Tides of War, a Novel of Alcibiades and the Peloponnesian War

XXXVII

My plight had been brought about as a by-product of a stratagem Alcibiades had put in play some days prior. The campaign of actions at law was an element of his foes' reply. You have kinsmen and colleagues, Jason, who were present on the evening to which I now refer; no doubt you recall its occasion. Let me relate it as memory serves:

Some days after his return to Athens, not long subsequent to his triumph at Eleusis, Alcibiades organized a hunt on the slopes of Parnes, inviting not only those disposed in his favor but a number of personal and political enemies, including Anytus and Cephisophon, the later tyrant Critias, also Lampon, Hagnon, and your own uncle Myrtilus, the latter trio representing the extreme wing of the “Party of the Good and True,” who had been the most virulent of Alcibiades' prosecutors during the affair of the Mysteries. Cleophon and Cleonymus stood for the zealots of the radical democrats. Charicles was invited as well, who with Peisander had inflamed the people against Alcibiades in those days and, among other measures during the reign of terror their stridency had abetted to foment, had proposed repealing the decree banning the torturing of citizens. This hunt on Parnes, Alcibiades put about, was an extension of the olive branch to his former foes. He wanted to make peace with them.

The hunt itself was a grandstand gesture by its host, as considerable Spartan elements still infested the region, the fort at Decelea lying only seven miles east, and this audacity on Alcibiades' part seized the imagination of the city, as not even the keenest hunters had dared take a party into those hills in years. So thoroughly had the invaders made the place their own, in fact, that Spartan rangers had at seasons set up digs in the lodge itself, stocking the larder and even rebuilding the stone chimney when it toppled in a quake. One could not say no to such an invitation, not with the city buzzing and volunteers of the cavalry trooping forth to provide protection. In addition of course all were aflame to learn what Alcibiades had up his sleeve.

The elements proved wildly inclement; downpours drenched the party both days. The hunting was grand, however, and, it may be recounted of the hunters-returning to the lodge to strip their sodden tunics and hang them steaming before the fire, soaking their aches in the great cauldron baths, to be followed by rubdowns with warm oil and then leisure to indulge in the notorious red vintage of the region with pears, figs, and cheese-that no complaints were posted, nor did the meal of game hen, venison, and roast goose engender distress. At last the weary but replete guests settled upon couches in the great hall whose four copper-belled flues each accommodated two hearth fires.

Stalkers, beaters, houndsmen, and servants having been dismissed, save those personal attendants whose confidentiality could be relied upon, there remained some thirty gentlemen. Euryptolemus, Adeimantus, Mantitheus, Aristocrates, and the younger Pericles constituting the cabinet of our host, with Theramenes, Thrasyllus, Procles, Ariston, and his party making up the moderates, and those cited above forming the opposition. The distinction of inclusion had done much to disarm hostility. All seemed softened up when their host, clad in huntsman's cloak, arose beside the hearth and began.

He launched without preamble, proposing at once an end to the war and alliance with Sparta. While his guests still goggled at this, he proposed the joint undertaking of war against Persia, its object not limited to liberation of the Greek cities of Asia Minor but, that accomplished, to press inland against Sardis, Susa, and Persepolis.

In other words, to conquer the empire entire, clear to India.

The temerity of such an undertaking was so breathtaking that several of the listeners, recovering speech, laughed outright, while others inquired if their host had taken leave of his reason.

Alcibiades addressed first the practical benefits, the most immediate of which was getting the Spartans out of Attica and all back to our estates. That alone would accomplish prodigies: propitiating the hostility of the rich and abating their intriguings against the democracy. Restore them to their vines and horses and they'll give back on overthrowing the state. Nor would the dividends of such an undertaking be confined to the aristocracy.

The demos would prosper as well, not only our own unpropertied citizens but the unfranchised orders of resident aliens, foreigners, and even slaves, the main of whom are more eager for action than our own citizens. Give them an enterprise of profit and glory, no longer against each other, but barbarians dripping with gold, and they will shut up too.

