The Queen of Sparta (28 page)

CHAPTER 34

THE PRISONER OF APHISION

The Dungeon of Aphision

Outside Sparta

That evening

“He is a Royal Prince and a General of Sparta. Release him!” cried Gorgo.

The dungeon of Aphision was a dark and dingy place where recalcitrant Helots were kept and tortured before their inevitable execution. It was rare for a Spartan, much less a royal prince, to be incarcerated here. But to Euro’s tormentors, nothing would have been more appropriate than this. “My cousin has broken no law,” she insisted as she knelt on the ground to clean the wound on Euro’s face.

Archidamus shook his head. “Not from what I have heard. He armed Helots during the campaign in Thessaly against my grandfather’s specific orders. He violated military conduct. He must be tried.”

“If Prince Euryanax is to be tried, then by his peers … his fellow generals in the War Council,” said Gorgo. “But that does not warrant his torture. This is a clear violation of our laws.”

“He was not tortured,” said Pericleidas, smiling. “He tried to escape by breaking these bars with his head, but as you can see, it did not work.” He pointed to the blood-stained bars of the dungeon.

“Prince Euryanax’s disobedience of the King’s instructions requires him to be tried in the Gerousia,” said Archidamus.

“ … From which I am barred,” Gorgo cut him off, “thanks to your grandfather!”

The ban was the price Gorgo had had to pay a year earlier to ensure Pausanias’ acquittal when he was brought to trial for his activities in Byzantium.

But now Leotychidas himself was in trouble. He had been caught red-handed by his own commanders with Persian gold, reportedly stuck up his sleeves. He was immediately arrested, but on the eve of his trial had escaped to Tegea and sought refuge in a temple there. Given Sparta’s alliance with Tegea, the Gerousia did not press them to hand him over.

“Still, it is not a crime,” Gorgo continued, “to disobey a king who has been caught accepting bribes from the very enemies my cousin was fighting. It could be argued that Leotychidas’ instructions were precisely to ensure a Spartan defeat in Thessaly, and because of Prince Euryanax’s ‘disobedience’ our force returned undefeated.”

“You can argue whatever you wish, Majesty,” said Archidamus, “but the decision will be that of the Gerousia.” He ordered Magnas to unlock Euro’s chains. “I will release him to the custody of the Ephors who will hold him until his trial tomorrow morning. You are free, Majesty, to spend some time with the prisoner before the guards transfer him to his new holding.”

Archidamus bowed to Gorgo, and as he was about to leave, turned and said, “Since my grandfather has been stripped of his crown, the Ephors have upheld my right to succeed him as the Eurypontid King of Sparta. I hope you will come to my coronation.”

“Congratulations, your Majesty,” she said. “Sparta expects great things from you.”

Giving her a nod and a confused smile, Archidamus walked off with his companions.

Gorgo hurried to Euro’s side and pulled him into an embrace. Quickly, Euro told her how he had been ordered by King Leotychidas to lead an overland column across Greece to support his maritime operations against the pro-Persian rulers of Thessaly. “What I did not know at the time was that Leotychidas was secretly making deals with Aleuas, the ruler of Thessaly. Aleuas had bribed him with Persian gold to leave Thessaly and ensure that Spartans never return. To do that, a plan was prepared under which Leotychidas would withdraw his naval force from Thessaly on some pretext or other, which would free up the Thessalians to destroy my column. The point being that if a Spartan army was destroyed in the north, it would deter us from sending more expeditions against the supporters of Persia in Greece.”

“Which is what would have happened …” Gorgo added.

“Precisely … had not I armed the Helots servants, we would not have been able to turn the tables on the enemy.”

“I do not have to be in the Gerousia to ensure your acquittal,” said Gorgo soothingly. “I still have influence there as well as in the War Council.”

Euro shook his head. “Eurybiadas is dead. Evaeneutus is still loyal but his loyalty is a divided one; Archidamus is his kinsman, after all. The loyalties of many of the generals are in doubt. And as for the Gerousia, they are easily swayed.”

Eurybiadas had died under mysterious circumstances, Gorgo recalled. But though it was hard to argue with Euro, Gorgo still knew that Evaeneutus was an honest man and would not fail to point out that there was no case against Euro.

But Euro did not see it that way. “It’s no use, Gorgo. They want my head and they will not stop short of anything before they have it. But I am only a means to an end; we all know who their real targets are.”

