every certainty and assurance. In Sparta I saw someone who is very close to you.’

Kleidemos started. ‘Who? Tell me, please!’

‘A bearded giant.’

‘Karas!’

‘Yes, exactly.’

‘How did you find him?’ Kleidemos trembled, shaken by emotion.

‘It was not very difficult,’ replied the king. ‘I let a mountain Helot know that I had news of Talos and that I wanted to talk to a trusted friend. Six weeks passed, and I
thought that nothing would come of it. Then one night, returning home, I heard a voice behind me, saying “Talos’ friend is here.” I resisted the temptation to turn around, and
replied, “Follow me at four paces.” I knew that someone might be following me, and I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Without turning around or slowing my pace, I managed to give
him a time and a place to meet. Then I heard his footsteps moving off. I met him a few days later in a run-down hut on my property. Our conversation was long and difficult; he is an extremely
diffident man. He wanted me to give him some proof that you were alive and that you trusted me. I did so, and told him that you would soon be back to put our plan into action.’

‘But how did you know you could trust him?’ asked Kleidemos.

‘That man was with you at Plataea,’ replied Pausanias calmly, ‘and I know that he calls on the woman you consider your mother in her house on Mount Taygetus. When I mentioned
him the last time we saw each other, you couldn’t hide your emotion. That man is very important to you, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, he is,’ admitted Kleidemos.

‘Won’t you tell me who he is, in reality?’