“This, gentlemen, I call 'feeding the Monster.' It means providing for our nation's restless factions an object worthy of their aspirations-one that does not set them at odds with each other but reconciles their disparate objects. These days the monster has become all Greece, for this war has scraped the moss from every Hellene's backside. They have become Athenians all, even the Spartans.”

He offered a compelling disquisition on the parties at Lacedaemon. That expansionist faction led by Endius would embrace this course with vigor, once satisfied of its authenticity, as would Callicratidas and the old guard who abhor the barbarian and bridle bitterly at groveling for his gold. The party of Agis and Lysander would oppose us, not because they disbelieved in the enterprise (they would compete for its leadership if they thought it would advance their own self-interest), but because their ambition was bound too tightly to Prince Cyrus of Persia's purse.

Private embassies, Alcibiades confided, had long since sounded both parties, and more were on the way; what could not be effected by persuasion might be accomplished by gold.

Persian invincibility was a myth, Alcibiades continued. Their army, composed of conscripts and subject states, would melt away before even second-tier Spartan forces as it had before ours throughout the Hellespontine War, and their navy will prove as paper against the fleet of Athens. He portrayed the Persian system of independent satrapies and the division fostered among them by the king. Darius' health failed; succession struggles would sunder all Asia. Thrusts by our armies into her belly would tear the empire apart. He made it sound so plausible as to be inevitable, particularly allying ourselves with the Macedonians and Thracians, whose princes were favorably disposed to him, and the Greek cities of Ionia whose end had always been independence and would rise as one beneath the banner of their united homeland.

His listeners were professional politicians and knew to distinguish purpose from enactment. To this Alcibiades now addressed himself. “Consider the predicament, gentlemen, in which this proposal places the Spartans. They have rallied the allied states by their slogan of 'freedom,' which means no more than getting rid of us. Now we ourselves would commandeer this high ground, constraining them to make a choice which will shake their state to its foundation.

“Consider next the reaction of the independent Greek states.

Each shrinks to follow a power as Sparta or Athens lest she be gobbled up and made subject, or fears that that Greek alliance of foes will defeat her outright. But to join an alliance of these two against non-Greeks presents a far less daunting prospect. If affairs fall out, she can always back one power against the other; if the enterprise fails, she has set only men and ships at hazard, not her own sovereignty, and if it succeeds, she may reap wealth and glory unimagined.

“Lastly, gentlemen, ponder the effect upon the Persian. The Spartans are his allies. Even if they reject our offer, the Mede cannot but wonder, as each new admiral comes out from Sparta, where this fellow stands and how far he is to be trusted. So that even if we must continue this war, we have sown disunity among our enemies, and at the cost of nothing to ourselves.”

Now came the main stroke: “I want you to make this proposal, Cleophon, and you, Anytus and Charicles. Not me.

“Such a measure must be put forward by my enemies. Hear me, please, and weigh these considerations. If I or any of my party place this plan before the people, it will be perceived as recklessness born of pride. I will be accused of partisanship in favor of the Spartans owing to my past associations with them, or, worse, being bribed by them, and this will be followed by the predictable indictments of treason, ambition, self-interest, and so forth. You yourselves will no doubt put these forward. On the other hand, if your parties, gentlemen, whose enmity for the Spartans is known to be implacable, advance this proposition, it will at once achieve credibility and, more, be greeted as one of vision and daring. You will gain the credit. And I will back you with all I possess.

“ He was speaking to no fools. All perceived at once the genius of this plan and its corollary, that is, of having his enemies propose it. Should Anytus and Charicles of the oligarchs or Cleophon of the radical democrats do as Alcibiades proposed and advance the measure in their own names, he would have either achieved his object, if this in fact was his intent, or, more likely, have set his foes up for a double cross, should he instead denounce the project as treason and themselves as traitors, claiming never to have heard of such a plan and demanding that its progenitors receive hard justice. Should his enemies on the other hand attempt to preempt this by betraying him first to the people, representing the plan as his own, themselves rejecting it, they ran the risk of discovering the demos in support and themselves cut out by their own cravenness and perfidy. Either way they were ruined. And he, Alcibiades, would appear as the generous and all-embracing statesman who had offered even to his enemies this chance for glory they had so shortsightedly spurned, or as the blameless patriot stabbed in the back by the same villains who had deprived the city of his genius once before. Only if the people rejected Alcibiades' plan would his opponents come off unscathed. But who could risk that now, in the supreme hour of his ascendancy?