“
Strategos
,” called one of the guards, coming to lead an unchained Euro away into the night.

CHAPTER 35

ARIA

Outside Chalcedon – Asiatic side of the Sea of Marmarra

Three days later

Sherzada stood on a hill gazing at scenery in front of him. Here, there was land behind water and water behind land, as the waterway of the Bosphorus straits snaked up to the Euxine Sea, dividing two continents in the process. And right there in front him across the water on the European side, stood Byzantium, Cleonice’s city. He remembered the pretty Byzantine girl with the violet-blue eyes and wondered what her fate had been. Was she the woman Aristeides had spoken about?

Byzantium was lighting up as the sun began to set behind it. The city had been his destination and although right in front of him, he could go no further. As he sat gazing across the straits, one of his guards signaled that it was time to return to the Persian camp.

This camp had not been on his itinerary, but fate had brought him here a week earlier. His ship had been bound for Byzantium in these very waters, when a violent storm blew it off course. It would have surely sunk had not the crew made a heroic effort to get the vessel into port. This port was Persian-controlled Chalcedon, right across the water from Byzantium.

There, Persian soldiers had swarmed the ship and detained the passengers and crew. Such was the price any Greek ship unlucky enough to be blown off course had to pay. The ship and those found on board would normally be released after the payment of a fine and answering some questions for the benefit of Persian intelligence.

But Sherzada’s case was different. Since somebody on the ship had identified him as some kind of ambassador, the soldiers had taken an unusual interest in him. The Persians were always suspicious of foreign diplomats travelling through their lands – and not without reason. There was a thin line between diplomacy and espionage.

The soldiers asked Sherzada to ride out with them. All foreign ambassadors had to be presented before the Governor, they told him. They rode half an hour out of town to arrive at a large military encampment, with grand tents set out on a large scale. A neat row of a dozen large tents indicated the presence of a high dignitary – presumably Persia’s governor in the West.

It was one of these tents that Sherzada was taken to. Inside, there was no shortage of luxurious furnishings. Sherzada had forgotten how seriously the Persian took their hospitality. He had not even laid down to rest on a couch, when a long train of slaves came in with all sorts of fine foods. The other thing he had forgotten was how seriously the Persians took their food. It was delicious.

While he ate, Sherzada had begun to assess his situation. Were the Persians to discover his true identity, he would be a most unwelcome guest. He had enough respect for Persian intelligence to know that they would have been keeping track of him – to some extent. They would certainly be suspicious that Spartans would have released him unharmed. They would be curious, in the least, about his sudden presence on their territory in the guise of ambassador. The richness of the food made him so drowsy that he dozed off while still considering his predicament.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing that hit his senses was an alluring perfume. Delighting in its smells, he opened his eyes. Sitting beside him was an attractive woman in her thirties. She wore an elegant Persian dress and seemed to be drowning in jewellery.

“I am sorry to have startled you, my Lord. My name is Aria. My master sent me to see that you were being well taken care of.” Though she spoke flawless Persian, there was something clearly European about her.

“I thank you, my lady,” Sherzada said, “for this most gracious hospitality. But you see, I am an ambassador from Rome and I urgently need to …”

She interrupted him, in Latin. “Rome? I spent some time there when I was younger. What a delightful place! So, what business does a representative of the Senate and People of Rome have all the way over here in Persia’s backyard?”

Taken aback, Sherzada tried to think of something to say, but he fumbled.

Aria smiled and continued in Persian, “Highness, I know perfectly well who you are. They say the Spartans freed you after you worked your magic on their young Queen. They say you have an eye for beautiful women.” She had spoken the last sentence in Attic Greek, with just a hint of a Dorian accent. There was something very familiar about this woman, Sherzada thought.

Moving even closer, she continued, “Indeed, there are many rumours concerning you. They say at Plataea you conspired to deprive Lord Farandatiya of one of his choicest concubines.”

Sherzada realized that he must have a ridiculous expression on his face, for it caused Aria to burst out laughing. Seeing that she was making him uncomfortable, she gently moved away a little – though he almost wished she hadn’t. “Had it been a different time and place, I would have enjoyed knowing you, my Lord. But now I have someone I love just as your wife loved you. I remember her. She was truly the rarest of beauties. I am so sorry she passed away far too young. I met her once, a long time ago.”

