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In "Aristotle and the Secrets of Life", a mysterious death occurs during the journey to Delos, where a wealthy merchant is found dead under strange circumstances. After reading the majority of the book, based on the interactions and motives of the characters, who is most likely responsible for the merchant's death, and how was it done?
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Praise for the
Aristotle Detective series
“Doody weaves the tapestry of the background beautifully and unob-
trusively. And she knows how to sustain suspense.”
—Book
W
orld
“The best detective to come along since we said good-bye to
Nero Wolfe and Hercule Poirot.”
—Lewiston Journal
“[Margaret Doody] not only makes Greece live but turns Aristotle into
a passionate, quirky seeker of truth.”
—Detroit News
“This clever and original detective story set in ancient Athens should
suit classicists to a T and enchant all sleuthwatchers…Doody brings
the Athens of 322 B.C. to life with skill and verve…”
—Publishers
W
eekly
“…well-paced and memorable not only for its marvelous evocation of
what it must have been like to sail the Aegean 2,300 years ago but for
a lurking sense of menace beneath the surface detail of daily courtesies,
comical misadventures, and breathtakingly beautiful descriptions.”
—Roderick Beaton
“The Aristotle Detective series by Margaret Doody is historically cor-
rect without being pedantic, learned but not tedious, equally ironic
and attentive to details.” —Mariarosa Mancuso, Corriere della Sera
“This work offers satisfactory detection, a well-proportioned story, nos-
talgia for lovers of Greece, and special fun for classicists. It is a bonus
that it is so well written.”
—Barbara
Levick,
TLS
“Why did no one think of this before?”
—The Times
The Aristotle Detective Series
Aristotle Detective
Aristotle and Poetic Justice
Aristotle and the Secrets of Life
Poison in Athens
Mysteries of Eleusis
Margaret Doody
ARISTOTLE
and the
secrets of life
The University of
Chicago Press
A N
D E T E C T I V E
N OV E L
ARISTOTLE
This novel is gratefully dedicated to
beppe benvenuto, “the resurrection man,”
and to rosalia coci, “la tradutrice incomparable”
The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637
© 2003 by Margaret Doody
All rights reserved
Originally published in 2003
University of Chicago Press edition 2014
Printed in the United States of America
18 17 16 15 14 1 2 3 4 5
ISBN-13: 978-0-226-13217-4 (paper)
ISBN-13: 978-0-226-13220-4 (e-book)
DOI: 0.728/chicago/9780226132204.001.0001
library of congress cataloging-in-publication Data
Doody, Margaret Anne, author.
Aristotle and the secrets of life : an Aristotle detective novel / Margaret Doody.
pages ; cm
ISBN 978-0-226-13217-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) -- ISBN 978-0-226-13220-4
(e-book) 1. Aristotle--Fiction. 2. Greece--History--Macedonian Expansion, 359-
323 B.C.--Fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.3.D556A88 2014
823’.914--dc23
2013042066
This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992
(Permanence of Paper).
Contents
Map
vi
List of Characters
viii
part i: parts of animals
I
The Sanctuary of Asklepios
3
II
Murdering an Ox
24
III
Meeting a Monkey
35
IV
Sweetness and Bees
58
V
Odour of Blood
78
VI
Parts of Animals
91
VII
The Monument
102
part ii: movement of animals
VIII
Preparing for Flight
119
IX
Taking Ship for the Islands
138
X
Delos
163
XI
Blood at Delos, Flesh at Mykonos
182
XII
Naxos
199
XIII
Storm at Sea
219
XIV
The Healing Island
235
part iii: body and soul
XV
The Doctors
261
XVI
Facing Asia
274
XVII
The Letter
296
XVIII Harpalos the Treasurer
312
XIX
Carrying Treasure
333
XX
The Killing Island
349
XXI
Escape
369
XXII Healing and Light
387
Epilogue
416
LIST OF CHARACTERS
FAMILY CIRCLES AND CONNECTIONS OF ARISTOTLE
AND STEPHANOS
Aristotle son of Nikomakhos: philosopher of
Athens, age 54
Pythias daughter of Hermias of
Atarneos: Aristotle's wife
Pythias the younger: daughter of
Aristotle, a child nearly 6 years
old
Herpyllis: slavewoman who takes care of
young Pythias
Phokon: Aristotle's senior male slave, efficient and responsible
Olympos: Aristotle's second male slave
Kallisthenes: Aristotle's nephew, Alexander's historian
Stephanos son ofNikiarkhos: Athenian citizen of good will, nearly
26 years old; trying to better his prospects and get married
Eunike daughter of
Diogeiton: Stephanos' mother, one of
the tribe
of
Erektheus
Theodoros: Stephanos' younger brother, not yet 10 years old
Philemon: Stephanos' cousin, age 25; a veteran
Smikrenes: irascible farmer of
Eleusis area, Stephanos' prospective
father-in-law
Philomela daughter of Smikrenes: Stephanos' bride-to-be, age 15
Geta: slave of Smikrenes, Philomela's old nurse
Philonike: estranged wife of Smikrenes, mother of
Philomela; a bee-
keeper living in Hymettos
Philokleia: mother of Philonike and grandmother of Philomela,
managing family farm in Hymettos
chapter title
ix
Dropides: second husband of
Philokleia, step-father of
Philonike, a
man of
invalid habits
Philokles: brother of
Philonike and uncle of
Philomela; inheritor of
estate in Hymettos, but now travelling in the eastern islands
Mika: elderly slavewoman of
household at Hymettos
SCHOLARS AND STUDENTS OF THE LYKEION
Theophrastos: scholar, age 40, with a strong interest in plants;
Aristotle's right-hand man
Eudemos of
Rhodos: witty and urbane scholar, near Theophrastos'
age
Demetrios of
Phaleron: young scholar, extraordinarily handsome
Hipparkhos of
Argos: serious scholar in his late 20s, looks like a
horse
Arkhandros of
Lampsakos: serious scholar in his 30s, very pale
Mikon: student, age 14, who takes an interest in the Lykeion's
research projects
Parmenion son of
Arkhebios: grandson (illegitimate line) of
Alexander's great general Parmenion, age 14. A young student
whose strange mental state causes concern
CITIZENS OF ATHENS AND THEIR ASSOCIATES
Megakles: important Athenian citizen with a sun-burnt bald spot
and an earnest manner
Thrasymakhos: important Athenian with some claim to be an
orator; father of
Mikon
Apollonios: sturdy and patriotic citizen who resents Makedonian rule
Theosophoroas: middle-aged citizen of sardonic temper, with no
great love for Stephanos
Epikrates: rich little citizen, cheated in a deal with an Egyptian
perfumer
Hypereides: orator and statesman, age 61; antipathetic to
Makedonians; helpful to Epikrates in his law case
aristotle & poetic justice
x
Antigone: freedwoman, successful whore of
Athens, owner of a
brothel; involved in a lawsuit with Epikrates
Euphorbos: young man of
good family, a humorist and game-player
Kallias: rich citizen, fond of his pets; owns a monkey
Eurymedon: of
the tribe of
Eumolpidai, a guardian of
the cult of
Demeter who takes his religious charge seriously
Gorgias son of Lysippos: dramatic citizen in his early twenties, son
of a rich silversmith
PERSONS ENCOUNTERED ON THE JOURNEY AND IN THE EAST
Aiskhines: Athenian captain of small fast ship Eudaimonia
Hermippos of
Laurion: traveller; engaged at home in silver business,
owner of an ore washery and smelting furnace
Widow: Hermippos' daughter, mother of child Philokleia
Philokleia: Hermippos' little asthmatic granddaughter, age 7
Miltiades: cheerful merchant of
marble
Philokhoros: traveller of distinction who seems to dote on his slave
Sosios: slave to Philokhoros
Doris: crippled slavewoman with little dog
Kardaka: mistress of
Doris
Magistrate of Delos
Lysis: manager of
brothel 'Naumakhia' in Mykonos
A marble merchant of Paros
Aristodamos: gentleman of
Naxos with ties to Delos; an old friend
of
Aristotle
Nikias: Koan captain of small fast ship the Nike
Koriskos: son of an old acquaintance of
Aristotle, on an embassy to
Alexander
Iatrokles: surgeon of Kos and descendant of Asklepios; an old
acquaintance of
Aristotle
Kleumedes: Iatrokles' partner, a physician of
Kos and descendant of
Asklepios
Oromedon son of Daliokles: important citizen of Kos, old friend of
chapter title
xi
Aristotle
Peleus: practical army man, used to organising convoys
Diophantos: officer in charge of a platoon in Lykia
Menestor: Theban captive, age nearly 17; a slave working for
officers of
the army in Asia
Harpalos: Alexander's treasurer, former student of
Aristotle
Pythonike: beautiful Athenian mistress of Harpalos, who
accompanies him to Asia
Nanno of
Kalymnos: beautiful and rich lady of
the islands, formerly
mistress to a Makedonian general
Various travellers, sailors and soldiers
Speak to me, 0 Muse, and open my mouth that true and good things
may come from my lips. Let me tell aright this history of
plunder and
evil, pain and captivity and wandering over the wide sea.
Thanks be to Asklepios that I was healed of my wound. Mayall
the blessings of
Hygieia flow through me and mine, now and always.
With all honour to Asklepios the divine Physician, to Paieon, ever-
hymned in realms above, and to Lord Apollo.
PART ONE
PARTS OF ANIMALS
I
==~g_e~==
a-G
The Sanctuary of
Asklepios
It was still dark as we moved cautiously along the narrow way at the
side of the steep Akropolis, towards the southern slope. Four men,
two of whom were slaves carrying a litter, and one unseen woman,
enclosed in the box they bore along.
'Be careful!' exclaimed the older man sharply, as one of the slaves
nearly missed his footing on the invisible path. A few belated owls still
hooted around the temple above us. Straining our eyes against
darkness we searched for the shrine. Wings flapped. One of
the cocks
I held was struggling to fly, as if to escape his death or else to hasten
towards his appointed end. It was hard holding on to the birds with
their wiry feet and claws and writhing necks, especially as I could not
see them. I could feel one of
them digging into my hand, even though
we had bound their beaks for the journey.
The shrine at last was before us, a dark shape mysteriously solid in
the no-dimension of night. We waited, at the head of a little line of
suppliants, in the summer morning, the strange time just before
dawn. The sky grew less dark. Birds chirped. Then along the eastern
horizon as along the edges of a cut a redness bled along the
eastern sky. The first rays struck the temple door, and the door
3
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
opened. We pilgrims and suppliants joined the priests and their
attendants in singing the morning hymn:
'Awaken Paieon Asklepios
Awaken and hear thy hymn!'
Aristotle and the slave assisted the woman out of her cramped
container. She stood there, leaning against her husband, a thin
woman, but evidently pregnant, and heavily veiled. We moved
together towards the altar-place. Somewhere near us were the
snakes in the sacred pits, but I could not see them. I unbound the
cocks; Aristotle and the slaves assisted the attendants in taking them
to the altar. They flapped and crowed, announcing the dawn just as
the attendant advanced upon them with a thin sharp knife. Their
'coco-ricoo!' was cut short. A splash of blood dabbled the marble
stone and the bright confident feathers. The light moved in a rosy
ray streaming over the altar, making a glimmer in the blood and in
the sightless eyes of the severed heads, floppy under their red
combs.
We stood in prayer and supplication in an enclosure lit by a little
altar fire and by the fresh dawn light. A sweet summer morning
breeze came through the open door.
The priest-physician asked 'What is troubling you?' and Aristotle
answered.
'My wife has been troubled by mild fever and want of appetite.
Often she cannot keep food down when she does eat.'
'Is she pregnant?' the priest asked quickly. 'Lady, I insist that you
must answer for yourself. Who are you? What is your name?'
'Pythias, wife of
Aristotle of
Athens.'
'Are you pregnant?'
'I am.'
'You know,' the priest said addressing both of them, 'that
Asklepios has no remedy for pregnancy, as it is a natural matter, and
4
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
we do not treat it. And you should know that no child is to be born
within the precincts consecrated to Asklepios.'
'But,' Aristotle argued, 'my wife's troubles are other than just those
of pregnancy itself. I am a physician's son and I know. She has
feverishness, she trembles. Describe your symptoms,' he added,
turning to Pythias, who answered in a voice low and pleasant, with
more than a little touch of
foreign inflection:
'Hot and then cold. Trembling in the limbs. Some weakness in the
eyes that comes and goes. And trouble with my stomach and some
soreness in the side. It is not like my former childbearing.'
'You have borne children before?'
'Two stillborn, one who lived a year and died of
a disease, and one
a little girl who lives now.'
'And you, sir.' The priest turned to Aristotle. 'Describe your own
affiictions. '
'Pain in the leg - sciatic trouble. Stiffness and pain in the thigh and
leg.'
'Any others?' He looked at me, I shook my head. I was there as a
supporter of
Aristotle, literally. I stood at his left side ready for him to
lean on if
need be. Aristotle was supporting Pythias. On her other side
stood Aristotle's kinsman Theophrastos.
The priest-physician and our party went on into the proper prayers.
I gazed around the inner precincts with eyes increasingly cleansed by
the growing light. There were many good images. Asklepios the little
child, the newborn babe - surrounded by soft flames or light rays.
Asklepios the Beloved, the Great Healer. This is a really good statue
of the healer seated on a throne with snakes like wheels standing out
in relief along the sides of
the chair. Asklepios holds his staff with the
snake entwined around it. His long curly hair and luxuriant curling
beard make him look slightly foreign, like a Phoenician. His face is
noble, the eyes wonderfully carved and deeply set. They look off
into
the distance with a suggestion of suffering and hope - yet these eyes
seem also to look at you, with a look of
great compassion. Behind the
5
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
healer there is a large votive relief showing Asklepios with his sons,
the two physicians, one Machaon the surgeon and the other
Podaleirios, a treater of internal ills. And a good tall image of his
daughter Hygieia. One may hope not to need Asklepios' sons, but
everyone wants his daughter, who is Health itself.
At that moment we were all together there in that tight little
sanctuary, close to the healer -
Aristotle and Pythias, myself,
Theophrastos. Together, alive and safe. The light glided in and struck
the wall, so that I could now see clearly the thank-offering images
hung upon it. Some of these were crudely carved sticks, others
elaborately polished wood with fine carving. Not a few were in silver
that made a pleasant glitter in the sunbeams. One bronze image of a
full-sized big toe glistened with polish, and was adorned with a
miniature garland. A leg, a hand, an eye, a penis. Here, a shield
showed gratitude for delivery from war. There, part of a ship carved
in marble - a sign of someone saved from shipwreck, or recovered
from physical damage wrought by a shipwreck. Garlands of real hair
fluffed out on pictured wooded heads, images of children made well.
All gave assurance of the power of the divine Physician, and the
strength of healing of the dark earth, the sacred springs, and the
serpent who comes from the depths.
We departed from the sanctuary, Pythias leaning on her husband,
after the priest-physician gave some instructions, which seemed to
involve chiefly change of diet and sitting in a warm place in the
sunlight. Pythias had to be helped carefully into the litter. We set off
again, Aristotle limping a little from the sciatic trouble. It was
especially irritating to someone as active and restless as he - his group
have been called 'the Peripatetics' because he liked lecturing while
walking about. He preferred in general to be in motion. I wasn't
worried that Aristotle would be permanently crippled. The
philosopher was still surprisingly active for a man of his age, even if
he suffered intermittently from sciatic complaint, especially after he
was careless or forgetful enough to sit very long on a damp marble
6
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
bench. As for Pythias, she would soon be delivered of
her trouble and
Aristotle would have the son he long had wished for. The priest-
physician had been right, perhaps, to be a little alarmed about the risk
of a birth within the shrine, as is forbidden absolutely in the holy
place, for Pythias was evidently near her time.
Aristotle himself seemed relieved and expansive.
'I have so seldom been here,' he said, 'but Pythias wished to come.
I would have liked us to go to the Asklepion in Peiraieus, which is in
some ways finer than this one, and I think has better priests. And
many associations too - you remember it in Aristophanes' Ploutos?
But that is too far for her to travel, while it was quite practicable for
us to come here. She will be easier in her mind.'
'What did they prescribe?' I asked, more from a sort of politeness
than real curiosity.
'The usual sort of thing, you know. Hydromel when she can keep
nothing else down, for the honey-and-water mixture will quench
thirst and supply food for the baby. Liquids are good. Eggs, too.
Sitting in the sunshine - fortunately we have a ,,Courtyard where she
can do that. They consider it partly an eye problem. When she
recovers she is to offer at the shrine an image of an eye - as for me, I
should donate the image of a leg. I shall have them done in silver I
think, and we will sacrifice a pig. By the time we have the images
made, we shall have our baby - our boy, as I hope and believe.'
'At least,' I said, 'you have already sacrificed a cock. In advance.'
"'A cock for Asklepios." Sokrates' last words - as I know you will
recall. The cock cries at dawn, so thists an offering for day, for light
and life itself. When we are born we see daylight, enjoy the gift of
our
first dawning. In sacrificing a cock we give thanks for the new day.'
'But Sokrates said that just before he died,' I objected. 'He didn't
get a new day. They were putting him to death at the time.'
'Sokrates must have meant in thanksgiving for the new day, even
though it was to be his last. But more truly, I suppose, he meant an
offering of thanksgiving for the whole of his life, for the gift of
birth.
7
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
For being permitted to exist and to have a human life in the world.
To live is a wonderful thing! When we get back to the Lykeion, let us
look up Plato's account in his wonderful book.'
We had left the Akropolis and skirted the Agora, already beginning
to fill with the morning crowds, as we made for the city gate.
Although they now had the benefit of
daylight, the bearers of
Pythia's
litter had a hard time in threading through some of
the narrow streets
with their burden. Men hammering metal or making chairs seemed
determined to carry out their work on the footway, making the path
difficult. Children ran up to us to try to sell us things. One of
them, a
little fellow wrapped in a cloak with a thick hood, was most persistent,
poking some shabby herbs at us. At length Aristotle took the faded
fennel and tossed him a coin: 'just to get rid of
him,' as he explained.
'That child doesn't look very healthy,' I said. 'He probably has
some illness if he is so wrapped up and hooded when it is nearly
midsummer.
'
Indeed, the day was growing warm already, though midsummer
was some twenty days away. Outside the city, harvests were ripening,
or had already been gathered. Hay had been cut. Sweet roses
bloomed briefly and you could smell flowers even in Athens, where
you cannot see the gardens that flourish behind house walls.
It would have been a relatively short journey to return to my own
house; the way back to Aristotle's house was slightly further, long
enough for slaves with a burden. (Not that Pythia was heavy - far
from it - but the litter itself was an awkward object.) Aristotle lived
outside the city gates, in the opposite direction from Plato's
Akademeia, which was likewise outside the city gates. Aristotle lived
in an eastern region, well watered by the Ilissos river and shaded with
plane trees - a lovely area, though at that time quite noisy with the
building of the new Stadium. His celebrated school was in the
precinct named for Apollo Lykeios, the god of wolves - who,
curiously, also keeps wolves away. Aristotle's school was referred to
as 'the Lykeion', just like the nearby gymnasium at which the young
8
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
men did their military service training. He took private students, and
had special scholars working with him, but the area was a place of
open groves and free discussion; the Lykeion neighbourhood was a
gathering-place for philosophers and philosophy-seekers. Most of
Aristotle's celebrated lectures were public in the good old fashion.
The area had always been full of young men, so it was a good place
to gamer those who wanted to engage in intellectual conversation.
Aristotle had to rent accommodation for his family and his school.
The law of
Athens prohibited aliens, even a resident alien, a metoikos
like Aristotle, from owning any property. Thus, even though he had
been Plato's best - and probably favourite - student, Plato could not
bequeath the Akademeia to him. Aristotle had left Athens for a long
time after the death of Plato. When he came back, married to this
foreign woman, he rented his own residence in the Lykeion area. He
had sunk some of his personal money in the place, adding on and
creating outbuildings. His needs included an inordinate amount of
space for books. Any major changes had to be approved by the city,
and of course his improvements represented a loss, as he could not
sell the place to another, nor legally bequeath it to his heirs.
When we arrived at the Lykeion, Aristotle was visibly anxious to see
that Pythias was immediately settled in their home. 'She is tired and
needs to rest,' he said.
'Herpyllis will look after me,' said a muffled voice from within the
litter.
'Olympos and Phokon will help us and put the litter away,'
Aristotle planned. 'So, Theophrastos, why don't you take Stephanos
into our Thinkery and introduce him? Treat him to one of
our modest
meals? 1 shall join you later.'
The slaves set the litter down and helped their mistress out of it.
Very gently Aristotle took her hand, and then put his arm around her.
The two went up the shallow flight of
garden steps to the house door.
1 heard her say 'I am so glad Herpyllis is here now. You need not
come in if
you have your visitor.'
9
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Of
course I shall see you in, my darling,' said Aristotle in a tone I
had never heard him use before.
Theophrastos took charge of
me and conveyed me a different way to
the school's main buildings. I knew the Lykeion well - I had studied
there myselffor all too short a time, attracted by Aristotle's reputation
and then by his intellect, until my father's business dealing grew so
entangled and his means so straitened that I had had to leave. Shortly
after that, my father died, and my family was plunged in chaos. I was
by no means one of the best students at the Lykeion and the lack of
my presence cannot have been any blow to Aristotle. But I turned to
myoId teacher later. After the death of my father, when my cousin
was accused of murder and our family was besieged by difficulties, I
came to ask Aristotle for help, though I had no claim upon him. I had
turned up at his house, seeking advice, one day in the early autumn,
nearly three years before this morning's visit to the Asklepion. I had
reason to be glad I did so, for the philosopher's generous intellect and
practical activity saved our family from disaster. Aristotle and I had
recently been involved in another curious crime, when we had
pursued an abducted heiress to Delphi in the spring of
this same year
whose summer warmth we were now enjoying.
Despite my growing friendship with Aristotle, however, I was by no
means familiar with the Lykeion in its present state. Changes had
been wrought since my time, as Theophrastos pointed out to me.
'We had to add more space - we extended the book room, simply
because we had so many books. That's not counting the ones that
Aristotle keeps in his own house.' I nodded, for I had seen him at
home in his personal room with its surprising quantity of
books. 'We
have a special compartment for keeping especially valuable rolls dry
and clean,' Theophrastos went on. 'Aristotle calls it "the book-
pantry". And he designed this room.'
We were entering a long room - about twice the length I remem-
bered. The upper half of each wall was now lined with shelves and
10
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
compartments for book-rolls. The room smelt sweetly of
the wood; it
struck me that these boards, obviously of very good quality, must
have been a costly importation, since wood is extremely scarce in
Athens. In the lower middle of
the wall below the book compartments
and at waist height was a wide shelf running around the whole room,
making a sort of universal work space. The light came in from
windows high up under the roof, to keep rain out.
'Aristotle calls this room "the book kitchen". We write here as well
as read. He designed those windows and had shades of linen made,
so the sun doesn't fall directly on the rolls when they are open, and
fade them,' Theophrastos explained. I could see that on the side of
the room which the sun struck the windows were covered with strips
of cloth.
'And now we have so many plants and specimens sent by
Kallisthenes we are housing them in a special plant room.' He turned
towards the door. 'Oh, here's Demetrios.'
A young man of
most striking and unusual beauty came into view.
This Demetrios was tall and well-shaped, with an admirable - nay,
perfect - nose; his hair, worn rather long, was a sunny colour even in
this pleasantly shady room. 'Demetrios of Phaleron,' Theophrastos
introduced us. 'Stephanos of Kydathenion.' I wondered fleetingly
why Theophrastos introduced us by naming the deme rather than by
father's name; such a beautiful young man must have an eminent
father. Demetrios nodded kindly to me. Although he could not have
been much more than twenty years of age, the aristocratic youth
seemed possessed of
great aplomb.
'Demetrios has done most of these wonderful drawings,'
Theophrastos explained. 'Demetrios, do move those shades a
moment so Stephanos can see better.'
I now realised that against one wall, resting on the very furthest
reach of the wide shelf, there were a series of
drawings and diagrams.
This was certainly not like the usual picture gallery! No Daphnes or
Andromedas. They were the oddest things. Here was a picture
11
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
devoted to an animal's leg, its parts labelled. There was a womb, and
a scrotum with the testes - the central figures without any bodies
attached. One picture was full of
various spiny fish, with crustaceans
displayed in a strip at the lower edge.
'Exceedingly well done,' I exclaimed politely, looking at these
uncouth images of squid and sea-urchins. 'You have a variety of
ingredients in your "book-kitchen".'
Demetrios of Phaleron laughed. 'You must not think,' he assured
me, 'that Aristotle thinks it denigrating for us to refer to his "pantry"
and his "kitchen". He claims the centre of the body is a kind of
kitchen or furnace. The stomach is always busy cooking, and the
heart too, kindling and sustaining the natural heat, without which the
soul cannot function. And the nourishment -'
'Is transmitted to the rest of the body,' continued Theophrastos.
, "Where every part continues the work and cooks with its own heat",'
the two chorused, evidently repeating well-known phrases and
opinions of the master. A curly-haired youth came into the room,
attracted by their amusement.
'Ah, here's Mikon. Stephanos, son of Nikiarkhos. Mikon, son of
Thrasymakhos.' The merry little fellow of some fourteen summers
came confidently up to us. That he was well-born I could have
deduced from the fact that Theophrastos made such a formal
introduction of
this child. 'Mikon has made unusual progress. And he
has assisted in creating the pictures - he has done much of the
shading and coloration.'
'Impressive,' I agreed. 'What are the pictures for?'
'They're going to go into books,' Mikon exclaimed. 'And be read
by everybodyf
'When they are finished,' Demetrios explained. 'That is the idea -
they will be copied into the books on animals that Aristotle has been
working on.'
'And then,' added Mikon, 'there are all the new plants to examine.'
'Yes,' said Demetrios. 'Let us show you, Stephanos. Aristotle's
12
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
nephew Kallisthenes, who travels with Alexander, has sent us new
plants from Asia.'
'I should like to see them,' I said politely. I knew from Aristotle's
talk of Kallisthenes that he held this nephew in high regard. So did
Alexander of Makedon. Kallisthenes, as an outstanding scholar and
writer, had been chosen by Alexander to accompany him to Asia.
Aristotle's nephew was now travelling with Alexander and his army in
order to write the official history of the Great War with Persia that
was taking place. Or had taken place. As Alexander now held
Persepolis and Babylon, it only remained to find and kill King Darius
of Persia. But I hadn't quite realised that Kallisthenes was still a kind
of partner in Aristotle's own labours, providing him with a steady
supply of
Asian materials for his natural studies.
We went from this 'book kitchen' to the next room through a short
corridor with a door at each end. I presumed efforts had been made
to shut off the room of living specimens so that the damp and smell
should not pervade the book room. In various places on the wall and
hanging from hooks in the ceiling were innumerable (so it seemed)
roots and branches. One bush had ruffied rosy bloom upon it - most
attractive, with an interesting smell. But many of the plants seemed
dull, dry and withered.
'It is hard to keep them,' said Demetrios, following my gaze.
'Kallisthenes packs them cleverly in damp moss and so on, but they
do suffer. And Athens' air is probably saltier than these upland plants
are used to.'
Some animal skeletons also hung from the ceiling (I thought I
recognised a dog). In tall thick pottery containers pieces of animals
floated. On a large work-table were scattered drawings of the plants
and a number of
writing tablets, some covered with information.
'This is our "back kitchen" or "slaughterhouse",' explained
Demetrios. 'Nowadays we tend to call it
"the plant room". But we are
mainly interested in animals.'
'Who is writing?' I asked, looking at the tablets.
13
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'We all do. We design a description on the wax tablet,' explained
Demetrios. 'Then we discuss it - and if we agree upon it, someone
copies it out into the big book that is the draft of our eventual
catalogue. Here's Hipparkhos of Argos. He can explain some things
better than I can, especially the animals.'
Hipparkhos was a big eager-looking man with a long face and long
sensible nose.
'And do you work on horses?' I enquired. As this man's name
means 'master of horses' - really, Master of Horse, describing a
cavalry leader - I thought this pleasantry rather clever. I might not
have thought of
it had Hipparkhos not looked so like a horse himself.
But he frowned at my frivolous question, looking like a horse in
perplexity.
'We have no great variety of horses here. The common horse is a
well-known quadruped. Could we obtain a different sort of horse
from Asia, of course we should like that. Aristotle is looking for a
variety of animal kinds. I'm working with Eudemos here in writing
descriptions.'
'Stephanos, son of Nikiarkhos of Athens.' Theophrastos' tone
moved to extreme formality, so I guessed almost before I saw him that
this newcomer was very well born. 'Eudemos of Rhodos.'
Eudemos was tall, with dark curling hair; he was much more
handsome than one expects in a scholar, though not as statuesque as
young Demetrios. Eudemos acknowledged me with aristocratic ease.
Without unnecessary change of
facial expression he murmured some
conventional expressions of his pleasure. 'And Arkhandros of
Lampsakos.' Arkhandros was pale, like a root vegetable kept too long
in a cellar, and his black hair only emphasised his pallor.
'These scholars,' Theophrastos explained, 'all assist in the great
undertaking. They are Aristotle's chief
- er -'
'You may call us assistants,' said Eudemos politely. 'Along with
Theophrastos here, the scholar on whom the master most relies. We
are Aristotle's cooks. We cut up animals and plants.'
14
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
'But it IS more than that,' exclaimed young Mikon. 'We are going
to produce a rational plan of
all the things that are - so everything that
is will be known.'
'All that is! That is too tall an order.' Aristotle had come up behind
us. 'But we are trying to explore the universe of
Nature, and to create
rational categories for living beings.'
'Without the appropriate categories, thinking cannot happen,'
added Arkhandros, probably quoting or paraphrasing something he
had heard from Aristotle himself.
'You see what great steps we are taking in our journey towards
knowledge, Stephanos,' Aristotle said to me. 'This is something I
have been working on since I was a young man - after I left Plato's
Akademeia - but it was not possible to complete it when I was
working on my own. Now I have these able assistants and scholars' -
he waved a comprehensive hand - 'to aid me, so we proceed apace.
As Herodotos wrote his gigantic enquiry into the whole nature and
development of
the war between Persians and Greeks, so I am writing
a full account of
the animals. Here we observe and write down all the
differences between them that allow us to set them into different
classes. We observe the wonderful order which is everywhere in the
cosmos, though sometimes seeming too small - or too large - for us
to see.'
I murmured politely, but I felt somewhat repelled by the musty
earthy odour of
the plant roots, and even more by the meaty contents
of the pots.
'It seems strange for a philosopher to be concerned with animals,'
I remarked.
'But why? As we are, as Plato suggests, featherless bipeds, we
should have respect for the animals. We study Art - why not Nature,
so much greater than the arts? We must not pout because flesh or
blood or spines or beaks or organs are distasteful - we can leave
childish exclamations of
disgust to children. The question is, how can
we discuss a world which we do not know? We live in ignorance, and
15
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
our descriptions are partial and irregular. The same with calendars-
you know that I have been interested in collecting accounts of the
Olympian and Pythian Games, and so on. Not because I am
peculiarly concerned with athletic events, but because these lists give
us measurements of
time - year after year. Eventually - soon - we can
construct a regular world calendar, with all events set on a line of
time, giving us a uniform picture of temporal reality without which
history - the study of mankind - isn't possible.'
I felt a bit alarmed at this notion. 'I like Athenian time,' I said.
'Well, let us say that in Athenian time and Lykeion time we call it
"time to eat". Stay to take food with us,' said Aristotle. 'I shall eat
with the scholars and pupils today, as Pythias is very fatigued and
needs to lie down. Fortunately she has Herpyllis with her. A real
treasure! - a household slave from my mother's family in Euboia.
She's an accomplished nurse, and good with children. Pythias thinks
the world of
her. I encouraged Pythias to lie down as I really don't like
the swelling in her ankles,' he added. I was embarrassed by being
made the recipient of
such intimate information. But Aristotle had no
close relative of his own nearby (except perhaps for Theophrastos,
whose exact degree of kinship remained undefmed), and I supposed
he needed to share these family details with someone.
'Mikon, do you call the others into the Refectory,' Eudemos
commanded. 'Tell them the meal is ready now.' Mikon departed
eagerly.
'I should add that it is a very humble meal,' said Aristotle. 'We
don't drink wine when we are working in the middle of
the day. Very
Pythagorean, our repast. I promise you, we'll see to it that you are not
served anything in those pots!'
We departed from the room of specimens and went into a long
room, an indoor lecture hall, where the slaves had set up plank tables
on trestles. Stools were placed along the edge. It was a simple
arrangement for a simple meal. The little band of
young students filed
in, led by Mikon. They were healthy and sun-tanned, laughing and
16
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
talking, their din only a little repressed by the presence of Aristotle
and the senior scholars. Their presence and chatter added a note of
cheer. But one among them seemed sad and withdrawn, and stared
down at his plate without consuming anything.
'How do you like our arrangement?' Aristotle asked me. 1 was
seated in the position of honour, on his right, a post usually, 1
imagined, reserved for Eudemos or Theophrastos. 'Very much as it
was in your day, 1 recall. We often eat out of doors now the weather
is so fine, but it is easier and quicker for the slaves to set everything
up here when there are a number of
persons.'
'And your slaves have had a wearisome slow errand to the
Akropolis already. How did your visit to the shrine of
Asklepios go, 0
Aristotle?' enquired Demetrios.
'Oh - well, just as those things always do,' said Aristotle. 1 thought
he wasn't best pleased that his personal life should be the subject of
general conversation in these surroundings. 'Do you know,' he added
with a more general glance around, 'I am myself supposedly
descended from Asklepios, through his son Machaon?'
'Then you should be a surgeon and slice things open,' said
Hipparkhos. 'By the way, how are we going to deal with all our
specimens now that it is so warm? Will they survive the hot weather?'
'The weather has become most agreeable, hasn't it?' remarked
Eudemos, who was on Aristotle's left. 'The month of
Skiraphorion is
delightful- especially as it has only antique and unimportant festivals.
The Skira itself, for one. Quite charming. The procession of the
priestess of Athena, the priest of Poseidon and the priest of the Sun
all tramping out on the west road under a white canopy. And the best
of
it is, nobody knows what it means.'
'This is also the month of the Dipolieia,' remarked Theophrastos.
'The festival of Zeus Polieus, guardian of
the city.'
'And the biggest sacrifice of the Dipolieia is the Buphonia. The
time of the ox-slaying has come again! An Athenian custom. We
ought to go.'
17
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Perhaps,' said Aristotle, 'we can make up a party to see the murder
of the ox. Would you come, Stephanos? It is probably a long while
since you saw the Bouphonia.'
'Thank you,' I said politely.
Changing the topic, I asked Aristotle, idly enough, about the pale,
unsociable pupil. 'Who is the young fellow who seems so sad?'
'He? You may actually have heard of him before, Theophrastos
told me about him when you and I were coming back from Delphi in
the early spring. Young Parmenion there was in a bad way. He gets
very tearful and sad, often for no reason. And sometimes he has
outbursts. He seemed better in the late spring, though I know he now
has a real cause for concern, as he is worried about where his father
is. But his troubles seem to be largely in his own mind, and I fear they
now increase again.
'Perhaps, Theophrastos -' to this gentleman, who was seated on
my right -
'you can tell us more of the condition of young
Parmenion.
'
'Bad and getting worse,' said Theophrastos. 'I thought his bad
mood was lifting, but now I fear it may be seriously deteriorating. We
should really take him home, I fear. He's too young to send on his
own.'
'He is the grandson of the great general Parmenion, isn't he?
Strange in one of
such descent - if on the wrong side of
the blanket -
to show such weakness of
mind,' said Hipparkhos. 'But as for taking
him home - might be dangerous. Things are still disturbed in the
East.'
'We might have army protection. Certainly his whole family,
including his father, is friendly to the royal house. Above all, great
Parmenion, once chief Companion of King Philip and now
Alexander's second-in-command,' said Theophrastos, in his precise
manner. Theophrastos always loved to get facts in order. 'It is true
that this boy's father was not a legitimate son of
the great general, but
he has always been treated quite as one of the family.'
18
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
'The boy was allowed to be named after his grandfather,' observed
Hipparkhos.
'Quite so. And Parmenion's legitimate son Philotas, a brilliant
general in his own right and one of
the Companions of
Alexander, is
very fond of this nephew. The lad has reason to hope for favour and
assistance - but we still are not quite sure where to find his father,
Arkhebios. As a Makedonian soldier, he serves in Alexander's army.
At one time he was in the island of Rhodos, helping with the
pacification. There is a possibility he has been moved to Kos.'
'Well, you or Eudemos might take a trip eastward,' said Aristotle
jovially. 'Eudemos might like to go - he comes from Rhodos, after all.
A pity that we cannot do anything for the boy here. Perhaps a visit to
a really good centre of medicine would help. Kos itself might help
him.'
Dismissing that subject, he turned back to me.
'Well what do you think of our Lykeion now?' he asked. 'Grown
since your time, hasn't it?'
'It has,' I acknowledged. I didn't quite like thinking of
'my time' as
a long way off.
'Our book collection
is
considerable
now.
Fortunately,
Theophrastos loves the books - taking care of
them, I mean. He never
lets them get dusty, nor the tabs get out of place. He sees to it that
everything goes back to its correct location. As you see, we have
attracted many excellent scholars to work with us. Eudemos comes
from a very distinguished family in Rhodos, but he has spent his time
here working, with his hands as well as his mind, on Asian plants. As
he is from that region he has a familiarity that others might not.
Though I myself had spent time on the Asian coast at Assos and in
Lesbos. I came to know the coastal region of Asia pretty well, years
ago. It was there I first seriously began studying animals, looking at
the life of
the shores, observing the rays and squid and crustaceans.'
'So, you are going to try to describe everything that lives?'
'That is what we would like to do - but it is too ambitious! Yet it is
19
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
possible to work with such a multitude of
kinds that what we say will
be right. All men - even scholars - have lived hitherto with insuffi-
cient categories - even an entirely insufficient idea of
what a category
is. And truly we need to investigate systematically. We study the
particulars.
'
'Aristotle thinks,' said Demetrios, 'that there is a kind of art in
Nature - even in the small things.'
'Assuredly, yes.
Nothing is
unimportant.
Consider what
Herakleitos said on the privy: "Come in; there are gods even here."
There is a beauty in the intricacy of
bodies - of
living bodies. For the
body is no mere shape - not just a "form" as the vulgar and even some
who are educated think of
forms - but a point of
development and of
activity. Nature is a dynamic specialist. She prefers to make each
organ perfect to serve one purpose. Not a cheap worker like the
humble smith who for utility makes you a brass lampstand-and-meat-
spit in one! Think of what we have seen of the vessels that carry the
blood -'
'Though these are very difficult to observe,' said Demetrios
seriously. 'It is hard to peer into the inner secrets of nature. We can
cut an animal open, of course - but then the life is gone even as we
observe it, and the blood gushes away.'
'We have found,' said Hipparkhos, 'that for observation it is
sometimes better to starve the animal so that the blood vessels stand
out sharply. But of course we do not succeed in seeing all the blood
vessels, even in that manner.'
'But what we do discern is very regular and beautifully ordered,'
said Aristotle. 'Like the rills and channels in a well-arranged and well-
watered garden, where the skilled gardener has created a main
channel and then conducted many little rivulets out from it.'
'That's the kind of comparison Theophrastos loves,' remarked
Eudemos. 'I'm not sure he didn't first suggest it. Theophrastos loves
gardens.'
Aristotle ignored this, being caught up in his subject.
20
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
'At the same time, mere particulars do not form the categories
themselves. Of course not! And our catalogue is not what we shall
publish. That is just a beginning. Without method, without thought,
all one has is mere lists. I could make a list of the times I pare my
fingernails, and it would be quite true - and quite useless unless I had
some end in view. The end in view is not just knowledge of
the world
around us, but also a real understanding of what life is. Life in this
world of coming-to-be and passing away. Our subject is nothing less
than Life itself.'
He quite took my breath away with the expanse of
his topic.
'Of first importance,' said Aristotle, warming to his theme, 'is the
inherent power of the intellect which leads it to perceive or divine -
in some ways one might even say to generate - order. The intellect
knows order as a participant in the divine Mind in the universe. Thus
we have already within us the power to perceive and speak of
categories. The idea is not created by molluscs and trees.'
'Oh, quite, yes,' I agreed, indistinctly, as I was chewing on a tough
piece of
bread at the time. I was not certain that I was going to grasp
all this.
'The body exists for its perfection, which is the soul, the capacity to
move and beget and so on. It is absurd to think, as some do, that the
soul is "in the body" as a sailor is "in a boat". The soul is the form
the body seeks. Intellect is primary. But the lively intelligence using
the organs of
the body perceives the world. The understanding needs
an assemblage of particulars - to chew on, if I may use such an
analogy.' His eyes twinkled as I hastily tried to swallow the bread I
had been doggedly masticating.
'We need the details, the living particulars. It is possible to obtain
an understanding of
the world by working with it, using the senses to
examine particulars. As long as one has a method. It is the mind that
must analyse - otherwise you're just left with a curious list, as I say.
We want to establish the attributes, so we can treat together animals
that are connected by their attributes. And in analysing living things,
21
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
the productions of nature, we look not for history but for causes. In
Nature the causes are ends, not beginnings. Always remember,
Nature creates for the future. In theoretical sciences, or in study of
objects of human art, we start with what already is. We think
backwards, about a history. A new statue has a kind of
being, but no
future, only a past. It lacks the signs of life. A puppy has a future. In
study of
natural things we are always looking at what is going to be. In
embryos of all kinds, including eggs, the beating heart, the sovereign
organ, is formed first for the work it will do. A human embryo has
hands because it will be a man who will use them.'
The others had become quiet, in order to listen to Aristotle's
animated speech.
'So,' Eudemos said when Aristotle fell silent. 'By taking thought,
and through a process of complete and regular observation - not
piecemeal nor whimsical - we will arrive through particulars at
general truths.'
'Yes,' added Hipparkhos. 'And you see the advantage. We will
truly know what species are. So when a new animal is discovered -
Pop! It goes into its correct category as soon as it appears.'
'This world itself manifesting an order at once wonderfully
complex and beautifully simple,' added Aristotle. He did not seem
daunted by the amount of
work that must remain to be done. His eyes
sparkled. Though the meal had been as he promised, Pythagorean, of
only vegetables, bread, fruit and water, yet beholding his enthusiasm
one would think he had drunk a noble wine.
'I am grateful to all my fellow-scholars here for their tireless work
and wonderful insight,' Aristotle added. 'Together we can carry
knowledge forward.'
'It seems an odd thing, in a way,' I said. 'Philosophy - isn't it
supposed to deal with Truth, and the Good, or how to behave oneself
- that sort of
thing?'
'Ahh!' Aristotle expanded. 'Philosophy is a love of all truth. Truth
in the universe, right now, right here. Indeed, it is great and most
22
THE SANCTUARY OF ASKLEPIOS
sweet to contemplate Truth and the Good. But who is it who
contemplates? An ignorant person or the reverse? The mind is open
to the world, and opens that world. The good philosopher examines
his physical and his human world.'
'Then, it is not a few Philosopher-Kings we need,' Demetrios
observed, 'but many true philosophers among the citizens.'
'Yes, indeed. And it is proper to educate the young into a wide and
true knowledge so they go into the world and create better societies,
better states. You know, the philosopher should be a man who is
prompt to aid his fellow men, who mingles with others and wants to
help. It is a poor philosopher who remains deaf
to a cry for help. And
with a higher, more rational and more benevolent form of state, a
political life that is full and thoughtful and harmonious, men will be
able to touch all about them - in a world not obscure or unknown to
them. Such an educated man will do more than exist. He will fully
live a life and not exist merely, like a plant or rock - or even as a
badger.'
'Aristotle says,' Hipparkhos chimed in, 'that many men live in a
blur and need to see.'
'Thus it is,' said Aristotle, 'that in our work lie seeds of
a better life
for men to come. I truly believe, Stephanos, that the full study of
philosophy is of
benefit to all humankind.'
He beamed at me, at the young pupils, and at the table of
attentive
scholars around him, his friends and associates in the great endeavour.
I have often thought subsequently of that day, when the Lykeion
seemed a sanctuary full of life for Aristotle,. of thought and joyful
plans, before sorrow and even despair had touched the life of the
Master.
23
Chapter II
==~9_~~==
c)"--"G
Murdering an Ox
The expedition to see the ox-slaying, as suggested by Eudemos,
did truly come to pass. Aristotle's slave brought me a written
invitation to join the Lykeion party. I decided to go, and also to take
my little brother Theodoros with me as a treat. We all met on the
slope of the Akropolis before the great Temple of Virgin Athena.
Theodoros frisked and capered about me in excitement. There were
people enough, but not huge crowds. I could avoid persons I did not
want to meet, such as the grave citizen Theosophoros who had
taken such a decided part against our family during our earlier
troubles. I saw this man in the distance, looking quite as vinegary as
ever.
Aristotle, as I had expected, was surrounded by his little cohort.
'I think you know everybody by now,' he said. And I did.
Hipparkhos with his noble equine nose; Demetrios of
Ph
ale
ron with
his striking beauty and affable manner. Eudemos, so handsome,
talkative and easy-mannered, nobody could miss, and I even
recollected pale Arkhandros. They had in charge the little group of
students, including doleful Parmenion and Mikon the cheerful.
After I introduced Theodoros and gave him temporarily into the
24
MURDERING AN OX
older boys' care, we all moved off together to the nearby precinct of
Zeus Protector of the City.
Mikon was useful in clearing others out of
our path and pushing us
along so we could stay together. This caused some grumbling, not to
say altercation.
'Mind what you're doing, young fellow,' said one citizen, while a
more peppery one remarked, 'If
you dig into me again like that, boy,
I'll have your hide!' Theophrastos had to apologise for Mikon's zeal.
Such apologies were not directed to the more raffish of
the crowd.
A group of town youths from the poorer neighbourhoods began to
call out abusive remarks, of the sort that indicate that one loves one's
mother too much. This slowed our progress a little, as our boys were
only too quick to reply, even though Eudemos remonstrated, telling
them this was not gentle behaviour. One of
the town boys, a powerful,
strong-shouldered lad, challenged Mikon to fight him. When
Eudemos restrained our young scholar, the town boy hooted and
cavorted in triumph. He turned his fingers into horns above his head
and charged at us.
'I'm a bull!' he bellowed. 'A bull! And you're cows. Sorry shit-tail
cows! Cow!' he roared again at Mikon.
'You'll be sorry,' said furious Mikon. 'My father is Thrasymakhos.
He's a very important man. He'll make you sorry.'
