Alkibiades, a tale of the Great Athenian War

by Charles Hamilton Bromby

Their hearts had yearned towards him when they saw him at Miletos leading the poor Milesians and beating the stupid Argives. Some had caught sight of him one day on a Spartan trireme passing by Samos, defying the Athenians to come out into the open sea and fight. He stood there on the high deck of the Spartan ship defying them cheerily, dressed no better than a common Spartan. They recalled a day, three years ago, when he stood on his own good ship the Eros, with its purple sails,—the god Eros wrought in silver upon them, as it went proudly at the head of the fleet, which they thought was going to subdue the world, ‘and would have done so, had they left him alone, before his enemies brought those silly charges against him in his absence, and the sillier demos swallowed them.’ The Eros had been taken into the service of the state—indeed, was there at Samos,—though its purple sails and silver gods of love had long been sacrificed to the necessities of Athens.

These necessities were becoming serious. It was very well for the Spartans to stay shut up at Miletos or Rhodes. The Spartans were maintained by the Persian satrap. Tissaphernes paid regularly a whole drachma a day for every sailor in the Spartan fleet. They had all the ports and rich towns on the Ionian coast to victual in, ‘while we have only Samos we can call our own, and three oboloi a day per man, paid at long intervals, and the gods alone know how long even that pittance will last.’ So said the sailors. And, indeed, an army of some thousands, with one hundred and twenty triremes and their crews, cannot be kept for nothing. Each day news was expected from Athens that she could do no more, that the last obolos of the reserve of the ten thousand talents laid up by Perikles was gone, and that they must shift for themselves in future.

Besides these many causes of complaint, the sort of general the demos had sent out to them did not tend to make them love the demos any better. Phrynichos was universally distrusted and disliked. Sprung from the lowest class of the people, he had made his way upward by the basest means. He had been one of those, the most odious of mankind, who gained a living by bringing accusations against citizens to the dikasterion—sycophants they were called at Athens. At all times and places the office of delator has been held in horror and contempt, though it has not seldom raised those vile enough to adopt it as a calling, to wealth and even civil dignity.

This calling was little known in Greece, and in that respect, democratic Athens shows its moral superiority to imperial Rome. But Phrynichos succeeded and grew rich. He grubbed together enough money to make himself conspicuous, and he had sufficient cunning to mislead the people. Of genius or capacity to lead a senate or an army, he had none, but he was great in intrigue. Cunning is ever the mark of littleness of mind, and generally ends by destroying the possessor of that gift; so it was with Phrynichos.

Vague rumours, too, had reached the Athenians at Samos from time to time of a huge fleet—of three hundred sail, it was said—lying at Aspendos, waiting the orders of the Great King to come into Ionian waters to destroy them. They cared not much for Persian ships or Persian sailors, but three hundred long-ships added to the large fleet the Spartans had already—what could even Athenians do against such odds? It was all the fault of this infernal demos; but for them there would have been no quarrel with the Spartans. Even the demos must see to what their rule had brought the state, and any change would be accepted rather than the starvation which now threatened them. The demos, though it loves shouting, haranguing, or listening at its Ekklesia, does not love starvation. So something must and should be done to change all this.

Thus thought and spake to one another the well-to-do Athenian sailors, as they lay idling away their time, after the manner of sailors, in the fair port of Samos.

Not far off, at Miletos, on one of these evenings, Alkibiades was supping in the frugal Spartan fashion with his friend Astyochos, High Admiral of the Spartan fleet, when they were suddenly interrupted in their conversation by a messenger who had just arrived from Kaunus, bearing an urgent despatch from the commissioners of Sparta.

The two friends were talking of their future plans and movements, both complaining of the delay which kept them there in idleness, wondering when help would be sent from Lakedaimôn, and if the Persian fleet would ever really come to their assistance, and what it would be like when it did come. They had heard that commissioners were to be sent from Sparta. Astyochos asked what on earth commissioners were to be sent for; he cursed the commissioners and their interference, and the changes in his well-laid plans which these men, ignorant of warfare, would be sure to make. As soon, however, as Astyochos had glanced at the message which was thus suddenly given to him, he bade his friend good-night, for next day early, he said, he would have to start for Kaunus with the fleet.

Alkibiades went back to his lodgings in the town. On his way a stranger met him, and followed him along the street and into his room. The Athenian turned round hastily upon him and grasped a weapon. They stood face to face.

The stranger removed a weather-beaten sailor’s cap—there was Agrestides. The exclamation of surprise that Alkibiades was about to make was stopped by the strange and agitated look of the newcomer. They sat down upon the plain, hard couch. Agrestides, trembling with emotion, told the message of warning which Endios had given him.