Sherzada recalled Rán had once told him that she had been visited by mysterious young woman who seemed to know everything about him. It was only much later that he had learned her true identity. “You are Ariadne of Taras?”

“At your service,” smiled Ariadne. “And it is indeed a pleasure to finally meet you, my Lord.”

“You were Datis’ best spy,” said Sherzada. She was the only one of his operatives Datis ever spoke about. She had worked undercover in Athens, among other places, obtaining the most sensitive information from Greek leaders and secretly transmitting it to the Persians.

“Coming from you, my Lord, that is high praise indeed. Datis saved me from a life of destitution and slavery and persuaded me use my various skills to promote Persia’s interests.”

“Datis once told me you conquered more Greek potentates by your charm than all of the Great King’s generals combined.”

Aria blushed.

Sherzada continued, “I have always wanted to ask you this. How did a Greek woman, and that too of Spartan blood, become Persia’s best spy?”

Aria thought for a moment. “I had my reasons, but let us say the Persians have treated me far better than the Greeks. Though the Greeks call them Barbarians, the Persians, I am convinced, are more cultured and civilized. I have no regrets for what I have done. But tell me, what are you
really
doing here?”

Sherzada decided to tell her the truth.

“So you want to see Pausanias, the man who spared your life at Plataea?” she switched to her native Doric Greek. “Pity, you just missed him. He was here with us until last night.”

“What was he doing here?” Sherzada responded in the same dialect.

“That, I cannot tell you,” she replied.

“Then, at least, can you tell me how long I am to be kept here?”

“That is for my lord and master to decide.” Aria got up and headed for the entrance of the tent. “But I ought to tell you, my Highness, you are under investigation for treason. He is unlikely to let you go until this matter is cleared up.”

As Ariadne turned to go, Sherzada asked her of whom she was speaking.

“Artabaz,” she said softly as she left his tent.

CHAPTER 36

CONFESSIONS OF A GENIUS

The Persian Military Camp

Outside Chalcedon

Two days later

Although Sherzada was a prisoner, he was free to move around – albeit under the watchful eyes of half a dozen heavily-armed guards – even outside the camp. He was required to return to his tent at dusk. And there he would invariably be welcomed by a sumptuous feast.

That evening as a spread of fine dishes was laid out before him in his tent, Sherzada pondered his predicament. Artabaz was away and nothing was likely to change until he returned. Though agitated and impatient, Sherzada fought to convince himself that there was nothing he could do except to wait. So he decided to have his dinner quickly before retiring to his unusually soft bed. But as he sat down at the table, he heard loud voices from outside the tent. A man could be heard shouting at the top of his voice, in very bad Persian, demanding to come inside.

Sherzada rose and politely asked the guards to let the visitor in. And in walked a short, heavy-set man of around fifty, with a bull-neck, unkempt ginger-blond hair and a scruffy graying beard. The man’s dress indicated he was Greek and the flask in his hand suggested he had been drinking.

“Is this Gorgo’s famous lover?” he quipped, in Attic Greek.

“I am Queen Gorgo’s friend,” Sherzada replied in the same dialect, “sadly not her lover.”

The man came and sat at the laden dinner table. “Lucky man,” he whispered as took another swig from his flask.

“Whom do I have the privilege of addressing?”

“Themistocles, the son of Neocles, a humble citizen of Athens,” was the reply.

Sherzada’s eyes widened. “The victor of Salamis?”

A slight smile appeared on Themistocles’ scowling face. He belched and responded, “The very same.”

“What are you doing here, in the camp of the Persians?”

“I was about to ask the very same question.”

“I am not exactly here by choice,” Sherzada replied.

Themistocles chuckled. “A clever excuse. Well, I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” he said, helping himself to the venison and lamb kebabs laid out on the table. “No need to stand on ceremony. Make yourself at home, my friend. What was your name again? Of course, ‘Scirzadatitus’,” he said, massacring Sherzada’s name. “Aristeides told me about you. Any friend of Aristeides is a friend of mine, even if you are a Spartan-lover.”

“I am not a Spartan-lover, and you are not exactly Aristeides’ friend.”

“I am drunk; you are wrong; and I am in no state to split hairs with you right now,” said Themistocles, between another hiccup and tucking into more food.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is Greece’s greatest admiral doing in the camp of its hated enemy?”