'''My father is Thrassus,'" the boy mimicked in the deliberate
mistake of crude satire. 'I tell you, boy, your papa is a cow. Not an
important cow - just a cow! Boo!'
The thick-necked boy rushed at us several times, stamping his feet
and bellowing. Then he changed his game, and hopped along waving
an imaginary sword in the air.
'To me, men! Sound the war-cry! Clear away this chaff - hoI I'm
Alexander. Yah-boo! 1 can beat the lot of you! I'll set you right, you
pale Medes and Persians!'
The bull-faced boy strutted beside us for a bit, imitating our walk,
while his rude companions cheered him on. Then he made another
25
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
fearful lunge, crying out, 'I am Alexander the ruler of
Athens! I'm the
king of all of you - cowards! Yah!'
He exhibited to Mikon and the timorous Parmenion a fearful face,
distorting his mouth widely over his teeth like a grinning satyr mask
and making his eyes bulge alarmingly, as if they would depart from
their sockets. Parmenion blenched, while Mikon and his best friend
Dorkon tried to break from restraint and start hitting. Our own pupils
(including Theodoros for the nonce) began yelling too, as loudly as
the common herd of youths who opposed them, and I did not like
Theodoros to hear what they said. (Although as my younger brother
went to school he would doubtless hear everything in his time.)
'Our lads, being well-born, should not fight this scabby lot,' said
Eudemos loudly, 'but there seems no reason why we should not
discipline these unruly youths.'
'No, indeed,' said Hipparkhos, even more loudly. 'A good switch
would do the trick, I think.'
'Or a good strong cane,' agreed Eudemos. 'You need our medicine,
children?' He started towards them. The bull-like boy and his friends
made off, sufficiently prompted by further strong suggestions
regarding the medicinal use and practical efficacy of canes and
switches. Of course the men could not carry out these threats as the
louts, however vulgar and ill-behaved, were presumably the sons of
citizens. It is a serious offence to commit an outrage against a citizen
or citizen's child by clutching or beating him, unless (like a
schoolmaster) one has the parent's consent. At least, with the boys
sent off, the valiant Mikon could be released from his elders'
restraining hands. We continued on our way and approached the
scene of the morning's ritual action.
'How old is this ceremony exactly?' Demetrios asked Aristotle.
'Well, you know The Clouds of
Aristophanes - we should read that
play this afternoon with the boys, I think. The rite was certainly old
by Aristophanes' time. In that play you remember, young
Pheidippides, a member of the younger generation who believes he is
26
MURDERING AN OX
so much wiser than his father Strepsiades, despises older people and
good advice. Such a view is encouraged by Wrong Reasoning, who
jeers at the old ways. Wrong Reasoning refers to "these archaic things
like the Dipolieia and brooches made of cicadas, Kedeides' obscene
dances and the Bouphonia." Nowadays we wouldn't wear brooches
made of cicadas, but the Bouphonia survives.'
'And so do some obscene dances,' observed Eudemos.
'It's starting!' cried Theodoros. The acolytes were placing sacred
wheat and barley on the stone altar.
Now a little procession of oxen, four or five, were led into the
sacred space. They looked used and tired, long beyond their first
youth. If
a plough-ox has to be sacrificed it makes more sense to use
one near the end of its time. Led or urged by their keepers, and
followed by two hooded priests of
Zeus, the beasts went round about
the altar, as they had to do until one of their number should choose
to be sacrificed. At last one ox lost its fear, lifted its heavy head and
scented the food. It extended its thick meek neck above the altar
stone, and started to eat the grain. That was the sign. A hooded priest
approached, as the happy ox was still eating. A long string of saliva
dripped from its mouth. The hooded priest lifted a bronze axe - and
struck. He struck well, a single blow. The beast fell at once, with one
bellowing moan that became its expiring breath. It lay lifeless.
'Now is the interesting part,' whispered Aristotle.
The priest who had struck the blow then fled away. (A path had
been cleared, so spectators would not impede the ritual flight.) The
axe was taken by the other attendant, who pronounced upon the case:
'I
declare we must search for the doer of
this murder. And the
axe that has committed the murder must be tried.'
We followed the priest and acolytes and officials away from
the sanctuary of Zeus, filing into the precinct of the Prytaneion
Court. The axe was held up for inquest in a ritual trial for killing:
'Whose is the axe?'
27
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'It is the axe of
the man who struck the mortal blow.'
'Where is the man who slew?'
'He is being sought for.'
'Is this surely the axe that struck the fateful blow?'
'It is, assuredly.'
'How do you know?'
'I saw the deed done with my own eyes. I picked up the
implement from beside the body.'
'Then by the power of this court and the law of this city
Athens and the right of
the murdered I condemn this axe. This
implement has no more a right to abide here, and must leave
Athens for ever. I condemn it to be thrown into the sea and be
no more seen. Let no murdering object remain in our city.'
The axe was then borne away for the sentence to be immediately
executed.
Of course, the same sort of trial would have taken place in the
Prytaneion had any inanimate object killed a person. Even if
an object
(like a dropped pot or windblown tile) kills a man by accident, it must
have a court sit on its case and be judged and thrown out of the city.
Whatever has killed a man is contaminated. Not long before, a man
had been slaughtered by a blow struck with a mallet, and the wooden
implement had been sentenced in the same way as this axe. What
makes the Bouphonia extraordinary is that the 'murder' is only of a
plough-ox. Yet the killing (which is really committed by the whole
city) is treated as a private and abominable murder.
'It makes no sense,' said Demetrios. 'Entertaining, however, if
meaningless. '
'Not meaningless, no. It must seem odd to anybody now, I think,'
said Aristotle. 'For we now consider murder as the deliberate killing of
one intelligent being - a human - by another intelligent being -
human also. This custom makes us realise that we did not always see
it thus. The ritual supposedly comes from the reign of King
28
MURDERING AN OX
Erekhtheus, in the dawn of time, just as Athens began to come into
being. The best explanation I have hit upon is that the Bouphonia
commemorates the moment when human beings decided not only to
tame animals but to kill them - to breed them for killing and eating.
But perhaps something like the rite existed even earlier, to com-
memorate with sorrow the fateful decision that man has the right to
kill any animals for human food.'
'And we still feel guilt for that,' said Theophrastos. 'That is why I
want our boys to see the Bouphonia, to make them aware of
what we
do. For we treat our animals as household mates and friends, and
then they are killed off by us and eaten. We have - most of us - self-
restraint enough to keep our hands from murder. But we lay violent
hands on innocent animals, even those who do us other service, like
the ox that ploughs and helps us to get the good grain from the earth.
Thus I think the Pythagoreans are most right, or at least most
consistent, who bar the eating of meat.'
'Let's go back and see the ox now,' suggested Mikon. We returned
to the original site of the 'murder'. The ox had been stripped of its
hide and the corpse or carcass was now on a huge spit over a fire.
People crowded around, especially those from the poorer districts,
eagerly awaiting their feast. The smell of roast meat began to drift
over the Akropolis. The ox hide, cleverly and quickly stripped off
the
carcass, with the head still attached, was being rapidly stuffed with
hay and straw. As his meat roasted, the beast began to reappear in this
imitation -
his height, his shape, but not his motion, cleverly
reproduced.
'There,' said Aristotle. 'I could not have created a better example.
It
perfectly illustrates the difference between form as living entity and
form as mere shape. "Form" in the sense of "shape" is not enough -
this is not the ox. It is a simulacrum oflife but lacks the signs ofliving.
Mere shape does not make life.'
'What does make life?' I asked idly. 'Not just in the case of
this ox,
but in general. Why is something dead or not?'
29
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Aristotle laughed. 'There you have the mystery of life, Stephanos.
But we certainly know that a statue - or a corpse - is not a man.
Living form requires function and motion. Life is activity realised in
material.'
The new 'ox', lacking in signs of
life but standing up, was hitched,
inertly obedient, to a plough. As if the events of the day were but a
game for it and it could go back to work as it had yesterday.
'There's Papa!' Mikon waved at a tall, dignified gentleman who
stood with a small group of
his friends. They were obviously important
personages, with their retinue of
slaves behind them. These friends of
Mikon's papa unfortunately included the grave citizen Theosophoros
of the acid wit, a man whom I knew and did not like. But there was
also the much younger and more genially witty Euphorbos, whom I
did not know, but thought I should like. Thrasymakhos, the papa of
Mikon, a well-born man with a noble and severe countenance, was
known to me by sight. He had held some public offices, and had made
a couple of well-received speeches, giving him a claim to the title of
orator. This man was of
one of the oldest Athenian families, although
he was also related to the foreign orator Thrasymakhos of Khalkedon
who figures in Plato's dialogues. This distinguished Athenian, leaving
his acquaintance for a moment, courteously came towards us.
'Good day, Aristotle. I see you are taking good care of my little
curly-head troublemaker here. Is this a holiday? Or are you at work?'
'Both. We study the ritual and its history.'
'And we're going to read The Clouds today, too, Hipparkhos says,'
added Mikon.
Thrasymakhos did not comment on the suitability of
Aristophanes'
satiric critique of Sokrates and his educational system as reading
matter for the young, but responded with simple approbation:
'Good. Good. Yes, I like to see the true ancient Athenian customs
like our Bouphonia preserved. Now, who are all these? Theophrastos
I know, but am I correct in thinking that I do not know all these
masters who work in your school?'
30
MURDERING AN OX
Aristotle, explaining that I was simply a friend, introduced his
group: Eudemos of Rhodos, Demetrios of Phaleron, and the rest.
Thrasymakhos, with ostentatious affability, condescended to intro-
duce us to his friends. He was about to begin with Euphorbos
(because he was the best born, or perhaps the most impatient) but
Aristotle cut him off by saying, 'Of course I know my own former
student!' and Euphorbos, laughing, said at the same moment, 'Of
course I know my own old teacher!'
'Dear master, how are you?' Euphorbos said, embracing Aristotle
affectionately. 'It has been too long a while. And how do you get on
at the Lykeion? Is it politics now or animals that occupy your time?'
Euphorbos when smiling affectionately at Aristotle was certainly a
most appealing sight. He was slightly lanky but well-proportioned,
a man a year or two above my own age, but with a litheness and a
happy countenance that ensured his appearing constantly youthful.
Euphorbos had the brown hair in hyacinth-tight curls that appeals to
painters and sculptors, and that aristocratic bearing that always takes
the eye.
'Have you been enjoying the proceedings?' he enquired, turning to
the rest of
us. 'It is like a drama, or a parody of one, is it not?' There
was a twinkle in his eye. 'The poor old ox! Like a sad old wronged
husband. I seem to hear Klytaimnestra saying "Fetch me the axe!'"
I warmed to Euphorbos, witty and merry and fond of literary
reference - as I am myself. Perhaps, it occurred to me, he had picked
up that habit of quotation and mock-quotation from Aristotle.
'But I chatter too much,' Euphorbos apologised, 'when I ought to
be introducing the wise Theosophoros and the distinguished
Megakles of
Athens and other admirers and friends ofThrasymakhos,
to this learned company.'
Thrasymakhos' other companions were undoubtedly middle-
aged, but they were a distinguished set; our group looked rather pale
and weedy in comparison. Theosophoros at least deigned to
acknowledge the introduction to myself. 'Stephanos is already
31
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
known to me,' he said, indicating that a little such knowledge went
a long way.
'And this is Megakles of Athens,' Thrasymakhos continued.
Megakles had short hair, greying slightly and a really impressive bald
spot in the middle of
his head. The bald spot was beginning to redden
in the early summer sun. Despite this unwanted blush, Megakles was
distinguished in appearance and extremely well dressed in a finely
woven khiton. He greeted us all in a noble manner, courteous,
assured and unsmiling. (A gentleman among inferiors has no need to
smile.)
'It gives me great satisfaction to make your personal acquaintance.
I have heard so much of
you as you have become famous, 0 Aristotle
of Stageira, and go among us. It is very important work that you do.
Educating our Athenian young people is a great privilege and a
mighty responsibility.'
'It is so - I feel it!' Aristotle was in earnest. 'What could be more
important than the citizens of
the future?'
With such happy banalities we passed a few minutes. Then
Thrasymakhos, patting Mikon's curly head, asked if he could take
him out for the afternoon, promising to return him by evening. Father
and son went off
surrounded by their attentive slaves. Our little group
separated, and we of
the Lykeion party began to prepare to go home.
Aristotle did not enforce Pythagorean doctrines, however, for he
allowed such of the boys and their teachers who wished to do so to
partake of the roast meat in the square before setting off. Theodoros
certainly was not backward in coming in for his share.
And that was the day - a pleasant one it seems, a day of a harmless
amusement combined with instruction. We had all thought more
about an old Athenian custom. The weather was fine and Athens
looked beautiful. We had perhaps made some new acquaintance -
not least Theodoros, who was very taken with the boys at the school,
old and wise as they seemed to him at his age of
nearly ten years.
*
32
MURDERING AN OX
But that occasion did not really end so pleasantly. On the morrow we
heard that a boy had been killed. The killing had happened down at
the coast and not in the city of
Athens itself, which was something of
a relief. Still, he was an Athenian. It
became clear that the victim was
the boy who had insulted us and made faces, shouting 'I am
Alexander!' This false Alexander, the bull-faced boy, had been killed
with a strange implement. An antique bronze axe had been found by
the body. Suspicion rested on the axe that had killed the poor ox.
Aristotle was soon called in to help with enquiries. He had the priests
questioned. They were certainly responsible for throwing the axe into
the sea as commanded by the ritual trial. But it appeared that of
late
the custom had arisen of not quite throwing the axe away. That is, it
would be thrown into the shallows, whence it would be recovered
after a few days.
'It's a valuable antique axe,' one of the priests said, in tears. 'We
couldn't afford to lose it. It's not as if
it really killed a person! And we
use it only once a year. When it has been in the sea a certain time it is
considered cleansed, and we bring it back.'
As it turned out, the priests and their attendants had actually and
literally thrown the axe into the sea. But in truth they deposited it
with a gentle throw from a boat into the shallows in a position well
marked by them. The priests had used the same part of
the coast for
several years, so anybody with sufficient curiosity to study what they
did with the object might readily find it. But how had the lethal thing
corne back on land and committed a killing? Some among the
common people spoke ghoulishly of a demon arising from the water,
dripping axe in hand . . . But as the crime was ingeniously recon-
structed, it was speculated that some youths unknown, presumably
young persons of the poorer sort living in that area by the sea, had
'rescued' the axe and played with it, probably imitating the ox-slaying
and fatally killing the bull-like boy.
As this boy's parents were poor they could not hope for handsome
compensation, especially if the doers of
the deed were likewise poor.
33
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
So they could not pursue the matter. They accepted some money as
a gift from the city, although Athens denied official responsibility. No
youths came forward to confess to the crime. The axe was tried again
- for real murder this time. And on this occasion too it was sentenced
to be thrown into the depths of
the sea, though this time the sentence
was carried out vigorously with many persons watching. But the
murderer - or perpetrator of accidental manslaughter, perhaps -
whoever he might be, remained untried and unknown.
34
III
==~g-p,=-===
a---G'
Meeting a Monkey
My thoughts turned much on my own future. A most important
matter was my marital union, which would define much of my life
afterwards. At one time I had hoped to marry into some exalted
family, taking Kharmia daughter of Kallimakhos to wife, but, as
things had turned out, I was now betrothed to the daughter of one
Smikrenes, who farmed his own land near the westward road by
Eleusis. Smikrenes was an Athenian citizen but by no means exalted,
nor was his temper the best - indeed, his ill temper was known
throughout his own district. But I had done him a slight kindness and
he had softened to me. I had actually met his daughter, so strange and
untoward are the things that happen when we travel, although of
course the pretence should be kept up that I had not seen her, lest her
reputation be scarred. Philomela daughter of Smikrenes was comely
and sweet voiced, well-bred and good of heart, and marriage no
longer seemed the difficult and heavy task it had once appeared.
I had discussed marriage with Smikrenes when Aristotle and I were
returning from Delphi earlier in the spring. Smikrenes and I had
begun the long process of debating about the dowry, though nothing
was seriously settled then. Messages had gone between us since that
35
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
time. True, I was still young for marriage, according to Athenian
custom and practice, for the right age was around thirty and I would
be not quite twenty-six. But marriage was one of the few immediate
ways of assisting the condition of our family by association with
another citizen family and another landholder. Now it was high time
for me to show myself to Smikrenes again, and I wanted to look like
a serious man. I took a slave with me, and a donkey, with a little pile
of
presents.
'Well, who'd ha' thought as you would turn up after all,' was
Smikrenes' first observation to me, not over-agreeable.
'But of
course,' I said as heartily as I could. I tried to look cool and
manly and well-born, though it had been a hot sweaty journey. I was
glad to find that the odorous dung-heap before the door had been
somewhat reduced, evidently by Smikrenes' use in energetic
cultivation. 'Surely, 0 Smikrenes, you and I should become better
acquainted.
'
'Maybe, maybe,' he said, in dubious tones. 'I've got a lot of work
on at present.'
'Let me help,' I said eagerly. 'And my slave also can assist you.'
'I dunno's I want people picking about my business. You'd likely
to do it all wrong,' he said. 'But things is going well - on the whole.
Some excellent little piglings are a-fattening a treat, and we have a
new calf. Take a look.'
Smikrenes was pleased to have someone to show his farm to. It was
undeniably in excellent condition, although some assistance with the
labour would be a good idea. I was inwardly debating how to bring
this up tactfully when we went to the house.
'We can sit outside, since the weather's so peaceful,' suggested
Smikrenes. 'Mebbe Philomela will have set us out some grub. Not
that her cooking is anything much - I'm most ashamed to set before
company such stuff as she turns out, but it's the best we can do.'
I recognised this as a figure of
modesty, and a high point of
tact and
company manners, so I countered by praising the oat cakes and the
36
MEETING A MONKEY
cabbage-leaf rolls and the cheeses, and the sweet cakes obviously
prepared for the occasion. The old serving-woman brought them to
us. I could sense Philomela herself behind the door to the kitchen,
and I hoped to get a glimpse of
her. I already knew that she was lovely,
with grey-green eyes and brown hair with an acorn sheen. When she
is my wife, I thought, she will not be such a drudge. But of course I
did not say this to Smikrenes. He was eager to start in on our
bargaining.
'Well, I suppose you rash young man will want to wed in Gamelion,
like everyone else, though trudging through them roads in winter's
not going to be much pleasure for us. Indeed, I don't know as I can
make it .. .'
'0 sir, you must come - my household would be dishonoured for
ever if you did not. A bride must be taken into her husband's family
house with all her relatives present. And we can make a fine
procession as the bride is taken from her home to ours.'
'Fine processions simply cost money for gimcracks and trash, as
you will discover before you're much older. And it's sure to rain! All
that finery thrown away. And Philomela will catch cold into the
bargain. Maybe it will go on her chest, with a fine chill to boot, and
you'll have the pleasure and expense of burying her instead of
bedding her. Oh dear, it's a sad thing, to see my only daughter - my
only living child - go to her grave before me!'
'These are too-sad thoughts,' I expostulated gently. 'My family will
be so happy to see her. They will treat her with great care, I promise
you.'
'Well, but I'll ha' lost her, and that's a tough bone to gnaw. And
here I have to find a dowry and lose a worker. Who's going to help me
with this farm all on my ownsome?'
'I have some ideas about that,' I said. 'Let me give you a slave to
help with the work. I can do that I think at the time of
the wedding -
and-'
'Slaves!' He spat on the ground. 'I want someone who's family, a
37
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
real citizen, someone who takes an interest. I don't know what the
gods were thinking on to keep me without sons - what a curse that is!
And another curse is that savage wife of mine who left me in the
lurch.'
'Who is she - and where is she?' I asked bluntly, though I had long
been ruminating about how to put these two important questions. 'I
take it she is alive?'
'My wife? May she wander the shore of Styx for a long while and
lack a penny for her passage when her time comes! My wife is alive
and flourishing. Least when I last heard.'
'I was told that this woman - I don't know her name or parentage
-left you and went to live with her first husband's son.' (I did not add
that my sole informant on these matters was a little boy who had been
visiting in Smikrenes' neighbourhood at the time when I first met the
irascible farmer.)
'I don't know how these lies get about. Her name is Philonike, and
she is the daughter ofPhilonikos of Hymettos. Well-born man with a
goodish estate. True, she had been married afore, but not for long,
her first husband dying at sea. She had no children by that marriage.
She was still young enough when we wed, about seventeen, and I was
more than thirty-five. My wife Philonike gave me a daughter,
Philomela there' - with a gesture to the pantry door - 'and then had
a stillborn nothing, and then gave birth to a son. But the son died
soon after, just a baby, never got his khoes.'
I nodded. Children are given a special celebration upon reaching
their third year. At the Spring festival, the Anthesterion, each receives
the present of an ornamented khoes, a cup to commemorate the fact
that the child is viable and may now truly be considered a person.
Philomela's lost brother had died, like so many, in the fog of
infancy.
'In no wise uncommon, infants dying so much as they do,'
Smikrenes agreed with my unspoken thoughts. 'But Philonike took
on terrible, and then went silent and wouldn't speak nor eat - a
useless lump. So her papa come for her and took her to their home
38
MEETING A MONKEY
"for a while" they said, "until she gets well again". I guess she ain't
never considered herself proper well, for she never came back.
Though that papa's dead now, she still stays in their house.'
'But -' I exclaimed. 'You could divorce her and take another wife!
Then you could have more children -'
'Well, I know. Nearly done so at one time,' he agreed. 'When I was
young and lively and stupid enough to do it all again. I ain't a-going
to wed no more, don't you fear. Her papa had no right to take her off
home, as she had borne a living child by me. So I could have taken
him to court and asked for her back. Never heard that she slept with
any other man, though. I s'pose I always thought she would come
home again. One sunny day, thinks I, I'll get a letter saying "I'm a-
comin' in three days' time, with a box of new clothes - Love,
Philonike." But no message, not of that sort. It was main foolish of
me to marry out my own deme like that. If she'd ha' been a
neighbour's child, she'd been more get-at-able.'
There was much in this story to think about, not least the
unpleasant possibility that the woman was mad and that madness ran
in the family. On the other hand, not to wish to live with Smikrenes
was in itself no certain sign of insanity. At least the woman wasn't
divorced - I don't think I could bring myself to wed the daughter of
a divorced mother. True, Philonike had behaved very ill. But perhaps
her unaccountable behaviour was the fault of
her parents - and a lack
of persistence, not to say a lack of emotion, on the part of her
husband. It
was certainly hard on Philomela to have been deserted in
that manner. Perhaps, however, she had been lucky on the whole not
to have been given a stepmother.
'I should come by and have a look at your own holding,' said
Smikrenes. 'Don't mean your town house, but your farm.'
'Yes, certainly,' I said. 'We have some excellent olive groves. Some
of the rest of it is a bit run down perhaps. We need to repair a few of
the outbuildings. Two aged servants, Dametas my steward and
Tamia his wife, look after it. They are faithful, and careful. But I am
39
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
afraid that they are really far too old now, very shaky, and I must find
someone else - though I have to provide a home for them, of
course,
and they will still do what they can.'
'Running down, going to rack and ruin - that's the way with farms.
If you don't keep up with your holding, soon you're nowhere. Oh,
well, s'pose you was too young and ignorant to do much when your
papa died. And at least there is real Athenian land. That's the main
thing. But there is another man-child, isn't there?'
'Yes. My little brother Theodoros. I am not the only inheritor and
he must always have a good provision made for him,' I explained. It
was well to be clear on such points. Theodoros would always have a
claim on the family estate. 'I hope he won't have to worry about these
things the way I have had to do. He is much younger. Just a child. '
'Ah, well, the more boys the better. Another pair of hands to help
out, too.' Smikrenes did not seem displeased. 'Probably better for my
daughter in the long run, if anything should happen to you, as she got
no brothers by me, see? But . . .' he added in a thoughtful tone,
staring into the distance, 'Philomela and her children has always got
to be provided for, and well provided for.'
'Certainly!' I exclaimed.
'I'd like it if we could work it out so's that her children get my
holding, whatever else happens. And if your little brother gets part
interest in your estate, and you was dead, then he and Philly could
share the house in Athens. I mean, he could rent out part, and give
her the proceeds, or live in the house altogether and pay her for her
half.'
'I'll think about that,' I said cautiously. 'It sounds right that your
grandchildren should inherit your land. For immediate expenses, I
can bring to the marriage straight away some money from the sale of
our surplus oil this last year - for sheets and some new furniture and
a wedding feast. I believe I can safely promise food and clothes for
Philomela and her children.'
'Well, my daughter and her young will not want for clothes while
40
MEETING A MONKEY
I'm alive, whatever you do about it, that's certain. And - I don't like
to set a sum right today you understand, but I think I can promise a
fair amount in money down as dowry. But I want the proper security
for it.'
'Of
course,' I agreed. 'Apotimema is a regular thing. I can make over
part of the land of
the same value as the dowry.'
'So - and it must be part of the land that isn't hereditary and
inalienable, but readily saleable. Then if
you die or divorce her, or she
dies and leaves children, we've got security. Always like security.
That's why I'd better take a look at your property before I come down
too handsome. Make sure you have something right to offer. Not
taking some pathetic stony yard and calling it a field, mind you that!'
Dealing with my future father-in-law was trying to my temper, but
I swallowed and looked as amicable as I could.
'Pity it is,' said Smikrenes, following his own train of
thought. 'Pity
that she cannot get hold on her mother's money. They still owed me
somewhat, in dowry. Then they had the gall to insist that they didn't,
as she had turned back on their hands - although she was not
divorced, like I told you. And that family is warm. Some of
their funds
ought to go to Philomela. It's a tidy holding in Hymettos, and my
wife's father was doing very well. Now this man - Philomela's
grandpapa on her own mother's side - he's dropped offhis perch. She
did ought to have a share of what he left. There is money in them
Hymettos folk, sure as eggs.'
'But why haven't you requested her inheritance?' I asked in some
surprise.
'Well, I thought of going up to them to demand it but never could
find the time. I don't trouble much about the city.'
'But surely,' I exclaimed, 'as a citizen you go to the Ekklesia.'
'Well, on occasion. But I ask you, is it reasonable to expect men
farming their own land to leave off work every ten days and walk so
many stadia into the city and out again just to hear a lot of well-
dressed citizens holding forth? Even when it's a great orator like
41
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Demades or Demosthenes or Hypereides, 1 get tired of
it sooner than
quick. True, we're paid a bit now for attending, but it's still not worth
it. And the city so dusty and noisy. Full of carts and rubbish!'
1 was rather taken aback by this description, but 1 had to admit 1
hadn't thought before of
the burden of
citizenship on the countryfolk.
'As for the law,' continued Smikrenes. 'Jury service is bad enough.
But you don't want to get tied up with legal disputes, for that leads
straight to hiring rhetoricians - and days and days lost in Athens
argufying around the courts. Not for me! And sometimes it does a
man's reputation no good, nor his family's neither. Just telling the
whole city your troubles. Still, you're a young man and you've been
educated a lot. All talk and no digging with the likes of
you. So maybe
you'd come off
better than me if
you tackled them. But don't be rash.'
'I certainly ought to try,' 1 agreed. 'Where should 1 go?'
'My wife Philonike's living where her papa lived, out by Hymettos
on the west slope. Her papa's gone, like 1 told you, but another man
come along and got married to her rna, and took to living there too,
just as if he owned the place! Mind you, he can't really own it, this
step-pa, for Philonike has a brother. Philokles, his name is. But 1
don't rightly recollect where he is now, or what he's doing. Haven't
seen him since 1 don't know when.'
This was news indeed. If
Philomela's mother had a brother, then
this man, Philomela's uncle, was a person of the first importance.
Governor of his own family, he stood in an almost parental relation
to his sister Philonike, Philomela's mother and thus in a way to
Philomela herself. This man Philokles should certainly be informed
as soon as possible of the planned marriage. He might prove
disagreeable, and resistant to letting any of the money he was sitting
on go out of
the family to his niece. Yet both law and custom held him
to some obligations. 1 should certainly try to meet him.
Meanwhile, 1 made arrangements with Smikrenes for him to come
to our farm. At some time soon he should also visit us at our house in
the city, so he could see it and meet my brother.
42
MEETING A MONKEY
'Still much business ahead,' Sniikrenes agreed. 'But I dare say now
we can have the formal betrothal come Boedromion? End of the
summer. I should be able to announce the exact amount of the
dowry, and by then we'll both have got things straight. No obstacle
then to the wedding.'
This seemed fair enough. At the formal engye the girl's father would
hand his daughter over to me, giving her to my protection, and, as is
customary among families of
better quality, he would announce at the
same time the amount of dowry. After this public and formal
acknowledgement we couldn't go back on the contract. To start the
autumn with this clarification seemed a good idea, and the wedding
details could all be arranged with plenty of time. I still had to make
sure that my mother came round to the idea. True, I was planning to
marry the daughter of
a citizen of
Athens, born in an Athenian deme.
That much was in favour of the match. Mother would be dis-
appointed, however, that I wasn't marrying the daughter of
one of
our
wealthiest citizens living in one of the grander areas of the city of
Athens. But as I looked out over the peaceful summer countryside, I
felt there were compensations - and the more when I caught a fleeting
glimpse of Philomela's hair and cheek behind the door.
Matters did not move much forwarder at that time, although I
stayed at Smikrenes' house for two days. The gifts were graciously
received. I had not forgotten even Geta, the old serving-woman and
Philomela's former nurse, for such females can be very useful. At last
I set off for home, my beast of
burden much lighter, if not my heart.
I let the donkey have a holiday, while we walked, I and my slave. This
servant was good with animals, and the donkey meekly trotted along
beside him. It was some compensation for the man's general dullness
and the lack of deftness of hand. He had lost part of a finger;
fortunately, there was nothing wrong with his legs, and he did well on
errands.
As we came back to Athens I sent this fellow back to the farm with
the beast, and proceeded on my own to the Agora. It was the later
43
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
afternoon, when the sun is less overbearing and people come out to
see what is to be seen. It was still hot, however, and dusty, the sort of
day when dogs lounge about the public buildings looking for a cool
marble floor on which to flop, finding congenial resting-places in the
middle of
an elegant stoa or on the steps of
a temple. I had come idly
enough to look for news, but the smell of one of the little cookshops
attracted my attention, and I allowed myself
to take something to eat.
I was leaning over the stall, musing still on my own affairs, but the
liveliness of
the throng and then the heat of
a conversation just behind
my back forced me to move beyond my own thoughts.
'The taxation is enough to kill us!' So one white-haired citizen was
grumbling to his friend, a little wizened man who seemed to agree,
but a third citizen, a sturdy bald man, took up the argument.
'Nay, for the taxation is the way of making our city strong again.
Through it we have won new walls and new battleships. If you
wouldn't be under the yoke of Makedon, pay taxes gladly. That's all
Athens does - we sat out the war this spring and let Antipater crush
the Spartans.'
It was at this point that I really looked at the group, wondering at
this boldness when there might be emissaries of Antipater or other
Makedonian sympathisers (not to say spies) in the vicinity.
'Hush, Apollonios! Preposterous! No one ever paid taxes gladly,'
said the little wizened man with a quiff of dark hair like the plumage
of a bird. 'But pay 'em we shall. In hope to make Athens great and
feared again.'
'Remember how much wealth and treasure Alexander has,' said
outspoken Apollonios. 'The wealth ofPersepolis! Now we hear he has
set fire to Persepolis, and stored all his wealth together in Babylon.'
'All this fuss, and the need for high taxes - all this is brought upon
us by the ridiculous desires of a family that calls itself "royal",' said
the little man with the dark quiff. 'A barbarous family from
outlandish Makedonia. Why, at one time there was a question
whether men of
Makedonia could participate in the Olympic Games.
44
MEETING A MONKEY
I say they are not really Greeks, at all, no matter how much they may
strut.'
'Oh, but they are so Greek,' laughed another man, joining the
group. I recognised Euphorbos, the lanky and merry, Aristotle's
former student, who had greeted him so warmly at the ox-slaying.
'How do you make that out?'
'They must be - they work so hard at being Greek,' explained
Euphorbos. 'Our Alexander,' he continued, 'ran about the walls of
Troy, to imitate Akhilleus conquering Hektor. Is not that touching?
Alexander endeavours to be so very Greek - he carries the works of
Homer about with him in a box. He out-Hellenes Helen. Poor Alex,
clutching his box so as not to lose his culture.'
'You are in the right of it, Euphorbos, if you are saying he is no
Attic man,' said the bald citizen. 'Let Athens reassert herself. I say,
revive the Athenian League. With the wealth of the liberated islands
and cities, we could support our rule and protect our settlers. If
there
is to be an empire, let it be of Athens, not of Makedon. Athenians
have no kings. Let the young man from Makedon go back to Pella
and call himself as "royal"as he pleases on his own dunghill.'
'Disgusting, the way these foreigners are taking over our city,' said
a younger citizen who joined the group in the wake of Euphorbos. I
recognised this newcomer too, a solemn man with a kind of priestly
presence. Eurymedon, with his slender build and a face as beautiful
as a sculpted mask. Tall Eurymedon with his great large eyes and
straight nose. His bearing was that of an aristocrat, but his face,
distinguished, sensitive, stiff and serious, looked more like the visage
one would imagine for a tragic poet - though as far as I knew he
wasn't one. Eurymedon was a man of much importance, a member
of one of the oldest clans, the Eumolpidai. The descendants of
Eumolpus guard the temple and rites of Demeter and Persephone at
Eleusis. No one can participate in the Mysteries without a Eumolpid
as a sponsor, and the priests of Demeter come from that clan. Some
of
the Eumolpidai are very religious - but by no means all of
them.
45
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'It is right, what you say,' said Eurymedon, in his clear precise
voice. 'These men of
Makedon who call themselves "royal" are fairly
common stuff, even when well-intentioned. They encourage the
presence of other foreigners, and weaken our customs and religion,
and our political life. We Athenians should resist their insidious ways.
Is this not so, Hypereides?'
I turned about at this question, for the man coming up to the group
was celebrated.
Hypereides the famous orator was quite old at this time, being over
sixty years of age, though so active he seemed younger. Moralists say
much sex can injure the health and bring on old age, as well as ruining
one's fortune, but Hypereides maintained both health and fortune,
despite the notorious fact that (after his wife died) he kept three
beautiful mistresses at once. He was impressive, if not sweet of
countenance. (For all that, women seemed to like him more than well
enough.) Hypereides could always be spotted in a crowd; he was tall
and his long face with the long-lobed ears (like the handles of an
ornate jug) appeared above the heads of other men.
In youth, Hypereides had studied with Plato. At first he had just
written other people's speeches for them, but then he became famous
as a pleader and even orator. He had stood against the Makedonian
party and had prosecuted their supporters in court, or defended anti-
Makedonian sympathisers. Hypereides was not bitter and peppery
like Demosthenes, however, but a sunny, happy-tempered man who
won people over - in court and out of it - by his easy manner and
liking for a good quip.
'Well, isn't it true, Hypereides, as Eurymedon says?' asked the bald
man. 'We need to cast off the yoke of Makedon in our thoughts and
actions alike.'
'It's late for that,' said Euphorbos, speaking seriously to
Hypereides. 'Athens has been crushed - Demades was right, when he
said Athens lost an eye when Thebes was destroyed. King Agis and
his Spartans have fought with glory, and Agis died a hero on the
46
MEETING A MONKEY
battlefield. We did nothing but sit in our houses and talk about the
weather. Athens cowers to the godlike rulers of
Makedon.'
'Nay,' said Hypereides. 'These rulers are but mortal men. You
notice that despite the honours paid to King Philip, and the new
fashion of calling him "immortal", he is but a complete corpse after
all. I tell you, that no tyrant once felled ever rose from the dead, while
many a city apparently destroyed has returned again to its old
strength.'
'But how to resist as good patriotic Athenians?' asked the bald
man. 'You, Hypereides, urged us to free and arm the slaves and the
foreign residents! But that would have been clean against the
constitution. We need to find our own modes of
resisting. As we freed
ourselves from tyrant rule in days gone by. See Harmodios and
Aristogeiton show us the way!'
The bald patriot gestured towards the famous statue group. Of
course you could not really see it from where we stood, because the
skeletal structure of the new temple of Apollo Patroos (at last being
rebuilt) was in the way. The celebrated two bronze statues com-
memorated the two heroic youths who (generations ago) had
assassinated a tyrant. The bronzed youth Harmodios points his sword
to stab the tyrant while Aristogeiton, older and stronger, holds his
sword above his head ready to smite the tyrant's head off. It is a very
pleasing set of statues - all the more because the sculptor hasn't
bothered reproducing the man who is just about to be killed, so you
don't have to feel anything for him.
'If we look at the statues,' commented Euphorbos, 'we should
remember we are still looking at copies. The Persians stole the real
ones. But now Alexander is going to send us the original statues back
from Persepolis. Is that not thoughtful of him! I find that very
pleasing - not every tyrant will support the opposition in that manner,
to be sure.'
Euphorbos ran his fingers through his hair and took on a different
expression, a ridiculous mask of conceit and self-importance.
47
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'''Gentlemen of
Athens, I Alexander, the Great, the wonder of
the
Hellenes" - he thinks of
himself
this way, you know - "the universally
extolled, the marvel among youth, offer you - offer you freely, for no
extra charge - an object lesson: First kill your tyrant - if you can get
at him!'"
'Euphorbos, you can never be serious,' remonstrated the bald
citizen.
Euphorbos shrugged, and produced from his sleeve a pair of gold
knucklebones. 'Serious is as serious does. Let us give up politics and
play at knucklebones, where at least some can win. Do you wager for
a throw?' The gold 'bones' spun up in the air and shone in the hot
sunlight.
'We got rid of tyrants before and we can do so again!' Apollonios
was heated. 'And get rid of
those who take bribes from Makedonia to
betray their country!'
'Gently, Apollonios,' entreated Hypereides. 'No violence, I beg of
you. Gentlemen, you should really guard your speech with more care.
As for bribe-taking of any sort, the Ekklesia and all good citizens are
against it, as they have ever been.'
'But, Hypereides,' said Eurymedon, 'we must take note. Athens is
being choked not just by men of Makedon but by foreign persons of
all kinds. It
is bad enough that she should be tossed in the stew of all
sorts of Greek states, that new League that Philip cooked up for his
own advantage. But see how we are being flooded with Kyrenians,
Phoenicians and the like - as well as beggars who drift here from the
newly reconquered lands in Asia.'
'And traders - Phoenicians. Egyptian trash!' The little dark-
quiffed man spat angrily. 'Get rid of them all, Hypereides, I
say!'
'Cannot be done,' said Euphorbos. 'You know that, Epikrates.
Many Athenians are fond of Egyptian perfumes, is that not so? Have
we none of
us carried a sweet-smelling gift to a mistress? Or' - turning
to Epikrates - 'to a choice boy, slave or free?'
48
MEETING A MONKEY
'But I shall have justice,' said the little man called Epikrates,
turning purple in the face. 'I shall have justice! Hypereides is helping
me against that filthy Egyptian and the whore he set on to tempt me!
To the rubbish heap with all the riff-raft1 So say I.'
'Are you addressing me, gentlemen?' Another man had come up to
the group. Unlike the serious knot of political speakers, he seemed
light-hearted and jaunty. 'Are we riff-raft?'
I turned and saw his reason for his using the plural, for this new-
comer was not alone. He held on his shoulder a monkey, and not a
small one. He took hold of the monkey's paw and waved it at the
group. 'Are we riff-raft?' He spoke in a high affected voice to imitate
the monkey's imagined speech. 'I say, all of
you are riff-raffy - some
of
you niff a bit, my word you do!'
As the monkey was at that moment screwing up his face the words
matched the action quite well. The beast grabbed a piece offruit from
the master's bag and started to chew it, dripping juice.
'What an enormous and ill-bred animal!' exclaimed someone who
had come up beside me at the food-stall. It was Theophrastos.
'Greetings, Stephanos,' he added. 'I am glad to come upon you, for I
should speak with you -'
Theophrastos was interrupted by the monkey, which spat a large
piece of
wet pulpy fruit straight at his head. Its owner laughed. Hastily
Theophrastos wiped his head with the edge of
his cloak, which was at
once stained by fruit juice. Despite the hubris shown by his animal,
and the misfortune sustained by Theophrastos, the monkey-owner
seemed unperturbed. He was a pleasant fellow to look at, his head well
barbered, his teeth white and clean, and his cloak and ring of
the best.
At this moment, his well-barbered hair was being drizzled upon by
monkey spit. The animal hopped up and down on his shoulders: it was
certainly the cynosure of all eyes. Having got our attention, the
monkey then displayed all its parts with what seemed conscious pride.
'I congratulate you, Kallias. I don't believe I have ever seen a larger
one,' said Theophrastos drily.
49
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
'Ahh,' laughed the man Kallias, stroking his pet. 'You don't get
many like this. It comes from far away, beyond Egypt. Black men
bring them to Egypt, even to the new city Alexander is building, and
there you can buy them.'
'Or
your factor can,' said Epikrates sourly. 'I had forgotten, Kallias,
how much business you do with the shipping, to Egypt and else-
where. One of
the kind who send honey from Hymettos to Egypt, and
bring Persian stuffs to Athens.'
'There are good markets, now,' said the monkey-owner. 'Even
better once the liberated cities of
Lydia and Ionia have settled down.
A great deal of trade. People abroad will pay well for all sorts of
things. Dogs, for instance. You wouldn't believe how well dogs do.
Spartan hounds are in demand. And hounds of Melita - I mean not
my own deme, but the island.'
'Melita - not even Greek! An island crawling with Phoenicians and
traders from Karthago!'
'But it breeds good little hounds. Fine-boned, thin and small.
That's why I called mine "Little Twig". She'd sit on my lap. Some of
you know my favourite dog - or rather bitch - from Melita -'
'And how is she, I beg to know?' asked Euphorbos politely. As he
spoke, he played with his knucklebones, keeping the glittering gold
pair hopping around the back of his hand without even looking at
them. 'One should always enquire solicitously after the health of
one's friends' bitches.'
'Alas! Poor Little Twig! I must be sad while I remember her. She
died the other day
. We have had her buried with pomp. A grave in the
garden. I myself have designed a nice little tombstone for her. You
must come and see it. It says
"A fond farewell.
Her master commends to the shades
his Little Twig.
A small piece of
Melita lies here.'"
'Very touching.'
50
MEETING A MONKEY
'When you do a thing, you certainly do it well,' said Apollonios.
'Didn't you recently make an offering in the Asklepion, for your great
toe? Never seen better bronze, or a more detailed likeness of a toe.'
'A poor thing, but all my own,' laughed the monkey-man. His
monkey suddenly got up and jumped from his shoulders to the
pavement, where it sported itself like a satyr, waving its long penis
around and about. A little crowd had collected, offering shouts of
laughter and encouragement.
'Watch out, Euphorbos, guard your backside - he's attracted to
your rear entry!'
'How much do you pay him, Kallias, to do your job at home?'
'Hey, the brothel's nearby! Bid this little gentleman hasten there
directly. He's got more to give the girls than most of
their customers.'
'Come, Theseus.' Kallias the owner of
the beast gave a shake to its
little gold chain - was it really all solid gold? - and began to walk
across the Agora. Theseus the monkey resisted by lying down, but the
chain necessitated his being hauled along after his urgent master. The
animal had one last revenge. As the creature got to its feet, it made
water copiously and splashed as many as it could - including the
crowd who deemed themselves spectators and were caught unawares.
The cursings and scramblings that followed seemed to satisfy the
beast immensely. Then the monkey moved smartly away, trotting
behind his master with many grimaces.
'What a terrible beast!' exclaimed Theophrastos. 'Kallias' family
were once great aristocrats and generals, and look what he has come
to - a man who prides himself on dogs and monkeys!'
'Well, he is happier than the other men around him,' I responded.
'Anyway, many in that family have been rich and - to say the least-
jolly. Wasn't one ofKallias' ancestors noted for extravagance? Before
he became a general. Wasn't he even accused of sacrilege?'
'Sacrilege? Who speaks of sacrilege?' It was the grave citizen
Theosophoros whom I had tried to avoid on the day of the ox-
murder. I had reason to believe he did not think well of
me, and was
51
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
surprised when he addressed me fonnally, ignoring Theophrastos.
'Good day, Stephanos, son of Nikiarkhos.' I returned his greeting,
hoping he would pass on.
'Sacrilege - dread word. We must all be wary of the slightest
approach to it,' Theosophoros continued. 'Our safety depends upon
constant avoidance of such offence. You, 0 Stephanos, mingle with
philosophers, who are not always immune to such a charge.
Philosophers should be humble. Megakles, let me make you known
to Stephanos son of
Nikiarkhos. Stephanos, be known to Megakles.'
I bowed and munnured that I was happy to see him again. Of
course I already knew this man Megakles, who had been introduced
to Aristotle by Mikon's father at the Bouphonia. Unsmiling Megakles
with the greying hair and the large bald spot ripened to a deeper rose
in the sun of midsummer. Seeing this important acquaintance,
Euphorbos strolled up to join us.
'Nowadays,' proceeded Theosophoros, 'we must all be extremely
careful to avoid sacrilege. We must all be careful, for instance, not to
say any word against a great man, now departed.' He glanced
significantly towards the statue of Philip of Makedon placed in the
Agora by the Athenians after our defeat at Khaironia. 'An honorary
citizen of
Athens, no less! What can one do but admire?'
'Killed by a man he tried to bugger once too often, but now
proclaimed divine and immortal.'
'Hush, Euphorbos,' said Megakles indulgently. 'Cease your jesting
when it isn't prudent. Be glad at least we know some people of good
Athenian name. Yours, Stephanos, is an excellent name, let us
introduce you -'
At Megakles' insistence I was hurried over the short distance to the
little cluster of
men whose talk I had too visibly overheard. The great
man introduced me with stiff
fonnality to Eurymedon and the others.
I felt embarrassed, as my hands and mouth were greasy with sausage.
I also could not avoid introducing Theophrastos to Theosophoros
and likewise to Megakles, who really ought to have recognised him.
52
MEETING A MONKEY
Theophrastos certainly had no reason to be glad of the encounter at
this moment, when not only his clothes but also his countenance bore
traces of the monkey's fruit. His oblong face had become flushed;
never graceful, he was at present decidedly awkward. Speaking in his
usual very precise manner, Theophrastos resisted Megakles' cool
entreaty that he join them, and moved off
into the market-place. I felt
it necessary to stay and talk civilly to these friends, who were
recovering after the confusion brought about by the advent of
Kallias
and his monkey.
'Did you see that truly dreadful animal?' asked Eurymedon.
'Someone should tell Kallias that the monkey tricks of his are not
seemly in the Agora.'
'Whatever he may do with his monkey at home,' added Euphorbos.