Charicles rose, the would-be torture master. “Why go to such extravagant lengths to ruin us, Alcibiades? Why not simply employ murder? We would.”

Alcibiades laughed. “That would not be as much fun!” Then with an expression sober as stone repeated that he stood in absolute earnest about the plan.

“Balls!” rejoined his foe. “I'll stand with you in hell before Persepolis.” And he stalked from the stage.

Debate protracted far into the night, with much propounded by Critias, Cleophon, and Anytus, arguing their separate points of view, Critias as expected favoring alliance with Sparta but apprehensive about the people's response and Anytus attacking the plan as “un-Athenian” and in fact treasonous, meaning he believed Alcibiades trod the city as a stone to grander ends, and in fact cared nothing for Athens save as “a bauble with which to encrust your tiara.” To Anytus' credit he spoke this straight out to his foe, nor censored candor in any form.

Past midnight I retired with the younger Pericles to the cubby we shared. For some time voices could be heard from the hall; at last the lodge fell silent. Sleep after such a symposium proved elusive, however; waking with an appetite, my room fellow and I crept down to raid the larder. To our astonishment Alcibiades was awake, in the kitchen, alone save his secretary, dictating correspondence. “My dear Pommo and Pericles! What calls you forth, a late supper or an early dinner?”

He rose at once and, drawing benches to the great table, insisted on serving as chefs apprentice, to prepare us a snack of cold meat and breads. He dismissed his weary secretary and, inquiring of our welfare and that of our families, set to his task.

“l couldn't summon the pluck to inquire in the presence of the others, Alcibiades,” our host's kinsman seized the moment to venture, “but can you truly be serious about this Persian business?”

“Sober as a shroud, my friend.”

“Surely you can't expect this night's synod to remain privileged.

It wouldn't surprise me if reports were speeding now on the road to Athens.”

Alcibiades smiled. “Tonight's caucus was for many audiences, Pericles, least of all those assembled to receive it firsthand.

“ Alcibiades drew up and, his speech altering into that tenor of confidentiality which may not be dissimulated, addressed us as a master his acolytes or a hierophant his mystae. “Understand what may be accomplished. Victory over Sparta is a chimera. Persian treasure or no, her army remains invincible. Nor would one wish to overthrow her even if he could, lest such a consequence, in Cimon's phrase, make Greece over lame and rob Athens of its yoke-fellow.

What, then, is possible? Not peace. This, Greece has never known and never will. Rather a nobler war. A war that will not alone turn the Monster from devouring her own vitals but set her upon a stage of such scale and moment as may permit the meanest to mount to prominence and the greatest to undying glory.”

Alcibiades served the bread and meat. We both wondered at the daring of his vision and the extravagance of his ambition.

“One perceives your purpose, sir. But in all candor, can such an adventure succeed?”

“It must and it shall.”

He sat then and, remarking Pericles' expression of incredulity, rejoined with a dissertation so extraordinary, and so revelatory of the configuration of his intellect, that this officer took the extraordinary measure upon return to our quarters of setting it down, as close to verbatim as he and I could recollect. I have the notes yet, in my sea chest.

“Most men believe,” Alcibiades began, “that what they call waking life is our only existence, while dreams are such substanceless apparitions as visit our slumbering selves at night.

The wild tribes beyond Bithynian Thrace warrant the opposite. To them true existence takes place in sleep, while this, waking life, they dismiss as phantom and illusion. They can locate wild game, that is, predict the site of its appearance, based on dreams which they claim to summon the night in advance. I have hunted with them and I believe it. They enter and exit dreams at will, they testify, and fear nothing more than to die in their dreams, while death in the flesh they account as nothing, the dream enduring absent even that vessel which housed it.”