“At least,” Themistocles responded, “you have the decency to recognize me as Greece’s greatest admiral. Many of my own countrymen have forgotten about all that.”

Sherzada pointed out that his very presence in the Persian camp would attract a death sentence in Athens. Themistocles calmly admitted he had been dealing with the Persians for a long time; he had pleased them and deceived them in equal measure and had gotten away with it too. “As for my opponents back home, they will have to do better than that if they want my head.”

Sherzada pointed out that being in Artabaz’s court was not the most patriotic act for an Athenian, especially for a person of Themistocles’ stature, especially when Athenian troops were battling the Persians at Eion not very far away.

“Let Cimon just try to pull this one off,” he scoffed. “That lecherous pup dares take my place in the hearts of the Athenian people.

“And still, Cimon was born with everything,” he continued with a sigh. “His father was a hero; mine, a nobody. Both our mothers were Thracian; but his was a princess, mine a mere slave-girl. Had it not been for our democracy, I would have still been an insignificant halfling. And had it not been for the sea, I would have never led Athens to greatness.”

Themistocles explained that he had been the first advocate of a strong navy. But the upper classes, fixated on the land from which they derived their wealth, opposed him. Why should they shift resources to building ships which would be oared by the poor? But all of that changed when a windfall of silver at the mines of Laurium was discovered. Then Athens no longer had an excuse not to build a navy. Still the landed gentry and the aristocracy put up a stiff resistance against his proposals to build two hundred warships. Leading the charge on behalf of the aristocrats was none other than Aristeides. The two of them, who had fought side by side at Marathon, fought an almighty political battle against each other. In the end, the numbers told. The poor, who outnumbered the rich, voted to support Themistocles’ project – a fleet manned by the poor citizens of Athens that would rule the waves.

And just for good measures, Themistocles also secured Aristeides’ ostracism. “Pity,” said Themistocles, “to this day Aristeides believes that it was the one vote he helped an illiterate man cast against him that sent him to exile. Little does he know the lengths I went to to get rid of him on that particular occasion. Of course, once he was out of the way, the aristocratic opposition crumbled and I went ahead with building my navy.

“Those very ships eventually saved Greece. The Oracle of Delphi said Athens would be saved by these ‘wooden walls’. Who do you think bribed the Oracle to predict that? They say the Spartans have a direct line to Delphi, as perhaps do the Persians. But we Athenians had been bribing the Oracle long before either of them figured out how.

Themistocles took a large swig from his flask. “It was I who lured the Persians into the trap at Salamis. And it was I who defeated the Persians at Salamis. So it is I, and not that upstart pipsqueak Pausanias, who has the right to claim to be the savior of Greece. That immature little rascal spent most of the time at Plataea either prevaricating or arguing with his own commanders. Had it not been for the wise counsel of Aristeides, he would have brought disaster to Greece. It was thus us Athenians who won both Salamis and Plataea …”

But Sherzada interrupted, reminding him that the Athenians could not have the led the Greeks to victory at Salamis without Spartan support and the strategic vision of one person in particular.

“Your Queen Gorgo was indeed responsible for all of that … I stand … or rather, I sit … corrected!” he said, with a hiccup.

His eyes became misty. “You know, Gorgo invited me to Sparta and when I came, she showered honours upon on me. I was crowned like a champion there; feted like a god. Gorgo honoured me more than the Athenians ever did. Though in doing so, undermined the very basis of my political campaign in back in Athens. But yes, you are right my dear Sherazidius … it was she, not I, who won the war.”

“But then, my Lord,” Sherzada asked, “why do you hate the Spartans so much?”

“I don’t really hate them. I merely despise them for their arrogance. The Persians may be our enemies now, but they will not be our enemies forever. As Persian influence recedes in Greece and the Aegean, the void has to be filled by someone. It has to be the Athenians, not the Spartans. This Persian war is just a cover for Athens’ naval hegemony of the Aegean. My idea, of course. I have been playing such games all my life. No point stopping now, my friend.”

With something of a struggle, Themistocles got up. “It has been a real pleasure talking to you, Prince Sherodotus. I bid you good night.” With these words, he started to leave … And as he did so, he tripped, went down face first on the soft cushions and fell fast asleep.

Sherzada called the guards who brought in a litter to take him back to his tent. He could not help wondering at the irony as Persian soldiers carried away on their shoulders, almost like a hero, their once greatest enemy.