'The beast might do well in the City Council,' added
Theosophoros drily. 'There are members of the Boule who act with
as much sense and dignity as Kallias' energetic and too-well-endowed
companion.
'
'So this is Stephanos of Athens,' said short Epikrates, his quiff
standing up on end, perhaps from taking fright at the monkey. 'I have
heard of
you. I trust your cousin has quite recovered from his brush
with the law?'
'The two of you hiding under cheese in a cart, so I hear,'
Apollonios interjected.
'Isn't it wonderful what strange stories get about in Athens?' I
wasn't going to be drawn into a tedious and slightly embarrassing
tale. 'But Epikrates, I hope rumour is wrong in saying that you have
some legal vexation at present?'
'The world knows it!' said Epikrates with venom. 'Against that
stinking Athenogenes the perfumer. Hypereides is going to assist
me.'
'I was just going to suggest,' I said mildly, 'that Aristotle might be
able to help you.'
'That,' said Megakles heavily, 'is extremely disrespectful to our
53
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
good Hypereides. Not all of
us hang upon Aristotle's sleeve, begging
him to help us out of scrapes.'
There was a pause. I felt myself blush. It is true I had intended a
mild insult, but hadn't intended to be called on it.
'I beg pardon, and meant no offence,' I said meekly. 'I was merely
concerned for the peace of
mind of
Epikrates -'
'/
certainly am not offended' said Hypereides heartily. 'We all know
the brilliance of
Aristotle - and his influence. Certainly, Epikrates and
I have no reason to be ungrateful for any good thoughts or assistance.'
'Well, this is the case,' said Epikrates. 'Here's Athenogenes the
Egyptian perfumer had a slave boy I wanted, but he got a woman to
- to persuade me to buy the boy's father and brother too. Buying
three slaves - expensive. Forty minai! And
I was to be responsible for
any debts incurred by these slaves.'
'Athenogenes was certainly ingenious,' interpolated Hypereides.
'He not only sold him three slaves (with that unjust debt clause
attached), but also got him to sign an agreement to take one of the
perfume businesses. Athenogenes wrote an agreement in which he
said he gave Epikrates one of the perfume shops, "to set against any
debts"
.'
'That's what he told me - that the shop would pay any debts of
the
slaves! But that scented Egyptian was a great liar! The confounded
perfumery business that he made over to me in "compensation"
proved riddled with debts - at least five talents' worth. Five talents!'
'You see?' said stem Apollonios. 'This is the result of allowing all
these foreigners into Athens. That Egyptian perfumer is just the type
of these migrants who come in and try to take over. He even has the
gall to call himself "Athenogenes", as if being merely born in Athens,
dropped here by his trashy dam - as if
that littering here gave him any
kind of
claim. These vermin are ruining our great city! None of
us will
be able to lead the life of citizens if this continues.'
'That is one of
the gravest consequences of
Alexander's advances,'
agreed Theosophoros. 'These riff-raff from other places, coming like
54
MEETING A MONKEY
locusts. Jumped-up freedmen and all sorts who think they can get
rich. Poor Epikrates. They stink of
civet but they wouldn't care if
they
stank of shit, as long as silver and gold goes into their boxes.'
'And little innocents like Epikrates being ruined! Taken in by a
good Athenian whore as well. It
is a wonder I do not weep in thinking
of it!' Euphorbos pretended to wipe tears from his eyes.
'It is important,' said Apollonios, 'that some of
us stand up against
these pernicious new ways. We need not be lost. Athens is strong and
can be stronger. Stephanos, young men like yourself should take an
active part in the new movement to restore and fortify Athens - not
only her citadels and walls, her temples and her ships, but her spirit.'
'And,' added Eurymedon, 'those who take such an active part can
count on the reward of
the approval of
good men.' Eurymedon always
seemed to speak in a liturgical voice. Probably he already took some
role in the religious rituals at Eleusis. 'And who knows the will of
the
gods?' he added. 'The Makedonian man is plunging further eastward,
ever onward. Who knows what the gods have in store? He might be
lost there - which of course we would all regret,' he added drily.
'You, 0 Stephanos, are young and single,' said Theosophoros.
'You might be interested to note that some rich and patriotic citizens
of Athens possess daughters who are not humpbacked or one-eyed.'
'Whenever I do marry,' I said carefully, 'it will most certainly be to
the daughter of
a man and citizen who is descended from generations
of
Athenian citizens and landowners. On that I am determined.'
'Good fellow,' said Megakles, his bald spot blooming rosily in the
afternoon sun. 'We know you take an interest in philosophy - as we
all do. Particularly my friend Thrasymakhos, whose ancestor was so
well acquainted with Plato. But just the same, we don't want to get
carried away, do we? Remember, the enchantments of philosophy
may mislead unwary men into sacrilege. Any disrespect to the gods
now, any deviation from established and safe customs, creates holes
in the wall, so to speak, through which evil can enter.'
'True. Sacrilege is a very bad thing,' I assented. 'But I am still
55
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
concerned as how to help Epikrates in this dispute with the perfumer.
For poor Epikrates must have lost a great deal of
money.'
'Which we shall try to recover,' said Hypereides, with a graceful
smile. 'Epikrates and I should discuss the case.' He detached
Epikrates from the group, and the two went off together, little
Epikrates trying to match his step to that of
tall, confident Hypereides.
'Humph!' said Apollonios. 'Epikrates deserves what he got,
entertaining himself with the slave boy and the woman. Farting
around a brothel and dripping sentiment over a boy. Just asking that
smelly Egyptian bastard to diddle him!'
'Hypereides is almost too good-natured,' said Eurymedon.
'Epikrates probably should not take up his valuable time.'
'One cannot but agree,' said Euphorbos, making his face stiff and
matching his tones to the solemn ones of the Eleusinian. 'For 10,
brethren, all things must be in proportion. Why should the ox worry
over the sorrows of the gnat?'
'Ah, but consider,' said Theosophoros, 'Epikrates is a good citizen
and his money can be useful to the cause. If that money can be
recovered from that unsweet seller of sweet oils. Is that not so,
Stephanos? It is worth while, is it not, to defend ourselves through use
of the law?'
'Certainly it must be,' I said, disdaining to derive any personal
application from this remark. 'Or else we would not have laws. I beg
your forgiveness, gentlemen, for it has been a great privilege to meet
you, but I must, unfortunately, depart at this time.'
And at last I got away from them. I had not turned two comers on
my way home when I found the fruit-spattered Theophrastos
lingering by the way.
'You said you had something to say to me,' I said. 'What did you
want to talk with me about?'
'Aristotle,' Theophrastos said simply. 'I wanted you to go and see
him. He is well - in himself. But he is worried about Pythias, who has
not been well. I think he would take pleasure in your presence. But
56
MEETING A MONKEY
not to bring him hints from such as those,' he added bitterly. 'He
should not be bothered just now. Come and see him as a friend,
Stephanos.
'
'Tell Aristotle I shall come to see him tomorrow.'
57
IV
==~g-p~=
a"-"G"
Sweetness and Bees
Taking Theophrastos' suggestion seriously, I went next day to see
Aristotle. It occurred to me that a discussion of
Epikrates' case might
provide a good pretext for a visit. I did not want Aristotle to think I
was officiously hovering, or presuming on my own position, since
I was neither an equal friend nor a blood relation. Aristotle was at
home, instead of in the Lykeion where I had expected to find him.
'We'll sit inside in my room if you don't mind,' he said. 'I know it
is a trifle warm. It would be nicer to sit outside, but I should like
Pythias to be able to use the garden freely if she is disposed to walk,
or sit in the sun.'
'How is your wife?' I asked.
He sighed. 'Not well. I'm afraid this pregnancy is proving difficult.
I have always held - I have written - that pregnant women should not
give themselves over to idleness or be forced to rest, but should take
regular and sufficient exercise. That's why I have said that it would
be good to have a number of shrines to the goddesses of childbirth -
Hera, and Leto for instance - so that pregnant women could walk to
them. And a woman bearing a child should eat nourishing food - she
does not require a slender diet. But Pythias finds it trying now to walk
58
SWEETNESS AND BEES
any distance. I urged her to seek out the shrine of Demeter - she has
a special devotion to Demeter
- but she says she cannot go so far. And
she eats scarcely at all. I have been keeping her company as much as
possible. Sometimes I read to her. I haven't been working as much at
the Lykeion as I had planned during this period. Ah well, I do have
able assistants.'
'Yes, you are lucky there - Theophrastos and Hipparkhos and the
rest.'
'Once this difficult time is over - and Pythias is nearly at the end -
we shall both be much better. And the baby, too. It will be able to
benefit from summer weather and grow strong and hardy.'
He sighed a little as he spoke. Aristotle looked paler than I was used
to seeing him - certainly in summer. I noticed how his hair, which
used to make me think of
a fire spirit, had drifted towards grey, or run
into dull sandy shades. It was disheartening to feel his brightness a
little dimmed. He seemed preoccupied.
'What is the news, Stephanos? I get about so little at the moment.
How do things fare with you?'
I was unwilling to trouble him with the patriotic and anti-
Makedonian sentiments I had heard uttered the day before. I recol-
lected and told him a suitable version of the conversation about
Harmodios and Aristogeiton, and about the promised return of the
original statues as a gift from Alexander.
'And at least,' I said, 'they will be better works of art than the
copies. And a good thing to remind us of
our patriotism and Athenian
history. Though some people will apply it to Alexander's own case.'
Aristotle made a face. 'It is really not a very simple or very nice
story, that of Harmodios and Aristogeiton. People forget the truth
and say "they killed the tyrant". But they did not. The real tyrant at
the time was Hippias, and it was too difficult to kill him. So those two
killed Hippias' brother, just as he was innocently lining up the
pageant wagons and marchers for the Panathenia procession. Surely
an innocent and even laudable and pious occupation! Some say
59
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Aristogeiton was anxious to kill this man anyway, because the tyrant's
brother had developed a love-longing for Aristogeiton's own beloved
Harmodios. Who knows? But, you see, they didn't kill a tyrant.
Harmodios himself
was killed straight away when the guards arrived,
and Aristogeiton lived to be tortured - long enough to wish that he
had died when Harmodios did. Worst of all, Hippias became more
suspicious and cruel, and clamped down on Athens in a way he had
not done before. So, what was accomplished by this act of heroic
violence?'
I was surprised at this deflating view. It was a standard school
theme that as we were against tyrants we should be for Aristogeiton
and young Harmodios. Glad of the chance to change the subject, I
turned to my own affairs, and offered a summary of
my conversation
with Smikrenes.
'It is a lucky thing for my future father-in-law,' I commented, 'that
I am basically honest and not litigious. His conduct in the past
indicates how frightened he is of anything to do with the city, or legal
action of any kind. He did not even reclaim his wife! Now I must try
to search for her, in the Hymettos region.'
'You certainly should do so,' said Aristotle. 'For two reasons. First,
and most important, you should not marry the daughter without
knowing more of the nature and conduct of
the mother. You cannot
in propriety talk with her yourself, naturally, but be sure to ask some
shrewd questions of whatever male relatives you encounter. If
you
suspect that she is not sane, do not marry the daughter. If
you suspect
that she is unchaste, do not marry the daughter. Second, it is
important to establish for the sake of your children whether there
should be any benefit to them from such an alliance, especially if
there is an inheritance. Much can be done there. For example, make
sure that this woman's deceased father left a legitimate will. You
know, if he was influenced by his wife in making the will, that
testament can be declared null. It might be of
benefit to you if a will
were set aside.'
60
SWEETNESS AND BEES
'Strange, in some ways,' I mused. 'It seems so natural for a man's
own wife to be consulted. In devising a will that affects their children.'
'No - no, Stephanos, the law is right. After all, strictly speaking, the
children are not hers but his. It is the father of
the child who supplies
all the life-material, the identity. What the children are is already
present in the father's seed. The mother simply gives the embryo
house-room. She lets it lodge with her, as it were, nourishes the
growing infant in her womb for nine months. Woman is matter, but
form is male. Matter is supplied by the mother, but form comes from
the father. Therefore, the care of children is perfectly the husband's
prerogative. Moreover, a woman, if she were allowed to have
influence, would be sadly likely to be under control of
her own family
- especially her own brothers - and they could use her to defraud the
rightful heirs. Hence, to make a will under the influence of a wife is
reckoned the same as making a will under durance or some other
coercion. When you look into it, you find the law quite sound.'
'Well, here is a case I have heard of
that might appeal to you. There
is a little man called Epikrates who must go to law. He was probably
influenced and persuaded by a prostitute, who helped him to be
swindled by an ingenious Egyptian myrrh-merchant.'
I hastened to regale him with the story (in so far as I knew it) of
Epikrates and the Egyptian perfumer. As I expected, Aristotle was
highly entertained.
'There must be something more to this story,' he said. 'Epikrates
doesn't count for much - except that he is so rich! And thus
important in Athens. Truly, I should like to do a favour for
Hypereides himself. It would not be impolitic to oblige him.' I was
relieved to feel that, as usual, Aristotle was many steps ahead of me
and quite aware of the political situation. There seemed all the less
reason for rehearsing the utterances of Megakles, Apollonios and
Eurymedon.
'Sir, there is someone to see you,' said the slave who had been
keeping the main door.
61
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Well, Phokon, have you let whoever-it-is in? Who is it? I presume,
from your tone as well as from your words, you take our visitor to be
someone who is no gentleman.'
'Sir,' said the slave, smiling a little, 'it is certainly no gentleman. But
what to call her in gentlemen's ears I cannot rightly tell.'
'That is, you know all too well.' While the slave endeavoured to
suppress a laugh, a slender female form appeared behind him. This
was patently not a gentleman, and ladies do not call at gentlemen's
houses. As we tried to get a clear view of the visitor, our noses were
saluted with Eastern gales of
teasing sweetness.
'Well, this is clearly no female quacksalver trying to get at my wife!
Nor some fake priestess of Demeter, the goddess whom my wife
loves. It would be hard to deny Pythias, for I love her as much as she
loves Demeter. But no,' Aristotle continued, gazing at the female
person who had now moved to the threshold and stood in front of
the
hapless porter. 'I see this is unlikely to be a priestess or medicine-
woman. Let her fully enter the room and announce her own name.'
The woman obediently and gracefully came into the room. The
book-lined apartment seemed an incongruous setting for this
apparition. She was tall for a female, and slender, but very well-
shaped. Her hair, a great deal of which was on display beneath an
attractive green cloth flung over her head, was the most peculiar
colour, both dark and fair, with twisty points of a reddish hue. Her
eyes were outlined in some dark stuff
in what I now thought of
as the
Egyptian manner (but with much more subtlety than I had seen on
the face of
the Egyptian prostitute I had met in the brothel in Kirrha).
Gold bracelets circled both wrists, and a little chain of
gold ran about
her waist. This woman's gown was of a white linen so fine it must
have been Egyptian, and on her finely-shaped feet were carefully
wrought sandals of green leather, with the straps like leaves and
tendrils curling over her feet. It was odd to think of those sandals
plodding the dusty road to Aristotle's house. The woman herself was
beautifully cool, not a drop of
sweat nor a hair out of
place, though it
62
SWEETNESS AND BEES
was a summer afternoon. She was as slender and elegant as a young
palm tree swaying in the wind in the sanctuary at Delos.
'Well, well,' said Aristotle, as we both surveyed this sweet
apparition with admiration and interest. 'Let us know your name.'
'Sir,' said the woman. 'I am Antigone of
Athens.'
'Antigone of Athens! Well, there's a change. The most famous
woman of
that name was Antigone of
Thebes - perhaps you know of
her. Oidipous' daughter.'
'Sir,' said the woman, 'I come to you for help. For 1 have much
trouble!' With a graceful movement and a kind of swoop like a well-
bred heron she came across the room and sank to her knees, then
extended one hand imploringly to touch Aristotle's right knee. He
drew it back, but had to extend his own hand to raise her - a touching
tableau.
'Please,' he said, patting her head, 'it is too hot for a lot of
kneeling
and getting up again. Why don't you sit down somewhere and tell us
- me and my friend - a plain tale?'
'As you are so good as to hear me,' said the woman, humbly. She
sat herself down on a footstool, like a white dove coming tremblingly
to rest.
'If
you haven't heard of
me before, you may soon,' she began, in a
particularly sweet voice. 'I am Antigone, and 1 can say no more for
myself than that 1 am a freedwoman and the daughter of a
freedwoman, and 1 am a harlot of Athens, as my mother was too. 1
work independently. Well, that is, 1 did, until 1 set up my own
establishment, and 1 now have two girls working for me.'
'A rise to success, in short,' said Aristotle.
'It seemed so until recently. For one of my clients was this man
Epikrates, who was a regular customer, although he liked boys as well
as girls. He wanted to get a boy belonging to an Egyptian perfume-
seller, Athenogenes. The slave he wanted was the younger son of a
slave called Midas, a good worker and of
some value to Athenogenes.'
'Did Epikrates want to set the boy free?' asked Aristotle.
63
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Dear me, 1 don't know. 1 don't remember that he said so, but he
may have done. Sometimes men say a great many things. Anyway,
Epikrates eventually complained to me that Athenogenes would not
sell the boy on whom he had set his heart. He asked me to negotiate
with Athenogenes, and 1 did. 1 so softened Athenogenes that he said
he would sell all three - Midas and both of his sons - for forty
minai.'
'Did you tell Epikrates to hasten to clap up the bargain?'
'I must honestly say that 1 did tell Epikrates to act quickly. For 1
was not sure how long Athenogenes would hold one mind. But 1 had
no more to do with the affair. Epikrates feels ill-used by the perfume
man. Now they - Epikrates and his friends, 1 mean - are dragging me
into it.'
'How well did you know Athenogenes? Were you partners?'
'No - no. He had been a client of mine, and 1 bought some
perfumes and unguents - and medicines too - from him. Naturally,
he saw 1 was a good customer. The girls need oils and sweet scents
for their work. He let me have a discount, because he knew my house
would do a regular business in that way. But that is all.'
'Did you get money from Epikrates?'
'Yes.'
'How much?'
'About two hundred and fifty drakhmai.'
'And this was specifically a commission for your aid in persuading
the Egyptian merchant to do as Epikrates wished?'
'Well, yes - a commission. He paid me other money for ... for my
regular services.' She flushed charmingly, like the first clouds of
dawn, and then began to weep, silently, the tears welling into her eyes
and starting down her lovely cheek, without any howls or sniffs. The
material with which she had outlined her eyes remained admirably
steadfast at its post. '0
sirs, 1 am in great trouble - for what can a poor
woman do when accused by the rich and great?'
'You don't seem in any particular danger,' said Aristotle cautiously.
64
SWEETNESS AND BEES
'This is not a criminal case. I don't see how it can be made out to be
anything more than a civil disagreement, if there were no more to it
than a legal matter between two gentlemen.'
'No, indeed. Epikrates signed a contract-'
'Ah, it is only legal if
there were a contract - a written contract. But
how do you know there really was a contract? Did you actually see
one?'
'Oh, yes, sir, indeed. I saw it and Epikrates was in his right mind
and knowingly signed it. He set his name in full, not just his mark.'
'Ah. That seems satisfactory. Well, all that Epikrates can really ask
for in law is some of
his money back. He cannot succeed in a criminal
prosecution. He can probably get a favourable hearing for his demand
not to bear the burden of the debts that came with the perfumery
business foisted on him along with the slaves. Tell your friend
Athenogenes that making such a bargain with concealed debts in it is
a mean trick, and if he persists in such things he is likely to get into
serious trouble in Athens. As for you - you can only be in trouble to
the extent that you were involved. But, as it isn't a criminal case, and
you are a freedwoman, you need have no fear for your skin. The law
case may affect your business, if you are asked (though it is unlikely
that this would be demanded) to help restore some of the money.
And you said your business is very small, only two harlots employed
as well as yourself? In that case, Stephanos, you need not apply, for
their house is sure to be too busy.'
'Oh, sir.' The courtesan gathered herself together and stood up
gracefully. 'If you or your young friend should wish to come to my
house you would be well entertained, I dare avow. Actually I do have
three girls at command now - but you could always get the very best.'
She looked at both of us, coyness mingling with a certain
scepticism or just deprecation. Although as I looked at her longer I
saw she was not in her first youth, she still seemed magnificent. With
her curling tendrils and green-leaf sandals she was a female
manifestation of
Dionysos.
65
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Farewell,' said Aristotle, rising courteously. 'The porter will see
you out.'
'Allow me,' I said. I had the pleasure of handing her to the main
door, feeling the silken skin of
her soft hand and the shape of
her arm
through the soft material of
her clothing. I also had the satisfaction to
my curiosity of
seeing her stepping into a little one-ass cart and being
driven away by her slave. So, after all, she had not had to walk dusty
roads in those wonderful green-tendrilled sandals.
At the departure of this new Antigone, Aristotle turned to me.
'Did you see, Stephanos?' he asked, with some of his old eager
animation.
'That woman gave herself away! She herself did see the
contract - therefore she was a party to the whole thing. I can almost
guarantee that this charming Antigone is a secret - or not-so-secret -
partner of the perfume-seller Athenogenes. I will get hold of
Hypereides and tell him as much. I shall also suggest that Epikrates
make as his excuse in the law case the statement that he was besotted
by this woman - carried away with love for her! Let him say "Eros
working together with a woman is much too powerful for male
nature, and can overthrow any man." Thus Epikrates can say he did
what Antigone asked without knowing entirely what he did. It would
be better, by the way, for Epikrates if
he could declare that he wished
to free the boy he spent the money on.'
'I suppose,' I agreed, 'that it would look a little more noble and a
good deal less crass.'
'Precisely. But I shall tell Hypereides to produce this Antigone
herself before the jury. Let Epikrates say he was besotted with love
- and then let her be produced in the flesh. She would have a terrific
effect. Just imagine her in a courtroom! Men would readily believe
that Epikrates was carried away by love-desire - intoxicated, in the
manner of men. They would thus find his stupidity much more
forgivable. If that last will and testament is wrong which has been
made by a man under the influence of his wife, how much more
wrong is that contract which has been made under the undue and
66
SWEETNESS AND BEES
omnipotent influence of a powerful courtesan.'
'Do you think that is altogether fair to her?' I asked. 'She came to
you as a suppliant, after all.'
'But why did she come? Probably to see if she could get something
out of the pro-Makedonians, since Hypereides and the anti-
Makedonians are against her. But this beautiful whore is not honest.
She knew too much about that contract. And she must have received
more from Epikrates than the two hundred and fifty drakhs. For she
has recently bought another girl for her establishment, and that costs
a handsome sum. Especially as this madam evidently is in the fine
hetaira line, and must go in for elegance and good conversation,
perhaps offering a little music as well. Upon my word, Stephanos, I
hope your youthful heart - or loins - may not be overset by this vision!
Antigone, indeed. Well, the original Antigone was persistent too, I'll
say that.'
I was affected by the vision of
this Antigone (and by her scent, and
the touch of her hand), though I was wise enough not to go to her
house. Actually, my body still yearned after the Egyptian Tita (seen
only once and never enjoyed by me) in the rocky little harbour
under the cliffs of Delphi. I did go to a good brothel that night, and
was glad I did. I finished the evening by drinking a great deal, to the
sound of flutes; I got home late (or early) and slept a deep healthy
sleep.
The next morning I set out in pursuit of
my future wife's mother - or,
rather, her relatives. By this time I had gained a little further light on
the subject of
the whereabouts of
her family'S settlement on the lower
slopes of Hymettos. Philomela's stepfather, whose name was
Dropides, dwelled there, on the property of
his wife's first husband-
a strange enough arrangement. I started off early, before sun-up, so
as not to become tired by walking the whole distance in the heat of
the day. But it took me a while to get out of
the city, and the sun was
advancing as I made my way beyond the city walls towards purple
67
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Hymettos, the range of marble hills protecting Athens on the south-
east side.
The countryside was in a festival of summer, fields laughing under
the light. Reapers were taking in the harvest in golden armfuls. In the
small gardens that ran beside or behind the humbler houses, women
could be seen tending the vegetables. I walked with pleasure even as
the day warmed. I went through a field whose crop had recently been
harvested; the field was lying idle and placid in the early sun that
caused its stubble to shine and gleam like radiant precious things. In
the middle of the field was a little closed house, obviously the
property of a phratry, and holding their holy objects until the next
celebratory occasion.
The land began to rise, and I was walking into hill country,
following the pine trees beside the River Ilissos as that stream
sped swiftly (less swiftly now, in high summer) downward from its
source in Hymettos to give water and life to Athens. The fountain
whence Ilissos flows is sacred to Aphrodite, and supposed to
remedy sterility in the man or woman who drinks from it. The
family that I was looking for lived not far from the source of the
river, in the uplands, but on a flat part with some arable land, a
miniature plain set in the side of
the mountain. As I moved upwards
following the river, trees offered welcome shade. Dragonflies
sported on the surface of the water. The air was everywhere clear
and grateful to the sense - not just to the smell, but to the sense of
breathing in itself.
I thought I was drawing near as I moved out again from the shade
of trees and saw a wider space. Across from me I could see a woman
walking through this space. She walked with such grace and dignity
that she looked like a princess or priestess of old time. Alone,
momentarily, in the landscape, she moved with purpose across it,
towards some objects that I could not clearly descry. I could hear the
hum of
insects in the still air.
To the left I now saw the small farmhouse and outbuildings,
68
SWEETNESS AND BEES
crouched in a fold of
the ground so as to make best use of
the flat and
tillable lands. I went up to the door and knocked. All this while I was
greeted by the furious barking of the yard dog, who was, however,
firmly tied to a projection on one of the outbuildings and could not
leap at my throat. At last I was answered by an elderly slavewoman,
who shuffled along and peered at me shortsightedly. Whatever this
family's wealth, they did not waste money on the purchase and
upkeep of impressive servants.
'Who's that, Mika?' a querulous voice said from the inner room. I
started to explain but was cut short. 'Don't stand maundering but
come in,' said the voice and I came.
The inner room was agreeable enough in shape and size, but not as
agreeable as it might be made. It was full of litter. I don't mean just
crowded with many things, as one might say that sometimes
Aristotle's room seemed to be full of books, open and closed and
tumbled about for reference, or that a woman's room is full of her
sewing and fabric and loom and so on. It was full of things that are
not useful and that nobody would ever want. There were piles of
crockery, most of it cracked or chipped, and pieces of furniture that
had died or given up from bad usage or old age.
Dropides - for this must be the master of
the house - sat in a chair
softened with cushions and draped with various fabrics. He was
sipping something out of a thick pottery cup. My advent did not
disturb him. He looked at me and went on drinking, if
in a well-bred
and delicate fashion. It was an awkward moment, for I was speaking
after a fashion to my fiancee's grandfather, or the substitute for that
patriarch. An elder, and the head of a house.
'Sir,' I began formally, 'I ask your pardon for this intrusion, and
beg to explain my reason for coming to you. I am Stephanos son of
Nikiarkhos of Athens. Through great good fortune I have become
acquainted with Smikrenes of Eleusis and I wish to marry his
daughter, whose name I am told is Philomela.' I spoke thus formally
to avoid giving the vulgar offence of being over-familiar; it is usually
69
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
very rude to refer by name to the female members of a man's family.
I took a deep breath and continued:
'To this plan Smikrenes agrees, but I would earnestly wish to
consult the girl's mother's relatives likewise. Smikrenes' daughter is
the child of
your wife's daughter.'
'Not my daughter,' Dropides interjected. He was evidently not ill-
educated, for he spoke better than did Smikrenes, for instance, but
his low voice lacked colour and emphasis. Neither my arrival nor my
statement seemed to have excited him.
'This I know. But you stand in relation to Philonike daughter of
Philokles in place of
her father, as you are her stepfather and natural
guardian.'
'She doesn't need much guarding. I leave all that to my wife. My
wife's outside now, seeing to the reaping. She works with and directs
the men. But she can be fetched. Mika, fetch Philokleia.'
The blear-eyed old woman shuflled off at his bidding. He took
another sip. This strangely indolent man did not look truly old, though
he acted elderly. He must be, I thought, a good ten or twelve years
younger than Hypereides (possibly more). Yet one couldn't imagine
him striding though the Agora or indeed anywhere else. Dropides
seemed to live like a woman, letting his wife act in the manly way.
'Indeed,' I said, nonplussed. 'Pray do not put your household to
trouble on my account.'
He caught my surprise.
'I am an invalid, I fear, sir - a confirmed invalid.' He coughed
gently. 'Philokleia my wife has a couple of years over me, but she's
spry and wiry. I am not so young as I was. Why, you say yourself I'm
a grandfather, as it were, to Philomela. Philonike my stepdaughter is
no chick - she's five-and-thirty, if a day. And now Philonike's
daughter has taken a maggot to be married! I find it
best to let others
do anything that needs doing. Why shorten life?'
He quietly adjusted a sheepskin, one of
the many mats or rugs that
hung about his chair.
70
SWEETNESS AND BEES
'I keep my shoulders and knees warm, and try to maintain an even
body heat,' he explained. I thought he must truly be ill to wish for any
coverings or soft fabrics on a day that was so warm. Though in this
room, evidently thick-walled, it was not unbearably hot so much as
too stuffy. The many extra objects, the cracked chairs and wormy
tables, seemed to exhale their dust as they decayed, even while we
were speaking.
Mika returned, her low grumbling voice addressing someone else,
a woman who answered more sharply.
'Ah, there's Philokleia now!' Dropides smiled. 'If
she stands in the
room just off here - with only a curtain between us - then she can
answer any questions you want, without you seeing her or anything
improper.'
I was glad to assent, and Philokleia took up her stand as she was bid
behind the curtain. Her obedience, however, had its limits, for she
remonstrated with the head of
the house.
'You had best left me alone, husband, for we were getting on so
quick with the grain, and me being gone will slow everything.
Whatever can be the matter, that you summon me in on a working
day? It
will be too hot to go on soon, and the men will insist on food
and a nap, so part of the morning will have been clean wasted.'
'I humbly beg your pardon, sir,' I said. It seemed best for the
proprieties to maintain the fiction that I addressed the master of the
house, and that his wife addressed him also. 'Please, 0 Dropides,
convey my apologies to your wife. I would not disturb you or her on
any light occasion. But I am wishful to wed Smikrenes' daughter
Philomela, the child of
your wife's own daughter.'
'Ha,' snorted the woman behind the curtain. 'So Philonike's brat is
of
marrying age? Doesn't time fly.' It was odd to think that I had just
heard the voice of
Philomela's grandmother.
'Please tell your wife,' I directed Dropides, 'what I am saying to
you, that I would like to know that Philomela's marriage was
approved by her kindred on the mother's side. And of course I wish
71
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
to know' - this was the pith of the matter - 'whether Philomela's
mother Philonike still has a brother living, for his approval of course
should be asked. As well as yours, sir,' I added carefully.
'Mine?' said Dropides. 'Oh, mine doesn't count, I'm just a step-
relation. I don't know as I have ever heard of
you. Wife, have you ever
heard of this man Stephanos?'
'No, never,' said the woman. 'Smikrenes I know. We should really
call in my daughter, for she's the person this most concerns. Mika,
fetch Philonike.'
Mika, muttering under her breath, went out into the heat again. I
did not want to slacken in my questioning; I felt the important point
about the brother had been passed over. I was aware, however, that I
might appear as a most unwelcome claimant upon the family's
wealth.
'If you please, sir,' I said, still addressing my remarks formally to
Dropides, despite the fact that the family supply of knowledge and
energy evidently - even in his own opinion - belonged to his wife.
'What can you tell me about Philomela's uncle on her mother's side,
the brother of Philonike? Your stepson?'
'Not much of a son,' said Dropides. He took a long sip from his
pot. 'A headstrong youth, little apt to listen to his elders, to my way
of thinking. Foolish, very foolish.'
'Humph!' said Philokleia. 'He's a good boy, my Philokles. Just
because he thinks to better himself, you think he's a fool.'
She certainly spoke of her son in the present tense, I noted, so she
was reasonably sure he was still alive.
'Where is he?' I asked. 'And why,' I demanded with conscious
daring, 'have you kept Philonike at home all this time? Away from her
lawful husband?'
'Hah!' said the woman behind the curtain. 'Keep her! She's not
been a prisoner here, I can tell you.'
'Surely not,' said Dropides, roused with some energy in his tone.
'It was her own father brought her back, after she had lost her child -'
72
SWEETNESS AND BEES
'She was all dazed-like at that time,' interjected Philokleia.
'So it was his doing that she was here,' said Dropides. 'Nothing to
do with me. I wasn't going to chase her out of
house and home, that's
all. If
her husband wanted her, why didn't he come and get her? Isn't
that so, wife?'
'Right!' said Philokleia, in a triumphant tone. 'If old Smikrenes
wanted the girl, he should have said so and gone to some trouble
about it. But Philonike was happy here, you see - it's her home. She
loves the hills and heights, the plane trees and the river, and the smell
of thyme and the heather. Everything's too flat down in that area
around about Eleusis, she said - no life in it.'
'And she's good with the bees,' said Dropides. 'Some say women
shouldn't look after bees, but she does it beautifully. And with my
Philokleia having enough to attend to with the farm, she found it
hard
to keep the bees as well -'
'Well, that's a truth,' said Philokleia, in a resigned tone. I thought
she had not intended to mention this talent of
her daughter's, which
made the couple seem more self-interested in retaining her.
'Philonike looks after bees - quite wonderful - makes her own hives.
She don't seem to get stung like some others do. It's a sign that the
bees choose her, you see. She loves her bees, she certainly does-'
Mika came in again; there were more sounds, and a low conver-
sation. A tall figure came swiftly into the next room - and I realised
that this was my mysterious woman who walked like a princess. The
beekeeper. The objects she had been moving towards were her
beehouses.
'Well, Philonike,' said Philokleia. 'Here we've been talking of
your
beekeeping, and how good you are at it - to a young man who wants
to marry your daughter Philomela. Seemingly with your husband
Smikrenes' permission. What do you think of
that, eh?'
'Marry? My little Philomela - marry?' This was a beautiful voice
though it spoke in agitated tones. The tall and shapely woman came
close to the curtain. I could see her eyes glimmering through the fabric.
73
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Sir, assure your wife and daughter that Philomela is in good health
and of marriageable age and is a beautiful girl - her father says,' 1
added hastily. 1 must not let on that 1 had actually seen the girl
herself. 'I pray you, Dropides, ask your stepdaughter to go and see
Philomela, to assure herself that the girl is well, and also that she is
happy with this arrangement.'
'Ahh,' said the tall woman. 'I should so love to see her! But - 1
don't think that is possible - if
1 went, he would keep me and 1 don't
want to go back. I'd be afraid even to go to the wedding.'
'Oh, but you must come to the wedding,' 1 said impulsively,
addressing her directly through the curtain that divided us, though this
was not proper. 'Your mother and stepfather too, and then all will be
well. And you must see your daughter - if
you care about her at all -'
She laughed without humour. 'Care? She was the only reason 1
hesitated to leave - knowing 1 would give her up. The hardest thing
in my life - after losing the other baby, that is.'
'Please, good lady, see your daughter, and consent to this
wedding,' 1 said. 'I am respectable, if not very rich, 1 am born of a
good family, and 1 am in good health, with some prospects. You must
see that lowe it to any children Philomela and 1 may have - the gods
be willing - that 1 should also undertake this marriage with the
consent of
Philomela's uncle, your brother.'
'And 1 suppose,' said grandmother Philokleia in her sharper tones,
'you will be wanting to know if there is any money in it for you?'
'Yes,' 1 said. 'Frankly, 1 need to know whether there was or is any
disposition for Philomela, and thus for her children-to-be, following
the death of
her father, your husband. Your first husband, 1 mean.'
There was a short silence. 1 heard the women whisper. Dropides
closed his eyes and seemed to meditate. Philonike said something like
'We shall have to tell him!' And Philonike's mother spoke again.
'This is the way of
it. Of
course there must be a formal accounting
of this with someone who can attest to your standing and character.
But if
matters have gone this far, we should say "Yes." There is some
74
SWEE'INESS AND BEES
portion of inheritance under the will of my late first husband,
Philomela's grandfather. He left a portion of
the land - not ancestral
land, of
course - and some money for her. Naturally, this is in the care
of
his son Philokles.'
'And where is Philokles?' I enquired. This was surely the important
question.
'Ah, well. That's a point. Philokles has gone East. The boy thought
while I - and Dropides of
course - managed things here, he would be
better off going to one of the islands and seeing if he couldn't find a
new settlement there, now that everything in the East has opened up
with Alexander chasing the Persians away. We heard from him once
- he is in one of
those islands - one with a lot of
wind, and snakes, he
says, which you don't expect on islands.'
'Rhodos, mother.'
'Yes, Rhodos - sounds like roses, whether it's rosy or not. Of
course he may have gone to the mainland by now, or to one of the
other islands, Kos, maybe, as that is so healthy, he says. But he was
intending to plant a small farm and open up a business on Rhodos.'
'So -' said Dropides, opening up his eyes again. 'You would have
to chase after him out there, young master, for we don't rightly know
where to address him. If you can't find him, nothing can be done.
He'll come home when ready, no doubt. But there's a lot of stirring
work going on in the East now, a man could pick up a fortune -'
'Humph!' Philokleia snorted. 'There's enough to be made here, if
people would only attend to their work. My girl Philonike, like I said,
is wonderful with the bees.'
'And so you have Hymettos honey,' I said with approbation.
'Yes,' Philonike herself replied. 'We have Hymettos honey - the
best in the world. And our hives are in a lovely place, with sufficient
shelter. The bees are happy, so they make the best honey. Let me give
you a little pot to take home with you.'
'You might as well take it while you can,' said Dropides. 'Philonike
does wonderful honey - it's so excellent that we have been able to sell
75
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF l.lFE
some. Nowadays there's a big trade in it. It's valued, you see, for
cooking and medicine both. So we are thinking of opening up the
farm to more beehives, since there's real money in it.'
I thought to myself
that any opening up and improving the produce
would be done by the women without any active assistance from
Dropides.
'That is excellent,' I exclaimed. 'Such a happy farm as you have-
in such a lovely place!'
'It is nice,' said Dropides, looking about his stuffy room with great
complacency. 'A man likes to have all his things about him. We are
very well set up here - want for nothing -lots of pots. Lots of
tables.
And the best honey. Wheat and barley too. Also a few grape vines,
mostly good for vinegar. Not much wine, but excellent vinegar. Take
a drink yourself, young sir, of cool water from Ilissos' fountain, with
a dash of our vinegar in it. Very good for the health in summertime,
that is. I take it myself, though sometimes I have to have a dash of
wine instead - the vinegar sitting ill on my stomach. But have some
water and vinegar - with just a whisper of
honey, if
you like. Honey is
always good for the throat and the bowels.'
Mika brought me the drink of vinegar and water, which I drank
unsweetened; it was delicious. This had been a favourite drink of
my
childhood in hot summers, but the water here was certainly superior,
and the vinegar lived up to Dropides' account.
'Mika,' said Philokleia, 'take our guest out to the storehouse and
give him a pot of
honey on his way out.'
At this hint I made my farewells and went obediently with Mika.
To my surprise tall Philonike came too - not exactly with me, but as
a shadow flitting behind. I supposed that she wanted to make sure her
hives and honey stores were not molested. There were rows of
hives,
pottery jars lying on their sides, or cunning hutches of
old tree trunks.
As we approached the area, a warm buzz filled the air. The storehouse
was built into the ground, and Mika lowered herself into the coolness
and brought back a jar. The scent of honey wafted everywhere, and
76
SWEETNESS AND BEES
the bees started to come towards us. The door to the storehouse was
swiftly closed.
'How wonderful the bees are,' said Philonike. 'They know exactly
what they are doing. Humans make war, but bees make honey.'
'Don't bees sometimes make war, too?' I asked. 'We get our honey
from their greed - and then we are greedy ourselves.'
'And then such as I come and fill the hives with smoke, and destroy
their golden cities,' she added.
There was a silence, while the bees hummed about us. Philonike
broke the silence at last.
'Please, sir, find some way of conveying my warm greetings to my
daughter,' she said. 'I will do everything reasonable for her - except
go back to live with Smikrenes.'
'You are not divorced?'
'No - no. I have never been unfaithful. Just - not there.'
'Was he cruel to you?' I asked, audaciously.
'Oh no. Not according to his lights. It was just a disagreeable way
to live. I like the hills, and the bees, and the smell of thyme. I am
happy enough. And I think my brother will be all right. Philokles
always comes well out of everything, no matter how difficult or
dangerous. If
you find him, you will like him. And of course I think
that you and my daughter Philomela should have your share of my
father's estate. Whether Dropides thinks so or not is no concern of
mine. Farewell.'
After this unorthodox speech to a man not related to her, the
strange woman who moved like a king's daughter walked swiftly
away. I plodded back to Athens, with the honey pot, getting warmer
and warmer, in my hand.
77
v
===;:g-p~==
a---G'
Odour of
Blood
I pondered long on the meeting with Philomela's mother and her
grandmother, and thought much about the farm at Hymettos. It
really belonged to Philomela's missing unde, the man who had gone
off to Rhodos or somewhere. That estate did not belong at all to
Dropides, though he was certainly in the place of the male head of
house - if only in his supine way. Such a man can make great
mischief, like Aigisthos who took over Agamemnon's house and his
wife, with Klytaimnestra's connivance. But there was no adultery in
this case, and Dropides did not seem like an Aigisthos. I hoped his
stepson would not be a vengeful and resentful Orestes - I had really
had enough of Orestes on a former occasion.
If only Philomela got some share of
the wealth of the farm! Even a
little would eke out the slender living which I had to offer. I needed
to search out her mother's brother Philokles, the man who had so
unkindly removed himself from Athens to seek his fortune elsewhere.
Who knew when he would return? As long as the farm in Hymettos
was running smoothly, as long as his mother was alive (and as long as
the irritating Dropides made his home there), he might well feel no
need to come back. Therefore, in order to come to any arrangement
78
ODOUR OF BLOOD
with him (at least with any celerity), it appeared 1 might have to take
a long journey to the eastern islands - further than 1 had ever before
thought of
travelling. The notion seemed madness when it first came
into my thoughts. But as 1 turned the matter over inwardly, it
appeared less implausible. Before 1 married, 1 needed to get the
money arrangements straight. But the journey itself was formidable
to my mind. For one thing, it would mean travelling by ship, living on
the water, the dangerous element to which (aside from short swims)
1 had never yet entrusted myself.
1 tried to see Aristotle in order to consult him on the question, but
when 1 arrived at his house he was engaged with another visitor, so
private talk was not to be expected. 1 recognised the small man with
a quiff of unruly dark hair and bandy legs - not at all a sightly
personage, though he wore good clothes and behaved like a man of
consequence. At my entry this other visitor did not even tum around,
much less rise from his chair, where he was perched with a ruffled air
like an offended bird. A bird of ill omen 1 later thought him, though
perhaps that is not fair.
'Stephanos. This is Epikrates, whom 1 think you know, the friend
of
Hypereides.'
1 certainly knew him, the little man who had tried to buy the boy
from the Egyptian Athenogenes and who had been inveigled by that
Egyptian perfume-seller into taking over a business with nothing but
debts. The last time 1 had called on Aristotle we had the memorable
interview with another character in the same case, the beautiful
Antigone of
the Dionysiac green sandals. 1 smiled inwardly. Whatever
this Epikrates had been up to, he had nothing to do with Dionysos.
Epikrates smiled sourly. 'All Athens knows of my misfortune,' he
said drily. 'Hypereides suggested that 1 come and consult with
Aristotle regarding the conduct of the case - though of course
Hypereides will take charge of
it.'
'And you could have no better counsellor for a courtroom,' said
Aristotle heartily. 'I believe that you can force some financial
79
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
restitution from the perfume-seller - if not from the hetaira. I think
you would be well advised to leave her alone - treat her as a witness,
merely.'
'Her!' exclaimed Epikrates. He jumped off his chair and stood up
in the irritation of
his anger. 'That whore - that flame-haired piece of
trash! I would like to have the hide off both of them - her and that
sweet stinking foreign bastard. They should both be flayed in the
market-place! '
Having pronounced this doom, Epikrates sat down again, his hair
standing straight up on his head in the agitation of the moment. This
fellow was palpably willing me to depart so that he could continue the
discussion with Aristotle. There was no chance of private conver-
sation, so I left. At least, I reflected, Aristotle was making some friends
- or non-hostile acquaintance - among the men who hated the rule of
Makedon, men like Hypereides and his circle. Harmony between
Aristotle and these patriots should conduce both to the philosopher's
tranquillity and to that of
the city. I had, of
course, no real opportunity
to ask after the health of Pythias on that occasion; a man cannot be
expected to discuss his wife while meeting with men over business.
It was only two days later that I called at the Lykeion, to consult
with Eudemos or Arkhandros about the best ways of
journeying to the
places where Philomela's uncle Philokles might be found. These
scholars were from abroad; Eudemos was from Rhodos itself. They
would know the best routes and also how a voyager might get in touch
with people in such places as the Ionian and Karian Islands near the
coast of
Asia. I should certainly need some letters of
introduction if I
went chasing through the seas to these far-off islands. Thus it was that
I was seated in the 'book kitchen' of
the Lykeion in the early morning,
waiting for Eudemos in the company of Theophrastos and
Demetrios, when a slave came running in:
'0, sirs - Theophrastos, sir! The mistress' time has come this
morning and it's getting worse. Master says please to come, and I'm
to go for another doctor.'
80
ODOUR OF BLOOD
'Yes, go!' said Theophrastos. 'I shall come to your master at once.'
He turned to me. 'Perhaps you had better come too, Stephanos.'
'I don't want to intrude at such time -' I said.
'The Master likes you,' Theophrastos answered simply. I followed
him out of the Lykeion's academic rooms and into Aristotle's own
house. The house had a frightened hurried air; slaves were
whispering in corners, and female slaves were speaking in an agitated
manner, and running to and fro with cloths and basins. Everything
in this house was usually so well ordered, but this time it did not
seem so.
Aristotle was in his lovely book-lined room. The last time I had
seen him, consulting with and reassuring the wretched Epikrates, he
had seemed as he always did - lively and jovial, quick-minded, like
the sun at his zenith, shining from mid-heaven on the grateful earth,
looking with approbation alike on men, animals and plants. I was not
prepared for seeing him so agitated, so pale. He kept running his
fingers through his hair.
'Sit with me, Stephanos. Please stay. I will go to Pythias from time
to time, but a man is often in the way - the women feel this. I am a
doctor too! But I do not know that I am the best doctor in this
occasion. I have sent for another who has more experience with
women's ills than I have.'