“What nonsense!” Pericles exclaimed. “If you die in a dream you don't wake up dead. But croak in real life and you'll dream no more!”

Alcibiades only smiled. “One senses a world beneath this one.

Not a dream exactly, but a possibility. That which is not yet but which may be. And which we may summon. As a boy lies in the grass at the brook edge, who may break the surface with his hand to snatch a pebble from the bottom. This is how one lives, is it not?

A beast sees gross substance only, but a man sees dreams.

“I have dined on dreams. Not alone to sustain myself but to set a feast before others. This is how the great identify one another and how the commander of vision leads free men. Ah,” Alcibiades continued, “but not any dream will do. Only one, and that, like the pebble in the stream, has long been nominated. This pebble has a name. It is called Necessity. Necessity is the dream. That which cries out to be born and summons all who would call themselves commanders to draw it forth.

“As a boy I often observed this of the elder Pericles: that he was capable, through no force beyond that of his own person, of defining present and future not only for himself but for others. He could tell them what they saw and make them see it, perceiving no longer with their own eyes but with his. By such means he held the city, and the world, in thrall.

“Lovers perform this service for each other, the elder elevating the younger by donating his nobler and more far-reaching vision.

For all boys, and most men, are profoundly imperfect not only in themselves but in their aspirations, which are mediocre, vain, and self-interested. This was Socrates' gift to me, to exalt my aspiration, and I perceived of the power by which it held me that this was man's supreme gift to his fellows and also his mightiest instrument of ambition. For what may raise a man higher in his countrymen's esteem than to bear to them happiness and prosperity?

“Socrates,” he continued, “considers politics inferior to philosophy, and in this I concur. What educated man wouldn't?

But philosophy could not exist without politics. By this measure politics is the noblest calling of all, for it makes all others possible.

And how would one define politics except the bringing forth of a vision for the people, that vision which is their destiny but which they sense only imperfectly and by part.”

“That is no politician, Alcibiades, but a prophet!”

“The prophet perceives truth, Pericles, but the politician brings it into manifestation, for his countrymen and often in the face of their bitter opposition.”

“And in the case of Athens,” this officer put in, “that of our subjects and enemies.”

Here was a point I myself wished to question.

“Suppose, Alcibiades, that Justice were seated at this table and were to call you short, saying, 'My friend, you have left me from your equation. For what you call Necessity, others name Injustice, Oppression, and even Murder.' How would you respond to the goddess?”

“I would remind Justice, my friend, that Necessity is elder to her and was made before even the earth. Justice, as she well knows, may not prevail even in heaven. Why should she, therefore, among mortals?”

“This is a stern philosophy, Alcibiades.”

“It is the philosophy of power and those who possess it. The philosophy of empire. And we have all embraced it who hold our subject states, Spartans and Persians as well as Athenians.

Otherwise let them go! But then we fall, and fail, and slight our destiny. This to my mind is a far weightier crime than injustice, particularly our own benign species, which in fact brings greater security and material blessing than our subject states would be capable of providing for themselves without us.

“But here is the point, my friends. Our so-called subject states are not subject in the deeper sense, that is, held down by force, but are instead compelled to emulate us, at our greatest, by their thralldom to our excellence. Otherwise why do their sons flock to our city and our fleet, even in her most embattled hours? Their destiny ascends with ours and is indivisible from it, as that of all those slumbering states whose armies will fall in freely and joyfully at our side when we advance against Asia.”

“Then you see not just for Athens, Alcibiades, but for her subjects and enemies as well?”

“And the wide world!” Pericles put in.

Alcibiades responded with a peal of irony light as spindrift. He indicated the plates and platter before us.

“I merely set out the banquet and stand aside while my companions dine.”

Returning to our billets, we passed those of Anytus, Critias, and Charicles, yet astir and hissing with conspiracy. Alcibiades' enemies intrigued for a device by which to bring him low. They did not reckon that that agent which would despoil him, and themselves, had already at that hour debarked at Castolus in Ionia, under guard of the Caranedion, the Royal Horse of Prince Cyrus of Persia.