I looked about the room for aid but nobody else was about. There
was a beautiful water jar, and also a graceful wine-pourer on a little
table in the comer, with an array of cups, preparations either for the
long wait or for the celebration. 'Have some wine,' I suggested, but
Aristotle rejected it with a gesture. So I poured out some water, and
persuaded him to sit down and drink it. He looked as if he had had
very little sleep. I suggested he lie down, but he shook his head
vehemently.
'Not until this is over! This is no time for sleeping. If
only I knew
more - about what might be done to ease the passage of this child.
The birth of little Pythias was nothing like this.'
81
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'These things have their own time and manner,' I said to comfort
him. I did not know in the least what I was talking about. 'I have never
before been in a house where a woman was giving birth,' I admitted.
Yet suddenly I was struck by a hazy impression of blood and
confusion, of someone crying behind closed doors, of noise of some
kind, of presence and absence. Of heavy silence, like a room
furnished with only a stone at its centre. And bloody cloths. Yet this
could hardly be a recollection. I was at school all day when my mother
gave birth to Theodoros.
Suddenly a woman's cry came through the walls. It ripped through
the air and seemed to tear everything into shreds. It
was much worse
than the cries and screeches of
tragedy - so real, you knew it must be
tom out of the body by the power of pain. Aristotle clenched his
hands. I could see the sweat on his forehead.
'Pray the gods that may be because she is near the end of
it,' I said.
'Maybe the baby is coming out right now.' Aristotle did not reply. We
sat in silence.
The terrible cry was repeated. Aristotle rushed to the door. 'I
cannot stand this! I must go to her!' He disappeared into the private
apartments whence issued that awful sound.
I did not like to leave him, so I stayed where I was. I felt queasy and
tried to think of something else. But there came another terrific cry,
so harsh, so edged that I felt the house walls might cleave under it, as
under a giant's sword. Then there was a silence or subdued murmur,
and more trampling of feet in the passageway. Somewhere in the
house I sensed the presence of
blood, a scent of
it
wafting through the
rooms and tainting the air. Yet, after all, I reminded myself, every
house in Athens saw a childbirth from time to time, and women were
doing this every day ...
There was another cry or shout, but much fainter: the harsh edge
and the vibrant pulsation had gone out of it. More murmuring, and
other voices raised - someone's voice spoke the words 'Zeus Saviour'
loudly and entreatingly. I sprang up from my chair as if! too had to
82
ODOUR OF BLOOD
join in the prayers. A long lull was followed by a subdued cry, and
then the wretched sound of sobbing. Then, almost like a formal
chorus, came the regular ululation in women's traditional manner.
The hairs on the back of
my neck stood up
Someone was sobbing while coming down the passage to Aristotle's
room. The door opened. Theophrastos entered first; he was almost
guiding Aristotle, as if
the Master were the blind prophet Tireseias, or
Oidipous travelling to Kolonos with Antigone pulling him along.
Aristotle indeed walked like one to whom sight was of
no use. His eyes
were wet, though he did not weep and cry out. He was very pale.
'She's dead,' he said, in a quiet and toneless voice. 'Pythias - my
beloved wife - is dead.'
'And the baby?' I asked tactlessly.
Aristotle's face screwed up as if he found the words difficult to
create and push out.
'The baby is dead. It was born dead. It must have been dead for a
while. 0 Stephanos!' he turned to me and leaned against me for a
moment, as if he were fragile. 'So much for my hopes! How could I
have been stupid enough to let this happen? And what will I do
without her? She was my beloved, the dearest and the best!'
I patted his shoulder awkwardly. 'I am sad for your loss,' I said
awkwardly, trying to remember the right words for these occasions.
'You were a good husband to her, I am sure. And you have your
philosophy to console you.'
'Oh yes. Philosophy.' Aristotle started to laugh.
'Stop that!' said Theophrastos, shaking him. I was surprised to see
him treat Aristotle so brutally.
'Had he not better sit and take some wine?' I asked.
'Yes, that's probably the best thing,' said Theophrastos.
'But I cannot just sit here as if nothing had happened.' Aristotle
moved restlessly about, his eyes flickering around the room, but still
as if he did not see what was before him. 'I should do something for
her .. .'
83
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'You cannot do anything,' I pointed out. 'The women will do all
that has to be done. And Theophrastos and Demetrios and I will
invite people to the funeral.'
'The funeral should be soon,' said Theophrastos. I knew what he
meant. The smell of
a certain corruption, the dead baby and whatever
else had secretly gone dead inside Pythias before she died, seemed to
seep through the house already. Washing and unguents would stem
that tide, but not for ever. The house needed to be rid of
that corpse,
or corpses.
I poured out wine for Aristotle from the jar on the table, and this
time he obediently sat down and drank it. 'I shall probably get drunk
from a few sips and pass out,' he warned us. Both Theophrastos and
I thought this sounded like the best plan for the moment. I was almost
stunned myself by the naked intensity of
his grief, and yet somewhat
surprised to see the Master so overthrown merely by the death of a
woman.
He groaned. 'Why was I such a fool? Why did I let this happen?'
'It is madness to reproach yourself,' I said. 'This was none of your
doing, it has nothing to do with you -'
'Oh yes, Stephanos. It has. My philosophy - as you call it - is a
torture to me. For I should not have let this happen. I should have
known that something was wrong - known long before. I should have
put a stop to this pregnancy. Had we done so early enough, she would
have been well. You cannot keep me from reproaching myself,
because I did know better.'
We let him babble on, and plied him with drink until he sank into
an uneasy dose and we put him (still uncleansed from his contact with
death) into a bed that we ordered the slave make up in the book room.
The marital bedchamber would not be habitable for a long while.
Indeed, the whole house seemed to hold a heavy miasma, an odour
of triumphant death that would not budge. Once Aristotle was lying
down I left, truly thankful to be out of the house.
*
84
ODOUR OF BLOOD
On the day after the death, I went early to visit Smikrenes. It seemed
only proper to discuss with him the new possibility of
my roaming to
the eastern islands in search of Smikrenes' brother-in-law Philokles.
This sole uncle of my bride-to-be evidently had the correct
information about the inheritance of
Philomela's mother, and he was
the only person who could legally agree to give us access to it.
Smikrenes was almost cheerful at the prospect of an influx of
wealth,
but soon inclined to his more natural gloom.
'Them people always makes things sound better than they are,' he
warned me. 'It's not as if they was rushing to give you anything now,
when they might do. I remember Philokles - always dashing here,
dashing there, very impatient. I don't know as I'd want to deal with
him.'
'Well, we have to deal with him.' I was really thinking that
Smikrenes should have dealt with him long ago. 'No one who lives at
the Hymettos farm at the moment has full legal control,' I pointed
out. 'The woman's second husband does not have inheritance rights,
and is not the true governor of the place or the inheritance. And the
women - your wife and mother-in-law - cannot act legally, though
their work is causing the estate to prosper. Philokles seems to be well
off, given that this estate must be his inheritance. If there is a part
share for your wife and her child, we might well be able to combine
to create a business with the honey alone which would bring an
increase of
wealth. And any immediate settlement in property, cattle
or cash would assist myself and Philomela immensely at the
beginning of a marriage.'
'I see that well enough,' he said. 'Strange, ain't it. Here I am, near
the coast - and you in the city - and Philonike's family in the hills.
We'll make a trittys by ourselves, our family, once you unite with it.'
I laughed at his little joke, likening us to one of
the units created in
order that different areas of Athens should feel united. Each deme
belonged to a 'threesome' or 'trinity', an association of
each region of
the town within the walls with a region near the sea and a region in
85
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
the hill country. Of course in the real political arrangement,
Hymettos still counted as in the town of Athens; it was the region
beyond that counted as the 'country beyond the hills'. My future
father-in-law, however, was pleased at his wit, and my response to his
jest made him more kindly disposed to me. 1 thought it best to bring
up at that time the subject of money for immediate use.
'If
somebody doesn't find Philokles and pin him down,' 1 said, 'he
may not be back in Athens for years - if ever. He might get rich in a
new colony and decide to stay. Or he may die in the islands and
nobody hear of it for years. So the proper course for all our benefit
would seem for me to go to the East and seek him. But that is an
investment of money as well as of time, and 1 have very little of the
former thing, though 1 have some time.'
'I have to say, 1 shouldn't want to go dashing about the world,'
said Smikrenes. 'All very well for people with nothing better to do.
Dangerous, though. I'm happy where 1 am. Still, 1 dare say as it's
my wife's money we're looking for, you're right. And 1 will put
something into the venture.' He sighed heavily, and 1 knew it would
be hard for him to part with money. But at least the plan was
beginning to form, and before 1 left Smikrenes' home 1 had
encouraged him to name a sum that, if
not munificent, would make
my journey possible.
This was not a day of pleasure but a business day. 1 caught a
glimpse of Philomela, but was not trying to do so. Before yesterday 1
had begun to look forward to marriage, thinking of
the pleasure of
the
bed, the regularity of
life, and the increased respect from other men -
even though 1 was full young for marriage. 1 had thought of giving
Philomela more rest and some treats. 1 had even begun to imagine,
idly, some children to result from our union: a little boy and a little
girl, vague figures who played happily about a rather hazy garden
within my mind. But the events of
yesterday made marriage taste like
blood and sweat. New fears accompanied the idea of the new
responsibility. After all, if
Philomela remained on her father's farm in
86
ODOUR OF BLOOD
her present condition, a tranquil if hard-working virgin, she would
not have to challenge death in that ruthless form which had
conquered Pythias. I did not like to think of Philomela uttering such
cries as I had heard. The gods can surely wring from us our dearest
possessions.
I left Smikrenes' farm while it was still night, in order to get back
to Athens in time for the funeral next day. When I arrived in the city,
it was just at the break of
dawn, the time when the working slaves and
some citizens begin to be up and doing. As I was on one of
the streets
approaching the Agora, I encountered two respectable men talking
together. I recognised one of
them: sardonic Theosophoros, who had
thought fit officiously to befriend me in the Agora a few days
previously. The other man, much younger, was my acquaintance
Gorgias. He lived nearby, in the grand house that had belonged to his
father, Lysippos, a wealthy silversmith now far away.
'It is certainly an outrage,' said Theosophoros. 'What can it mean?
But possibly it is a kind of accident - some young louts at play.'
'What is the trouble, gentlemen?' I enquired, coming up to them.
Gorgias appeared pale and agitated, but it had long been my
impression (because of
the circumstances of
our first meeting) that he
was always pale and agitated. That was his usual style. Such a
judgement was somewhat unfair, as Gorgias laboured under extreme
difficulties at our first acquaintance.
'Another curse has fallen on my house,' he announced tragically.
The tragical seemed Gorgias' natural mode.
'What curse?'
'This morning I found a dead dog at our gate.'
'So?' I said unsympathetically. 'Dogs die all the time. Why not at
your gate or mine?'
'It was a killed dog.' He shuddered. 'Come and see, Stephanos. I
have not moved it - I was going to report it to the prytany. Whoever
committed this vile action has made my herm impure!'
With these cryptic words he led us back to his (or rather his
87
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
father's) house, the handsome mansion built in the old days and
purchased by a wealthy silver merchant who had been able to make
improvements. 1 had been there twice before last spring, once for a
dinner and shortly after that to help when Gorgias' cousin was
mysteriously abducted and Aristotle was called in to consult about
the matter. This fine house of course had a well-made herm. Every
house in Athens has a herm in front of it, a pillar usually of stone,
sometimes of bronze, with a male genital carving and a head on the
top. Sometimes the penis is just sketched in and sometimes it is quite
elaborate, with a carving of
the balls and the rod. The herm marks the
sacred boundary of the house, wards off evil, and protects the
household with the energy of divine fertilising power. Since this is a
representation of
a deity, commonly said to be Hermes, who protects
the house and gives it fertility and abiding life, any shame to a herm
is an act of sacrilege.
When we got to the silversmith's house we could see clearly enough
what he meant. The top of his herm was obscured by a very large,
very dead dog. The unfortunate animal had been sliced open the
length of the body. A deep cut or trench ran along in its underside
from the throat through the belly to the genital area, so all its inner
secrets were exposed. Entrails dangled everywhere. The genitals (it
was decidedly a male dog) had been partly cut loose, left dangling in
obscene parody of the genital marking upon the sacred pillar. Flies
had begun to work on the bloody mess.
'You see?' said Gorgias. 1 had to admit he had a right to look
pale. 'I should report this. It is not only an insult to me, but a
sacrilege!'
'I do see that,' 1 admitted.
'Anyone can see that,' sniffed Theosophoros. 'Perhaps not boyish
play, after all. Who could have done this, Gorgias? And why? Don't
you think this insult must have been meant for your father - and your
deceased uncle - rather than for you?'
Gorgias' voice took on an edge of dangerous self-control as he
88
ODOUR OF BLOOD
replied, 'As to what men of barbarous mind or childish louts may
think 1 am not able to say.'
'Quite so,' 1 agreed. 'I suppose you had better report this to the
authorities, Gorgias, and then deal with the household pollution after
your slaves have carted the corpse of
this dog away.'
'Certainly 1 am not going to bury it on my property,' said Gorgias.
'But 1 don't want my mother to hear of it - she is very unwell this
summer. So the sooner 1 go about the business - and the more quietly
- the better. 1 was wondering about asking Aristotle-'
'Please leave Aristotle alone,' 1 said bluntly. 'Have you not heard?
His wife is dead and he buries her today.'
'Ah, yes,' said Theosophoros. 'Unlucky to contaminate a funeral
by conversing about funeral of a dead dog.'
His words reminded me that 1 should wash and change and get rid
of the pollution acquired in the vicinity of the dead animal. 1 was
covered with dust and needed to wash anyway, and there was little
time to lose. With a few reassuring words to Gorgias 1 slipped away.
When 1 arrived at Aristotle's house, after a proper interval for
ablution, 1 realised that the funeral would of course be small, as it was
only for a woman. Many of
the teachers in the Lykeion were there, and
some of
the students. A few friends of
Aristotle's came. If
the little baby
who had died while still hidden in the womb had lived to taste the air,
and been held in his father's arms and given a name, then - even if
it
had lived but an hour - a son of the house would have died, and the
number who came to the funeral would have been much greater.
Decorously we accompanied to the Kerameikos the corpse - or
rather, corpses - of
the woman who had once lived and the infant who
had never truly been alive. Aristotle, clad in one black garment,
walked slowly after the bier. The bier was also attended by a group of
wailing women (their lament kept within bounds, as recent laws
frowned on great exhibition of grief). 1 thought the woman who led
the troop of
female mourners must have been Herpyllis, the favourite
slave of Pythias, who had come from her old home to assist her
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
mistress through childbirth; really, as it proved, to help her through
her last days. Men looked serious, the women clustered together,
faces veiled. The schoolboys fidgeted a little. One of these boys
looked about him vacantly, as if
wondering what he was doing there.
He yawned and sighed. Parmenion, the young man of disturbed
mind.
The body was placed in the deep earth, and Aristotle scattered
upon it a few valuables - a cup, a necklace, a ring with gems, earrings
flashing brightly one last time in the light as they dropped out of
the
living world. Aristotle was still pale but in complete command of
himself, like a man and a philosopher.
We went together back to his house, where we stood about in the
courtyard; we all needed a ritual wash by now before going entering
a house, or we might pollute it with the funeral proximity to a corpse.
The senior scholars stood about the bereaved Aristotle, taking the
place of relatives, and the boys formed a kind of silent chorus as we
were moved to commiserate with him in careful words. The
gentlemen, or most of
them, departed, but I lingered.
'0
Aristotle,' I said. 'This is a hard day for you. It makes me sad to
see you.'
'It is hard,' he said. 'And now the funeral is over. My wife is gone
- gone absolutely! It seems so strange. The house will feel empty. But
at least now, Stephanos, I am going to design the most marvellous
monument to her. I know someone who will make it up quickly for
me. Pythias shall not long lie in an unmarked grave. And what words
and images can do to commemorate her I shall cause to be done.' His
hand flickered as ifhe were already at his writing stylus, designing the
monument in accord with his imagining.
I could feel that he was consoling himself with having something
else he was going to do for Pythias. It seemed sad to think of him
spending time designing a tombstone - he who could so readily write
books for all mankind to read.
90
VI
==~9_,..::;e==
a"-'G
Parts of
Animals
The dead dog left in front of Gorgias' house had been partly erased
from my mind, as the funeral ofPythias supplanted it in my attention.
I must stress that the episode of the dead dog was the first of the
outrages - at least as far as anyone acknowledged. And that first
outrage came before the affair of the monument - a fact about which
it seems important to be clear. As for the indignity inflicted upon
young Gorgias, it appeared obvious to me at first that (as Gorgias
himself
suspected) this was a personal insult, the work of
some enemy
to his family. Most likely it had to do with a grievance against his
father or his uncle. Or it
might have been merely the work of
someone
who felt anger over the family's dealings in silver. Gorgias himself
was
always ready to see things in terms of a tragic destiny. The idea of a
malign fate hanging over the prosperous family of silversmiths was,
after a fashion, not unpleasing. If
they were the peculiar target of
the
gods, then the rest of
us were free from harm.
But that this was not the right explanation became apparent in the
days following the funeral of Pythias. The next outrage affected my
old acquaintance, most unbeloved by me, the prosperous Eutikleides.
In the past, this man had taken a leading part in trying to fasten great
91
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
harm to our family in connection with a notorious murder. As this
attempt was defeated, he was never in very good humour with myself,
but he had made his position more secure with the government, and
also with the people (by pious acts and large donations). By this time,
he had recovered his station among the citizens; the fact that he was
of
a leading family, one of
the tribe of
the Etioboutadai, did not injure
his chances. Lykourgos, himself a member of the Etioboutadai, had
been promoting the cause ofEutikleides and his worthiness to lead an
embassy. But now this eminent citizen received fame for a different
reason.
'Eutikleides finds a dead donkey,' chortled the citizens and their
hangers-on in the Agora.
'Eutikleides is a dead ass,' the commonplace wits giggled.
'Not entirely true, for this was not an entire ass. Matter offact,' said
one wiseacre, 'strictly speaking, it was not "a dead ass" that
Eutikleides found on his herm. Not the whole animal. It was the rear
part only of
the beast which graced his frontage.'
'Eutikleides is an ass's arse!' So burst out the obscener wits, chalk-
ing the statement on walls for remembrance. Eutikleides became
intimately associated in such scrawls with the rear end of a useful
working animal.
If
there were a certain enjoyment of the discomfiture of sour-faced
Eutikleides, it did not endure. Unease took the place of
merriment as
more and more citizens awoke to find the body parts of animals
polluting their herm, gateway or door. The front half of Eutikleides'
donkey (minus the head) turned up - very dead - in front of the door
of another much poorer citizen, and the head of the donkey
(presumably it was the same animal), very maggoty by this time, at last
came to light too, set up at the entry of
a prominent and likeable man.
Smaller families of lesser importance received smaller portions of
animals: a portion of a body of a weasel, or a very dead rat. One got
a boar's pizzle, another the leg of a goat. These, like the majority of
the segmented animals, had died a natural death, and were too well
92
PARTS OF ANIMALS
aged to be used for eating. The goat, for instance, had probably
slipped and died amid the rocks and been found a good while after.
So the victims of
the prank or insult did not have even the consolation
of
a meat meal. The thing was always ugly and noxious to the senses.
Amusement and vexation turned to alarm as houses were polluted
and families shamed.
'This is a terrible thing!' said one citizen, speaking to friends in the
Agora. 'We must take it
up in the Boule! The Council should not rest
until we know who is doing these things.'
'These are dreadful outrages,' another agreed. 'They augur very ill
for Athens.'
'Another Alkibiades has come upon us!' lamented a third. 'This is
like the Mutilation of
the Herms - an insult to religion and a threat to
the state!'
Everyone shuddered at the recollection of the Mutilation of the
Herms, a terrible if mysterious episode in our history. Of course,
nobody actually recollected it - though perhaps in Attika there were
one or two ancient dodderers who had been alive (or at least born) at
the time. But we had all heard about it. Long ago the brilliant young
aristocrat Alkibiades, protege of
great Perikles and friend of
Sokrates,
had (so it was alleged) led a group of
youths in seriously damaging or
even destroying many of the herms of Athens, lopping off the virile
members, and chopping off or severely defacing the heads. Thus they
insulted religion and so were said to be trying to subvert the
constitution of
the city. The beautiful herms standing outside public
buildings in the Agora, antiques with ancient carved heads, were
severely damaged, in a horrid desecration of a sacred area. Shortly
after this mysterious outbreak of destruction, Alkibiades led the
Expedition to Sikilia (ill-fated as that was), and refused to come back
to stand trial when it was determined he had a case to answer
regarding the Mutilation of the Herms as well as another piece of
blasphemy, an enacted parody (so it was alleged) of the sacred - and
secret - rites of
Eleusis.
93
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Alkibiades' irreligious behaviour threatened the well-being of
Athens. But instead of coming to defend himself at a trial, he went
over to the enemy and fought for Sparta. Later, after he saved the
Athenians at Samos, he was rewarded: not only allowed to return but
given a command. But thereafter, unpopular following a defeat, he
fled again, took the side of the Persians, and died in Phrygia.
Alkibiades, handsome, lovable and intelligent, proved to be a brilliant
traitor. This puzzling man had no loyalty to anybody but himself. But
we did not have such flamboyant aristocrats nowadays, surely. And
whoever did this was getting his - or their - hands very dirty with
blood and putrescence and disgusting substances, not just chipping
at stone as Alkibiades and his gang must have done.
I should have liked to discuss the question with Aristotle, and to
consider with him too the case of Alkibiades, but it was obviously a
mistake to intrude upon his grief. Patently, this was the right time to
put my own wits to work, to see if I could make any sense of this
disturbing pattern of
impious insult. Was it a horrible joke? I remem-
bered that Theosophoros had first suggested to Gorgias that the
deposit of dead dog with which he had been favoured was a prank of
young people. That comforting explanation twitched a recollection of
another incident - the death of the vaunting bull-faced boy. This
sturdy son of a fisherman had been killed after the Bouphonia, with
the ritual weapon used in the ox-killing. It was suggested in the
lawcourt that the death of this boy was a prank that went wrong, a
killing brought about by foolish play among loutish youths unknown.
But how many such dangerous youths could there be in Athens?
At least these latest outrages did not involve the death of
a person.
The beings killed and cut up were all animals. Why animals? Well, I
reasoned, if you want to pollute a place with blood, animal-killing is
cheaper, easier and less risky than homicide. And the person - or
more likely persons - committing these outrages apparently found it
more convenient to use on most occasions animals already dead,
rather than working at a fresh slaughter each time. I reasoned, looking
94
PARTS OF ANIMALS
at the evidence, that care was evidently taken by the delinquent and
bloody prankster not to steal animals. The theft of someone's beast
would entail severe legal penalties, and there was the risk that an
identifiable animal could point to the identity of the animal-killer.
Normally - if the word can be used of such an abnormal activity -
these unknown and sinister louts preferred parts of animals taken
from a defunct creature. Beasts of any value for food or labour,
domesticated animals which might figure in criminal indictment, had
been all too evidently dead already of
natural causes before being cut
up and used. Only common dogs, and vermin such as rats and
weasels and so on, appeared freshly and bloodily killed. The parts of
animals seemed to signify not only pollution but also mortality. A
reminder of mortal nature, a mocking recall of death? Was it only
that? Or did this exhibition hold a further message - a menace?
After much reflection, I made a list of
the persons who had received
these bloody tokens, starting with Gorgias and Eutikleides. Of
course, I realised as I worked on my list that I could not affirm that I
or anyone else really knew of
all cases. Probably some people who had
been thus visited managed to keep their own secret. Looking closely,
however, at the list of
names I knew of, it
became clear to me that they
had one thing in common. All who had been so unpleasantly visited
were known to be supporters of - or salient beneficiaries of -
Makedonian rule.
This was worrying. I could clearly see that I myself might be
placed among that number. In a mad moment, I even wondered if
Lykourgos himself were engaged behind the scenes in doing this
nasty deed in order to unsettle his opponents. But I rejected that
notion - Lykourgos, so staunch for national unity, for order and
prosperity, would find such tactics and bloody manifestations deeply
repulsive. The Council and the government in general were
obviously trying not to make too much fuss over these outrages. I
could see the point in not setting a panic a-going. But, even if
it
were
merely the work of
young louts in sad want of
a good whipping, there
95
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
was something very disturbing about this reeking joke. Its unpre-
dictability was part of
its power. Some days there would be nothing,
then on another day there might be two such bloody or putrefying
manifestations of
the flesh.
I went to see Aristotle, to condole with him and not to consult him
about these bloody appearances. It seemed better not to mention to
a man in such mourning the disturbing and unpleasant symptoms of
hubris affecting the city at large. In order to be soothing I deliberately
bored him with talking about my own life, my planned marriage, my
wife's relatives. I explained about the bees and the possibly profitable
sale of honey. Aristotle awakened mentally a little when I mentioned
the bees.
'I studied bees at one time, extensively,' he remembered. 'Com-
plicated little creatures. There are several kinds. Each hive has a
leader twice as large as the gold worker bee. Some call these "kings"
and others "mothers" of
the swarm. The present month is their best
season for honey-making and also for laying the best and strongest
larvae. They make no honey before the rising of the Pleiades. If
your
taste is acute - like my own - you can tell at once if honey is made
-from thyme in flower. I dare say you are right about an increasing
demand for Hymettos honey. But how are you going to get your
hands into it? - to use a sticky metaphor.'
I explained again about the absent Philokles and then told him my
tentative plans for a journey to the eastern islands. He was mildly
interested.
'It will be a great distance to go,' he said. 'You had better ask
Eudemos of Rhodos to make you some kind of
map. And he can tell
you about Rhodos, perhaps draw a plan of that island.'
I agreed, though in fact I had already thought of all this and had
conversed with Eudemos and others at the Lykeion about the journey
and my destination.
'You must come tomorrow,' said Aristotle. 'For the monument. I
hope my monument will be finished. I told them I would come
96
PARTS OF ANIMALS
tomorrow to see it. They've been working day and night to oblige me.
It
will be so beautiful!'
When I returned on the morrow, Aristotle was unusually brisk and
more cheerful than he had been since the death of
his wife. He led me
to a place not very distant from the Kerameikos, where the stone
carvers had been working on the monument. We crossed a dry yard,
the ground covered with stone chips, small pieces of
marble and mica
that hurt to walk upon and glinted in the sun. We passed on into a
shed, dark until the light was cast upon it through the open door. The
mason was there, doing his best not to grin proudly as he and his
assistants gestured towards the far wall. I suspected that they had got
up a drama to please Aristotle in creating an effect, for at the
beginning the monument was nowhere visible. Something occupied
the far wall, however, something that took a great deal of space -
something with a cloth thrown over it. With a flourish, at a signal
from Aristotle, the mason twitched off the cloth.
Sliding out from under the folds of
coarse drapery was a lady - first
her head and a shoulder, then the magnificent proportions of her,
complete to her sandalled feet. It
was a lovely woman sculpted in high
relief, as if she had left the world of
earth to become newly embodied
in a different kind of flesh. She was seated, within the conventional
shrine square. Before her was a bearded man, with his face averted,
shielding his face with his cloak; the man nevertheless let his grief be
known in the tension and droop of his body. The two were touching
hands, in a sweet but dignified version of the classic farewell scene.
The lady, in all her gentleness, even with her touch of sadness,
seemed full oflife and glory. She was beautifully painted, her robe in
blue with an edging of red and touches of gold. With the hand that
was not in her husband's she was holding a golden sheaf of wheat.
Her sculpted head, though the back was partly covered with a
transparent veil, yet revealed her dark hair touched with reddish-
brown, and the slight circlet of gold that crowned that head turned
slightly towards us as if in enquiry or pity. Her eyes were painted
97
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
lifelike, deep brown pupil surrounded by clearest white. She shed a
beneficent gaze upon the dull dark shed. 'The monument sustained
the radiant glow of
fine marble, and the touches of
gold made it sing.
I gazed on this effigy of Pythias - whom I had never seen or known -
and thought she looked like Demeter herself. So might Demeter look,
the goddess mother who had known bereavement, comforting a
mortal with grace and graciousness. Pythias herself, but not herself.
''There!' said Aristotle. 'Pythias had a special reverence for
Demeter. Hence the wheat. She is reflected in Demeter, and Demeter
in her.' He said nothing, I noted, about the mourning man, himself
in shaded effigy. 'The stone is the best Pentelic marble,' he con-
tinued. 'And there - see, on the stone, the writing -' Aristotle moved
me closer, so I could read the inscription upon the monument. It was
large enough to offer much space for lettering. In the fine white
marble the letters were clearly chiselled and easy to read:
PYTHIAS
Daughter of
Hermias of
Atarneos
Wife of
Aristotle
Sweetest and Best
Eminent for Virtue, Renowned for Piety,
and the Intellect that reaches to heaven
Given to all good works
Much loved.
Let her memory be ever honoured in Athens where
she lived and died.
Dearest, farewell.
Offered by her Husband, Ari
'It's not finished yet,' said the mason apologetically, 'but it should
be done by tomorrow morning. We've only to fmish the name
"Aristotle" as you see and put in "son of Nikomakhos" as you
directed.'
98
PARTS OF ANIMALS
'If "Nikomakhos" wasn't such a long name,' put in his foreman
(rather impudently I thought), 'we could have had it done tonight, for
certain. Good we had a monument in preparation that someone else
dropped out of
paying for - we couldn't never have done it this quick
otherwise.'
'How do you like the inscription, Stephanos?' asked Aristotle. 'It is
not as long as I could have made it, but it
expresses something, do you
not think so?'
'Oh, yes,' I said.
'The day after tomorrow,' said Aristotle, 'we shall put it up. This
monument will be some consolation to me; I think I shall often go to
the Kerameikos to see it. I have asked a few friends to come while the
tombstone is put in place. I should like you to be there, Stephanos.'
I agreed. Pythias had gone. Her tomb said so. I believed that once
Aristotle had put up the tombstone he would feel better. Surely now
his life would reassume its normal shape. I was very wrong about that.
'Pythias will not go unmarked,' said Aristotle, with a long sigh. We
went off to our respective houses. A thunderstorm had gathered,
offering unusual refreshment in the heat, and I was soon drenched.
The ground was still wet when I arose the next morning before
dawn, awakened unusually early. Perhaps, so I later thought, some
sound or movement had disturbed my sleep. I went outside, to see if
our drains had worked properly; I was a trifle worried about our roof
and water-spouts. Thus, thankfully, I arose early and was the only
member of our household to fmd the abominable present someone
had left for us. I didn't really see the dreadful gift at ftrst. When I
came out I heard footsteps and went to the front of
the house to peer
over the gate. I was just in time to see a couple of
men (slaves, judging
by their scant attire and bare feet) running down the street. They
turned a comer, but before they vanished into the morning's dusk I
caught a glimpse of
the larger and slower of
the two, and thought he
looked slightly familiar. One of
the slaves attending on Thrasymakhos
- or had it been Megakles? - when we met these gentlemen at the
99
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Bouphonia. Perhaps - perhaps not. I could not be certain, they were
a dim flash before the eye. Then I turned back to the house frontage
and saw our herm.
The herm was there, our herm of modest sandy stone with its
carved head which I knew so well, blurred by age, its face and beard,
like its virile member, slightly crumbling. It stood where it had always
done. But it now had acquired a new part. The head of a horse had
been jammed on top of
it. It was as if our herm had metamorphosed
into an animal - also, oddly, as if the herm had playfully decided to
wear a grotesque hat, or put on a mask as at a play in the theatre.
The horse's head smelt of
decay but most of
the flesh was still upon
it. One eye was partly eaten away, by maggots or by birds. The other
eye remained, as I could see by the silvery light of the pre-dawn sky.
This good eye had been forced to stay wide open; someone had stuck
the eyelid permanently back to the head with a pin. The dead horse
winked at me in a giant leer. The big teeth of
the animal, ridged and
dirty white, distinctly showed in its open mouth. As I looked into that
mouth, I saw a long yellow worm begin to crawl forward along the
tongue. I nearly puked on the spot. But this was no time to indulge
my inner feelings. I had to get rid of the thing. Conquering my
repulsion, I took the dead object in both hands. I rushed to the shelter
of
the back premises, within our walls - at least the neighbours should
not see this. Even at this early hour, a cloud of flies went with me, a
buzzing halo around that horrid head.
It
took me a while in my haste to find the implements I needed, but
I did eventually get a spade and some other tools, and dug vigorously
in an obscure part of
the yard, making as deep a hole as I could to put
the rotting head in. I never liked horses, and I liked this one less than
any as I sent it to its rest. Once the earth had covered it I would (I
hoped) lose my aureole of flies which troubled, buzzed, and bit. For
the first time I was glad that our old house-dog had died, a few days
before, even if near the end he was so feeble that he might not have
been able to dig up the grave. The site of
this interment was soon just
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PARTS OF ANIMALS
a rough place in the yard. I threw a pile of brush on the spot, as if it
had fallen there accidentally, the sort of thing that people always
intend to remove but don't really bother with.
I worked stealthily, for I did not wish to awaken even our slaves.
The kind of work I was doing is certainly a job for slaves, but the
inconvenience of employing them struck me forcibly. I wished no
being capable of
speech to know about this. If! had owned a parrot I
would not have let it know. I still had much work to do privately.
Once I had disposed of the head, I had to go back with some water
and deal with our poor desecrated herm. At least the putrescence,
and the accompanying stink of dead horse, though nauseous, left no
such indelible stain as the streams of blood that had flowed from
Gorgias' dead dog.
I purified myself then with hasty ablutions and prayers, and I did
not feel pure until I had got rid of
the clothes I had been wearing while
carrying the horse's head. Fortunately, all I had on was a well-worn
old tunic. But if I been wearing my best fine-woven himation, I
should have had to do the same. I threw my tunic away, burying it in
the yard where the contents of the chamberpots were thrown, and
was content to enter the house naked. The burial place of the tunic
was not far from that of the horse - or, rather, the piece of horse
vouchsafed to me.
I do not mind admitting that I was conscious offear the whole time.
Not of apprehension of the task. Though it was revolting to handle
that putrescent filth, which filled me with nausea. What I felt beneath
the disgust was a far deeper fear - of the underlying message, the
significance of this baleful thing. A curse had come upon my own
house. I felt in all my instincts that this sign was deeply malignant,
and that not only my house but my family was not safe.
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The Monument
When the day had fully awakened and the family (kept in blessed
ignorance) were stirring, I considered going to visit Smikrenes in
Eleusis. I decided, however, that I had no time for the journey, as I had
agreed to attend the setting-up of Aristotle's monument, and must
keep my promise. But a plan had begun to form in my mind, and I did
not wish to delay. Instead of
walking to Eleusis deme, I wrote a careful
letter to Smikrenes. I first debated with myself
whether he were literate
enough to receive an epistle, but remembering that he had thought he
might receive a letter from his estranged wife, I concluded he was up
to the perusal of a simple message. I hoped so. I presumed Philomela
had never learned her letters, but most people think it best for a wife
to be illiterate. An illiterate father-in-law might prove an incon-
venience. Epistles themselves are an inconvenience, as somebody else
may read them, and I certainly did not wish to blurt everything out to
Smikrenes, let alone to someone who (by chance or malice) might
peruse my written message. I had to be clear yet obscure, eloquent yet
plain. Eventually it was written to my satisfaction and I sent the
message with the slave who knew the way to Smikrenes' house. The
slave was quite unable to read - most satisfactory.
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*
The next day - a day engraved for ever on my memory - I went to see
the monument to Aristotle's wife put up over her grave. I had not
been looking forward to assisting at this tiresome and melancholy
ceremony. It seemed to me a waste of a morning. Now, especially,
while my own anxieties mounted and when my new plan was
maturing, it was irritating to be summoned to this distraction. Yet the
monument was evidently of great importance to Aristotle, and if my
presence there would console and support him, I could not stay away.
I dressed myself in serious apparel, and walked out to the Lykeion,
where I found Aristotle similarly arrayed, in company with some of
his close associates - Theophrastos, of
course, but also Eudemos and
Hipparkhos and the rest. The whole body of
young students did not
accompany us, but a few of
the older youths came, noticeable among
them the strange lad Parmenion. I could see that Hipparkhos and
young Mikon were both keeping a close eye on him, and thought
perhaps the untoward youth had been allowed out on this expedition
chiefly as a way of exercising some control over him, as well as of
guiding a mind that tended to wander. We moved together through
the city gate towards the Kerameikos where Pythias, lying now
unnamed in that great cemetery, would henceforth be proudly
known. We did not stop at the mason's shed. What we wanted would
be brought to us.
The Kerameikos was still and drowsy in the hot day. The common
whores, male and female, who haunt the area for their nightwork, and
perform their favours behind the tombs, had disappeared at the
arrival of the clear summer light. The River Eridanos which runs
through the famous cemetery, such a respectable river in wintertime,
had dwindled to a trickling sluggish brook. Dragonflies hovered
above the stream and moved through the rushes at its brink. On the
dry paths, our feet sent up puffs of dust.
When we got to the grave site, only a few of Aristotle's friends in
the city were present, Gorgias among them. I was surprised to see
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Epikrates, but assumed that he must have made this gesture of
respect out of gratitude to Aristotle. We made a little knot, a
miniature crowd.
Then there was a creaking and straining of
a wooden wagon, drawn
by two oxen, and the masons came into view, as dramatically as they
could manage, as if organised for a procession. They were evidently
determined to make a good production of
this task. Attendant slaves
marched at the side of
the cart. With difficulty and straining the men,
slave and free, drew the large stone down over the ox-cart, its back
ingeniously constructed to drop down and make a ramp. Still masked
in its drapery, the monument moved along in a stately manner. With
crowbars and ropes, and a good number of exclamations, the men
moved the stone into position. I saw that a digging had been made in
the earth, an oblong hole preparing the place to receive its stone.
The ground was bare over the grave - any dampness caused by the
rainstorm had long vanished. Little whorls of dry dust spun around
the site, and drifted over our feet and sandals. When the monument
was finally dropped into position, a cloud of dust arose.
'You know, sir,' said the chief
mason, addressing Aristotle, 'that it's
early days, as I said before, to put a stone up - you want to let the
grave settle. We're likely going to have to come back and reposition it
later when the ground's sunk better. Stones like this does much better
when what's beneath them has shaken down more solid.'
'Just so,' said Aristotle. 'As often as necessary. I do not wish the
grave to go unmarked any longer.'
The monument was adjusted and earth shored around it. We could
see tantalising glimpses of
stone as the cloth swung about it. Sweating
heavily and muttering imprecations (though they were trying to
restrain themselves out of respect to that sad and serious spot of
earth), the men finally placed the monument to their satisfaction, and
removed the ropes that steadied it. We all kept watching steadily - all
except the odd young man Parmenion, who stared vacantly up at the
sky and yawned.
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THE MONUMENT
'Now!' said Aristotle. The mason twitched off the covering. The
marble monument and the beautiful statue gleamed in the light. The
bearded man averting his face continued to bid farewell to the seated
lady, so splendid in her attire with its touches of crimson and gold,
her blue robe matching the serene blue sky against which she
glowed. She gazed partly at the man saying farewell to her, and partly
on the thin sheaf of yellow com she held in her hand. Yet in some
way she appeared to be looking upon us as well, with a divine pity,
from under dark hair. She seemed as one untainted and free, offering
us the sheaf of wheat she carried as a gift of consolation. There was
a little puff of exclamation from the watchers. 'Beautiful!' 'What
splendid work!'
'Her name is no longer unknown or her grave unmarked,' said
Aristotle. And indeed the name PYTHIAS was very clear and distinct.
The monument dignified the site. A bird flew over it, its gentle
shadow gliding along the marble as if with a secret promise of
renewed life and motion.
'It is lovely,' I said sincerely.
'This stone worker is an artist,' said Gorgias.
'It is very good,' said Eudemos, squinting and gazing critically as if
regarding an object of art in a great house or a temple. 'It vies with
the grand monuments of the older times.'
The monument indeed did very well among these other
monuments of
Athens, though some of
the tombs of
past centuries in
the Kerameikos are extraordinarily impressive, wrought by first-rate
Athenian sculptors. Near us was another gravestone from the time
shortly after the era of Perikles, a large marble monument to a
virtuous Athenian wife, the lady shown seated, with a maid handing
her jewellery box to her.
'I shall often come to see it,' said Aristotle, rather dreamily, looking
at the Demeter figure on his monument. 'It is good enough even for
Pythias.'
'The lettering is excellent,' said Hipparkhos. 'Very clear.' It was.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
The mason had finished the work and now the full name 'Aristotle
son ofNikomakhos' could easily be read.
'It is certainly clear,' said Epikrates.
As he said these words, Hypereides came striding towards us. This
big confident man, the man to whom smiling came as easily as his
rhetoric, came up to Aristotle with a grave face of commiseration.
The sun shone rosily through his jug-handle ears.
'My dear friend Aristotle,' he said, 'I compassionate you on your
loss. These are hard days.'
'Yes, they are. Thank you,' said Aristotle.
'So - this is the monument,' said Hypereides thoughtfully.
'Yes,' said Aristotle again. Speaking not like a great philosopher
but as simply as any other man, he added, 'It is a nice monument,
isn't it?'
'Ahh - h.' Hypereides sighed. 'My dear Aristotle, that is what I
have come to talk with you about. It won't do you know, my dear sir,
this won't do at all.'
'I beg your pardon?' said Aristotle.
Hypereides raised his hand, like an orator calling for silence. This
was evidently a prearranged sign. Three men came up whom I had
not noticed before that morning. 'You know these gentlemen, I
believe,' Hypereides continued.
'Megakles of
Athens - I believe you are known to Aristotle?'
I recognised Megakles at once, of
course. He was the man with the
large rosy bald spot whom I had first encountered on the day of the
killing of the ox. This important gentleman I had also seen in the
Agora on the day of the monkey. Megakles' growing bald spot had
darkened to the colour of
wood as the summer advanced. But he was
just as dignified and unsmiling now as on those other two occasions.
Megakles inclined his head towards Aristotle, but made no further
acknowledgement. On this occasion, unlike that of
our meeting in the
Agora, he took no notice of me. Hypereides went on with the
introductions.
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THE MONUMENT
'And Eurymedon - Athenian of the deme of Eleusis. Eurymedon,
you must know Aristotle, is one of the Eumolpidai, and thus most
discerningly jealous of
the honour of
Demeter and her daughter.'
I had already recognised pious Eurymedon with his face like a
sculptured mask.
'And Euphorbos,' continued Hypereides. Lanky, curly-haired
Euphorbos bowed his head. Usually his face was animated, but today
he was unusually quiet and grave. Naturally, out of respect for his
former teacher, as well as for the dead and the proprieties of the
occasion. But what he said was not the usual formula of condolence.
'I am sorry, Master,' he said in an agitated tone. 'They told me to
come. Who could have predicted such a day would ever arrive!'
'Now,' said Hypereides, 'this is a hard task, my dear sir. I hope that
you will make it easier for us, and prevent unpleasantness. I have
brought only these men, one of
them your friend and former student,
so that you might be less sore of mind. It
is the easier for you that we
are not public officials. We have not brought upon you the head of
the Boule and the priest or priestess of Demeter. Indeed, we wished
earnestly to spare you a large deputation, or any appearance for
questioning by the Council, or the Assembly. You would not want a
public hearing, a large scene. Consider how ugly that would be:
Athens in uproar, the common people of
the city wrought into anger
at you. We come to tell you - just us four - that Athens finds this
erection unacceptable. With the best will in the world towards you,
we cannot allow this monument here.'
, "Cannot allow -" 'Aristotle repeated the words as if stupefied.
'No,' said Megakles. 'This is - I am afraid - most improper. Would
that we could have put a stop to it earlier! But the truth of
the matter,
Aristotle - and Aristotle's friends -' he nodded at the rest of
us, 'the
truth of the matter is that this monument cannot be permitted to
stand for a day. You perhaps have misunderstood. The Kerameikos
is for citizens of
Athens and the families of
citizens. You, Aristotle, are
not an Athenian.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'You know, Aristotle, you are well aware of this,' added
Hypereides. 'I know you have paid the Alien Tax every year. Eighteen
drakhmai - twelve for yourself and six drakhmai for your wife, as both
were foreign.'
'You are a metoikos, among us as an alien, even if resident,' con-
tinued Megakles. 'Athens tolerates aliens - sometimes mistakenly, I
believe, but that is my opinion. In any case, they do not have the same
rights as citizens. You are a metoikos, allowed to reside here. You are
with us but not of us. So too was your wife, a foreign woman, not of
Athenian parentage. Your little girl is not a citizen's daughter. I think
you have only one child, a female? Your little girl must not expect to
serve Artemis as a bear at Brauron like little Athenian girls. And your
wife should not have expected to be buried in the Kerameikos.'
'Indeed not!' said Eurymedon, speaking to us for the first time that
morning, in his cold clear voice. 'From somewhere outlandish, was
she not? Some sort of
Asian person?'
'She was the daughter of Hermias of Atarneos,' said Aristotle,
gesturing towards the monument as a text wherein that information
was clearly conveyed. 'Hermias was a Greek ruler, a Greek speaker, a
student of Plato and a lover of philosophy -'
'Very nice, I am sure,' said Hypereides soothingly. 'But she was a
foreigner as her father was. Hermias would not be allowed a
monument in the Kerameikos either.'
'And did he not die in some disgraceful manner?' added
Eurymedon. 'Stapled to the tympanon like a common criminal, or
something of
the sort, so I have heard.'
'Let us not dig up old stories or unhappy truths,' said Hypereides.
'The tyrant of
Atarneos is dead, however his death befell. The point
at present is that he was not and could not be an Athenian, nor could
his daughter be metamorphosed into an Athenian, however legiti-
mate she might be in Assos or Atarneos. Pythias has no right, strictly
speaking, to a grave in the Kerameikos. Certainly no right at all to a
public monument - to such a public monument - with an inscription.'
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THE MONUMENT
'What will Athens come to?' Megakles enquired of us. 'You must
see, Athens will cease to be Athens if
we allow all and sundry to stick
their monuments and their outlandish names and so on here. We
could have Arabs and Phoenicians and all sorts. Once you start that
sort of thing, there is no going back.'
'But - we are Greeks!' protested Aristotle.
'I have a suggestion - if I may presume,' said Euphorbos. 'You
could put up any monument to anybody in Peiraieus. They have all
sorts there now - even Phoenicians and people of Karthago with
awkward inscriptions in their gibberish, and their triangle goddess! It
is quite amusing to see them.'
'Euphorbos speaks beside the point,' said Eurymedon, more coldly
than ever. 'We could not countenance this particular monument -
even in Peiraieus. For, there is further offence in this monument. It is
the more dreadful that neither you nor your friends saw at once, as
you ought to have done, the offence committed.' Eurymedon drew
himself up, like an orator in a prosecution, as he addressed the crowd
and the circumambient air - almost, one felt, the monument itself.
Neither he nor Megakles answered Aristotle directly.
'This - this uncouth thing,' continued Eurymedon, contorting his lips
with distaste and chagrin, 'this thing is not only illicit but blasphemous.
It is your wife to whom you give divine honour, really as the goddess
Demeter. Blasphemous honour. You have committed blasphemy!'
'But no!' protested Aristotle. 'There is a reference to her worship
of Demeter -'
'Just so,' said Eurymedon. 'As a member of the tribe of
Eumolpidai, guardians of the sacred rites of Eleusis and all that
pertains to Demeter, I must see to it that the religion of Eleusis is
respected, as it always is in Athens. This figure is a travesty, a
mockery of
Demeter, executed at your command.'
'No, no!' cried Eudemos in protest. He was ignored.
'Surely mockery is the wrong word,' said Euphorbos. He was
ignored likewise.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Gorgias said, 'It looks proper to me, and I and my family work with
images of
the gods.'
'We feel no need to call upon silversmiths to testify about
Demeter,' said Eurymedon icily. 'We of
the clan of
Eumolpus guard
her sacred image from all profanation. But if you need more
clarification, let me summon a witness.'
The priestly Eurymedon moved his hand slightly. To our
amazement, from behind the large monument to the virtuous
Athenian lady there strolled the woman Antigone. She was
modestly dressed, and had a diaphanous veil over her face, but her
sandals were of reddened leather and a large gold bracelet shone
upon her hand.
'This person - this female -' said Eurymedon, 'can tell you more.'
Antigone stood still as if abashed. 'Come,' said he, 'state clearly who
you are.'
'My name is Antigone - and I am a prostitute of Athens.'
'Come, now,' said Hypereides. 'No need to be frightened,
Antigone. We know you are an hetaira. But tell these people again
what you told me you overheard when you were in Aristotle's house.'
The woman parted her veil slightly, so the voice coming through
her pretty lips could be heard by us.
'I heard him say - I don't wish to get anyone in trouble, gentlemen.
But I heard him say - to another gentleman - that he loved his wife
as Demeter.'
'There! Did you ever hear the like? This is blasphemy - flat
blasphemy.' Eurymedon, now animated and triumphant, his great
eyes shining, turned to the little knot of
men. 'This man worships his
wife as Demeter.'
'Though he uses whores,' said Megakles, in a low voice but with
satisfaction.
'No!' I cried. '/ was the gentleman who was present, on that day
when this - this woman came into the room. That was the only
occasion on which she visited Aristotle. She did not come to him to
110
THE MONUMENT
offer whorish favours, nor had he invited her. She came only to talk
about her legal affairs. And Aristotle said no such thing as she alleges!
He said his wife - she was still alive on that day, gentlemen - loved
Demeter. He said Pythias was devoted to this goddess, and that he
loved his wife. And he was talking to me, not to this woman.'
'And that was all?' asked Eurymedon.
'By all the gods, I swear there was nothing in the least improper
about what he said. An ugly business if the chance word of a harlot
should be taken in condemnation! A harlot who - even if she weren't
lying - could hardly know what a conversation could be about, when
she wasn't party to it. It is hard if such as she may spread such
ridiculous untruths about Aristotle, whom we know so well.'
'Gentlemen,' said Aristotle earnestly. 'You cannot for a moment
seriously think that I would be so blind and stupid as to think that my
wife, a mortal woman, was an immortal goddess? Look you, here on
the monument.' He gestured to the text again, and we all looked at it.
'Now, clearly, this inscription says Pythias "lived and died". She is
certainly not an immortal, not a divinity, but human. Nowhere do I
indicate otherwise.'
'Well, well,' said Hypereides. 'We will let pass for the while the
statement of this hetaira Antigone. We have the greatest respect for
you, Aristotle. You may step back, woman. The chief problem at
present lies with the monument itself.'
'The monument itself makes his wife look like Demeter,' said
Eurymedon stubbornly. 'No one has ever seen anything like it!'
'That's right,' said Megakles. 'A woman should be presented
holding some household object, or her jewellery box, perhaps, even a
mirror - something suitable to her feminine weakness and to her
modesty also.'
'This - this objectionable female holds the emblem of
the blessed
goddess!' said Eurymedon in a tone of
rising indignation. 'And then
there's this long pompous inscription, going on about himself - a
foreigner. And saying that his wife, a mere woman, has the divine
III
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
intellect or whatever nonsense he means. As for her being "much
loved", nobody here knew her, as she was related to nobody at all.'
'Yes,' said Hypereides, 'I'm afraid that is certainly true, one must
admit it.'
'In fact,' said Megakles, with fearless relish, 'one must admit that
"Here lies an obscure foreign woman whom no Athenian knew or
cared about" would be a more honest inscription.'
'Perhaps,' Euphorbos suggested, 'it would do us good to have a
greater variety of inscriptions. Frank statements on tombstones
would certainly enliven the Kerameikos. Even make the pious
Eumolpidai more interesting!' He darted a mischievous glance at the
stately Eurymedon.
'But this woman cannot be interred in the Kerameikos,' said
Megakles firmly. 'Whatever the inscription,' he added.
'Gentlemen,' Hypereides pleaded. 'Let there be no unpleasant-
ness. Nothing unseemly. We come not to insult over living or dead,
but only to defend our city and its ways.' He laid his hand caressingly
on Aristotle's arm. 'I am deeply sorry, my good sir, but you must be
wise enough yourself to see how it must end. Nobody wishes to be
unjust, or harsh even in demanding justice. We will, in a particular
leniency, allow Pythias' remains to rest here. Nobody asks you to
disturb her bones. That is generosity itself, surely! But . . . this
monument cannot be allowed to stand.'
'This monument?'
'Nor any other. When this thing goes away, put no other up in its
stead. I am sorry you have been put to unnecessary expense. It is
against our city's customs to honour foreigners in this manner.'
'And the sacred identity of the city and its religion should not be
soiled by foreign blasphemy,' added Eurymedon.
'This monument must go!' said Megakles.
'There is no help for it,' said Hypereides gently. 'The monument
must go. You do see that, Aristotle.'
'Yes, I suppose that -'
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THE MONUMENT
'Excellent!' Hypereides patted his shoulder. 'I am sorry to give you
pain, 0 Aristotle, but 1 am very glad that you see reason. You hear,
gentleman? Aristotle now understands, and gives consent. He agrees
the monument must go. Good-day, Aristotle - and to your friends.'
Hypereides then detached himself, and rapidly moved away with
big swinging strides despite his sixty years. Epikrates waved his hand,
in what must have been another signal. As Hypereides strode away
from the scene, another group approached: a gang of
slaves under the
command of a working foreman. They must have been nearby all the
while, but if so they had been very quiet. Now these men advanced
towards the stone like an armed phalanx, each carrying a crowbar and
a large mallet, the kind men use in banging down paving stones.
Some of these mallets were simply made of a huge hard stone firmly
fastened to a handle.
'Good!' said Megakles. 'You are ready? Now!'
The first of
the workmen lifted his mallet and struck the monument
a heavy blow. The mallet bounced off
the marble, taking with it a chip
from the inscription.
'Oh!' cried Aristotle - involuntarily, once, as a man might cry out
under torture with a terrible surprise before commanding himself to
be silent. 1 thought at the time that it was the sound a man would
make who was fatally stabbed - though later 1 was to know better.
Euphorbos said drily, 'Well thrown!' as if he were a spectator at the
games; he then stood watching the proceedings and the other
watchers. Megakles looked at Aristotle with disdain while
Eurymedon's eager large eyes followed the fate of the monument,
most particularly of its statue. The workmen once set going paid no
heed to any of us. They struck again, and again, multiple blows.
Aristotle was pale, his face set. It was as if he himself, or something
inside him, were being battered. After that first involuntary outcry he
was silent, his face taking on a mask-like sternness. He held himself
erect but 1 could feel him trembling slightly as 1 held his arm. 'We can
do nothing,' 1 whispered to him. 1 was sure of
that.
113
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Epikrates giggled in his low-bred way as the hammering went on.
All the other spectators stood still as if
enchanted. The only exception
was the strange boy Parmenion, who at the first blow had uttered a
loud cry or howl - almost covering Aristotle's own exclamation. The
youth then threw himself face down upon the ground and remained
absolutely still, not swooning, but as if removing himself from the
scene. The rest of us, however unwilling, continued watching as the
men swung and swung, heavy blow after heavy blow cracking down on
the monument. The stone mallets did the most damage - deep gouges
and chipping resulted. Bang! went one mallet and another would
follow. Crash! It was hard to imagine that Pythias in her earthen bed
below did not feel the assault. Hammers of
wood and stone and thick
rods of metal struck the monument as if they hated it, and were glad
to destroy what was also inanimate but lovelier than they.
The inscription had been largely defaced by the time the men took
their crowbars and lowered the monument - not to the ground, but
holding it slantwise so that they could hit the statue while it was still
erect. Many of their blows struck the bearded man, who at once lost
his beard and a hand, but they aimed chiefly at the monument's vivid
lady. Blows rained on the body of
the lady who looked like Demeter.
The top of her sheaf of wheat flew off and hit the ground. Arms and
fragments of garment turned into hail and flew about in the air. At
last her head was struck off, and fell upon the earth where it bounced
very slightly, and lay still. The crown of gold was still visible on the
ragged hair. She looked up at us as if in enquiry. Then the paviour's
hammer struck at the face, with one blow, crushing the nose and
rendering the features indistinct.
'Thus perishes the false image,' said Eurymedon, clearly but not
loudly.
Although it was hard work, it had not taken the workmen long to
do this damage to Aristotle's monument. Once the inscription was
defaced and the image of the goddess gone, Eurymedon and
Megakles seemed to relax slightly.
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THE MONUMENT
'Come up, boys, with the wagon, and take the rest away,' said
Megakles eventually.
The workmen brought up a wagon, very like the first one, and by
tugging and straining with ropes and crowbars got the dishonoured
remnants of monument aboard. Slowly they went away from the
Kerameikos. Pythias' grave was bare earth again, but bare earth with
much trampling upon it, churned up and littered with chips of
marble. Even now, an after-image of
the monument and its lady - or
goddess - seemed to hang in the empty space. A shadowy film or
eidolon, with her sheaf of golden wheat and blue robe and the sweet
divine face.
'Aristotle, we must go home,' said Theophrastos. Hipparkhos and
Eudemos picked up the strange boy Parmenion and managed to get
him to walk between them. His eyes were vacant as though he chose
not to see anything in particular. His lot at that moment seemed
easier than that of
Aristotle, who was fully in his senses as he walked
between the sorrowing Theophrastos and myself. We who were his
friends were sad - dismayed - frightened - angry - but of
the feelings
of Aristotle in that hour I realise I can have only the faintest
conception.
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VIII
==::;:9_P
Ilo:..:=
a'-'G"
Preparing for Flight
We went wearily through the city gate and walked in the hot midday
across Athens towards the blessed coolness of
the Ilissos area with its
trees and refreshing shade. As we came to Aristotle's house I think all
of us were looking forward to the relief of having a door to close
behind us. Shelter for anger, bewilderment and shame - we longed
almost with the intensity of
a physical thirst for the place in which we
could securely rest, give voice to what we felt, and recruit our
shattered spirits.
But it
was not to be easy to recruit shattered spirits. As we came to
the gate of
Aristotle's house we saw that the entryway was barred by
defilement. Sprawled upon the herm, as if it had come expressly to
lounge the day away on this pillar, was a ridiculous long-limbed hairy
being that looked heart-stoppingly at first glance like a man.
Theophrastos was the first to hasten bravely towards the grim sight.
'It's not a man - it's a monkey,' he announced.
We gathered about it. It certainly was a monkey, very fully
displayed, supine, showing his genitals for the world to see. His virile
member, propped up in imitative mockery of the priapic symbol,
vastly outbraved in length and circumference the stony penis depicted
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on the herm. The monkey's little face was twisted into a frightful grin.
Perhaps someone had also arranged that rictus, posthumously.
'Stunned on the head, I think,' said Eudemos, walking to the back
of the herm.
'Killed by a blow of an axe, most likely. Splitting the
skull.'
The flies busy with the skull, which had exuded some sticky matter,
seemed to corroborate this diagnosis.
'It is a monkey,' Theophrastos repeated. 'Not just any monkey.
Kallias'monkey.'
'Yes.' I recognised it. 'Though its gold chain has been taken off.
Perhaps whoever did this did not want to be accused of theft of
valuables. '
'The monkey was valuable in itself - costly. Who is going to tell
Kallias?' asked Hipparkhos, with a groan. 'And how are we to clean
and purify this place?'
The monkey grinned and gave no answer to these questions,
though it looked curiously knowing. 'If
only it could tell us who did
this,' said Eudemos. 'Poor thing,' he added.
Aristotle stared at the dead creature. 'You see the inscription?' he
said, pointing to the base of the herm. To it had been attached a
large clay tablet, crudely incised with a nail or some such utensil to
offer the following inscription which he slowly read aloud:
, "Eminent for Virtue
Given to all good works
Much loved."
'That is a parody ofPythias' inscription! How could they even have
known it?' He gazed as one fascinated by the whole spectacle: the
sprawling lewd monkey, the herm shaft with its new if temporary
inscription. 'Look, the monkey is a mockery - a blasphemy - of
Pythias. Or - it is meant for me. Is it a taunt only, I wonder? Or also
a - a warning?' He swayed a little where he stood.
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'Come,' said Theophrastos; seizing Aristotle by the elbow, though
in no unfriendly grip, he guided the Master to the back of
the house.
'Water -
get water for washing,' he ordered. 'Eudemos and
Hipparkhos, take care of this - this mess. Demetrios, prepare the
ritual purification, and see that the boys make proper ablutions before
they go back indoors. Stephanos, come with us.'
'You should go away,' said Theophrastos. Those were the first words
uttered on our sad return to Aristotle's pleasant room with the books
and writing desk and familiar furnishings. We had all undergone
ritual ablutions and cleansing, but that could not remove the images
from our mind. Aristotle sank wearily into a chair. He was pale, his
face set.
'You look ill.' I was really concerned. 'Take some wine and water.'
Theophrastos had anticipated me, pouring some drink into a beaker.
He thrust it awkwardly at Aristotle, who meekly took it and sipped.
He stared straight ahead for a while, without speaking. Whatever he
thought about Pythias, and the monument, and the dreadful
monkey, he communed inwardly with his heart. He was not pre-
pared to speak with us about the scene we had just witnessed in the
Kerameikos.
'I shall do very well,' he said at length. 'Don't look so distressed,
Stephanos. That blasphemous dead animal - you both say it belongs
to Kallias? A difficult business telling him. Will he want to see it?'
'He will probably want it back,' said Theophrastos. 'To bury in his
back garden. He has funerals - burials, at least - for his pets, I
understand. But we must admit, this is a valuable animal. I shall send
a messenger, and also give orders that the monkey is to be wrapped
up in a blanket meanwhile. After the slaves have worked on the herm,
it will be merely a matter of
ritual form to purify it again.'
'There isn't much blood on it.' I produced this feeble consolation.
'It's strange,' I added, 'this is really the first time they have risked
killing a valuable animal. Otherwise, it's like the others. After all, a
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number of people have had a similar experience this summer. Like
Alkibiades and the Mutilation of the Herms.'
'Really?' said Aristotle. 'I didn't know. I used to know everything,'
he said with a sigh. It was very unlike Aristotle. Painful to see him as
this tight-lipped sighing man, leaning back in his chair.
'Yes. Some people don't much want to talk about it, but you
should know.' I explained about Gorgias and Eutikleides, and some
of the others. I didn't present my own case and the unwanted gift of
the horse's head. Aristotle listened intently.
'This is very bad.' He was silent again, brooding. 'Athens is in an
edgy state, I fear. I worry most immediately about that poor lad
Parmenion. He has received a succession of shocks. Please instruct
Phokon to enquire after his health, and to tell Demetrios that a doctor
should be sent for if necessary. If the boy seems conscious and
somewhat normal, feed him some hydromel; the water quenches
thirst and the honey is a sweet food.'
While Theophrastos summoned Phokon and bade him do as the
Master said, Aristotle closed his eyes as if meditating. We sat with
him for a while, in complete silence. He opened his eyes, and I could
tell that he had been going through the scene at the cemetery.
"'This woman cannot be interred in the Kerameikos,'"
he
repeated. 'Metoikos - abominable foreigner. Oh, Pythias, what have I
done! And I thought to give her a lovely monument -'
'How could they take it on themselves to destroy it like that?' I
began heatedly. 'It was yours - you paid for it. I am not sure at all that
what they did was legal - '
'It probably was not strictly legal,' Theophrastos interposed. 'But
they did it, all the same. And any legal remedy they resorted to might
have been even worse for us. Hypereides was not wrong about that.'
'You are right, Theophrastos,' Aristotle said. 'You are always cool
and steady in judgement. And you are right also in saying I should go
away. It would be better for both Athens and myself if! were out of
the city for a while. I believe I must plan an excursion.'
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'I am planning to go away myself,' 1 said. 'As you know, 1 have been
thinking of
going to seek someone, in point of
fact -'
'The near male relation of the woman you think of marrying,'
Aristotle snatched my sentence from me. 'Very well, we have heard of
this. You are going eastward?'
'To the eastern islands.'
'Theophrastos,' said Aristotle, 'just look into the passage, would
you and see if anyone is waiting to see me?'
Theophrastos threw open the door, and looked about. 'Nobody
waits,' he said. 'Nobody listens.' He closed the door firmly.
'I intend,' 1 said, 'as you know, and as Eudemos and the others
know, to go to Rhodos to look for a man from Hymettos. 1 will get
some financial assistance for this venture, so 1 can just about manage
it. And 1 am also going to take extra care of my own family, and see
that they are very safely lodged during the time 1 am away - for that
may be some while.'
'You are well advised to do so,' said Aristotle. 'I also have a good
reason to go abroad for a time, Stephanos. Fortunately, 1 can give
some respectable cover to my desire to flee. The young man
Parmenion. We have long been thinking that we should try to return
him to his people, have we not?'
'Yes,' said Theophrastos. 'You can see that his health is not good.
1 fear his mind is deeply affected.'
'One of us should really escort him,' said Aristotle. 'The boy is not
fit to travel on his own or even with some group, like other young men.
A friend should convey him to his home. What better friend than I?
Reasonable -
and opportune. Unfortunately, Theophrastos, that
leaves you in charge, and 1 hope that does not subject you to undue
risk. But it seems to me the brunt of
their animosity falls on myself.'
'Yes. 1 certainly believe so,' said Theophrastos.' You must remem-
ber, however, that 1 am myself a metoikos.'
'I know that,' exclaimed Aristotle. 'Who better?' 1 felt slightly
surprised at this open admission. 1 must always have known or at least
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suspected that Theophrastos was a foreigner, but I tended to forget
it. Nobody more ardently desired to be accepted as an Athenian. He
spoke his Attic Greek most precisely, and pored over Plato day and
night.
'Yes,' said Theophrastos, interpreting my speaking face, although
I was silent. 'It is true, Stephanos. You are the only real Athenian in
the room at present. I was born in Lesbos. I feel Athenian, but that's
not quite the same thing.'
'Lesbos! So far away.'
'Yes, Theophrastos was born in Eressos, just like Sappho,' said
Aristotle. 'He doesn't seem much like lyric Sappho, does he? Nor is
he the son of an Athenian. And thus he is a metoikos, as I am.'
'I am not in any great favour,' said Theophrastos. 'I believe,
however, that I am not very important, and that it is you whom they
resent.'
'I think so too,' said Aristotle. 'Which makes what I am about to
say to Stephanos the more shameless. Stephanos, might we join
forces? Or do you think that would be dangerous for you? The idea
has crossed my mind before, I will confess. I should be going to an
area very close to where you are going yourself. I am fairly used to
travel across the Aegean. You have never been in a ship, I think?'
I hesitated. 'Are you sure you are well enough - in your spirits - for
this style of
expedition?' I asked because I felt in my secret heart that
I could not endure daily to accompany a man so bowed down with
grief. Aristotle understood me.
'Do not be anxious, Stephanos. A well-bred man - not to say a
philosopher -
does not inflict his emotions upon his friends.
Fortitude - fortitude and self-restraint - will come to my aid. Perhaps
I may be better for a change of
scene. I have sufficient funds to make
travel easier for both of us. And I know some men of importance
along the way, who may give us lodging and ease our journey. But you
could help me in tum. I shall need some assistance in caring for that
young man, Parmenion. A great responsibility.'
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I was deliberating, when he said impetuously, 'Normally, this
would be delightful, but given the circumstances - the animosity
directed against me - it is only fair to admit that I might be a
hazardous companion.'
'I would be happy to travel with you,' I said. And I meant it. As he
spoke I realised how anxious I had been feeling about making this
voyage into the unknown without a companion. It
would mean going
across wild and dangerous waters, into regions of which I knew
nothing.
'I will risk any danger in your companionship,' I added. 'Once we
are out of Athens they won't bother us. A good idea, for you to go
away. And send your little daughter away also.'
'I have already planned to do so,' said Aristotle gravely. 'How glad
I am too that I didn't have little Pythias represented as one of the
mourners on that monument.
' We all thought for a moment of the
repulsive idea of
hammers hitting his child - even if only in effigy.
'Fortunately,' he continued, 'she will be well out of Athens very
soon. I am sending her to Euboia - to my mother's country. We have
an estate there. The child will be looked after, in the care ofHerpyllis.'
'I too already have a plan for my family's safety,' I explained. 'I
wrote to Smikrenes, the father of the girl I am to marry, you know.
Wrote to him asking, in effect, if
my family could stay with him while
I went in pursuit of his wife's brother. It is a good deal to ask, and I
still await his answer. But if
it is possible, I shall pack my mother and
brother off
to his house before I leave.'
'So you are getting married, Stephanos?' said Theophrastos in
surprise. 'I didn't know. Not to the daughter of the rich citizen
Kallimakhos?'
'No such thing,' I said, not pleased to be reminded of the old
arrangement that had fallen through. 'That is back in the past. But
you see the beauty of my plan. Nobody - not even at present my
mother - nobody who dwells within the walls of
this city knows of
my
plan to marry Smikrenes' daughter - save Aristotle.'
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'If
I can be said to be within the walls, when I live outside them.'
'Very well. Smikrenes knows, and so does his wife and her family -
but they live a rather isolated life in Hymettos, where I think they
hang aloof from their neighbours, so they are unlikely to have much
chance to spread it. I may drop them a hint of
silence, however. But
it seems unlikely that anyone in this city could know of
my connection
with Smikrenes, or would ever suspect that any of our family were
there. And my mother and brother can be safe while I am away.'
'So you were already anxious enough to write to Smikrenes before
- before today?' Aristotle, however greatly assailed by the morning's
events, was still alert and shrewd. 'You had, then, some reason to fear
danger before now? What was it? What happened?'
I had to explain then about the horse's head. I also expounded my
theory that the series of outrages seemed to me to be conducted
against supporters of
Makedon, or those regarded as such.
'Dear, dear. Stephanos, I fear the only reason for your being
regarded as a Makedonian supporter is your association with myself.'
'Well -
my cousin Philemon fought in Alexander's army,' I
reminded him. 'They - whoever they may be - have targeted a
number of people. Perhaps I am too fearful where my family is
concerned. Probably this is the work of a few louts, egged on by a
couple of
discontented citizens. Just the same, I would like to get my
family out of the way. It is wrong to leave a house in the care of an
unprotected woman like my mother. It won't seem too odd that they
should have gone away when I am travelling. But I think I won't say
much about my destination. I had rather people here in Athens - if
they find out that I am away - think that I am going to one of the
nearer islands and may come back fairly soon.'
After I talked it over with Aristotle and Theophrastos, this plan
seemed just as good as I had thought it was. In fact, it
became clearer
and better as Aristotle quickly came to practicalities about hiring
passage on a ship, and so on. We cheered up slightly during this
discussion of the future; after we took wine together, the journey
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seemed certain. When I went home, however, I felt sneaky and low,
because I was harbouring a scheme destructive to my mother's peace
without her knowledge. I had decided I would tell her as soon as I
heard from my prospective father-in-law, ifhis reply were favourable.
That interview with Mother I did not look forward to with pleasure.
My mother, Eunike, is a daughter of
the true Erektheids, and they are
a formidable tribe. (Some say that at the beginning the founder was
nurtured by - even entwined with - snakes.) Mother was unlikely to
look upon my news with any great approbation.
I did not have long to wait. In the evening the slave came back with
a message from Smikrenes, though not with a letter.
'I saw the gentleman Smikrenes as you directed,' he said. 'I gave
the letter to him personal. And he read it and kept me there, and they
gave me food and overnight lodging, and sent me back early today.
He told me he would have no letter to give to you, but only a word
that I was to remember. He said as how I could remember "Yes" was
the word, and "Welcome", and I was certain sure I could remember
that.'
So here was the keystone to my plan for getting away - a keystone
safely cut and ready. I had only to attend to the details. The first and
most formidable of
these details was telling my mother. This meant I
first had to tell her of my intention to marry Smikrenes' daughter
Philomela, and my engagement with Smikrenes. This was bad
enough. She burst into tears and lamentations almost at once.
'Oh no! Stephanos, how could you! A small and unimportant man
- one can tell by his horrible little name! Some little country place in
Eleusis, and some thick-skinned old farmer's clumsy daughter - how
could you? Oh, my child, you're throwing yourself
away. Oh, my poor
boy why didn't you tell me? Surely you can get out of
this!'
'I didn't tell you at first because it wasn't certain,' I protested. 'And
it went on, so now it is certain We will have the formal engye after the
summer is over. I don't want to get out of
it.'
'Why didn't you tell someone who could have given you good
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advice? Oh, Stephanos, you don't hold yourself of enough account.
Poor boy, you are not bad-looking and certainly well-born. And
manly and good - and educated too. If
you had only tried hard
enough you could have married the daughter of some wealthy and
important man.'
She sat down heavily, and rocked to and fro in her grief. 'Oh, dear,
oh dear! You keep company with foreigners too much, and don't pay
attention to your own interests in Athens. There was no need to go
into some muddy little village in the wilds to find a wife! And you
needn't tell me her father is well-born and educated and rich and
polite and delightful, for I cannot believe it!'
'He is well-born enough, a true Athenian citizen. He has a little
money and his own land,' I responded. 'I won't tell you he is all those
other things, because it is true, they're not appropriate. But think -
his wife has a family in Hymettos, who are doing well, and her brother
may be able to help us to some more money. But I have to go and fmd
him first. He may be in Rho- I mean on one of
the islands, so I am
going on a journey to find him.'
'So restless, Stephanos. I cannot understand it. Always wandering.
Isn't Athens good enough for you? You're like your cousin Philemon,
poor boy, rushing off
to Asia with Alexander, as if
there were any need
for him to go and get killed - or nearly - away from home. All this
wandering and restlessness explains the bad marriages in our family.
Look what a horrible marriage Philemon has made with that
wretched girl from Thebes, a foreigner who came to Athens with
scarcely the clothes she stood up in.'
'She isn't a foreigner,' I interjected, for it would be very bad for
Philemon and his children if this impression were allowed to gain
ground. 'She came from Thebes, but she is true Athenian-'
But my mother's speech ran in too rapid a current for her to hear
me.
'You go wandering off to Delphi in the spring with your old
philosopher - for no possible reason or advantage - and now you tell
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me that you're going to some island to look for a man you don't
know. It makes my head spin!'
'Yes, yes, Mother, but there is some advantage in this journey,' I
said. 'And don't forget, my first long journey to Euboia saved
Philemon's life, and the honour of the family. But whether you like it
or not, I am afraid I must go. And that leads me to my second point
- or third, perhaps.'
'Don't maunder on in that unfeeling way,' she said sharply. 'Who
cares if it's your second or thirty-second point! Why will you lecture
and preach on at your wretched mother?' I gathered my forces.
'While I am away,' I explained, 'away on a journey I need to take
and am determined to take, you and my brother Theodoros and two
of the slaves must leave this house and stay with Smikrenes.'
At this she was truly aghast. 'Oh, no, Stephanos - not my home!
Don't take that away! Don't ask it of
me!'
'Only for a little while. It is for your own safety and protection. I
cannot leave you without a man in the house, or in a house without a
man, for so long. Smikrenes can take care of
you both.'
'Care! In a little muddy hut with a lot of smoke, and chickens
running around the floor, I dare say, and nothing comfortable and
none of my own things about me. And he'll turn Theodoros into a
little drudge - his sort do that. And no neighbours to talk with. Oh no
- oh no! Who would have thought my son would have brought me to
this pass!' Tears coursed down her cheeks. 'Oh, Nikiarkhos, why did
you die and leave me to the care of
this unkind son?'
'I am not an unkind son,' I protested. 'I try to be a good son to you,
Mother, but I am afraid that you and Theodoros cannot stay here
alone while I am away. And that's final.'
This last phrase (one I remember my father was fond of) I did not
care much for myself, but I found myself
saying it. I left the room with
dignity, leaving her to get over her weeping. The female slave came to
her, looking at me as reproachfully as if I had proposed pulling the
house down about all their ears. Theodoros, predictably, was easier
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to handle, but even he was at first quick to see the disadvantages -
especially being parted from his best friend Euphranor. His was a
hopeful disposition, however, and he was soon able to look forward
to making a journey to the country and having some different places
to explore.
The next few days were full of business, as I tried to provide for
both myself and my family during my journey time. I kept a sharp eye
on Mother so that she didn't gossip to the neighbours about our
plans. The slaves also had to be told, but I didn't tell them precisely
where they were going - they would find out in due time. I went to
our family farm to see old Tamia and the even frailer Dametas, in
order to arrange for them to give regular supplies of our produce to
the house slaves who would be going to stay with my mother. I hoped
we could pay our way, really, by dint of bringing some of our own
utensils and adding regularly to the food supplies at Smikrenes'
modest establishment. I did not want to be an undue burden. Both
slaves were to go together from Eleusis to the farm whenever my
family needed anything; the male slave was agreeable enough to
walking and porterage but had a tendency to lose his grip on
information, and to dally by the way, whereas the woman was no
dallier and nimble enough in her wits, though not as good at carrying
things. Once we got to the Eleusis area, I wished her not to tell other
people precisely of our new location.
It was an unusual thing to be doing, sending my mother to live in
another man's household, and that man not a relative. But I had no
male relative save my cousin Philemon, who was so talkative and
careless. Besides, he lived in a small house in town, and thus any
visitors would be subject to the scrutiny of
neighbours, and Philemon
with his peculiar history and strange marriage was already sufficiently
suspect. No, it had to be Smikrenes. But as we were not yet
connected with this man, I ought to take special precautions for the
reputation of
my mother.
'Be sure you stay in the women's part of
the house and do not stir
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except at proper times and with a female companion,' I warned her.
'As if! didn't know more of
behaviour than you do, Stephanos! Oh,
my child, why do you use me so? Casting me out of my own house.
I'm sure I could denounce you before the Assembly or somewhere for
cruelty to your parents - there's a penalty in law for that -'
'Yes there is. It is loss of citizenship. And if I were not a citizen of
Athens a fine pickle we should all be in,' I retorted. 'Make the best of
it, Mother. I think of you and Theodoros and your welfare always.
Now, I am going to take Theodoros with me for a while on a little
expedition. We are going to get a dog to add to your safety.'
I kissed her but she was only partly mollified. Theodoros, however,
was in high spirits at the prospect of accompanying me to get a new
dog and then taking the animal to Smikrenes' house. I took a slave as
well, and a donkey so that Theodoros could ride in case his legs got
tired on the way back from Eleusis. The house to which we were
going first, the home of
one of
Philemon's friends, was in the western
outskirts of Athens. Philemon, who had told me this man had high-
quality dogs for sale, came with Theodoros and myself to see them.
We knew there were dogs by the din of barking set up on our
approach. When we went into the yard, the bitch and her sons set up
a great racket. The owner brought us a young dog, barely out of
puppyhood; it first dashed at us barking as ifhe would like to have our
heads, then ran about the yard in a fury of
zeal.
We stood, our little party of
Philemon, Theodoros, myself and the
slave, surveying the creature. The youthful dog at its master's bidding
eventually stopped running round in circles, and sat down. It
looked
at us, and put its tongue out.
'Big, but a well-shaped muzzle,' said Philemon critically.
'Oh, he is so nice!' said Theodoros. 'Handsome and large.'
'He is surely large for a hound, isn't he?' I asked. 'He is still not full
grown - look how large his paws are.'
'Well, this sort of dog is bred for strength as well as speed. When
he wants something he goes for it, and doesn't let go. You should see
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one go after a rabbit! He'll pretty well feed himself, ifhe's allowed to
hunt. And they're wonderful as watch-dogs. You see how they bark
at the approach of a stranger.' .
'An unusual animal,' I said critically, trying to look as if I under-
stood the minutest points of canine breeds.
'He is that,' said the owner. 'He's a Molossian hound. I mean
really, a true Molossian; his father is from Molossos, and his mother
too.'
'Molossos?' exclaimed Theodoros, laughing. 'What a funny name!'
'It's not funny, it's the name of a place way out West,' the owner
said.
'That's right,' said Philemon. 'Olympia, Alexander's mother,
comes from there. They go in for snake-handling in Molossos - part
of
their religion. Weird people, but great dogs.'
'They're rare in Athens,' continued the owner, refusing to be
distracted by snakes. 'Rare and valuable. Real Molossian hounds.
Frankly, I would charge more if you weren't a cousin of Philemon.
And the bitch had a large litter, and our home isn't best suited to
keeping them all.'
I paid this dog-breeder what he asked, to Philemon's satisfaction.
(It was a moot point if
Philemon had arranged the dog-buying for our
benefit, or that of his friend.) The man sent his slave for a piece of
leather to make a collar, and a stout rope to tie our hound with. We
couldn't trust him not to run off. Meanwhile, we needed to make
ourselves known to the animal.
'Theodoros, you are really going to be this dog's master,' I said.
'Since I will be away, and the dog must obey someone, this will be
your dog.'
Theodoros' face lighted up. 'I must call him by name,' he said.
'What is his name?'
'Doesn't have one. We call him "the second pup".'
Theodoros knelt beside the animal and put his arm around its
neck. 'I will give you a name,' he said. 'I will call you "Molossos" and
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since your father was of Molossos, we will pretend his name was
"Molossos" too. You are the son of
Molossos. Molossos Molossou.'
The dog cocked his head and put his tongue out again, rather as if
considering the new appellation.
'So you will come when I call you, Molossos Molossou,' said
Theodoros, 'and you will run with me and we will hunt together, and
you will not leave me. Promise you will come when I call you, and
keep everybody in my house safe. Agreed?'
Theodoros flung his arms fully round the beast and kissed the top
of its head. Molossos Molossou responded by licking his face
enthusiastically.
'There!' said Theodoros. 'He really is mine now, and he is willing
to come with us.'
The collar was affixed amid some growls and protests, and the strong
rope. We left in a procession. Philemon with nothing, Theodoros with
dog, myselfwith donkey, the slave with basket. A few steps beyond the
gate, however, the 'second pup' seemed to realise it was leaving its
parent and former companions behind, and emitted a startling howl,
which set off the others inside the yard. We had a deal of business
quieting him. At last he consented to trot along under pressure of our
united urging. Soon, however, Philemon had to leave us and go home.
Noting the diminution of
our number, the dog seemed to think he had
a better chance of conducting the expedition as he pleased.
The countryside held innumerable attractions for Molossos
Molossou, and he took off with alarming speed over a field, dragging
Theodoros after him. The slave and I ran after the pair, whereupon
the donkey, not knowing what to do with so much freedom, began to
stray towards a cottage garden to eat the produce. Fortunately, I
headed off the ass before it did any damage, and Theodoros
persuaded the hound to come back to the road. This was by no means
the last foray. Most alarming was the occasion when he was attracted
by a chicken in the road and chased it
vigorously back home, dragging
Theodoros with him into a crowd of anxious and noisy fowl.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
'Molossos Molossou, I cannot have you doing this all the time,'
said Theodoros, wiping his brow. 'And I cannot go on calling you
"Molossos Molossou" all the time either. It's too long. I shall call you
just "Moloss-Molou".'
And so the dog became "Moloss-Molou" for ever after, and we
proceeded on our way to Eleusis, sometimes with the boy leading the
dog, sometimes with the dog pulling the boy.
Smikrenes received the news of the dog, and the dog itself, in his
usual gracious manner.
'So, this beast will eat us all out of house and home,' he
pronounced.
'No, no. He's supposed to be able to hunt for what he eats. He will
keep down the rats and rabbits and anything that eats your crops,' I
said rashly. 'And he will be a watch-dog and a guard over all.'
'Well, could be worse. This thing's going to grow - and he's only
half trained. Great gawping puppy. Your little boy will have to be
responsible for him. MyoId dog Argos could have kept him in order,
if he was alive. Now, there was a real guard dog!'
'But my dog is alive!' said Theodoros. Theodoros had not been
best pleased at being referred to as my 'little boy', but this protest to
Smikrenes was meant as a point of logic, and not as impudence. It
didn't seem likely that Smikrenes would see the difference.
'Don't be pert, child. Well, let us have a look at you.' Theodoros
stood squarely in front of
him. 'He talks back, but he is well grown.
Hope you're strong, boy. Fine manly little fellow,' added
Smikrenes, sighing. 'I never had any such, only the girl. Spoilt,
probably. I dare say he's been softened by city ways, though - school
and games and endless playtime. Not used to work, like the country
boys here are.'
'I can do anything a country boy can do,' Theodoros insisted
stoutly. 'And Stephanos said I was to help you.'
'Yes. No school here but life. Don't look alarmed, boy, I won't eat
you, and I'll leave some time for play. Philomela my daughter will
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PREPARING FOR FLIGHT
feed you well, and you can talk to her when I am not about. But you
are to mind me, hear! No running away.'
'Theodoros has never given us the least trouble,' I said, answering
the child's mute appeal for defence. 'He is the prop of
our household.
When I am away, he is the man of
it, as he knows, and must look after
his mother.'
'I dare say we shall all shake down well enough,' said Smikrenes,
shaking his own head as if to counteract too much good cheer in this
prophecy. He agreed to take charge of
Moloss-Molou until our whole
party should arrive on the morrow.
Theodoros, understandably fatigued, made good use of
the donkey
on the way home. I knew that he was - and who could wonder at it!
- daunted at the prospect of life with Smikrenes. I told him frankly
that was our only resource. I also explained about Philomela, whom
he would meet, as he was still young enough not to be separated from
the women.
The next day we all set out again. I insisted on an early start so that
not too many neighbours would see our departure. A cart, drawn by
two asses, was full of household effects: pallets, blankets, clothing,
pots, food, and trinkets from which my mother could not bear to part.
Mother had to ride, and I could afford no more estimable conveyance.
I sent the slaves on ahead so we would not be too great a procession,
but we were noticeable enough with my mother in her cart surrounded
by piles of
stuff, and one son walking along on each side of
her.
It took a terribly long time to get to Eleusis, and my mother's little
wails at departing from her house, though softened by her veil and her
own sense of
propriety, did not add to the cheer of
the expedition. It
was borne in upon me forcibly, though (strangely) only at this point,
that the person who might suffer the most by this arrangement for a
visit would be my bride-to-be, Philomela. It is hard enough for a
young woman who has the honour to be a bride to adjust to life with
her mother-in-law, but Philomela, witho~t a bridal, would have to
endure my mother's chiding, disapproval, weeping and worrying. It
135
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
would be too much to hope that Mother would like her, I thought.
Mother was so strongly against the marriage. She might try to create
a breach that could never be healed. It surprised me once I realised
this that I hadn't thought of it before. But then, I had been thinking
only of
the family's safety.
'Don't let any stranger - not of the family - feed your dog,' I
warned Theodoros. 'You must train him to accept nothing that
doesn't come from your hand, or that of Mother or Philomela. He
can eat what he himself
catches, or he can eat what you give him - not
too much. But make him learn that he must not eat what anyone else
offers him. Dogs have been poisoned by spiteful people before now.'
Theodoros' eyes grew big.
'You can train him,' I said. 'You can spend a good deal of
your time
this summer training Moloss-Molou.'
Our journey seemed to take forever, with stops on the road for
eating or relieving ourselves, searching for lost articles, or resting the
donkeys, but at length we arrived at Eleusis deme and then at the
home of Smikrenes. Although it was already nearly evening, I took
only a couple of
hours' rest and some food before returning to Athens
to close up our house. Next morning I would be setting out for the
sea journey to the eastern islands. I departed from Eleusis under a
good moon, after a tearful farewell to Mother. She kept the donkey
and cart with her; travelling at night, she pointed out, could only
endanger the little vehicle. Besides, she might think of
something else
she wanted from home. I readily agreed, not desiring the nuisance of
the cart on the way back. I said my goodbyes to her within the house,
but Theodoros accompanied me to the gate.
'Take care of yourself, Stepho,' he said, in a manly way. My
departure seemed to be making us more equal. Indeed, I realised to
my surprise that I did have some reliance on the intelligence and
judgement of
The
odor
os - much more than on my cousin Philemon's
at any age. But there was no getting away from the fact that
Theodoros was only in his tenth year.
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PREPARING FOR FLIGHT
'Farewell, and I leave you in the care of the gods,' I said formally.
I could not forbear a light warning: 'Keep a wary eye out for loutish
men hanging about. I thought I saw a couple of
loiterers, slaves most
probably, eyeing our town house the other day - one is a big beefy
fellow.'
'I will watch out,' said Theodoros readily. 'After all,' he laughed,
'we don't want pieces of animals left on us, like some people!'
'Exactly.' I didn't want to alarm the child by telling him any more.
But I added, though this was really an afterthought, 'Theodoros, I
know you can write. I must depend on you. In Mother's little wooden
box you will find a small clay tablet with two strange names on it.
Aristodamos of Naxos and Oromedon son of Daliokles, of Kos.
Aristotle gave me these two addresses. If
I am not actually with them
these men may know where I can be found.'
'I understand,' Theodoros said. 'I'll write, I promise.'
'Write at least once, just to let me know that everything is all right,'
I urged. 'And please do not omit to write if you think there is any
need, or if there is any trouble. I don't put great confidence in the
judgement of my cousin Philemon, but if you want money or
immediate assistance you may ask him. He owes me his help, and
many favours.'
'I will remember what you say,' said Theodoros, looking serious. 'I
can remember the names. Aristodamos of Naxos and Oromedon of
Kos - son of Daliokles. And I will look after Mother. Don't you
worry, Stephanos, my brother. Moloss-Molou will guard all of
us.'
So I said my last farewell to my family and stumbled wearily back
to Athens and my poor deserted house to pack up the few things I
could bother to take with me on my long journey.
137
IX
Taking Ship for the Islands
In the first morning light I went to Aristotle's house. He was, of
course, ready, with his slave Phokon to carry his bags. Young
Parmenion was also prepared for travel, at least as far as his dress was
concerned. The boy, pale and silent, his lips compressed, stood with
head bowed as one resigned to fate. Aristotle's household, including
his assistants, the teachers and the students, as well as the slaves, both
men and women, had drawn up to say farewell. They stood about in
the cool air, some visibly distressed, others with difficulty holding in
check their desire for sleep. Young Mikon gaped in a terrific yawn,
and his neighbour nudged him. But the woman slave who must be
Herpyllis, she who had tended Pythias during her last days, seemed
greatly moved. A female slave does not have to be veiled, and
Herpyllis' headgear slipped as she attended earnestly to Aristotle's
farewell, rendering her fully visible. This woman had a lovely face,
slightly rounder than the perfect oval, and large grey eyes of great
expressiveness; the tracks of
tears were visible on her cheeks. She held
little Pythias by the hand, readied for travel also, with a big basket
beside them. They were to set out to Euboia as soon as the Master
left. Aristotle, rising to the occasion, made a grave and simple speech:
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISlANDS
'I am going,' he told the assembled company, 'for but a while, and
I look forward to returning to you all. I am taking Parmenion back to
his home, and I shall also be going on a little errand of matters of
importance, about which I cannot speak at present. You will be well
protected when I am away. I hope to hear of your progress in work
when I get back. Above all, the work of
the school must not slacken.
I hope all my dear students will grow in wisdom and knowledge
during our time apart. Mayall go well with you, and the goodwill of
gods and men rest upon this house and its inhabitants.'
There was a little cheer, with some sobbing. We walked away.
Aristotle kept his arm tucked in Parmenion's, to make sure he would
come, and Phokon brought up the rear. Aristotle had arranged an
easy departure, with asses to carry the luggage and Parmenion, and
ourselves if we wished. I was glad not to have to carry my bundle all
the way to Peiraieus. At least by now I had learned about the
necessities of travelling, and had brought useful things in a leather
bag, of some defence against the weather. Aristotle assured me that
Phokon would buy water for us all when we got to the port. I hadn't
thought about the difficulty of getting drinking water on board the
ship. It was pleasant to have a servant to wait upon me, but awkward
that he belonged to somebody else. I could not have spared one of
our
home servants to accompany me, and the prospect of
having to feed
an extra mouth along the road would have been too daunting.
Naturally, Aristotle would have an attendant.
The road seemed long, for I had walked many weary stadia to and
from Eleusis in recent days. I was glad to see the port, with its bustle
and glow oflife. Peiraieus was familiar to me: at one time I had quite
haunted the place. But a port always looks different when you
yourself are going on a journey. At the time when I had frequented
Peiraieus a couple of years before, most of the military shipping was
with Alexander at the eastern edge of the ocean, ferrying troops and
supplies to the coast of Asia. But now many of these ships had
returned. Some warships of the stunning new size were being
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
repaired, or made ready to be put in dry dock. Peiraieus seemed to
have more slipways than before, and more sheds to house ships and
tackle. These boathouses are really quite elegant, like temples for
ships, with their stone columns and wooded roofs.
Aristotle made his way confidently to a particular area of the
Emporion where the merchant ships are harboured. The big
merchantmen are really huge close to, and I was gazing at one of
the
ones with a vast number of crewmen swarming aboard her when we
drew near to our more modest craft. 'I have engaged a very good
ship,' Aristotle explained to me. 'Excellent captain. A vessel of suffi-
cient size to take us and our luggage without constriction. There will
be a few other passengers of course. Ah! Here it is. The Eudaimonia
of Peiraieus.'
It seemed a good sign that the ship had such a cheerful name,
although some philosophers tell us that we should seek first Arete,
excellence or virtue, and not care about prosperity or the good spirits
signified by Eudaimonia. Both Aristotle and I, so I thought, could do
with a little happiness.
'Stephanos, this is our good captain Aiskhines. Of Peiraieus, like
the ship. He is the kybernetes who commands this ship, and also the
naukleros. '
'Lucky for you,' said the captain cheerfully. 'A man who owns his
ship will surely take the best care of
it, and his passengers too. Rowers
all hand-picked -
the six best have manned ships in the wars.
Experienced men.'
I looked curiously at the man on whom we were to depend, and was
reassured. Aiskhines had a square capable face, and smiling brown
eyes. 'A nice ship,' I said cautiously, knowing very little about ships.
'She is that, sir. A keles, not as big as some, but built for speed.
Responds well to the rowers, and carries sail, as you see.'
It is well that I kept my countenance, for the word keles is well
known in another context: as 'a good fast ride' or 'a fast go'. It is what
a man pays the highest price for in the brothels when he wants a
140
TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
woman to ride him. We used to giggle a lot about the word in school.
After we really knew what we were talking about, the laughter
changed.
'A keles, yes,' 1 said approvingly. 'I didn't know we were taking
cargo with us,' 1 added, with less approbation. Aiskhines and his crew
were engaged in storing a lot of
things on the vessel. 1 had not realised
we were going to have to share our ship with anything but human
freight.
'Oh, just a little oil- scarcely anything in the way of
cargo this trip.
Why, you wouldn't believe it perhaps, but this little cutter can take
nearly thirty talents' weight of cargo! Very snug hold. You'll be glad
of the cargo aboard, sir, for it adds ballast and stability, and prevents
the ship jumping about too much on the waves. And she's a lively filly
when she gets her head!'
'Where can my slave put our luggage?' Aristotle enquired.
'Come with me, sir. Right there, down in the back of
the hold, but
be sure it's in the dry part. Now the kitchen area is in that little galley
aft, if
you have kitchen stuff
to leave off
- but be careful. That's where
the firepot is.'
1 looked and saw that the roofed space at the very back of
the deck
was nicely tiled over, with a hole cut for the smoke to go out from a
portable hearth. The firepot was sturdy, ingeniously made of
multiple
layers, to keep the fire safe from wind and spray. Utensils, knives and
spoons and a pot or two, hung neatly on pegs, jammed in place with
other pegs so they would not swing about.
'I had no idea that a ship could have a kitchen,' 1 said admiringly.
'Oh, there's no home like ship, sir, as you'll find. Everything you
could want, handy as can be. Not like the great naval fleet that had to
stop for breakfast by the little goat-trough creeks at Aigospotamoi.
Because they stopped they got caught by the Spartan admiral
Lysander. A famous defeat, Aigospotamoi. A whole navy lost for the
sake of
a breakfast - except for one commander who didn't beach for
a meal, and saved his ships.' The captain laughed. 'Now, if
they'd all
141
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
had kitchens, there'd have been no loss. But it's true, you can't feed
men in a meres, with nearly two hundred mouths. But we can eat
when we like. Mind you, doing the Kyklades run we can probably hop
on an island for the night and you can dine on dry land, as landsmen
prefer. But we could cook you up a fine dinner at sea.'
The captain was torn between the desire to go on praising his ship
and the desire to continue attending to the cargo. He and his men
were evidently so busy that we begged not to interrupt him. About
one sixth or so of
the ship's interior was taken up with a wooden rack
with rows of square holes in which to hold pots securely; the crew
were packing into these the kind of long pots with a spike at the
bottom that are used for shipping liquid products. The holes were
partly filled with packing sand, into which the spike could be run, and
then the tops of the bottles were packed about with soft twigs and
some straw.
'We'll be off as soon as we've got our oil ready,' the captain
explained briskly. 'A couple of other passengers and yourselves.
We're carrying fresh water for ourselves and the crew - we have a
large water tank in the hold.' He pointed to a gigantic pot covered
thickly with pitch.
'Though you can bring your own if you fancy it.
Crew are likely to go through the water supply at a great rate in this
heat. Hope to get off
soon before the sun has risen further up the sky.
You may as well go and get something to eat before we depart.'
Thus encouraged, we left our baggage with Phokon to look after
it, and climbed out again. We betook ourselves to the market area.
Peiraieus has what must be the best market in the world - goods
come from everywhere. There are hides from Argos and the islands;
perfumes and carvings and papyrus from Egypt; pottery from the
Greek colonies around Poseidonia in the West; brightly coloured
cushions and carpets from Karthago and from Persia; spices from
places far away; and beautiful jewellery looted from Persian lands
and pawned or put up for sale. Everyone in Peiraieus seems to be
trading something. Bankers set up their tables here, along the
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
waterfront, with their scales and piles of
coin and bullion, all guarded
by stout and competent slaves. You could hear the quick clicking
patter-patter of
tiles of silver and gold falling on one another, as rich
persons from home or abroad made an exchange or deposit, or took
out a loan.
Just seeing all this made me feel happier, and hungry. Peiraieus
specialises in tripe, and also other organs. I looked for the list of
official prices and was glad to see that costs had not gone up. The list
offered mouthwatering delicacies. I hesitated between tripe and a
stew of
pigs' trotters (while being coaxed by the hot-meat seller to try
the fried brains), but eventually settled on the tripe.
'You are a brave man,' exclaimed Aristotle.
'I'm hungry now,' I said, 'and these little stalls do tripe very well.
You ought to try it. What about yourself, Parmenion?'
Parmenion simply looked offended, and Aristotle said, 'Well,
before sailing some people are more anxious about their stomachs.'
I hadn't thought of
this, but waved the consideration away. 'I'll be
fine,' I said with assurance. My eye was caught by the large sign
showing the exact measures to be used according to the law. In a
sandstone slab bits and pieces of
a man appeared in outline - an arm,
a hand, a foot. I pointed this out, laughing. 'It looks as if the man is
disappearing into the sand. Evaporated, even, leaving only the outline
of
his fragments. That would be a mystery to solve, indeed Where did
he go?' I persisted in the fantasy (which perhaps first arose from my
state of fatigue), partly because I saw it as my responsibility to keep
Aristotle cheerful, mentally occupied with interesting and amusing
things.
It was a great relief to me that Aristotle had allowed no signs of
his
mourning to escape him since we had left his home. He was right:
fortitude and philosophy had come to his aid, as well as the natural
self-restraint of
a gentleman unwilling to burden his friends. Once we
started travelling, and our minds were turned to new things, he would
resign himself, forget to recall his loss. So at the sight of
the comical
143
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
sign -
the man in parts disappearing -
I laughed out loud to
encourage Aristotle. The tripe seller glared, thinking I was laughing
at him, which I certainly wasn't.
The sight of
the foot, suspended in stone in mid-air, reminded me
of
my own feet. My sandals were worn down, although they were the
toughest kind with hobnails in the soles. The pause in Peiraieus gave
me time to buy a sturdy new pair. 'At least,' I said to our company, 'I
shall be walking on a piece of Attika all the time. I shall feel better
with Athenian footwear on.' I also felt better because the shoemaker
kindly allowed me to wash my legs and feet, as I was thick with dust
from toes to knees.
As we headed back to our little ship, I dawdled behind Aristotle
and Parmenion, looking at the fine goods for sale. I was annoyed by
an urchin wearing a hood like someone who is ill; the boy kept trying
to make me buy oregano or fennel. In attempting to evade the little
fellow, who made me curiously uneasy, I bumped into a slow-moving
woman. I apologised before I realised that this female was only a
slave. Then I noticed that she was lame, and could walk only
haltingly. Yet, most strangely, she was carrying a dog in her arms.
'Here,' I said, handing her a hemi-obol. I hurried after Aristotle, but
the woman came thumping after me with her uneven tread.
When we drew near the ship we could see that it was almost ready
to depart. Two unknown men, obviously not sailors but passengers,
were already on board her. We stood and gazed at our ship, a little
deeper in the water now as it rode with the oil jars in its hold.
'Won't be long - come on board!' the captain called to us. He and
one of his sailors were critically inspecting the sail, which they then
proceeded to furl, stowing the mast within the ship, running all the
length of
it under the rowers' thwarts. 'We don't use sail till we're out
on open water,' he explained, 'and not then unless the wind is right
for it. Still, you catch a good wind, you cut down on the time.
Anybody want to go to Delos?' he added jokingly.
The woman with the dog drew up to us.
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
'Oh please, good sirs, take me with you! I wish to go - I need to go
- to Delos. I have some money. I can pay my way! Passage for me and
my poor dear little dog here. It's a cripple, deary me! - just like me.
Can hardly walk. But we both need to get to Delos.' The lame dog in
her arms whined. It looked neither young nor healthy.
'What is your name and who is your mistress? Should you not be
travelling with her?' Phokon asked. 'And where is your mistress?'
added the captain.
'Oh, sirs, my name is Doris, and my mistress is Kardaka. She has
gone to her mother's family home on the island for the summer. She
left me to close up the house in Peiraieus. But she wants me to meet
her in Delos. Rheneia, actually. Greater Delos. That's why I have the
money to go. But I must take this dog, and not every boat has room
for a dog.'
'Why do you carry this dog about?' I asked bluntly. 'It is not that
small a dog, and you are obviously crippled.'
She flushed.
'Yes, I am quite lame,' she admitted. 'But the dog is, too - he
wouldn't get about at all, hardly, without me. This dog is the dearest
thing to me. I have looked after him all his life. And now he has got
lame and not too well the mistress said she would give him to me
outright if I would take care of him. But we need to meet her in the
island next to Delos, and I can pay for my passage.'
'Can't be doing with dogs running around the ship!' exclaimed the
captain.
'Oh, please! Sirs, please! Let me take the dog, I beg of
you. I can
put him in a basket of some kind - there are basket sellers here-
abouts. And we can sit at the very back. I'll pay extra for the
dog.'
'Well,' said Aristotle, 'I suppose we can do one act of kindness.'
'It's not too kind if we're not paying for it,' I reminded him.
'Can you get a basket without delay, woman, for that there dog?'
demanded the captain. 'For we need to set off
- the day is advancing.'
145
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
The woman succeeded in cajoling a basket with a lid out of
one of
the neighbouring shops for a very low price. In this the dog was
forcibly and duly incarcerated. The basket was lowered into the well
of the boat, the dog whining and sniffling, and the poor limping
slavewoman was helped aboard by two of
the crew. We all followed.
Our own party was by far the most numerous: Aristotle, myself,
young Parmenion and Phokon. The power of
numbers was such that
we forced the two men of
business travelling with us to make room.
One of these was an insignificant, partly bald little fellow of the sort
that one can see everywhere every day. He had a kind of
shawl to keep
sun off his neck, and a number of small parcels. I tried to help him,
but he said 'Let my things alone!' in a grumpy voice, and then heaped
the little bundles about him suspiciously, as if he suspected us of
wanting to steal them.
'One cannot tell in a boat full of dogs what may happen to one's
things,' he said in peevish tones, casting a baleful look at the lame
slavewoman and her unfortunate pet. 'It's not what I'm used to, I'm
happy to say. Never.'
This genial fellow then huddled in his shawl, although the weather
was so warm, and seemed disinclined for conyersation. The other
man was much more forthcoming. As we moved our own bundles
about (suddenly we all seemed to have a great many), this man
explained that his name was Miltiades, that he had done the run to
Sounion often before, and thought that at least that leg of the trip
should go smoothly, given the weather conditions. Certain men
always seem to know more about the weather than other people, even
somehow to own it, as if it came from their own manufactory.
'We are slightly delayed,' said Captain Aiskhines. 'But we'll use all
our oarsmen in getting out of harbour and down to Sounion.
Passengers, I beg you to settle yourselves.'
We sat down and arranged ourselves comfortably. Then we had to
move again because we were in the way of
the oarsmen, who seemed
to have multiplied greatly. It is not easy for passengers to distribute
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
themselves, as of course the oarsmen come first - they have to be
where they are.
The oarsmen were handsome fellows enough, and sinewy. Brown
as earth, they all went naked, each man sitting on his own leather
cushion on the bench, oar in hand. The oar was fitted through a
round hole in the boat's side, but the hole had a leather bag tightly
fitted in it, to prevent it from admitting spray. The men sat facing
backwards, looking to the stern, but the captain and a keelsman faced
forward.
While the oars were readied, we had leisure to look about us. 'Only
think,' I said to Aristotle, anxious to divert his thoughts. 'Only think
of all that this harbour has seen. As I have read, and heard also, long
ago in the time of Sokrates and Alkibiades there were a hundred
triremes crowded together - here - ready to depart for Sikilia. And all
the relatives and friends of
these thousands of
men came crowding to
the shore too. What a vast crowd it must have been! Music played,
and the whole crowd said their prayers in unison - what a heart-
stirring moment! And the captains, led by Alkibiades, poured upon
the waters libations from goblets of
gold and silver.'
The captain frowned. 'It's not great good luck to talk about the
Sikilian Expedition,' he announced. I was embarrassed. Of course I
ought to have remembered that famous Expedition had ended in
defeat and loss. It made sense that seafarers did not want to hear
about disaster. Now a helper on shore untied the rope that bound our
ship, and the first sailor hauled in the anchor. The captain then
burned a pinch of incense on the little altar at the back of the boat.
He poured a libation of
wine into the sea, not like an Alkibiades from
a golden goblet, but from an ordinary earthen beaker.
'We're offi In the name of
Zeus Protector and Saviour, of
Poseidon
and all the gods. Wait for the keleusma, men! Six oars through the
harbour. One-two-and three!' The captain chanted the keleusma, the
beat that gave the rhythm to the oarsmen.
'Here we go!' said Aristotle. 'Bid farewell to your city, Stephanos.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF liFE
'Your first time at sea, young man?' asked Miltiades. 'You should
enjoy it, even if this is a small ship. On big ships like the triereis, of
course, it's wonderful - a multitude of rowers. And there is a
boatswain who does nothing but chant the beat - even pipers to give
the time.'
Even if we had only a relatively small ship, it was exciting to move
out into the harbour, threading our way through other shipping. I
admired the exactness with which the captain foresaw how the oars
must be handled or idled in order to swing, to change direction, to
make a manoeuvre. We swung out into the gulf, with a dipping of
oars
and the plash of waves and the voice keeping time - the first time I
had heard that peculiar rhythmic sound, or set of sounds. Gulls
screamed overhead, sailors on other ships called out friendly or
obscene remarks, and the land began to slip away. In no time at all we
were in the gulf and out of
the harbour. It was a startling view. Aigina,
just ahead, looked very big, a conical island that it seemed hard not
to bump into.
'Look west, Stephanos, and you will see the Peloponnesos,' said
Aristotle. Facing backwards like the rowers and craning my neck I
could see a great deal of land with many hills, and towering above it
one startling triangular peak.
'That peak - that is Akrokorinthos,' Aristotle explained. 'Almost
directly behind us is Korinthos itself.'
'Oh, I see,' I said. I was almost disappointed. When Aristotle had
once gone by sea to Korinthos on my behalf on a dangerous winter
journey, I had been deeply impressed. But now it didn't seem so
distant; I began fully to realise that you could indeed get to Korinthos
by boat, and it was not extremely far away.
The oarsmen moved to their task with deliberate speed, and the
wind and currents favoured us. We were moving - and moving not
slowly along the coast of
Attika. The sun shone brightly on the water.
Soon it was hot, though not as hot as it would be on land.
'Rig 'em up some shade, boys,' advised the captain. Nimbly two of
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
the rowers put up a light framework on which they spread cloths,
attached by tabs of material to the poles of the airy scaffolding. We
had a shelter from the beating sun, a small tent roof
where we sat on
the deck.
'All the conveniences of
home,' said the captain. 'By the way, you
will find it most convenient, gentleman, to do your pissing - and if
possible your shitting too - over the side. We could rig up the latrine,
but it makes a drag on the ship, and there aren't any ladies aboard at
the moment. We've also got a serviceable pot, but that has to be
emptied each time. As for that there dog -' he looked at the
slavewoman - 'you've got to clean up his messes. Understood?'
She nodded mutely. We shared some of our water with her;
Phokon had seen to it that we had purchased a good supply of
fresh
drinking-water in skin bottles at the port. Phokon also offered us a
few flat loaves of
barley and some olives, as we watched Attika go by.
I declined, as my own tripes were still dealing with the Peiraieus tripe.
I enjoyed the view in a fatigued and stupefied way. The sun and the
rowing lulled my senses and I was content to sit and stare.
Bay and inlet and headland, there it was - Attika; stadia and stadia
of Attika, stretching in its long peninsula, the sweet green Middle
Land with its vegetable gardens, its fields of
grain, its olive groves and
its vineyards. The sun and the scenery were making me contented
and sleepy; perhaps the tripe I had eaten had its share in this effect.
But principally it was the reaction to having taken so little sleep in the
recent strenuous days. Now I lay on the ship, half in sun and half in
shade, and let the world slip by me, lulled by the rhythm of
oars as we
coasted along in sight of our shore. Aristotle need not have worried,
I thought drowsily, I was not the kind to get seasick. Instead, I felt a
sense of profound relief at having got away from my home and the
past, and the worries and pains that had occupied us so much in the
last month. I tried to dismiss from my mind the less pleasant images
that rose in it occasionally: a horse's decaying head, a swinging heavy
mallet, a dead monkey sprawled and grinning.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
All day green Attika slipped past us. Only one thin strip of sunset
glow was left on the western horizon, when we arrived at Sounion.
Above us towered the great temple, visible by torchlight even in this
growing darkness, a sight in white and blue and gold. We got into the
gentle bay at the foot of
its cliff on the western side and nestled there,
sleeping on board. When we awoke in the morning at the fIrst gleams
of coming light, Poseidon's bright temple was the fIrst thing we saw.
There was nothing between it and the eastern horizon, and the sun
appeared to rise through the glowing temple.
'Here we make our sacrifIce to Poseidon,' said the captain briskly.
'As you will want to do before a long journey. And we have a few
more passengers to pick up. But I hope we will be under way to Delos
this morning. So be quick about your prayers.'
We could not properly get to the great shrine by the shortest route,
which would be to ascend directly by the little cliff up to the
Propylaia, the entryway to the temple; we walked, as we were
supposed to do, the long winding marble path, stopping at the
Temple of
Athena of Sounion to pay our respects before proceeding
to the great and beautiful structure dedicated to the god of
the sea. I
had seen before this most beautiful temple, commissioned by Perikles
after the old one had been ruined by the Persian invasion. It is built
of our own marble of Attika.
I had not really visited Sounion since I was a boy. This time, I
noticed how heavily fortifIed the place was. As this was the fIrst citadel
of
Attika to be encountered by comers from the East, with more mature
eyes I could comprehend its strategic importance. The Makedonian
forces had taken it over in recent years; they had strengthened the
fortifIcations, and put several soldiers about to keep watch.
'If
it isn't patrolled, Sounion can be a terrible place for pirates,' our
captain remarked. 'The ship-sheds need to be protected as well as the
port. Many vessels stop here.'
'Yes -
including the grain ships on their way from Euboia.'
Aristotle sighed unexpectedly.
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISlANDS
'Mind you don't try to buy nothing from the sellers around this
place,' said the captain. 'They're terrible sharp, the people of
Sounion, and they go their own way. They often set runaway slaves
free. 1 dare say the new govemment'll put a stop to those tricks.'
We walked on upwards to the wonderful temple, where we could see
the great frieze of
the contest of
the Lapiths and Centaurs, and the feats
of
Theseus, the daring adventurer and prince of
Attika who had slain
the dreadful Minotaur in Krete, and returned triumphant home again.
Within, the astonishing bronze statue of Poseidon commanded our
attention. We made some offerings and uttered our prayers, as a group.
1 made a promise to the divine ruler of
the sea to put up a votive tablet
at Sounion if
my voyage went well. (I didn't define for myself and the
god clearly what 'going well' would mean, which was a mistake - you
need to be clear about such things.) The whole area of
the temenos was
full of votive offerings to Poseidon, from the most gigantic kouroi in
marble, dedicatory statues of young men, to little clay plaques of the
feeblest kind. 1 resisted all the sellers trying to offer us plaques of
Poseidon or miniature statues, and we strolled about looking from this
vantage point. Just offshore there were only a few little uninteresting
islands. Westward, whence we had come, we could just make out the
lumpy shape of Aigina. Eastward was the blue horizon a-dazzle with
early sun, the great blank to which 1 was travelling.
'I have promised a votive offering to Poseidon,' 1 said to one of
the
sailors as we marched downward again. 'But he's not one of my
favourite gods, 1 have to say. Earthquakes and tempests - and the big
empty sea.'
'0
sir, don't say such a thing!' The nautes looked shocked. 'You will
bring us ill fortune! You tempt divine power and risk the success of
your own voyage. How can you say such things of
the great and good
god! He who provides us with the road that connects man and man -
and gives the great abundance of fish of all kinds for humans to eat!
Oh, please take back these words! Go back to the temple and utter
good words about the King of
the ancient Waters.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
1 felt a trifle alarmed myself, now 1 thought of
it. Hastily 1 returned
(the sailor trotting along to make sure 1 did so), and found some
formulas in my tired brain. 'I honour and adore the great and good
King of
the Sea in his infinite depth and great majesty. And 1 humbly
pray to him for good success when venturing upon the deep, his realm
for ever. And 1 promise, most solemnly, a votive offering if 1 return
alive, as well as the special offering promised before if my journey
goes well.'
With this, Poseidon and the sailor had to content themselves. The
day was advancing, and we needed to move smartly down the path,
against the flow of ascending visitors. When we got to the landing
stage, we found other passengers waiting to board our ship. The
grumpy and uncommunicative man had, happily, left us for good at
Sounion, but bright-faced Miltiades was rejoining us, having
purchased water and fresh provisions. Another gentleman, younger
than Miltiades, presumably also a man of
business, joined us here, a
very handsome man with an air of
authority and a beautifully straight
nose. With great elegance of manner, he introduced himself as
Philokhoros of the deme of Akharneia. Philokhoros of the straight
nose and elegant bearing had a slave-boy with him, a slender young
fellow of about Parmenion's age but not his growth. This youth,
whose name we were told was 'Sosios', looked nervous at being on
the water, and cast a dismal look at the land when at last (so it seems
from a ship) it began to slip away from us.
There was also a new party of a different kind, a domestic group
that stood to one side. An old man, a hooded woman and a little girl.
They seemed respectable, indeed of the better class, though not
ostentatiously or out of measure well-to-do; their clothes were
carefully mended in places. The little girl was pale and thin, and
stooped over. You could see her breathing, and she coughed several
times as she stood there, holding her mother's hand and looking
about her as well as she could in her circumstances.
'This is Hermippos of Laurion,' explained Captain Aiskhines.
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
'With his daughter and his little granddaughter, as well as their
female slave. Now we shall have to put the latrine up,' he advised his
men.
The old man stood erect and spoke formal greetings to us with
great gravity.
'We travel far,' he explained, 'we are pursuing our route as far as
the island of Kos.' He gave commands to a short thin slavewoman
who bustled in with their belongings. Two seamen gave their
attention to rigging up a latrine on the left side of
the boat not far from
the galley. This little contraption was made to overhang the side of
the boat: you stepped in from the deck, but then you were sitting
straight above the ocean and your offering plopped directly into the
deep. In fact, the women and children for whose benefit this was put
up were hardly the chief
beneficiaries, as each preferred to utilise the
pot, having someone shield her with a cloak during the operaton of
necessity.
The latrine was not the only addition to the proprieties.
"Fraid we must gird up, boys!' the captain said, and the men,
grumbling only slightly, fastened loincloths about themselves.
'At least it keeps your bum and balls from splinters,' said the sailor
who had spoken to me of Poseidon. 'Trouble is, cloth gets soaked
with salt. Either splinters or in a pickle - that's the fate of our
members!'
When we all had got aboard, with still more bundles and
belongings, the ship now seemed a tight fit. As well as our own party
- the slave Phokon, the schoolboy Parmenion, myself and Aristotle -
we still had with us from Peiraieus the businessman Miltiades and the
little lame slavewoman with her wretched dog. Now we had the new
man Philokhoros with his nervous slave of whom he seemed
irritatingly fond, always stroking his hair. And we had this new family,
with the sickly-looking little girl, another female slave and two adults
- one of them a woman of the most respectable class. That was
troublesome, as we all had to make a kind of unofficial women's
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
quarters of one side of
the vessel. It doesn't matter with slavewomen
- they don't require a gynaikon - but naturally we men are not
supposed to hob-nob with wives and daughters of the respectable
classes. Of
course, the little girl had some of the freedom of
the very
young; she seemed to be only six or seven years old. But she was
rightly bidden to stay close to her mother.
'Wasn't prepared for this number of passengers,' growled
Miltiades, though not with the extremest ill nature. 'We could have
done without that limping lady's maid there and her pathetic beast.'
I felt inclined to agree, though the advent of
this female was our fault.
'No cause to worry,' said the captain. 'My men are light, though
they're lively, and we didn't take half the cargo we could have, on
purpose to accommodate you all. We really should have some more
weight on board. Raise the sail, men!'
'Pity,' said Miltiades, more amiably, 'I could accommodate you
once I get to Paros and Naxos, for I am in the marble way of
business,
and marble would supply weight enough. But I shouldn't have
thought of
this cutter as a cargo ship.'
'She's surely built for speed, the Eudaimonia,' said the captain. He
looked fondly at the mast which had again been raised, the sail now
bellying out in the wind. 'But she's a terrific carrier. A bit of
ballast in
a ship makes it go better when the sea gets high. Cast off, men. We're
ofl1 In the name of
Poseidon and all the gods!'
So with a quick libation we swung out of the good harbour of
Sounion, and the rowers were soon manoeuvring us beyond the cape,
the sail pulling us impatiently onward. Seeing the temple in the sun
stirred me like a song - a sad song, for the temple was getting smaller.
'Now if
we turned left after rounding this point,' said Aristotle, 'we
would get to Euboia.' He added in firm tones, 'Eastward is where our
journey lies. How do you find yourself, Parmenion?'
'Very well,' said Parmenion, with cool indifference. At least he was
now awake, mentally as well as physically, for he seemed to look
about him and to gaze almost hopefully eastward.
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISlANDS
I could not answer as Pannenion had done. I suddenly stopped
feeling very well. The ship was now in a very different kind of
water,
it seemed to me, from what we had experienced yesterday along the
coast. After we left the shelter of the headland we were in big deep
water manifesting the most amazing activity. The little ship moved in
a different way, now falling, now rising, at the same time shifting side
to side. The rhythm of the oars, slower now, but steady, was in
conflict sometimes with the rhythm of the waves, and not just the
waves I could see but big internal swellings of water within the sea
that seemed to match internal swellings in myself. If I looked at the
prow or the mast swaying against the horizon I felt dizzy. Soon I was
overtaken by my sensations. Trying to choose a post where I would
be least annoying to others, I leaned over the side and cast my offering
into the sea. It was the sincerest sort of offering to Poseidon, given
with heartfelt desire. Soon I had nothing more to yield, and yet could
not stop retching.
'Fetches them that way, often,' said the sailor nearest me, pulling
his oar steadily. I gathered that the slavewoman who had come with
the party from Laurion was similarly overcome. But it was shaming
that the feeble little girl seemed unaffected, and even though the lame
Doris, sitting beside her dog, uttered moans as the ship lunged, she
did not devote her attention to the side of
the ship as I was doing.
'Are you all right, Stephanos?' It was Aristotle, peering anxiously at
me. His hair and beard were shaken by the wind.
'Certainly,' I said haughtily - or as haughtily as one can under these
circumstances. 'Must have been something I ate in Sounion.'
'Don't worry, most people are a little seasick at first,' said Aristotle.
'It goes off.'
'Some say as swallowing a mouth of seawater helps,' suggested
Phokon.
'Already tried it,' I mumbled. And I had, inadvertently, taken in a
large mouthful of seawater from a passing wave.
'You'll feel better soon,' Aristotle reiterated, helplessly. This
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
sounded like nonsense. But I was passing into a calm indifference to
my fate. Indeed, had someone announced to me that I would die
within the next hour it would have seemed like news not of the first
importance. The wind being from the west, and no land to interrupt
it, we sped along faster and encountered more waves. I gazed
fascinated at the running of
the sea, the marble hardness of
the top of
the water and the ripples and white foam from the oars breaking and
casting the water away and the boiling white tips of
the waves and the
strange patterns swirling in the lacy aftermath of the lively foam - all
before my eyes like a dream or nightmare that will never end save with
blessed death that comes to all ...
'Hold on to him, Phokon!' Aristotle commanded. And Phokon
grasped me firmly lest I slip over the side as I was retching my poor
heart out once again.
At last I was somewhat better, and could lie back in the boat again,
shivering and looking at the blue sky. I took water from a cup (not to
contaminate the water-skin). The little girl looked at me with pitying
eyes.
'You are very poorly,' she said. My performance had evidently
impressed her. 'I'm poorly sometimes too.'
'Tush, Philokleia, don't bother the gentleman,' said her grandfather.
'Not a bother,' I said weakly.
'It's true, you know, Father,' said the child's mother. 'For you
know sometimes we have not been able to keep a thing down her. I
am glad this sea doesn't seem to bother her. Indeed, Philokleia has
not been coughing as much since we came upon the water, I think?'
'Possibly,' said grandfather Hermippos.
'I am sorry to hear that the little girl is sickly,' said Aristotle. 'What
precisely may be the matter?'
'She has trouble fetching enough breath at times,' said the grand-
father. 'Her breathing is laboured, and she hangs down her head with
the effort to get air. Her breath makes strange noises in her chest, and
she coughs a good deal.'
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TAKING SHIP FOR THE ISLANDS
'And when Philokleia has one of the worst spasms, then she will
puke.' The mother seemed so interested in the little girl's case that
she omitted the formality of her veiled state. Indeed, with all of us so
cheek-by-jowl the strictness of a woman's quarters was harder to
maintain. 'Sir' - she turned her veiled head to Aristotle - 'are you a
doctor? Can you do something for her perhaps?'
'I am a physician in a sense, though not a public practitioner,' said
Aristotle. 'Does the child cough blood?'
'Oh, no.'
'And is the coughing and the labour in getting breath worse in
certain seasons?'
'Indeed, yes. When the summer comes and the dust flies around
Laurion, or in the winter when the worst of the rains and fogs come.
When the smoke from the smelters blows over us.'
'Then there is reason for much hope,' said Aristotle. 'This is an
asthma, and the condition might be cured or at least alleviated by
change of air and water. You are going to Kos?'
'Precisely so,' said the old man. 'On the child's account. We hope
the island of
Hippokrates and the doctors there may do something for
her.'
'You could hardly do better,' said Aristotle. 'And perhaps the
young lady is hungry right now, and would do us the honour of
sharing some of our provisions? Are you hungry, my child?'
'Oh yes, I am,' said little Philokleia with confidence, and she
deigned to take a barley cake from Aristotle's hand. 'Say "thank you"
to the gentleman,' her mother commanded, but Philokleia had
already said 'thank you' like a perfectly well-bred child. She ate the
flat barley loaf with visible pleasure, though she declined anything
else at present. Aristotle and Phokon and Parmenion regaled
themselves on barley loaves, cheese, olives and some dried fruit. The
sight of other people eating made me feel less than sturdy. I tried to
distract myself, but it was hard to know where to look. The flapping
sail, the moving mast, the rising and falling waters - all of these were
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
productive of unease. 1 felt some slight mean satisfaction in finding
that the boy Sosios belonging to the newcomer Philokhoros was
seized with internal distraction and misery as 1 had been before.
The others ate - all those who cared to - and sat about in postures
of relaxation, in so far as our cramped quarters would allow it. In a
calmer moment the sailors rigged us up our awning again to protect
against the midday sun, and we flew along, our hair and cloaks (and,
in the case of
the lady, her veil) blowing in the breeze. Doris' dog now
yapped every now and then to let us know it was alive, though it
seemed at first to have been astounded by its change of condition.
Doris promised to muzzle it, tying its jaws together so it could not
bark but only whine. She pitied the animal as she did so, and sat
beside it, throwing it a word now and then.
'Going well,' said the sailor. 'The wind favours us. Look, to the
south you can see the islands.'
1 looked drearily but could descry only the faintest smudges of
blue
against the lighter blue of sky.
'We're lucky in the wind,' said the captain. 'This time of
year you
can get the choppy Etesian winds, or even a sudden fierce Boreas,
roaring like a bear out of
the north -'
'Really?' the grandfatherly Hermippos exclaimed. 'I should have
thought the wind from the north was for winter. Surely this is the best
season for travelling by sea?'
'Not saying it isn't - though the best month is last month. The
Etesiai rule the dog-days. Now, on land you'd welcome such a wind
as a cooling breeze, but at sea the north-west winds can stir up the
waters something fearful, chopping up the waves so you cannot land.
Not uncommon in the Kyklades in summer. Just occasional, there's
a hot wind from the south, from Africa - I've known it to bring sand
with it and fling it on the water and the ships.'
'Yet,' said Aristotle, 'I have travelled these waters before, and we
seem to be making good time at present, with little to complain of.
Calm sea, good breeze and pleasant day.'
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'Right,' said the sailor. 'Our good captain here, he makes wise use
of both rowers and sail. Saves the rowers. And he gives us proper
breaks too.'
It was true. Two rowers were off at any given time, save when
coming into or leaving a port. These two usually slept or at least lay
full-length in the hold. As the working rowers were each at their oar
and had to use energy and breath for their rowing, they could join in
conversation only in short bursts. They were not held back by any
shyness, it struck me. And they were not subservient to the captain or
to us. For all this talk of
calm sea and pleasant breeze, I lay there in a
stupor, with the water boiling and rioting below my head.
As evening approached we made landfall of a kind - an island or
islet heaving into our view.
'There's where we'll spend the night,' said the captain. 'We can
beach the boat when we've caught our supper. Now boys, fish!'
The two sailors at the back put up their oars. One reached for a net
and the other for a fishing hook. Soon they were using all their skill to
get the fish out of the sea and into our boat, encouraged by the other
rowers, who grinned and expressed envy or disparagement. I
gathered the men took it in turns to engage in this pastime which also
meant supper. The two sailors were crafty at the work, and we arrived
in the small deserted harbourage with enough creatures of the deep
to feed us all. Not that I was going to need very much feeding, but I
was delighted to step on solid ground again. So was the slavewoman's
dog, which was allowed to run - or rather to limp - around a bit,
attached to the end of a long rope, which the stumbling Doris
faithfully held.
'Here's the oil, men,' said the captain, tossing his sailors a jar of
oil
for ablutions, and the sailors took their strigils and scraped away the
dirt, sea spray and salt sweat of
their day. They romped about a bit as
they did so, laughing. It was like being in a gymnasium. (The women
were made to sit aside and not look.) Clean and refreshed, these
sailors quickly created a fire from their well-defended firepot, and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
used their neat galley to cook us all a meal offresh seafood. We sat on
land, on pieces of cloth strewn about the beach and boulders, and
took our meal - or at least the others did - in relative comfort. The
night was mild, and the shore sandy enough to make for easy
sleeping.
The next day went as that first day had done, although now I was
much better and able to sit up and converse, and even to begin to eat
like other people. Again the sailors (a different pair) went a-fishing
over the boat's side, and again we landed on an island for dinner and
a night's free lodging. I was hungry by this time and took full
advantage of
the fish the men had caught. As I looked at my sea bass
with its row of sharp teeth and its reproachful grilled eye, I thought:
'This morning this fish intended to eat with those teeth, and not to be
eaten'. Had I fallen into the ocean when I was sick, this sharp-toothed
creature could have eaten me. It seemed strange that I had won.
'You see,' said the sailor to me - the one who had spoken to me at
Sounion - 'you see the beneficence of
Poseidon to us!'
'You would pay a fortune for such a fish dinner in Athens,' chimed
in his rowing companion. 'The area around Peiraieus is nearly fished
out. Poor little tiddlers in the markets at high prices.'
'And think,' continued the first sailor, 'how much harder it is to
find food on a land journey, and how easy here. The gods are
gracious. This is a good life, the life on the sea, for free men.'
'You are all free men,' I observed. It was plain that, though stripped
for action, none of
them carried any of
the badges of
slavery. Nor did
the captain insult or beat them. Moreover, they could not have used
the oil and strigils had they not been free, slaves being forbidden to
engage in gymnasium exercises or to cleanse themselves in that noble
manner.
'Certainly we are free!' exclaimed my friend of
Poseidon's temple,
with some indignation. 'I worked for the navy - we were manning the
ships for Alexander when he transported all those troops to Asia. We
are free Athenian citizens, who fight for their country.'
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'But you did not fight as a soldier,' 1 mused.
'No, sir. We are all poor men. You must know you can be a soldier
for Athens only if you can afford your own sword, shield and helmet
- it's too expensive for many men. We sailors can work with our own
bodies merely - and an oar costs three drakhmai.'
'Not so cheap, neither,' his mate stuck in. 'Three days' complete
pay. If
you get paid. And of course in the navy you work for half-pay
and don't get paid off till the end - if
you're still alive.'
'But it's possible to buy your oar,' said the first sailor. 'It was our
volunteering to row and fight against Persia that saved Athens - and
made it impossible to deny us our full place as citizens. Where would
Athens be without her naval power? And it is a good life, for any man
curious to see the world and not wishful to live his life in the clay of
the field.'
'How strange,' 1 responded, really struck by this. 1 had always
thought of rowing as the condemnation of the poorest of men, a
bitter, tough job which anyone would avoid who could. 'You have
such a hard life at sea, too,' 1 mused. 'I should think you would soon
get enough of it. Like Odysseus, who was glad to walk into the
hinterland until he found people who could not recognise what an oar
was and thought it was a winnowing fan.'
'I know the Odyssey, too,' said my sailor. 'And I think that is a
ridiculous tacked-on story about King Odysseus. What would he ever
need a winnowing fan for? He's not going to work like a peasant on
the threshing-floor, separating the grain from the chaff. No, he was a
king, the ruler of
Ithaka. As a king, he knew how to sail and row and
swim. Good Odysseus was a nautes, like ourselves. Now, things like
hoeing and winnowing are dull hard work - hard and sweaty. And
you just stand there and stand there - you don't get anywhere.
Whereas, here's me - at my oar I pull and off I go!'
'An interesting view,' said Aristotle.
'Always somewhere to go, always something to explore. New things
to see. And it's good exercise,' the sailor added, turning to me. 'Sir,
161
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
you should try it some time on this voyage for the fun of
the thing. We
sailors, we're the backbone of
Athens now, for we make it possible for
all the rest of
you to send and receive goods. Here we've got not only
yourselves - all of you wanting to get somewhere - but we have the
cargo of
olive oil. So the rich people of
Mykonos, Delos and Rheneia
can sop their greens in the best oil of
Attika!'
'There is truth in that,' said Aristotle. 'It may be that such wide
commerce is going to be of increasing importance. The opening of
the navy to the poorer citizens has made many more men skilled in
seamanship. The bad thing is that it takes them away from their
country, and from settled living on the land. Your work is hard, but I
dare say you will never find yourselves workless.'
'Aye, I'm bringing up my son the same,' said the nautes. 'War or
peace, he should do well enough. Now that Alexander has disbanded
most of his big war fleet, there's more than enough really big ships
going begging. It's possible to fit one up and start a passenger and
freight service, carrying three or four hundreds of
people in one ship,
all the way from Syrakousai in Sikilia, say, to Byzantion. In a few
years, mark my words, we'll have a shipping service for travel the like
of which you've never seen before. Best for my son to stay
independent. I'm hoping him and me can get a boat of
our own. Even
a small boat gets passengers. You don't have to have one of those
great hulks that carries hundreds of people, or many talents' weight
of
goods. People will always have reasons to move across the waters.'
162
x
==;:9,_,:;e==
c)"--"G
Delos
The next day was much like that first day on the ocean, and I was
less and less disturbed by the motion of
the boat. Again we plunged
through the waves and stopped at an island, where we ate outdoors
and slept on the ground beneath the stars. I was curiously reminded
of my childhood, and how happy I was when the hot weather came
and the whole family moved outside to the yard, or up to the roof,
to sleep. That was when my father was alive, and even before the
birth of Theodoros, when my father was merry and would tell
stories as we lay in the dark. Now I was a man, travelling far from
my family, but those were the same stars, brighter and more
luminous here than in Athens.
'We're making good progress,' the captain told us all. 'Winds and
currents have favoured us. To oars, men, and here's for the taverns of
Mykonos and the girls of Rheneia!'
I took a short tum at rowing, just to have something novel to do,
when we were in what the sailor told me was 'a mild patch' of sea. I
still got my oar stuck in the wave from time to time (to the amuse-
ment of
the sailors) as well as hitting my knee and then, strangely, my
chin, with the handle of the oar. Yet I began to see the attraction of
163
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
contributing to the motion, and at least I did not commit the major
crime of a rower and lose an oar. All morning, we rowed while the
wind was wrong; later the sail bellied above us, but it had to be taken
in. At dusk we were still in a waste of
waters.
'Make a push,' the captain said. 'Safe enough from rocks here-
abouts, and the moon will help us - take spells, lads, and we'll push
on till morning.'
So we did not land anywhere, but went on and on through the
darkness. Not an absolute darkness, for the moon rose eventually and
stayed with us for a long time, throwing her white track upon the sea.
When you got used to her light, it was almost like day. Beside her
shone another of the heavens' great wanderers, bright above us,
seeking its reflection in the waters. It glowed amid thousands of
gold
and silver stars. We went on climbing hills of water, up and down,
some of us sleeping and some of us watching. The sailors took it in
turns to sleep; each pair would fall into slumber almost as soon as
they set down the oars and lay down. The little girl lay quiet in her
mother's lap and Miltiades snored, but Aristotle and I watched with
pleasure the great calm and blazing beauty of
the sky.
When morning dawned the view had changed. The great golden
sun cautiously began to show itself, first as a thin silver and then as
a gold bar, and then the eastern clouds were streaked with light
and burst into radiance. And within that light I saw in the
distance, but not a far distance, what seemed a host of islands, all
rimmed and flowing with gold. The new light bursting out of the
East poured over these islands, and they, like happy isles in some
ancient tale, almost sang in the morning of their refreshed and
golden beauty. It was as if one were always going to come home
here, and had always been home here, and there could be no place
more welcoming.
'The first of
the Kyklades,' said the captain cheerfully. 'Fine sight,
eh? The big one to the left is Andros, then you can make out Tenos
just beyond, and Syros to your right. All these islands of
the Kyklades,
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DELOS
the Big Circle, are like pieces of a great wheel going around Delos.
We'll keep Syros on the right as we head for Delos.'
'Can there be anything more lovely?' I said to Aristotle, as we
watched the sun rise together. 'It is as if everything were gold,
including the sky itself.'
'Yes - the fine effect of
colour, which is the manifestation of light.
Such a sight as this,' he added thoughtfully, 'proves my theory that
many great objects in nature, perhaps all, are not solid and indivisible
but transparent.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, you know that the sky or the sea are not one colour. Each
changes all the time - that is the work of
light on them. What we want
to see, what our eyes search for, is the visible, which we know only as
colour of
some kind - or as darkness, deprivation of
visibility. The eye
searches for the visible, and hates being confronted with the invisible
only, with impenetrable and indivisible darkness. Colour is bestowed
by light. Water and air are not coloured in themselves, but they let the
light through. Or they let the light happen, because fire or something
like it is present within the transparent object. Objects, which are
diaphanous, make themselves actual through light.'
I was dazed by this. 'You mean that the sky is not blue but has
blueness as a result of
the light?'
'Quite so - and certainly the sky is not always blue. Look at it
now!'
And indeed the sky was white and gold and crimson at that
moment.
'Air, like water, is the splendid medium of colour, the great
transparency. We live in a transparent world, Stephanos, constantly
changing, mutable in manifestations of constant light -
though
whether light is just the emanation from something else, like the sun,
or whether it is a function or activity within things, I am not at all
sure. But I tend to believe that light is not enclosed in any body, not
even the sun. I am most inclined to believe that there is a divine fire
165
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
in the universe, in which all living things share. After all, in so far as
we are living beings we retain an original heat.'
Hearing him changed my sense of
being, disconcertingly. It was as
if I now saw myself within a translucent crystal. Everything seemed
too changeable to be comfortable - nothing solid but all interfused
with or emanating the light that made all objects change. If
everything
were diaphanous, a veil through which something else pierced, then
all things seemed less substantial.
'I don't see,' I said hesitantly, 'how we can feel easy in such an idea
of things. Why, what you say seems to take away the solidity of
substance. Your world is shifting and restless. It is hard to see exactly,
hard to measure and define, if
everything keeps changing.'
'Good, Stephanos. It is hard to see exactly. Yet we are creatures
who must see, who long to see, who search always for the visible - and
the visible is the world of great transparencies and modulations.'
'This seems different from what you usually talk about,' I thought,
remembering the catalogue of plants and animals and the good
workaday shelves and tables in the Lykeion. 'All the things you talked
about before, things you collect - plants and molluscs. Are they an
order or a disorder?'
'Oh, an order - and a great one. There is Mind in the universe,
Stephanos. I feel it - as we felt it last night watching the stars and
planets, and now watching the light burst over us and all this wheel
of
islands coming into glorious colour. Everywhere there is Intellect-
manifest both in order and energy. I told you plants and molluscs do
not make ideas, nor form. We have the privilege of our own minds
which participate actively in this great ordering. The mind is notable
for two activities. First, it becomes all things - you become those
islands you are looking at. That is the human mind of
the individual,
subject to disease and death. But Mind also is more active - it makes
everything, makes all things as a poet makes his poem. Mind is the
maker of
what is. So mind or intelligence - even in you, in me, in this
captain here - is like light. Light is activity making possible colours
166
DELOS
into actual energies, what we call real colours. Mind - what we call
intelligence - is in essence an activity and not a thing. As light is an
activity and not a thing.'
My own senses and intellect were reeling from this passionate and
beautiful and very puzzling discourse taking place within the midst of
the wheel of
light. It was as if a prophet of
Apollo, or Apollo himself,
had spoken to me in some strange place in a comer of
the dawn.
Fortunately, perhaps, the dawn completed itself and the sky settled
into blue and the day became more normal. The sailors toiled and
sweated, the little girl wanted the pot, the passengers prepared their
breakfast, and the ship drove on. I had expected that the sailing would
get easier as we got in among the islands, but that was not the case.
'Wind's changed!' grumbled the captain. And it had - some wind was
now coming from the north, and pushing us about in an uncom-
fortable way. We proceeded a little more slowly and spent that night
in a port at the tip of
Ten
os. The next day we made our way along the
coast of Tenos, sitting under our awning under a hot sky. Directly
under the coast of
the island the going was easier, but then we broke
free of
Ten
os and were headed for Mykonos. As we were in the open
water, the wind blew ever more strongly. 'Etesian,' the captain
explained resignedly. Small choppy waves fretted on top of
the ocean.
Seasickness became a real possibility again, and some of us suc-
cumbed. I did not - not quite. The breeze off the sea mitigated the
heat a little. Then the wind became gusty, and the sailors began to
mutter about a possible storm.
'Get that stuff out of the way,' said the captain with a con-
temptuous look at our awning. 'Can't have that flapping about like an
old lady's laundry!'
We had to crouch under nothing in particular as the spray began to
shoot up over the side of our little ship. The waves swelled and
seemed to be coming from two directions at once.
'Oh cannot we make it to land?' implored the little girl's
grandfather. 'The land seems so near us!'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'That's a landlubber for you!' said the first oarsman.
'Yes,' said the captain. 'Landsmen always think the danger lies in
the waves, and safety in the shore. Whereas more often than not it's
quite the other way - the shore has rocks, which are more dangerous
than tempests, and the wave'll do ye no harm at all. And if you just
look at Mykonos you'll see what I mean about rocks.'
I did. Mykonos seemed to be nothing but great brown boulders.
'They say,' said Miltiades, 'that the giants that Herakles killed are
buried on Mykonos, and that the stones are their weapons. Either
that, or the stones were put on the island to hold the giants down and
keep them from rising again.'
The little girl wanted to hear more about Herakles and the giants,
so we beguiled her and ourselves by telling the story with as many
elaborations as we could. I could see the captain was troubled,
principally by the lateness of the hour, when landfall seemed so
treacherous. But at last, with a shout of
triumph, he got us into a cove
on the south coast of Mykonos, where he could rest the vessel on a
sandy beach. 'We'll take you to Delos tomorrow, if
the sea's right,' he
said, 'and then on to somewheres for the night, but we must come
back to Mykonos harbour to deliver our oil next day, before we go on.'
Provisions were slender that night. 'No good trying to fish here,'
said one of
the sailors. 'Too late - and the sea around Delos is bad for
fish. Might as well go a-fishing in an old dry pot. Plenty of
fishermen
around, but running passengers is half their work.'
We slept well, however, in the ship or on the beach, unperturbed
by the wind, which abated towards dawn.
In the morning we travelled the short distance to Delos, birthplace
of
Apollo - the short and choppy distance. We strained our eyes as we
drew along the skinny brown island to catch first sight of the great
Temple of Apollo and the sacred precincts of Delos. Soon we were
skimming into the Sacred Harbour, with quantities of
other shipping,
and beyond the orchard of
masts and prows we could see the marble
pillars of the graceful temples.
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DELOS
We stepped off the boat on to the mole and walked to shore. We
had to look smartly about to find how to get through the crowds. The
area near the boat-landing stage was an area of
markets, even a slave-
market. Directly in front of us, in a temporary enclosure, a group of
naked men and two naked women ran wearily around in the heat, in
a perpetual circle. Thus they could be throughly inspected by
prospective - and critical - purchasers. Behind this scene was a
jumble of small shops, and then some grander houses. Behind these
again stretched the brown and boulder-strewn hill of Kynthos. A
slender river course ran down its slopes, but the stream was a mere
trickle or suggestion in the heat of
high summer.
'The island is not green and beautiful as I imagined,' I said to
Aristotle. 'It seems harsh and brown and dry.'
'Not surprising in high summer, Stephanos. But Delos was always
small and dry. Indeed, you remember in the "Hymn to Apollo" the
goddess Leto herself
comments on the fact when she comes there, but
adds that sacrifices to her divine son will ensure sustenance for the
future populace of Delos.'
'And so Artemis and Apollo were born here. But their mother
wouldn't have come to Delos if she could have gone anywhere else,'
said Parmenion, unexpectedly joining in the conversation. It was
miraculous! Parmenion had began to speak like a rational being, as
soon as we set foot on Apollo's island. I was astounded, but Aristotle
replied in normal soothing tones.
'True, as the story says it was Hera's jealousy that chased Leto from
place to place when she was great with Zeus' child. Only rocky Delos
would receive her - some say because Delos was Leto's own sister,
turned to stone and wandering in the sea.'
'And Delos was a wandering island then, but Zeus made it stable,
tied to columns of adamant. There's an excellent poem by Pindar
that goes something like that, but I cannot recall it,' I contributed. 'A
very holy place. And holy Delos has been a part of
Athens in a way,
since the Delian League was founded after the Persian wars.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'True,' said Miltiades. 'Athens was the leader of that League, and
the Treasury of
the Delian League was taken to Athens. You must not
imagine everyone here in the Kyklades was pleased about that! Delos
is a centre of
the Aegean, and a port for every ship from the east, even
from Thrake and the Black Sea beyond.'
'I can see by the amount of shipping here in the harbour,' I
observed, 'how much commerce there must be here.'
'Indeed. The island is well furnished for men of commercial
interests, not just for pilgrims. Some of
the best buildings you see are
leskhes - club houses for traders. Here we can meet with men of the
Ionian coast and the islands and sell our marble. Not that trade is as
good these days as it was, because of
the war.'
'Come, men,' said Aiskhines. 'We make our obeisance to Apollo
and then we can look for provisions and a place to rest. But who will
guard the ship?'
'I will,' said Philokhoros. He cast a glance at the Sacred Harbour
without too much interest, his profile exquisite against the
background oftemple. 'I have seen Delos before,' he explained. 'It's
not a place very rich in entertainments. I'll stay by the ship. And little
Sosios will keep me company.' Little Sosios the slave looked rather
wistfully towards the bright buildings and the throng of
people.
'Good, then,' said Aiskhines 'We shall let all off who are going
ashore, and then we'll take the vessel to the other harbour at the Bay
of Skardana around the point. It is less crowded. We sailors should
make haste. It is decreed by long custom that sailors coming to Delos
should give thanks here. And those who have made a vow and are
saved from storm and wreck must whip themselves before the Horn
Altar. So let's be off.'
The passengers who wished to see the temple disembarked at the
Sacred Harbour, leaving Aiskhines and his men to pilot our ship
around the point to the next haven. Once on land, we stopped to gape
a while, and then turned left and began to wander slowly up the broad
marble way, drawn to the beauties of
the great Sanctuary. We passed
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DELOS
the Propylaia, the beautiful entryway, and came upon the ancient
House of
the Naxians. We knew what it was, because a man ofNaxos
was boasting to his pilgrim companions of the ancient beauty of the
place. 'Probably the original temple,' he proclaimed. 'Note the
beauty and antiquity, and the pleasing design of the lovely interior
colonnade. Naxos marble. Now on the north side you will see the
colossal statue of
Apollo, a magnificent and ancient work. All
marble
of Naxos.'
'You are patriotic today, my friend Aristodamos,' said Aristotle in
a teasing and affectionate tone of
voice.
The tall bearded man who had been acting as a guide whirled about
and saw Aristotle. 'My friend!' he said, throwing his arms about him.
'At last you have arrived! I got your message - of course you are
coming to visit me in Naxos, with all your party.'
'That would be a great honour,' said Aristotle, turning to introduce
us formally - all but Miltiades who had gone his own way. At this
moment the captain rejoined us, and was introduced also.
'Pleased to make your acquaintance sir,' said Aiskhines. 'Me and
my men will be getting on, as we should first make an acknowledge-
ment at the Horn Altar. We already took the boat around to the Bay
of Skardana and we will meet you there later. Little harbour, nearer
the Sacred Lake, the pool they call "The Hoop". Before dusk falls
we'll need to find a place to doss down tonight. Would you, sir, wish
to go to Rheneia? Delos lodgings are high-priced - not that they aren't
bad on Mykonos too.'
'Rheneia sounds best,' said Aristotle. 'I don't think we will try to
stay overnight on Delos. Expensive, as you say, and very crowded.'
'It is very crowded,' admitted Aristodamos. 'I have been staying
with a friend whose house is packed full. I am leaving today for
Naxos, so I cannot offer hospitality for this night, to my great regret.
You will easily find space in Rheneia. Please promise, however, friend
Aristotle, that tomorrow, and no later, you and your party will set out
to visit me in Naxos.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'That sounds agreeable,' said Aristotle. 'I accept with pleasure. All
of us - my student, my friend Stephanos here, my slave and 1 - we
shall be grateful, if you can take us in.'
'A great pleasure,' said Aristodamos. 'I live up in the hills ofNaxos,
so 1 shall send someone to the waterfront to conduct you.'
'I suppose,' 1 suggested, 'that Delos is so crowded because there
cannot be many houses here - not since the Purification. When, in
order to keep Delos and the home of holy Apollo from the plague,
Athens removed all the ancestral tombs to Rheneia, and the people
left Delos and had to settle in Rheneia.'
'Yes,' said Aristodamos. 'And it is forbidden to be born or to die
on Delos.'
'That does seem hard,' 1 said. 'A woman may know that she is
pregnant, and by taking thought avoid the place. But what man or
woman can tell certainly when he or she will die? 1 suppose it was a
necessary purity, for Apollo's sake.'
'And,' added Aristotle, with a smile, 'it is certainly a good way to
keep settlers at bay. For human settlements have a great deal of
birth
and death in them. If
Athens wanted total control, she could have
found no better scheme.'
'How do people contrive not to die here?' 1 asked curiously.
Aristodamos laughed. 'Well, of course only the healthy dare to
come - and most women don't stay on Delos. There are a few
workshops and so on. Lots of
visitors. The only people who try to stay
are traders, men in the prime oflife, who can afford club-house prices
at the leskhes of
various associations. But if
a visiting gentleman gets
flushed, or pale, or has a cough, we spirit him away at once, you may
believe!'
'So it is a healthy place - by law,' said Aristotle, smiling.
'Yes, you might put it like that. Excellent for the slave market! No
slave-monger would dare to bring here for sale a slave in truly poor
condition, for fear he or she might die on this island and get the slave
merchant into terrible trouble for sacrilege. "Bought in Delos" is, you
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DELOS
might say, a warrant of
soundness. Uncommonly fine, is it not? I hope
you are struck by the place?'
'Oh, yes, wonderful,' I said. I could not count on Parmenion to say
anything, and he did not, though a comment from him would have
been appropriate.
'You should know that the original foundation of
Delos in its glory
is really Naxian,' said Aristodamos. 'I know it very well. Come along
with me, then, and see the beauties of the place. Here is the Stoa of
the Naxians.'
I had to admit it was an impressive building, looking out over the
sea. There is a colonnade on two side wings facing the sanctuary. The
area in front of it is full of
votive offerings.
'And here is something you will like, Stephanos,' said Aristotle.
'Here is an Athenian monument - the bronze Palm Tree dedicated
by Nikias, the Athenian general, over eighty years ago. Made in
Athens.'
We continued in a leisurely way, looking at the sights, strolling past
the Stoa of
the Naxians, to the Artemision in honour of
Apollo's sister
and the temple or temples of
Apollo. There is an old one built in the
time ofPeisistratos and a new one - the Temple of
the Athenians and
not at all Naxian. It is very grand, made of Pentelic marble from
Attika, and has seven statues and a great bronze statue of
Apollo. As
well as all these temples, there are numerous old and charming public
buildings, the Bouleuterion of the Delians and the Prytaneion, since
Delos had the appurtenances of a state.
'Now,' said Aristodamos, 'here is one of the great sights of Delos,
as we tum from the sanctuary of
Apollo towards the other harbour at
Skardana. Here is the Avenue of
Lions - all carved in Naxian marble.
A sight of which you must have heard! They form a kind of
guard to
the "Hoop" or Sacred Lake, opposite.'
Indeed, there is what first appears an endless row of ferocious
lions, to startle the visitor. These carved beasts are very ancient and
very odd. They are all in the same posture but each one is different
173
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
- you can see details of their ribs, their manes and tails. They roar
in their silent marble power, above the stillness of the Sacred Lake,
which I thought the most beautiful and moving thing in the
loveliness of Delos. There are birds and the soft rustle of trees and
rushes, and the gentle sound of little ripples of sweet water - so
unlike the thunder of the sea-waves. And beside the lake there are
real palm trees - one great and beautiful one always called 'the Tree
of Leto'.
'For as you know,' said Aristodamos, 'the goddess Leto had a
terrible birthing. Hera kept the goddess of
childbirth from coming to
her aid, so her womb would not open. Leto was in labour for nine
days and nights, and she held to the palm tree in her pain, until she
was delivered of the Holy Twins. Immediately the island was flooded
with golden light and water and beautiful birds and flowers!'
'So the island then properly became Delos - that is "visible",' said
Aristotle. 'You see how well that fits in with my theory about light and
transparency, Stephanos. This is the visible place of the birth of
invisible light. Light that makes itself known through the appearance
of
other things, and gives colour and what we call beauty to things of
earth.'
'This island, then,' said Parmenion thoughtfully, 'should be called
"the place where everything becomes clear". I wish it would!'
We were still looking at the swans and taking a cool rest under the
green trees by the Sacred Lake when a well-grown young man came
through the trees. His hand was held above his brow to ward off the
sun and assist his eyes, as if
he were looking intently for some object.
His face brightened when he saw us.
'Good sirs,' he said, approaching, 'if! may be so bold as to address
you. I am the slave of
a lady called Kardaka, who is mistress of
a poor
lame slavewoman called Doris. I think one of you gentlemen is
Aristotle? Of
Athens?'
'I am he,' said Aristotle.
'My mistress knows you kindly urged the captain to let Doris on
174
DELOS
board your ship. She - the lady Kardaka - is very earnest in her desire
to speak with you about this matter and thank you in person. As a
lady cannot come searching for gentlemen, I must beg you to meet
her in one of
the pilgrims' rooms here. Would you be so kind?'
'Well, that was a trifle, and we have other engagements-'
'Oh sir! Please do not make me go back with a refusal!' He spread
his palms wide and looked at us in a beseeching manner. 'It will not
take long, and my mistress will be so pleased. And she would likely
take it out on my back if I were to fail of
my errand. '
'Ah, well .. .' Aristotle arose resignedly, and I with him.
'This mistress Whoever with the unlikely name must have a terrible
temper,' said Aristodamos.
'Oh, gentlemen, don't be harsh. She is a kind lady in the main,
though a foreign sort - a freedwoman of part Phoenician stock, she
says herself. Who knows, maybe her name is Karshadasht in her old
home? But no lady likes her will crossed. Come, let me guide you - it
is on the other side of
the Sacred Harbour.'
The adroit slave manoeuvred us swiftly through the flux of
crowds
coming from the harbour and conducted us back towards to the foot
of
Mount Kynthos, where there were some houses and hostelries, not
as grand as the temples or the leskhes on the other side near the
Sanctuary. He took us into one of these low brown buildings, a
hostelry of
sorts. 'No need to trouble the boy or the slave,' he decided
for us. 'They can take refreshment just outside, in the shade. But I
shall ask you two gentlemen to come in here.' Leaving Parmenion
and Phokon without, this bustling slave took us into one of
the rooms
evidently available (at a price) to allow travellers and persons on
business the opportunity to rest and enjoy refreshment and
conversation.
The room was enlivened by tapestries and cushions, and some fine
cups and a wine pourer on a low table. The slave busied himself in
setting up a sheet of
fine fabric to divide the apartment. In a moment
we understood that this was a drapery of propriety, as a tall female
175
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
glided in and slipped behind the sheet. 'The lady Kardaka!' the slave
announced. Propriety's divisive curtain was almost transparent, so
we could still make out the femininity of this lady's bust, and the
crocus-coloured wrap of silk draping over her white garments, so
sweetly flowing in their soft folds that they must have been of
the best
linen.
'So. Sir Aristotle,' the lady Kardaka began. 'Pray, gentlemen, make
yourselves at ease. I shall sit, and you do the same.' She sat upon the
backless chair the attentive slave gave to her, while we too sat on
similar chairs on our side of
the thin partition. 'Give them something
to drink, for pity's sake,' she ordered and the anxious male slave
poured us wine and water, and offered sweet almonds.
'Shall I speak to them for you, madam?' queried this assiduous
servant.
'No,' she replied. 'Retire to the door, and wait!' The obedient man
disappeared.
'If
you don't mind, gentlemen,' she said, 'I dispense with passing
my words on to a slave to repeat to you, as it makes everything so
slow. You should drink slow, however, it is good for the body in the
middle of such a hot day. Eat a little, drink gently, and recreate.' We
tried to do as she wished, as politeness demanded. 'I can see you are
impatient to be off. Who can blame you? This room is warm and
stuffy, while you have the beauties of
Delos to see. Have you been up
Mount Kynthos?'
'No, we haven't,' I replied shortly.
'You should really, once it gets cooler. The Inopos river runs down
from that mountain, and how it feeds the Sacred Lake you will note.
There's a fine breeze up there and you can view many islands from
the top. Many, many persons go up to see the shrine ofHerakles. But
do wait till the sun abates a little.' She fanned herself gently with a
piece of cloth.
'So hot,' she said. 'That is why I leave Peiraieus at this time of
year.
Too hot. Athens - much too hot. Here at least there are sea breezes. I
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DELOS
am staying in Rheneia, as you have, I think, heard from my woman
Doris. I was anxious to have my Doris come to me after she had
closed up my house in town. We give you hearty thanks for your
kindness to her. I hope there is some way that we can make
recompense.
'
'No recompense is necessary,' said Aristotle. 'It
was a mere trifle. I
hope you and your slave are well satisfied, and we can take our
leave -'
'Sir - Oh, pray do not cut me off
like that! In what have I offended?'
The lady Kardaka opened her eyes so very wide that we could see
them through the modest curtain. She ran her fingers through her
long coiled hair. 'Gratitude is - I assure you my gratitude is most
sincere. Anything for you, could I do it - any thing in the world - I
would.'
This woman reminded me of someone. I thought of
Antigone, the
hetaira who came to see Aristotle and then betrayed him. But in
figure, form and voice this woman was not very like Antigone. I put
down her strange effect to her being part Phoenician from Karthago,
as her slave had more than hinted.
'I wished,' said the woman, 'to give you some small recompense, a
present, in return for your kindness to Doris. The more as I have
another favour to beg of
you. I understand you have a friend in Naxos
and are going there soon. It is over-bold to ask gentlemen of such
importance, but could you please take the ungainly but humble
slavewoman Doris to that island with you? She has an errand to do
for me in the hinterland of Naxos. It would be such a relief to my
mind and hers if she could join your fine ship and trustworthy crew
again, and be safely conveyed.'
'I am really not in the business of arranging transport for travellers
in the Kyklades,' Aristotle protested.
'Oh, sir, of course it is a great piece of presumption on my part -
I will not say on ours, for poor little Doris has as much to do with it
as her lame dog.' The lady twitched her yellow mantle, shrugging it
177
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
more firmly upon her shoulders. 'But you must know it is dangerous,
not a little, for women to go unprotected, and our reliance on your
goodness is very great. Poor Doris will leave you in Naxos. So you
will not have to trouble yourself further. Her passage home is our
affair.'
'Well, if that is all-' said Aristotle impatiently. He stood up.
'First
thing tomorrow, at the Sacred Harbour.'
'Oh, wonderful!' The lady threw up her hands in her joy, letting
her mantle slip again. 'Sir, a thousand thanks! Be assured, my poor
slavewoman will meet you tomorrow morning in the Sacred
Harbour. And with some little gifts for you, as well as materials she
is to deliver to one of the houses on Naxos. Of course with the fare
for her passage. With your good captain and crew we shall feel so
safe. Oh, I am overjoyed!' The lady, shrugging on her mantle once
more, arose, bowed deeply to us and glided out of the room,
presumably to rejoin her slave steward who would be awaiting her
without.
'Tsk, tsk, I seem to be taken as the passengers' steward and friend,'
said Aristotle. 'All I can say is, it will not be a great inconvenience. If
the slavewoman turns in time, then she goes - and if
not, not.'
'There's something odd about these people,' I said.
'They're partly foreign, and I think that always seems odd to you.
But must confess, I should not care to mingle with them.'
'I doubt if this Kardaka is any better than she should be. Although
I don't think there are brothels on Delos the Holy and Pure!'
'No,' said Aristotle. 'You remember, Philokhoros said there wasn't
much in the way of
entertainment on this island.'
We wound our way leisurely out of
the precinct of lodging houses
and towards the path that leads up to Mount Kynthos. Although both
Delphi and Delos are sacred to Apollo, most of Delos is as unlike
mountainous Delphi as possible, being very flat and almost at sea
level. There is only one high place, the hill Kynthos. (Ridiculous to
call it a mountain!) I was eager to see the shrine of Herakles and to
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DELOS
take in the view, so I persuaded Aristotle and Parmenion to go up
with me; Phokon came with us. It is a short climb past a few pretty
shrines and little temples to a breathtaking view. Even Parmenion
seemed impressed.
'Look! You can see the whole harbour and the temple and every-
thing,' he said, stopping and staring back. This grand view of the
whole sacred site made it much easier to understand than it was on
first entering the precincts. I could at last see where individual
buildings and places were in relation to the others. We could see
Rheneia; it has a few trees, and little homesteads, and looks much
more like a normal place than did Delos. Turning about I saw many
islands around us.
'You are standing at the centre point of
the Circle of
the Kyklades,'
said Aristotle. 'Over there is Paros. Yonder, directly south-east, right
in front of
you, is Naxos.'
It was very satisfying to be at the still centre of
this system of
golden
islands all wheeling about us. Delos, formerly a wanderer among
islands, slipping hither and thither, like a planet in the sky, is now the
still centre of the wheel, an ordering point in the midst of a serene
order. We lingered, exclaiming at various sights, until we had had
enough and trooped down again. The sun was descending the
western sky, and if
we were going anywhere, even Rheneia, we had to
do so by water.
Because of the Avenue of the Lions we were confident of the
direction to the other harbour of Skardana, which we had picked out
from the height. The modest Inopos runs out of the lake again and
into this delightful little harbour, a perfect semicircle surrounded by
tight warehouses and good houses belonging to (presumably very
healthy) merchants. You cannot see the great Temple of
Apollo from
here. Skardana seemed nicely normal, with ordinary shops around it.
The small beast market is located here, so as not to disturb the sacred
precinct with cackling and bellowing. There is a small ancillary slave-
market (chiefly for nurses, old women, and so on). Unsold slaves are
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
most commonly not housed in Delos, but put back on board a ship
or ferried to a depot in Rheneia or Mykonos; by this time the slave
merchants had packed up their merchandise and gone off. Except for
a few forlorn sellers of
wilting vegetables, nothing much was going on
around the harbour.
The prudent Delians had built a mole or quay at Skardena, to
prevent crowding of their rather stony beach. This useful structure
extends a good way out into the water, on the right side of the
harbour; it is covered with large flat stones at the top. We looked for
our ship and spotted it away at the far end, moored with its prow to
the causeway, not very close to any of
the other ships.
We hailed her, but no one answered. Because of the well-built
mole, we could walk out and scramble aboard the vessel without
difficulty, once Phokon had pulled a rope to make the boat come
closer to the mooring-place. But nobody was on board.
'That's odd,' 1 said. 'I thought Philokhoros was going to be here.'
'No sign of either him nor his slave,' said Phokon, looking in the
hold amid the shipped oars, the mast and sail, and some ropes.
'Hey, look at this!' Parmenion cried from the stem. We rushed aft.
'Look - the galley!' He pointed. The tiles of
the galley were smeared
with crimson blood. Some splashes of
blood had stained the wooden
structure of the boat itself. More blood than on the head of a dead
horse, or on a little monkey skull.
'Murder!' screamed Parmenion. He turned very white, and his
body went stiff. Then his eyes rolled up in his head; slowly, he
collapsed.
'Throw some water on him, please, Phokon,' said Aristotle. 'I think
it is just a faint, not an epilepsy. Tell me if he starts foaming or
convulsing.
'
'Poor boy, he was getting better, too,' 1 said.
The shout of 'Murder!' had not gone unheard. Men from a neigh-
bouring boat started to come towards us. And at the same moment,
Miltiades appeared.
180
DELOS
'Oh, no!' he cried. 'Murder on the sacred island! It is forbidden to
die here! This is terrible - it is a blasphemy! How could you do it, how
could you? We shall all be subjected to dreadful penalties!'
181
XI
==~g-p~=
d---G"
Blood at Delos, Flesh at Mykonos
'We don't know that any human being has died here,' said Aristotle.
'Let us look at the evidence.' But Miltiades did not stay to listen.
'I must tell the authorities!' he said, rushing off. Undeterred by
Miltiades' precipitous departure, undistracted even by Parmenion's
faint, Aristotle calmly proceeded to inspect the galley and the area
around it.
'I don't see any signs of
a bloody struggle. You must admit it would
be very difficult to kill a grown man in this little galley. It's barely big
enough to crouch in, certainly not a space for two men fighting. What
other signs can we see?' He picked up the small stove. 'Now, what's
this I find?' Laughing, he waved a feather above his head.
'Man is "an unfeathered biped", as Plato says. The entities that
were killed here today were plumed. See what I found hiding under
the stove - an innocent feather. Ah, this place was used for a sacrifice,
and this knife did cut - but it was a sacrifice of birds. Chickens -
cocks, presumably - sacrificed earlier today. Most likely by some
pious sailors.' He laughed again in his relief. Then his face became
more sombre.
'But it is true that the blood has been spread around to look like
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BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
murder See, here. This is where the first blood fell, but instead of
lying in drops it has been deliberately smeared around the galley and
the deck area. With a sponge, I suppose, squeezed to create drops of
blood at appropriate points - at the edge, for example. Made to
look as if there were a murder aboard, and a body dropped into the
sea.'
'And here,' I pointed out, 'some of Philokhoros' baggage has been
smeared with blood too and then thrown under the thwart. As if it
had escaped notice when the body was rolled overboard.'
'A nice touch,' said Aristotle. 'It begins to look more like a plot. Had
whoever set this scene stolen the baggage or thrown it overboard,
anybody looking at the ship might have decided that Philokhoros
merely went off on his own, taking his luggage with him. The bloody
bag seems got up to make the circumstances look more suspicious.'
'The boy's coming to,' announced Phokon.
'Good. But - oh, the vexation. Now we certainly have to find
Philokhoros. I hope both he and his slave are alive and in health, but
I have to admit they are not here.'
Aiskhines' broad friendly face, wrinkled with concern, appeared
looking down at us over the edge of
his ship.
'What is this?' our captain demanded. 'I heard people saying there
was a murdered man on a ship from Peiraieus.'
'How quickly word gets out. Remarkable,' said Aristotle drily. 'I
believe, good Aiskhines, that no one has been murdered, though
some birds have been sacrificed. And their blood has been spread
around to look as if a murder has happened. Now, have you seen
either the slave-boy or Philokhoros since we left the ship?'
'Yes. I came back after going to the Altar. I was anxious to see to
the Eudaimonia, and be sure it was well moored. Philokhoros was
aboard, well and hearty, but worried, he said, because his slave-boy
had run off. He thought Sosios must have gone to see the sights. But
he asked me to go after the lad, since I knew my way around Delos
better and I could identify him.
'
183
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'There was no blood spread on the ship then?'
'No - certainly not. I passed by the galley at that time, and I should
surely have noticed.'
'I take it you couldn't find the boy.'
'Too true. So I came back to beg the gentleman to search for
himself. Now he's gone too, without a word. Strange. I don't usually
lose passengers, certainly not in this manner.'
'Are you the captain of this ship?' A man loomed menacingly
behind Aiskhines, a man fully dressed in contrast to the skimpy wear
of our captain. A man who looked as if authority had sat upon his
brow ever since he came of age. 'I am a magistrate of Delos,' he
announced almost unnecessarily. 'And I must take you into custody
to answer questions about a murder committed here. Disgraceful! I
warn you, captain, it
will go hard with you, for this is not only a killing
but a blasphemy -'
'How do you do?' said Aristotle addressing him from the ship. 'I am
glad to meet you, citizen magistrate. The man whose ear you are
holding is a citizen of Athens, and is totally innocent of any
wrongdoing.
'
'Who are you?' enquired the magistrate ungraciously.
'I am Aristotle, a philosopher who dwells in Athens. I am on an
embassy for Alexander's deputy, who I know will be obliged to you
for any assistance you can render. It is clear to me that no murder
whatever took place here. The blood comes from the sacrifice of
chickens. An alarm was raised unnecessarily.'
The magistrate breathed deeply. 'I should be glad to think that was
the case,' he said in milder tones.
'See for yourself -' Aristotle waved the feather. 'This feather was
found under the stove. Blood for a sacrifice has been later smeared
about, perhaps accidentally. But I have every reason to believe that no
man has been killed. A slave-boy has gone missing - the owner told
our captain to look for him. The captain has just returned - mean-
while the slave's owner (an adult citizen) has gone off, probably on
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BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
his own lawful occasions. But if
you could question the neighbouring
sailors as to whether they have seen anything, it might be of great
help.'
Reluctantly, the magistrate agreed to help to that extent. 1 could
see that he would have preferred either to clap us all into chains, or to
go away and do nothing more. This man was not made for com-
plicated exertions. But at Aristotle's prompting, he questioned the
sailors on the nearest vessels. One crew was disappointing: they had
just come, and had seen nothing until we arrived But two sailors
mending nets on a small fishing craft nearby were willing to speak.
'Saw some men aboard - sailors seemingly,' they said. As to what
they looked like or whether the sailors on our ship might have been
our own, they were unclear. One of
them said he thought the men had
'a Phoenician look' (leaving us to puzzle what that might be).
'I suppose,' said Aristotle, 'somebody might have borrowed this
nice tiled galley for a sacrifice. Did you see a gentleman go off
the ship
- before then or after?'
The first fisherman was at a stand, but asked a neighbour in
another boat; this man was helpful.
'Yes,' he said calmly, disregarding the magistrate's scowls. 'I
reckon 1 saw a gentleman leave the ship, in company with a couple
other gentleman.'
'Were they fighting? Quarrelling?'
'Nothing of that sort.'
'When was this?'
'When the sun was still quite high in the sky. The sacrifice, that
must've been done later, when 1 put out for a short space. 1 came
back, since 1 thought 1 had a passenger as wanted taking to Rheneia,
but they didn't show.'
'Well,' said Aristotle, sitting on a thwart and fitting his fingertips
together, 'we have this much to deal with: Philokhoros tells the
captain his boy is gone. Philokhoros then has the ship to himselffor a
while. Two other gentlemen come and conduct him off
- without the
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
boy. Now, the beauty of
Delos is that it is so small, and is surrounded
by water. It's not like another place, where a man can unobtrusively
move away on foot or on a donkey. If
Philokhoros is not in Delos, he
has certainly gone to some neighbouring island. To do that, he'd need
a boat. So - if the magistrate would encourage these fine citizens to
help us? They live here, they own small ships, and they or their
acquaintance would recognise and be able to identify any particular
craft.'
And so it proved. One of the fisherman's associates who carried
passengers to and from the Sacred Harbour recalled seeing the tall
stranger with the beautiful nose, accompanied by two less significant
gentlemen, leaving the Sacred Harbour at midday, 'in Nearkhos'
boat'. Nearkhos belonged to Mykonos, and his small vessel was not
used for long journeys; it was their considered opinion that anyone
leaving Delos with Nearkhos must be going to Mykonos.
'An unusually sound deduction,' said Aristotle. 'I suggest we
follow it up without loss of time. Good Aiskhines, ready your ship
and your men and take us at once to Mykonos harbour. 1 know you
wish to unload your cargo of oil, and there Stephanos and 1 shall
search for Philokhoros. Meanwhile, if
the magistrate here would post
a notice about the boy Sosios, we shall have done our duty in that
direction. And 1 am sure, sir, that you must be glad to find that your
problem has apparently departed from Delos, and that our ship will
follow.'
Aristotle was certainly discerning. 1 thought the magistrate would
insist on accompanying us to Mykonos, and make a nuisance of
himself with suspicions and questioning. But this dignified person-
age, so uncomfortably covered with fine hot clothes, and so sorely
fatigued with his unusual efforts, was as happy as Aristotle suggested
at the prospect of his troubles vanishing to another island. Aiskhines
called his men together with the utmost rapidity, and we sailed, our
galley and some of
the planking still dirty red. Two sailors worked at
cleaning it as we went. Parmenion, improved but still silent, lay with
186
BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
his back propped against a thwart, out of the sun. The only other
passengers were Aristotle, myself and Phokon.
We worked our way through a slightly choppy sea to the harbour at
stony Mykonos. There the crew of the Eudaimonia could at last
unload their cargo of oil. As their purchasers came down to the dock
to receive it, Aristotle and I put our questions to these and other men
on the waterfront, eliciting unsatisfactory responses. The number of
visitors who had come to Mykonos from Delos during the day seemed
phenomenal. Everyone we addressed wanted payment for answering
our queries. Not only that, they wanted to bring brothers and cousins
and uncles to get paid for answering questions too. Helpful
information was lacking. Aristotle decided to cut this procedure
short.
'Where,' he asked suddenly, 'is the nearest brothel?'
There was laughter, but ready response. 'The nearest one for
respectable men is up there,' said one of the sailors. 'It's the White-
Armed Sea-Nymph.'
'I don't want the most respectable one,' said Aristotle rather
crossly.
'Well, then,' said the sailor, with great merriment, 'you want the
sign of the Naumakhia, with its female keeper Lysis.'
'That is, if you care for pigs,' said his friend. 'You'll nose it - it's
got pigpens round it, on the way up that hill.'
With succinct thanks, Aristotle gathered up myself and Phokon,
leaving the sailors in charge of the ship - and of
Parmenion. We were
glad of some directions offered to us by Aiskhines as we worked our
way uphill. The town proved labyrinthine and puzzling. 'That's often
the case with these island towns,' said Aristotle. 'In some moods
they're happy to receive visitors and commerce and in other moods
all they can think of is pirates and how to outfox them.'
We found the place readily enough, even in this squalid maze. Like
every place in Mykonos it was walled about with the rough local
stones supplied in such plenty by the hillsides. Beside the door was a
187
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
scratched sketch of
a sea fight, bearing the name 'Naumakhia'. Crude
as the picture was, you could see it was of two ships grappling
together, one crew of men with heavy weapons already forcing their
way into the enemy vessel. There was an undeniable odour of pig.
Without knocking, Aristotle marched in and we followed. We
seemed to fill the place - a low-roofed rather dusty house, with small
rooms. The scent of
pig grew and blossomed, incessant and familiar.
'Who are you?' A woman of square build with a round face came
towards us. She was not very old, but her skin was winkled and grimy.
'Have you an appointment of any kind?' she asked in mincing tones
out of keeping with her grimy appearance.
'Alas, no,' said Aristotle. 'We have come looking for a friend who
we fear has delayed here too long.'
She cackled. 'Oh, a lot stays for a while longer than they thought,'
she replied.
'Perhaps some do. Some may stay for a great deal longer, I fear.
But that's neither here nor there. We'll pick up our friend, whose ship
is waiting, and be on our way.'
'You seem very cocksure, Citizen Whatnot from Wherever! Who's
to say we have any of your fine friends here? We're -'
'Stop! Hush!' I said. 'I hear something.' And I did hear a sound like
a low hum or groan.
'Pigs grunting. They do that,' explained the woman con-
temptuously.
'No - come on!' Acting on impulse I led the way to the back
premises, where we were confronted by two contiguous pigpens; or
more properly one gigantic pigpen in two parts. The outer wall or
perimeter was strongly made of stones (the universal local material).
The wall between the two pens was a fence of
wood, with a gate in it.
In the slightly larger pen, the more eligible residence, partially shaded
by a short thatched roof weighted down by stones, two pigs were at
home. Although the weather was dry, these animals had been given
water to drink and to roll around in, as well as all the slops and sour
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BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
porridge from the house, and the area was certainly very mucky. Two
enormous pigs - boar and sow - glared at us.
These two balls of
flesh had been digging in the dirt with their long
round snouts, but now they ran back and forth and made a great
rumpus. A man stuck his frowsy head out of a little window that
looked into this salubrious courtyard and yelled 'Shut up!' Somebody
else cursed in a language I did not know. The pigs, undeterred, kept
up a great grunting. I moved cautiously around the side of
this pen to
the next one, the less luxurious residence totally lacking in shade.
This enclosure had one inhabitant. Tied neck and heels with a gag in
his mouth was our unfortunate travelling companion Philokhoros.
His eyes pleaded with me over his nearly invisible fine nose.
'You get out of that-there, or I'll set the pigs on you!' the woman
threatened. This was no light menace. I had rather she had said 'dogs'
- for dogs you can fight off, but once a pig gets you down you are in
trouble. They say pigs will eat you, dead or alive - they're not
particular.
'Phokon!' commanded Aristotle.
I did not wait for Phokon, however, as we were not at leisure. I
climbed into Philokhoros' filthy pigpen (having first cast off my
clothes and sandals). It was like stepping into a bog. The pigs next
door were incensed at this invasion of their territory. I could hear
their grunts of
rage and see their little red eyes glaring fiercely at me,
the intruder. They galloped over to me as if to run me down with
their sharp hooves, but were fortunately held back by the partition. I
saw, however, that the gate in this railing was ingeniously arranged
so as to be opened from outside the pen, by a string. It would
certainly be possible for a keeper at any moment to admit the angry
porkers into the second pen. This fact by no means increased my
equanimity or good humour. I grabbed the hapless and bound
Philokhoros. I had no knife to cut his bonds with, so I had to treat
him as a package, and get him over the stone wall somehow. He
helped as much as he could, scrabbling with his poor bound hands
189
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
and feet, but it was a difficult job; perhaps I could not have
accomplished it if Phokon had not stepped in (likewise naked) to my
aid. The two of us heaved the grunting Philokhoros over the edge,
and started to get over ourselves, just as the lady of the house made
good her threat to open the gate of the first pen and let the animals
into the second one. They charged around with considerable vigour,
hoping to get at us. Happily, we were able to flip over the stone wall
just as they made their entry.
Both Phokon and I were dripping with sweat and each of
us stank
like twenty pigs.
'Well done!' Aristotle clapped his hands, as at a theatre piece. 'Not
a pretty scene, but heroic. How do you find yourself now,
Philokhoros? Can we get his bonds off?'
Phokon found a rusty implement propped against the wall of a
lean-to, and slowly sawed through the ropes that bound Philokhoros.
The gentleman's clothes were indescribably filthy and it is better not
to imagine what he smelt like. I removed the gag, and he coughed and
panted. I expected him to rise to his feet, but he fell back with a groan.
'He won't be able to walk at first, you've got to chafe his legs and
get him in better plight,' said Aristotle. 'By the Twelve Gods! He
smells abominable! Can we get upwind of
him - and the pigs?'
Obviously, we could not depart until we could get Philokhoros into
working order. Aristotle tenderly held my clothes and Phokon's to
keep them out of the muck that had ruined poor Philokhoros'
habiliments.
'We need to find some clothing for this poor fellow,' he said. 'Hey,
Mistress! Lysis - if
that's your name' - thus he addressed the woman,
who was glowering at our success.
'You're in serious trouble for what has happened here. We have
friends who are waiting for us outside - we have already consulted the
magistrate in Delos about this missing person. It could go very hard
with you. I urge you to step smartly and help us. Assist us to carry this
man into the cleaner courtyard where we can sluice him - and these
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BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
other two - with water from your well. And find some clean clothes
for this gentleman you have wrongfully imprisoned. At once!'
Cowed, now that her pigs had failed to put an end to our trouble-
making, Lysis reluctantly led the way to the small courtyard with the
well in it, keeping up a running grumble the while: "Well-fancy-that-
I-don't-know-what-the-world-is-coming-to. Peaceful householders!
Intruders and spies. Nuff-to make-a-body-sick.'
Living in the vicinity of her pigs was enough to make a body sick,
but I didn't say so. We obtained the blessed water and I was sluiced
down, then Phokon, and then the trembling Philokhoros. The
establishment supplied a thin piece of linen with holes in it for
towelling, and I was dry enough to put on my own clothes once more.
Phokon was soon in a better plight too.
'Now, Madam Pigwoman, where are clothes for this ill-treated
gentleman?'
'Ain't got no clothes. You think I'm an old-clothes shop, you come
to the wrong place.'
'What about the other men who are here - customers or whatever?'
'Nobody here.'
'There was a man, who shouted at us out of the window,' I
reminded her.
'Just my steward. Having a rest.'
'Perhaps. And perhaps not. An idea occurs to me.' Before I could
divine what he intended, Aristotle darted into the house, and across
the hall- myself
following. 'First I'll just have a look,' he said. Rapidly
he flung open the three doors in the passageways, and peered briskly
into each room, checking up on the landlady's statement regarding
current custom. At last he went confidently into the one remaining
chamber, the little room round the corner, the one looked out on the
pigpen. It
had nothing in it but a bed, and there were two heads at the
top of the bed. Without greeting, Aristotle snatched from the foot of
the bed a pile of
clothes. At this, the man with the scruffy frowsy head
(who smelt quite ripe himself) roused himself, raised that head, and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
began furious and then anguished protestations. His companion
muttered something (I didn't catch what, but undoubtedly not com-
plimentary). Aristotle disregarded these objurgations, and turned
back with his prize.
'I'm in no mood for conversation. Here you are, Philokhoros. Sorry
they don't smell better, but it's the best this hostelry affords.'
The woman screeched in wrath. 'Thieves! Give those straight back!
You've no right!'
'I fear it is you who must compensate the unfortunate steward and
his dear friend.' Aristotle remained calm. 'As it
is really my friend who
deserves compensation, we will take these clothes in partial payment.
You owe him replacement for the garments you have ruined.'
'Don't owe nothing,' she muttered, so low that Aristotle was not
obliged to hear her.
'But 1 must say,' he continued, 'I admire your generous conception
of time off for your servants - if that man is really your steward.
Happily, the clothes are those of a free person. Get dressed -' he
handed his find to Philokhoros - 'and cast the stinking clothes out
into the yard.'
Behind us the man in the bedroom still bellowed his rage, and his
opinion as to what ought to be our future fate. But evidently he was
too modest or too frightened to come and look for us - or else he was
restrained by his bed-companion. The landlady subsided into
spluttering.
Once Philokhoros was arrayed sufficiently to meet the claims of
respectability (if not of elegance), 1 hoped we would go. Aristotle,
however, looking at the rescued man, demanded a drink of
water for
him. The woman set up a renewed screeching about how much we
had cost her.
'We will ask this gentleman how much damage you inflicted on
him, a free citizen, and what claims he wishes to pursue in law,' said
Aristotle coldly. 'If
you cooperate with us, that will be taken as a sign
that your complicity in this horrid affair was unwitting or unwilling.
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BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
Otherwise, we must naturally think you are the chief agent. Or your
husband.'
'I - 1 ain't the chiefl And 1 got no husband!' The woman started to
pour water into her cracked cups and began to whimper. 'Respectable
widow woman.'
'Really? And really a widow?'
'Well, the same as. My husband left for somewheres a year or two
back, he's probably died.' She handed us each some water, and
plunked herself down on a stool. 'About yesterday - 1 did not do
anything! Just what the two gentlemen as was with him - his friends,
like - said. They said to keep him safe till they came again. They put
him in the fIx he was in, "for his own sake" they said. 1 thought just
'cause they didn't want the gentleman wandering off, while he was in
his cups.'
She looked at us with eyes of
elaborate innocence; any child could
have seen through this lie.
'That you are not the chief agent in this bad action, that 1 can
believe,' said Aristotle. 'That alone, at the moment. Explain, good sir.
Did this woman threaten your life?'
'Oh, 1 did not! Sir, tell them 1 didn't!' The woman looked
pleadingly at Philokhoros.
'Well, she threatened me with the pigs. And pigs could end one's
life,' said Philokhoros. 'But 1 admit, it's not a story to go down as well
in a lawcourt as if
ruffians say they have a big sharp knife and will stick
it in your ribs.'
'But - what happened to you? You were on board the Eudaimonia.
And then what?'
'Well, 1 had a short nap, and woke to fmd my slave-boy gone off.
So 1 asked the captain to fInd him. And then two men came to me and
said the boy had been decoyed to a brothel here in Mykonos, and they
would take me to him so 1 could buy him back. 1 suspected extortion,
but nothing else, really. We left the ship and walked back round the
beach to the Sacred Harbour, and took a ship to Mykonos. But then
193
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
- when I got to Mykonos harbour - they fed me strong wine. It must
have been very strong, such as I am not used to. Though it tasted fine.
And then they brought me to this place, and we started looking
through the rooms, and they offered me more wine, and then - I
believe they banged me on the head, for I know I was not conscious
for a while.'
'And after that?'
'They tied me up, while I was not awake. And when I came to I
heard them making jokes - brothel jokes. About what to do with me
- you can imagine. But they told the woman to keep me here until she
got further word. She was to keep me bound, and in the pigpen so I
could not get free. And the two men went away.'
'Do you know who they were?'
Philokhoros hesitated before replying. 'No. No. At least, I mean
I'd like to think I could recognise them again. But - no.'
'Yet at Delos you went off with them without question?'
'Well, I had questions, certainly, but they seemed so sure they knew
where the boy was.'
'Did you see any sign of the boy when you got here?'
'No.'
'Is this Lysis here who calls herself a widow a slavewoman or free?'
He was surprised by the question. '/ don't know. The men
addressed her as if
she were a freedwoman. Not of
the highest order-'
The woman set up a screeching. 'I'll have you know I am no slave,
and he's a dirty rascal who says otherwise!'
'It is a legal matter,' Aristotle said. 'If
she were a slave, we could
take her forthwith and have her interrogated. But if she is
freedwoman, she will have to answer questions in a court of law in
due course. To counsel homicide is the same as to commit homicide.
If
she has been a material agent in making away with the boy, or if
she
has counselled such making away, and even more if
she has provable
designs against the life of this man, then she will face the death
penalty.'
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BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
'No!' cried the woman. She was very intent now, the grumbling
reluctance clean gone. 'Oh sirs, don't do this to me! I couldn't help
it. It was a very rich man who came here at dawn today, a rich man
who gave his name and some money.'
Aristotle leaned forward eagerly.
'And his name is?'
'His name is Solon. He told me to expect another party this
afternoon. Meaning yourself, sir' - to Philokhoros - 'and the two
friends with you. And this Solon before he left in the morning, he
gave orders about the pigs and all. And there was no boy, little or big.
And no homicide!' She was ready to shout her voice out. The veins
stood out on her grimy forehead.
'Be calm, or you will do yourself an injury,' said Aristotle. 'Can you
describe this "Solon"?'
'He was a man - like all the others. But cleaner dressed and finely
spoken. A good sort of figure. Not tall, really, maybe above the
middle height. Not very young, but not old. He spoke like Athenian
gentry, is all. That's all I know. Truly.'
'How much did Solon give you?' She blushed and hesitated.
'Come, come,' said Aristotle impatiently, 'we really need to know. It
is material to the case.'
'Two hundred drakhs,' she muttered in a low voice. 'He gave one
hundred and said there'd be more if he came back and found the
gentleman safely stowed - I mean in the pigpen. Nothing worse than
that. Just keeping him from harm, that's all.'
'Two hundred drakhs -
merely for imprisoning someone in a
pigpen?' Aristotle turned to me. 'I know prices are high in the islands
but this does seem excessive, even for Mykonos. Such a handsome
payment might serve as recompense for any number of activities,
might it not?'
'In some towns,' I responded, 'that great a sum would pay for
several murders. Getting Philokhoros away seems to have been
important to whoever bought this service.'
195
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Yes. Whoever that may be. We need not waste time enquiring for
a fellow with the name of
the great lawgiver, Solon, often called "the
wise man of Athens". So this new "wise man of Athens" deigns to
visit this hovel.'
'Why "Solon"?' I wondered.
'Well, among other things, Stephanos, Solon is famous for dividing
the populace of Athens into four classes: "the five-hundred-bushel-
men" (the Aristos), then the Knights, then the Hoplites and at the
bottom the Menials. And -' with a cautious glance at Philokhoros,
who was still cleaning himself - 'this mock "Solon" seems to have
classified our friend here with certain domestic animals. About the
man who made these arrangements - chief actor or deputy, who
knows? - we are entitled to surmise only two things. He is apparently
an Athenian, and not poor. Enough ofthis,' said Aristotle, rising. 'We
must be going. Sir, I hope you are able to walk to the harbourage.
You, Mistress of Pigs, we shall keep in mind. We can always have
your pens searched for human remains. That will give you a pretty
reputation, and a good market for your pork! I advise you to be more
careful about what favours you do henceforward.'
We got up to go; Philokhoros walked in a wobbly fashion, but he
was able to walk. As we made our exit I could not resist looking back
at the pigpens and making a childish face at the hoggish twain who
glared back at me. 'Chops!' I shouted. 'Sausages! Pig's-trotters stew!
Just think!'
We left the foul place and walked gladly back to the harbour where
we could savour the clean sea air in our nostrils.
'We didn't see a single girl belonging to that brothel,' I mused.
Aristotle laughed. 'They would smell dreadful. Presumably Lysis is
for sale. I should think she indulges with the steward as her private
treat, and rewards him with opportunity for his own pleasures. Really,
the "Naumakhia" is not exactly your kind of brothel. If
you look at
the picture at the door, you'll see it is not clubs or swords the sailors
are employing in the sea-fight. This house is not interested in girls.'
196
BLOOD AT DELOS, FLESH AT MYKONOS
'Meaning the steward was in bed with a boy - but not Sosios.'
'No. The stewards' bed-companion was not Philokhoros' missing
boy. A brothel,' Aristotle said thoughtfully, 'now, that is really a
handy business for concealing other transactions. It's a place where
you can get whatever you want - for a price. People running a brothel
can do many favours, and not just for their ordinary carnal customers.
Those pigs worry me. What an efficient way of
getting rid of
a corpse!
If
you bury a body it can be dug up. Bodies cast into seas, lakes and
rivers have washed up on many banks. But what pigs have eaten stays
hidden for ever.'
The good ship Eudaimonia took us back from Mykonos harbour to
Rheneia. The ship was now without the cargo of oil, and the effect
was not altogether pleasant; its new lightness encouraged it to skip
and dance in the waves. On our way, Aristotle discussed with our
captain Aiskhines and his crew our wish to set out for N axos on the
morrow, and our agreement to take Doris with us. Aiskhines replied
that he could take us to Naxos on our way to Kos, and that if
we could
make our way to Delos in the morning he would collect the family
with the sick daughter, as they would expect to take passage in the
same ship.
I left all these arrangements to Aristotle. Aristodamos of
Naxos was
his friend. The short journey to Rheneia seemed to take for ever. I was
chilled, and yet could take no satisfaction in wrapping my clothes
about me. Try hard as we did, we had not kept our garments
uncontaminated by the scent of pig. When we arrived at Rheneia,
Phokon found us a lodging. The people of Rheneia have too many
visitors, for they appear slightly contemptuous of
them - at least that
was so in our case. Perhaps our odour had something to do with this
reception.
I was tired and restless, and my sleep was strangely broken by starts
and vivid dreams. You would think I would dream of
the horrid pigs,
but there was little of
that. I remember rather a dream of
great beauty;
a vision of a great golden wheel slowly moving, and in the centre a
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
sparkling dot of light. It seemed as if such a dream must have
significance if only I could understand it. I awoke and felt hot, and
from the dream-exaltation fell into despond. I was worrying about
various things - including the poor limping slave and her limping dog,
as well as the whereabouts of Philokhoros' unfortunate boy. But
chiefly I wondered how I should ever complete my task and get home
again.
198
XII
==~9_,~e==
a"-'G
Naxos
In the morning light, the images of sleep vanished. My pleasure at
dawn, was however, mitigated by the fact that my digestion was
afflicted. (I put this indignity down to the drinking water in
Mykonos, though it might have been the pig muck.) I could not bear
to put on myoid clothes again. Philokhoros, arrayed in the uncouth
raiment of
the brothel-keeper's steward, bought new clothes from a
householder of Rheneia whose wife was a notable weaver. He gave
Phokon a new tunic also. In kind acknowledgement of my helping
him out of the pigpen, Philokhoros also purchased a himation for
me. Although a gentleman should be chary of
taking gifts, I was not
too proud to accept this one.
Philokhoros, still recovering from the effects of the attack and not
at all strong, decided he would stay in Rheneia, or rather go back
again to Delos. He did not, he asserted, need or wish to go to Naxos,
but we might all meet later in the eastern islands, some day.
'I must see if I can find that wretched boy of mine,' he said with a
tired smile. 'I am concerned as to what has befallen him. Surely he has
been abducted, stolen by some villains in Delos. I shall make enquiries.
Perhaps there is a more sympathetic magistrate than you came upon.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Each of the rest of us must have thought of the distinct possibility
that the young slave Sosios had simply run away, having had enough
of Philokhoros' caresses. But it would have been impolite to hint as
much to Philokhoros, and any such notion would certainly have made
life harder for the boy when retrieved. Philokhoros went with us in a
small boat for the short journey from Rheneia, and we said our
farewells to him in the Sacred Harbour, now in its morning ferment
of activity. The day was still relatively cool and fresh, with a pleasant
breeze, so the hot-food sellers could ply their trade and the slaves in
the slave mart could be stirred to run round naked in their circle of
display. None of these was the missing boy.
The captain and the other sailors were waiting for us by the mole
at the Sacred Harbour. With them was the family group - the
grandfather, his daughter and the little wheezy girl- bound for Kos.
They said they would be happy to go to Naxos, as Delos was
expensive, and they would find a lodging near Naxos harbour.
Inevitably, Doris and her dog (basket at the ready) were awaiting us
too. Doris was now encumbered with a great bundle of material
which she said she must deliver to a friend or customer of
her mistress
Kardaka in a place called Three Villages. Standing with this familiar
group - to my surprise - was Miltiades. This travelling man said
genially that he had business in Naxos and was looking forward to
taking another sea journey with us and our wonderful crew of the
Eudaimonia. He seemed to have forgotten that the last time he had
seen us, when we were puzzling over our bloodstained ship, he had
practically accused us of murder.
We all got into the boat and settled ourselves as quickly as possible.
Words were said on the subject of
Doris' dog by the family party, who
were anxious that their child not be incommoded by it, and also by a
new passenger who eyed the animal suspiciously and ordered 'Keep
that thing from barking.' Doris meekly promised to sit out ofthe way,
and not only to put the dog in the basket but also to tie up the
animal's jaws as she had done before. 'He's a very quiet dog, really,'
200
NAXOS
she said. 'I can get him not to bark - when he's tied he knows he
mustn't speak. He whines, just a little.' She then sat patiently beside
the dog basket in the stem, having stowed her bundle of
goods where
it was least likely to get wet. So we left the sacred island, birthplace of
Apollo. We looked back on its lovely temples as long as we could see
them.
It was perhaps a good thing, in the light of
our constraint regarding
Miltiades, that there was a new passenger on the ship, even if he had
objected to the dog. The gentleman helped conversation to become
pleasant and general. He explained that he was a marble merchant, of
Paros, the island next to Naxos.
'No need to go to Naxos for marble,' he boasted, 'though I do have
business concerns in that other island. But everyone knows that
Parian marble is the best in the world.'
I agreed that many famous temples and sculptures were made with
Parian marble. I had never thought about the island itself.
'The most beautiful of the Kyklades,' he assured us. 'Such a pity
you are not going to visit it. A lovely city - beautiful countryside. You
could see our marble mines, which interest many visitors. The mines
are very deep, and great galleries have been carved in the hills.
Thousands of slaves work there - simply thousands! They cut the
marble and bring it up and then it is roughly dressed in blocks, and
the great white blocks are brought down to the city.'
'How do you move such heavy loads?' I asked
'Rollers - a long track of them, along which the great slabs of
marble are moved by sliding. As for transport to the town, of course
we have tremendous ox-carts.'
'It sounds a fine business,' I said dubiously, thinking it was rather
like silver and lead mining, after all. You look at marble statues and
temples and you rarely think where the stone comes from.
'Oh, it is a fine business.' He rubbed his hands together in a pleased
manner. 'And Parian marble's the best! Our business increases. Of
course the war made a lot of trouble and depressed trade.' (He did
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
not add that the Kyklades had sided with the Persians, which had
made for unpleasantness when the Makedonians had won.) 'But
people the world over wish to have statues and other objects made of
Parian marble. So our towns and cities flourish.'
'So likewise with Naxos,' said Miltiades. 'I am also in the marble
business. Athens may have fine marble, but the Naxians have the best
statue-works, for Naxians have been great sculptors from time
immemorial.
'
'You are a Naxian?'
'No, no - I am an Athenian, with connections in Naxos. Part of
my
business entails importing sculpture.'
'Ha! You should come to Paros - then you might talk about
importing sculpture. Beautiful white marble. Finest workmanship. If
you came, young man -' addressing me - 'you would enjoy seeing the
great monument to Arkhilokhos.' Seeing my puzzled look, he added,
'You must have heard of
Arkhilokhos, the great poet. Born in Paros.'
'Oh! Him,' I said recognising the name. 'The bitter-tongued poet
who killed people with his cursing, and whose killer was sent packing
by the Pythia at Delphi.'
'Yes - but you don't speak very appreciatively of the poet who
invented iambs.'
'I thought of him as a rather biting, bitter kind of person,' I said
frankly. 'I didn't know you in Paros thought so much of him.'
'Of
course we are proud of
our great poet,' he said stiffly. I realised
I had been lacking in tact. You should never insult a man's city or its
monuments or its athletes - or its poets.
'Marble,' said Miltiades, 'certainly ought to benefit this whole
region. Such a demand now! It used to be that marble was just for
temples - and for statues donated to the gods and placed in temples
and so on. A family would give a great marble kouros, the image of a
young man, sometimes in memory of a young man who had died.
Soon everyone wanted such statues of
gods and lovely kouroi for their
own temples at home. Now all temples have many such images. But
202
NAXOS
these days, people begin to desire some marble figures for their
dwellings, too. Nowadays rich men buy marble statuary for their
houses. It won't be purchased just for temples and agoras any more,
you mark my words.'
'It's true, there's a demand now in private homes,' agreed the
Parian. 'It may soon be the chief
of
the business in places like Athens.
But we needn't ignore works for agoras and temples,' he added.
'Since the cities of
Asia are happily free of
the Persians, they will want
to erect proper Greek buildings. New agoras, new temples, with fine
statues. All marble. And they will get marble from Paras, and their
new statues from the workshop ofNaxos and Paras - even Athens.'
'True,' said Miltiades. 'There will likewise be a constant need for
reliable transport. Now, friend,' and he turned to our captain
Aiskhines, 'I have a proposition to make to you. I have, as it turns
out, reason to look over a statue in Naxos and - if I approve it - to
send this image to Delos. That's a short hop, you'll agree. But I need
a reliable and careful crew who could pack the statue up intelligently
and not damage it in any way. If you and your men felt like taking
the job on tomorrow, I would offer double pay. Just a quick run to
Delos. And then the packing and unpacking to consider. What do
you say?'
'Well,' said Aiskhines, 'my men are tired and they will be wanting
a rest in Naxos before we head off
to Kos. The voyage to Kos is much
more arduous than hopping from Sounion to Delos. Sir -' turning to
Aristotle - 'I don't know how long you intend to stay on Naxos. We
have promised to take your party all the way to Kos, so we shall
certainly wait for you in the port ofNaxos. The wait, I take it, will not
belong.'
'I don't expect we shall stay a long while with Aristodamos, no,'
said Aristotle. 'About three days, 1 should think. A couple of
our party
are not feeling very well.' He looked at myself and Parmenion as he
spoke. 'A restful time in a beautiful house with friends would
probably be good for us. We must allow time for getting to and from
203
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Aristodamos' house in the hills, too. On the fourth day after we set
out for the house we should be able to meet you in the port ofNaxos
to continue our voyage.'
'Take the job, captain,' urged the most lively of
the sailors, the one
who so praised Poseidon and the life at sea. 'It seems we will be
waiting in Naxos - so why not do a little extra work for such a lot of
money? Does the gentleman realise how much it could cost to carry
this statue?' He looked at Miltiades anxiously. 'That's two drakmai a
day each for ten rowers minimum. Which is twenty drakhs right there
- plus the captain's fee.'
'Oh, yes, I am well aware of the costs,' said Miltiades. 'Once I get
to the workshop in N axos I can readily pay - a little in advance and
the whole at the end. Since it is only to Delos, the sea journey should
take but a day. Less, really.'
'Ah, but there's the getting back to Naxos to be taken into
account,' objected Aiskhines.
'That's right. So there is,' agreed Miltiades genially. 'We'll say, hire
for two days at least, then.'
With this arrangement in prospect, the sailors seemed cheerful and
skimmed along the billows in very good style. The wind favoured us,
and the sail made light work for the rowers. Doris' dog was by now
accustomed to the ship, and made less whimpering and whining. I
had to use the latrine a good deal, but improved as the day pro-
gressed. We all enjoyed seeing the peaks of Naxos move closer and
closer. As the westering sun touched the highest peaks, the marble
hills like frozen waves gleamed in the rose of
afternoon. It is very fine,
the harbour of Naxos, with a magnificent if unfinished temple at the
very gateway, on an islet at the opening of
the haven.
'The Temple to Apollo built by the tyrant Lygdamis, many
generations ago,' explained the Parian. 'When the tyrant fell, it was
unfinished and has never been finished. But it is beautiful,
nevertheless. Mark the elegant columns in the Ionian manner.'
The temple remained unpainted, but the rosy light threw colours
204
NAXOS
upon it, and as we rounded the headland into the harbour the sunset-
tinted sky could be seen between its lovely columns. The city clusters
at the foot of its Akropolis and runs up towards the height, so the
town has the wedge shape which seems characteristic of
these islands.
Soft lights gleamed from the houses - you could tell from that alone
that it was a rich place with plentiful oil. Surprising, as I had seen no
olive groves on Delos or Rheneia, and only a few stunted trees in
Mykonos.
Aristotle decided that it was too late in the day for us to try to get
to Aristodamos' house, far in the hills, so we found a small hostelry
and settled ourselves for the night, hiring a room for our party. The
family of young Philokleia said they would find lodgings near to this
pretty harbour, and could easily manage, as they had their own
serving-woman with them. They would wait for the Eudaimonia; we
promised not to leave for Kos without them. We had already said
farewell to the Parian, and to Miltiades who was going to a marble
statuary workshop. For lame Doris and her dog we found quarters
with the servants of the place where we stayed. These Naxians
seemed hospitable enough, much better than the people of
Mykonos
and Rheneia, I thought. Despite the sailors' warning against buying
fish, we bought some, including octopus, and it was quickly grilled for
us. I was so hungry I didn't mind feeling each individual sucker on
the octopus leg as it went down. My stomach was ready to receive
again. Parmenion looked almost cheerful, so it was an unusually
festive meal. Aristotle wrote some letters, while our host regaled us
with brave stories of the courage and prowess of the Naxians until
sleep overtook us.
Early the next morning we were surprised by persons calling at our
lodgings. Aristodamos, as promised, had sent someone to meet us -
slaves bringing asses to convey us to his home in the hills. There was
a donkey for each of the guests, including Phokon. I was impressed
by this grand way of
doing things. We were travelling like rich people,
waited upon and made easy.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
'Sirs - oh, please - what about me?'
The tiresome Doris manifested herself, right at our elbow. She was
ready to travel, with her dog and her great bundle of
stuffs. We could
hardly repudiate her, after our promise (however grudging) to her
mistress Kardaka. Once she explained about her errand to Three
Villages, Aristodamos' men said that she could come with them as far
as Aristodamos' house, and the rest of her way was a walking
distance. Of course, we had to make Phokon share his animal with
Doris, while one of Aristodamos' slaves was a porter for Doris'
bundle. We tried to get the lame dog to run alongside, but the slow
and complaining little beast was too great a nuisance; he had to be
packed into his light basket, and rendered portable.
As we left the city and went up and up, I realised that the walk into
the hills might be quite arduous, so even I was glad of
the conveyance.
When we got fairly into the countryside, the peaks towered above us.
Some of these peaks were bitten into by the marble-seekers; great
gashes and pits showed white as temples against the blue sky.
The road was demanding and at times hard going but I was greatly
pleased to see valleys and plains and fields all around me, as well as
hills everywhere, and many growing things. For the first time since we
left Sounion, I felt I was back on land. Delos, Mykonos and Rheneia
seemed tiny dry uncomfortable little points in the midst of
the ocean,
but in Naxos I could forget I was on an island. I expressed these
feelings to Aristotle.
'It is such a pleasure,' I exclaimed, 'to see cultivated land, the sort
of place where human beings can really live. There are barley fields
here, and olive groves, many olives. And look! Vineyards! True
vineyards with flourishing vines, stretching on and on. What a
welcome sight.'
'You might have guessed there would be vineyards, Stephanos,' said
Aristotle teasingly, 'had you but remembered the story of
Ariadne.'
'Ariadne was abandoned by Theseus in N axos,' I responded
promptly. 'Which was unfair, as without Ariadne he would not
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have conquered the Minotaur of Krete and set the Athenians free.'
'Quite so. But there you are. Theseus left her - an impatient youth
he seems, and one imagines they had some slight tiff. Poor Ariadne!
She wakes up, looks for her lover - there he is, gone! She looks out to
sea and at last spies his ship sailing westwards. He is going home to
Athens, without her. Forgetting all his promises.'
'He should have made no promises,' said Parmenion, unexpectedly
vocal. 'Then he wouldn't have broken his word. He broke another
word too, forgetting his promise to his father. So he left the black sail
on his ship, forgetting to put the white one in its place - and his poor
father Aigeus, watching at Sounion for his return, thought his son was
dead and plunged into the sea.'
'Yes. Another instance of
the tiresome thoughtlessness of
Theseus
and his inability to look into the essence of
a promise,' said Aristotle,
laughing. 'But let us consider the story of Ariadne. Abandoned in
Naxos. Of course she cries her eyes out. How she laments for her
faithless lover! What words she says to empty air, fruitless reproaches
to the absent one. But she is rapidly consoled. For lo! Comes the god
of wine and jollity, his eyes alight. Wearing (we may fancy) his
customary garb of skins of leopards, he comes in a rapid chariot,
drawn likewise by those useful animals. He sees Ariadne - her
problem is solved! She has a new lover to replace Theseus. Gold for
bronze. A god in place of a man.'
'Dionysos came to Naxos, yes,' I mused. 'Dionysos, the god of
passion, delight, and of
wine.'
'So - if we are inclined to the poetic, Stephanos, you and I may
imagine, in the midst of this hilly landscape, gleaming with marble
and green with vegetation, the Dionysian train. The clash of
cymbals,
the piping of
flutes. Satyrs dancing in the shade as the beautiful youth
advances. Ariadne's eyes glow as she gazes on this divine pheno-
menon. Seized with the ecstasy of the god, she gives herself to him,
and they are united.'
'You are rhapsodic, Aristotle,' I laughed.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'I got carried away by Dionysos. Ariadne was certainly too
passionate for Theseus, so she was better off. But my point - a mild
one - is merely that any island with such a strong association with
Dionysos, god of
wine, must have vineyards, and not a few.'
Thus we beguiled ourselves and our servants as we made our way
to Aristodamos' house. We were very glad to get off our sullen
mounts. But here another problem arose. As she dismounted, the
crippled Doris twisted her foot - her good foot. She cried out in pain.
'Oh! I can hardly walk. I should set out for Three Villages with the
fabric - what will my mistress say?' she keened. The dog, aroused by
her sorrow and anxiety, did his best to second her in a passion of
whining, and when she took off his muzzle gave voice to what was in
his heart in a series of indignant barks. Aristodamos, who had come
out to greet us, was the beneficiary of all this racket. He solved the
problem easily by asking Doris to stay in his house in the servants'
quarters until she was recovered, and he pushed her off into the care
of a little old woman who came blinking into the sunlight.
Aristodamos had a beautiful house, with marble statuary and
smooth floors. His many rooms offered fine accommodations for us
all. We were offered a wash, and water was brought to us in well-
wrought vessels. Then we were invited outside to sit in the shade of
the orchard until the last of
the day should cool.
'Time for dinner,' said Aristodamos. 'It is but a simple meal out of
doors tonight. I must apologise for a certain lack of service. I had
promised - before I knew you were coming, mind! - I had promised
my slaves that they could go to the cook's wedding party this evening
and tomorrow. Promises even to slaves or children are solemn things.
And I like to keep on the good side of
my cook. He's a free citizen of
these parts, and he invited all the household.'
With the assistance of his housekeeper, Aristodamos arranged
tables and chairs for us; amid sighs and exclamations of pleasure we
sat down under the trees, to be regaled on olives and other light
edibles, and some cool wine-and-water in delightful cups. The
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NAXOS
waning afternoon was yet warm, but a hill breeze refreshed the day.
As the sun slowly descended, the world was still and calm; long
shadows were cast by the olive grove and by the apple trees around
us. Most of the trees had given their fruit crop earlier in the summer,
but some grew in the shade of
the hill and their late apples were now
the proper colour for eating. A scent of ripeness wound through the
air. Bees and some wasps blundered about the fallen fruit.
'This is obviously an old orchard,' said Aristotle.
'It is so - and that is an ancestral olive grove.' Aristodamos was
pleased to speak of his homestead. 'My family has lived here since
before historical records began - but we can prove that I am at least
the tenth generation in this house. Of course we have made
alterations and improvements. Our family planted the trees and the
place is called "Apple Place" because of
us.'
'It is so wonderful to me, so refreshing,' I said sincerely, 'to be
again in a dwelling with fields and trees, a proper home. And this is
even more impressive because it is so old.'
'Ha. You like old things?' Aristodamos got up from his seat. 'Let
me show you something truly old - the fmest or at least most unusual
feature of
this orchard.'
He led the way through the trees a short distance. 'There!' he said,
pointing.
I saw an enormous shape, the shape of
a man lying down, his head
lower than his feet. The great body was dappled by the shadows of
the
apple leaves. 'Come closer and look at it.' So we pressed on and stood
over the man, a gigantic statue resting on the earth. I could make out
the legs clearly and the feet, and various details, but the face seemed
unfinished. That might have been just because the elements had
worked on it.
'What is it?'
'This statue was intended for one of
those temples in Delos, so we
think. Probably a statue of
Apollo, not just of
a kouros - see how big
it is. The figure has turned grey with age, but it is of Naxos marble
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
- from one of
those hills nearby. It
was worked on here, presumably.
Perhaps this field was a sculptor's yard in ancient days. And then -
unhappy sculptor! - it broke. You can see a deep crack in it. Once
the figure broke, it could not be offered to the god in a temple, and
nobody wanted it. So it was left here. An ancient image. You can
see the style is much more stiff than ours is now. How old this figure
is we cannot know. Our family have never known the orchard
without it.'
'Most distinguished,' said Aristotle. 'An ancient broken Apollo in
your orchard.'
'But he looks,' Parmenion pointed out, 'like a man who has been
sleeping in the orchard, taking a rest in the shade.' I thought exactly
the same thing.
Pleased with this exhibition of an uncommon feature of his
propeny, the charmingly hospitable Aristodamos led the way back to
our chairs and refreshments. The cicadas abated their shrill cry, a
breeze of
evening advanced, and the sun set in glorious colour tinting
the marble peaks. We retired early and slept well.
The next day was spent in delightful freedom, sleeping as long as
we liked, and walking about in the fresh air (except for Doris, who
neither worked nor walked but sat with her feet up). The servants
were still at the wedding, but Aristodamos decided we must have a
proper dinner.
'Perhaps it's a good thing that your friend's lame servant is here;
she can help myoId housekeeper, the only servant left at home to
mind the house's business. At least she has learned something from
my excellent cook. And if tonight is simple, we will make up for it
tomorrow.'
Despite the apology, the meal was my idea of splendid. We were
served as we reclined on beautiful couches in the most proper
manner, and the food was excellent. I particularly enjoyed succulent
young kid prepared in a most delicious sauce. Dishes were served and
taken away by the old housekeeper and her new assistant, the humbly
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NAXOS
apologetic and acutely limping Doris, who was more use in cleaning
pots and dishes in the kitchen than in running to and fro.
'I hope she doesn't break anything,' said Aristotle fretfully, and
asked Phokon to help. But it was not Doris who broke a dish. It was
a sweet evening with only one slight accident to mar it. Aristodamos
was talking instructively about the history of Naxos.
'You see,' he explained, 'my family were closely involved, like other
leading families of Naxos, with the affairs of Delos and the creation
of
the sacred site, long before Athens really thought of
Delos at all. By
our family's reckoning, we were on Delos long before we came to
Naxos, and I am the fifteenth generation of our family to be
associated with Delos. Exiles from Delos in a sense though we may
be, we regard ourselves as Delians as well as Naxians. Many of the
earliest beautiful buildings on Delos were erected through our
efforts.'
We murmured our appreciation.
'So,' I said, 'this island is old, if
you can go back ten or even fifteen
generations -'
'That is nothing, Stephanos. Men have lived here in Naxos for
uncounted time - probably as long as the Egyptians lived in their
country. Objects from that deep time come up when we plough the
fields, or build new moles in our harbours - or try to bury our dead.
Look at this, for instance.'
He rose and brought back from a cabinet a white marble statue-like
thing - very strange indeed. A thin, rather short figure of
marble stone
with a pointed head, featureless save for a triangular nose and thin
arms crossed around its middle. If
you looked closer you could see a
pubes scratched on the surface. A figure of a woman, but not really a
statue, not a good statue.
'Sometimes we speculate that this might be a goddess to the Old
People,' he remarked.
'Surely not,' I said. 'We know that goddesses must be beautiful.
This is simply odd.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'But of great historical interest, Stephanos,' urged Aristotle.
'And look at this - how long we have ornamented our pottery.'
Aristodamos picked up a fat little vase from the corner table. It was a
light sandy brown, painted in swirling dark brown, the bulging figure
and big eyes and rolling writhing rhythmic tentacles -
'An octopus,' I said.
'Lovely,' said Aristotle, taking the vase.
'Not lovely,' said I. 'An octopus is edible, but it's not pretty.
Anyway, I think this one in the painting has the wrong number of
legs.' I reached for the fat vase again - and dropped it. It shattered on
the floor. There was a collective in-drawing of
breath, while I wished
that I myself could simply fall and shatter on the floor.
'Dh no! How terrible!' I cried. 'I don't know how that came to
happen. Please let me pay for it -'
Aristodamos hushed me, and sent for the housekeeper to sweep up
the fragments.
'It doesn't have a price,' he said. 'It came out of
the earth ofNaxos.
And there must be many more in the earth, gifts from the people of
old.'
Feeling as badly as I did about this episode, I was extremely
anxious to retire to bed, and we all went off at the earliest
opportunity. Doris was sent to sleep with the old housekeeper, with
the dog beside her. Phokon was kept by Aristotle as a body servant,
not to intrude upon the currently all-female servants' quarters.
I woke up quite late, as I think we all did. The sun was fairly high
in the sky when I was told by Phokon that Aristodamos had ordered
a cool drink and some light refreshment to be served in the orchard.
Despite last night's great dinner I was in a humour for breakfast, and
joined the others with pleasure. Doris, stumbling along, helped to
serve us some bread, her face creased with anxious concern lest she
drop it. She had brought her pet with her, in its container.
It was most agreeable in the orchard, under the shade of
the apple
trees. I nearly went to sleep again.
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NAXOS
'The bees' buzzing is very soothing,' I remarked. 'There are no
bees at sea.'
'There is a great deal of
buzzing,' Aristotle agreed, 'but it's not just
the bees. There seem to be a quantity of
flies around today.'
'Some carrion or other,' said Aristodamos, unconcerned. 'Won't
somebody let that dog out of his basket and stop his whining? He
needs to run about - has to do the necessary, I suppose.'
With embarrassed apologies, Doris unfastened the dog basket and
also released the animal from its muzzle. The dog leaped out, tore
about, and then ran through the orchard. Suddenly it set up an
announcement of barks and whines. It came running back to us and
seemed to urge us to follow him.
'If it found a bone,' said Aristodamos, 'you'd think this creanire
would take it and say nothing.'
We trooped along to the place where the stone god lay. Now
somebody else lay there too. Somebody else, with his head down and
feet up, extended supine. Looking like a man taking his ease in a
shady orchard at midday, fallen into a pleasant nap. But this was no
sweet summer sleep. Nor was this new figure another marble god.
Aiskhines. Captain Aiskhines. The flies were right. He was certainly
dead.
'Ye gods!' I cried. 'How is he here? Did he come here to die?' I
think I had an absurd momentary feeling that Aiskhines had come
here to die because he wasn't allowed to do it in sacred Delos.
'Came here to be killed, by the look of it,' said Aristotle. 'See,
Stephanos - see, Aristodamos! Our captain has been stabbed, cleanly
with a knife. One good thrust alone -' He bent down to examine the
body closely. 'Yes. Gone straight to the heart, I should think. Very
little blood. And the knife -'
he groped around in the earth and leaves,
and shook out the garments of the captain. 'The knife that did it is
not here.'
'This is terrible! On our property, too,' said Aristodamos. 'Who
can have done this thing? Why - now - what? We must tell the
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
authorities. Get someone from the town of Naxos! What city, what
deme, does this dead person belong to?'
'He is of Peiraieus,' said Aristotle. 'Quick! I want to look at your
kitchens.'
Aristotle ran back to the house and we all followed. The kitchen
area was a pleasant place and remarkably clean. 'Let's look at your
knives,' Aristotle commanded. Aristodamos pointed to a container.
We found small knives in that. Some big knives were hanging up on
pegs at the wall, in handy readiness. 'None of them is bloody,' said
Aristotle. 'Remarkably fine condition. Your staff is obviously
excellent at cleaning.'
'There is a kind of
sand or grit that we have in Naxos that excels in
polishing of
all kinds -' Aristodamos was beginning to explain.
'Quite. Well, I cannot see any signs of
blood, even where the blade
meets the haft. Though one of these large kitchen knives could have
done the job. Unfortunate Captain Aiskhines! But what was he doing
here?'
'His poor crew,' I said. 'They will want to take the body home to
Peiraieus.'
'So they will when they know about it. They must be questioned.
But why was Aiskhines here? We need to find out. Had he come
seeking us at Aristodamos' house? Likely -
but why would he
undertake that arduous walk, if
that is what he did?' Aristotle paused
a moment. 'Let us say he knew something he wanted to tell us. We
must find out from the sailors, as soon as we can.'
'Those sailors have a double loss,' I reminded him. 'Their leader
and their livelihood! The ship belongs to the captain, not to them.
They cannot stay in Naxos. The ship must at once be returned to his
next of kin.'
'A point well taken,' said Aristotle, 'It makes it the less likely that
any of
the sailors would be moved to kill him.'
'But - who did kill this man?' asked Aristodamos. 'A horrible
deed has been done. We need to find the murderer. Why was this
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NAXOS
captain killed? Was he carrying money upon him?'
'I don't know. He isn't now. It's a good idea, to say he was killed
for money. If only,' Aristotle continued with unusual wistfulness, 'if
only he had been found in a deserted area, or down by the port - near
a tavern, or -'
'Well, we're not near the port,' said Aristodamos. 'And I cannot see
us ferrying a body down the mountainside to the harbour, like a doll.'
'I dare say not.'
'What a blessing for my servants that they were out last night,'
Aristodamos continued. 'They cannot be witnesses, so they won't
have to be tortured. Oh, but my poor nearly blind housekeeper - she
was here!'
The woman's face went ashen and she collapsed in a heap. 'Oh,
master, don't let them torture me,' she begged. 'I did nothing, I swear
it - I am as innocent as the babe just born.'
'I believe it,' said Aristodamos. 'But that's the law. Slaves cannot
give evidence without being tortured first. And then,' Aristodamos
went on, 'there's this lame Doris, whose dog discovered the body.
And your Phokon as well.'
Doris now collapsed in a heap and tried to take hold of
Aristodamos' knee. She burst out crying.
'Oh, no-o. Oh, gods, why did I accept a ride to this horrid dwelling!
What an ill fate! Demeter deliver me! Oh master, have pity on a poor
crippled woman.' The two women wailed and moaned. Phokon,
strong as he was, looked as ifhe were near doing the same.
'I simply refuse to have Phokon tortured,' said Aristotle stubbornly.
'He didn't see anything - he was with me. He's thoroughly trustworthy
- I have known him for years. And you know, Aristodamos, that I
didn't do it, and neither my friend nor my student did it.'
'We could have no kind of motive,' I said. "For we all liked this
captain, and we needed him to give us our passage to Kos.'
'Again, a good point, Stephanos. We now need to find another
ship, and that speedily.' Aristotle turned earnestly to Aristodamos.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF l.lFE
'Good friend, I most heartily regret that I have brought trouble on
your house. I fear that it is my coming that has brought this trouble,
because I have reason to think that my position in the world, my
safety and even my life are sought after by an enemy. It is for that
reason that I have left Athens - actually fled from Athens, though
with a good covering of story and business. I had no notion,
however, that my staying with you could bring trouble on your
household. But it may be that detaining us here and torturing my
servants and so on form part of the iniquitous ones' intention. For
on the very day that I met you in Delos, an apparent murder was
arranged. Not unlikely that was an effort to detain me. Now there is
a real killing. You are a good friend, 0 Aristodamos. I appeal to you.
The longer I am here, the more surely my own life will be
endangered. I beg you to let us go.'
'Let you go? You, Aristotle, who were always the champion of
justice!'
'A less than worthy champion, for I will admit that I want to save
my own life. And I am also responsible for the life of
the student - as
responsible as a parent. Answerable too in a different way for my
friend Stephanos, whose safety I may have risked. I hope that you will
be clear of danger once I have departed. As long as I am here, I fear
that you and your household are in trouble.'
'What do you propose?'
'Something unorthodox. This. Let word go casually to your
servants at the wedding party that they need not hurry home. They
will be glad to stay - wedding parties go on for many days. Let us
leave. The male slaves who conducted us hither are now all feasting
with the bridegroom. Little do they know their own happiness! But I
think Phokon and I can remember the route. We shall go back to
Naxos harbour and there take another ship for Kos. Thus we shall be
away. Once we are gone, you can "discover" the body. Perhaps it
would be much the best thing for this body to be found somewhere
else.'
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NAXOS
'Do you realise what you are saying?'
'It is much to ask. But now that we are in this danger, this strategy
would work best for yourself too. If the body were discovered
elsewhere, it would save your house much trouble. And I promise, I
could not lessen your trouble by staying here with you. Indeed, my
presence would greatly add to your danger.'
'Suspicion will fall on you.'
'Assuredly it will. But if I depart quickly, nothing worse than
suspicion should fall on me. I can do nothing about finding out the
real murderer if
I am kept in captivity - it will merely be easier for my
own enemies to get at me. '
'Please - oh please! Sir! Hear my plea! Let me go with
you, sir,' said
Doris, 'and I won't say nothing about seeing you here, not ever. Oh
please, sir -' and she clung to his knees.
'There's no need for you to come,' I said. 'If you go on to the
Three Villages as your mistress directed, no one will suspect you of
anything.'
'Oh, once the murder is out everyone in the Villages will know
when I came to Naxos, and your house. You know what gossip is. All
the slaves will know I was here. Besides -' in her agitation she pulled
at the hem of
Aristotle's garment - 'you're not thinking. Sir, any slave
who is thought of as a witness must be tortured! Once the case goes
before law, none of us will be safe. And my mistress is too far away
for me to appeal to her in time.' She wept over Aristotle's feet.
'Stop that!' said Aristotle. 'If
you choose to go back to the port on
one of Aristodamos' donkeys, I cannot prevent you. Nor can I
prevent you from buying a passage to somewhere -'
'Oh thank you! Sir, I thank you!' Doris hobbled off, her dog under
her arm, to find her bundle. Almost in the instant, she was ready to
depart. It
took us some time longer to gather our belongings, but not
much. Fear lent speed. Hastily bidding farewell, we set off on
donkeys down the first of
the mountainous hills, and made what felt
like an agonisingly slow journey back to the port.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Aristodamos' poor old housekeeper is in for it,' I remarked as we
descended. 'As soon as the authorities find out, they will put her to
the question. And under torture she will certainly talk about us.'
'She will. Unless Aristodamos thinks of
something ingenious.'
218
XIII
==~g~~==
a'-'G
Storm at Sea
I was hoping desperately to have a chance to talk with Aristotle alone.
On the way down the hill, when our two mounts drew level, I thought
it a good opportunity to speak with him.
'I wonder how Aristodamos will -'
He cut me off short. 'Wonder nothing, Stephanos.' There was a
silence as he seemed to gather himself together. 'Say nothing about
anything more weighty than the view,' he warned me. 'You don't
know where there are ears to hear -
passers-by, field slaves,
shepherds. All have ears. We may talk of the illness of Parmenion,
and how that is driving us forward in a hurry so that the sick boy can
be taken to his father.' He looked solicitously at Parmenion, who had
again taken on that pallid weary blanched look of
former days. Like a
marble kouros riding on an ass. I shivered. A marble kouros was often
a commemorative gift to the gods in memory of a young man who
died. I thought of the broken marble man lying so peacefully in the
leaf-shadow spangled orchard ...
It struck me after Aristotle's warning that one of the pairs of ears
ready to hear was Doris. Of course she was frightened too - at the
prospect of being taken for a witness. Soon too was Phokon,
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
pressing onward, anxious to escape from Naxos. And if these two
were tortured as witnesses, things would not go well with us either.
Their statements would surely lead to our being returned to Athens
in chains. The trial would have to take place in Athens. Two citizens
of
that city - no, one citizen (me) and one metoikos - taken to be tried
for the murder of one of the citizens of Athens from Peiraieus. Or
the Naxians might forget to oblige Athens in this way, and stimulate
a mob to kill us on the spot. Such a solution puts an end to the
tedium oflegal procedures. It also cuts short the humiliation of
a city
guilty (however ignorantly) of harbouring murderers. Official
apologies, statements of regret for killing another city's citizens in a
tantrum of justice, are easy to manufacture after the event.
At least, I thought, we were making good progress towards the port
ofNaxos, and might get away in time. There too we would be able to
get rid of the irritating Doris, who would want to keep her mouth
closed for her own sake. I hadn't quite realised the difficulties that we
might run into on our arrival at the port. We had hardly been long
enough to draw breath in the place than we met one of
the sailors, the
nautes who had talked to me so enthusiastically of Poseidon. I didn't
know what to say, but Aristotle handled the matter as adroitly as
possible. 'I am sorry,' he said, 'as I know you were going to be
employed in transporting the statue. But my protege here is becoming
ill. I am anxious to take him to Kos as soon as possible. We should
like to set off today.'
'Oh,' said the sailor. 'We did the statue job, easy. Didn't you see
our captain? Aiskhines was determined to go up to the place in the
hills to see you. I thought you would have met by now. What a pity
- somehow you must have crossed in the road. I don't know how you
could have missed him,' he added, 'for Aiskhines should have got to
your place last night. Though it looks all uphill. Well, maybe he
missed his way, not being familiar with Naxos. That's the likeliest
thing.'
'What was he coming to see us about?' Aristotle enquired. I pricked
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STORM AT SEA
up my ears: the answer could be of
importance.
'I don't rightly know. We finished the job of
transporting the statue
to Delos in a day.' He laughed. 'That man was so fussy - just about
one marble figure. Don't know why he wanted to pay so high and
make so much fuss over one old statue. But we got it smartly to Delos,
and the sea was favourable, so we were back again before evening. He
- Aiskhines - and all of us were having a meal, sitting on the strip by
the port, with lots of people going by, gossiping and looking at the
harbour. And Aiskhines suddenly jumps up and says he has a message
for you he forgot to deliver. So he goes off to find you. There was a
moon later, so it
wouldn't be hard to travel in the evening, and he had
an idea where the house was.'
'How surprising! I don't really understand what the message can
have been,' said Aristotle.
'I fear that if Aiskhines does not come very
soon, I must try to find other transport. I regret this more than words
can say. But I will pay you something handsome in recompense for
not shipping us to Kos.'
And to recompense you for the loss of your captain and your
employment, I thought but did not say.
'Sir.' Another nautical sort of man had joined the group. He was
tall and rangy, deeply sunburned, with friendly large blue eyes, large
and wide apart. 'I couldn't help overhearing - do you need a ship and
crew to take you to Kos? For I am captain and owner of a keles
likewise, and my crew and I are bound for Kos.'
'You are willing to take passengers on such short notice?'
Aristotle's tone was a trifle sharp.
The man shrugged. 'We have no passengers at present. It would
certainly suit our treasury to take someone aboard. For a fee. I won't
pretend the offer is disinterested.' He laughed, and his eyes had a
friendly twinkle. 'But my ship is a tight seaworthy craft, built for
speed. I think you are concerned about getting there as quickly as
possible. Am I right?'
'Yes. Since this young man is not well,' said Aristotle, looking at
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Pannenion, freshly metamorphosed again into the excuse and
explanation for our journey and our haste.
'Sorry to hear it. Reason to hope - Kos is the healing island, after
all. I am a native ofKos. Nikias of
Kos, at your service. My ship is the
Nike. It is good to name a boat after victory. Though it's a sort of
compliment to my name too - Nikias. She skims along like a bird.
Used to be named The Swallow. I assure you, sirs, my men are first-
class rowers. And we also carry sail. As you see.'
Captain Nikias had drawn us to the quayside by his ship, and we
could see the men arranging the sail about the mast, mending ropes
and examining their oars.
'It will not inconvenience you? You really can leave today?'
'Certainly. We have little cargo, but we carry marketable stones,
rough marble pieces, as ballast, so it won't pitch bad. We should get
going smartly. The longer you wait, the more stonns you run into, my
experience. '
'Aristotle,' I said, 'this seems like a godsend. Let us go - and get as
safely away from stonns as we can.'
Aristotle, frowning, made his calculations, and then paid off the
crew of the Eudaimonia, and told Phokon and Pannenion to board
the new craft. The Nike looked comfortable enough, although slightly
more slender than the keles we had been on earlier, with a much more
pointed prow. 'I dare say,' said Aristotle, following my gaze, 'that this
was an active warship once, and that explains the prow. The Nike
seems well built - carries a larger sail than our other ship.'
'Built for speed. I promise you that. Once one of ships in
Alexander's service. And we have a large crew. As well as myself,
there is a mate to assist in navigation and management, and a
boatswain to chant the keleusma. So we can go on without a break -
even at night, if need be. And, as all of us can take an oar when
necessary, we can get up much more speed than that other craft -'
with a glance towards the Eudaimonia.
'I dare say you charge accordingly,' said Aristotle, smiling, 'but I
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STORM AT SEA
certainly have no objection to the extra crew if it means more speed,
since speed is a consideration with us. As 1 told you, we are anxious
to take our invalid boy to Kos without delay.' He glanced at the pale
Parmenion.
'Shall we prepare to cast oft?'
'No - no. First we must invite the family with the sick child to come
with us. That was a promise, Stephanos, and promises to gods and
men - and not least to children - must be honoured.'
Phokon was sent on this errand. People hanging around the wharf
side in hopes of
earning a hemi-obol or two knew where the strangers
lodged and promised to conduct him to their door. Meanwhile, we
were arranging our own baggage ourselves, when 1 heard an all too
familiar voice:
'One of
you sailors will have to carry or catch me on account of
my
lame leg. And put the dog's basket in first.'
To my astonishment, Doris and her dog were preparing to embark
also. Aristotle went hastily over to her, standing in her way so she
could not easily get on board.
'Woman, 1 thought we were saying farewell today. 1 thought you
wished to return to Delos. You can go back to Delos. Farewell now. 1
had not promised to carry you to Kos! Our agreement was to take you
back to Naxos only.'
'Sir! Oh, 1 won't be any trouble! 1 need to go to Kos, too! Oh please!
You know well why. 1 will not embarrass you and myself by talking of
such matters in front of
others.' She put her hand to her belly, leaving
our overhearers free to imagine that she had some woman's malady
which prompted her desire for Kos. 'I will be better if! can get to Kos.
And you will find me utterly faithful. You can count on my fidelity. 1
can be entrusted with anything, sir. Always reliable. Always. If
you let
me go to Kos.'
'It's not really -'
'Otherwise -' Doris continued, as if
she had not heard him, 'I'm so
scared of what might happen! Nobody wants to die, sir, we have to
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
consider that. I'm a poor weak creature, and when things pain me I
cannot stand it. I do not want to die.'
Her whole speech struck me as remarkably clever, coming from a
slave - and a woman at that, a poor limping creature to boot.
Aristotle's face twitched. He understood all too well. I did too. Doris
had power over us, for she could tell her interrogators that Aristotle
and I had been visiting Aristodamos at the time that Aiskhines had
been killed, and that we knew about the corpse. If
Aristodamos had
made any efforts to change the body's location, Doris' testimony
would make matters much worse for him. She had managed to tell us
all this in adroit secret-keeping speech. Her fear, however genuine
and however great, clearly had not stupefied her wits.
'Come aboard, then,' was all Aristotle said. And Doris, with many
excuses and complaints about her own clumsiness, was helped
aboard by the sailors, and settled as of
yore beside the whining dog in
his wicker box. The family with the little girl came alongside too.
Captain Nikias looked at this domestic group a little dubiously.
'You sure you wish to come aboard? I wouldn't advise it. If
I were
you, I'd stay here. Wait for your other ship. The seas are high and we
shall pelt through the steep waves. People often have to endure great
discomfort before they reach their journey's end.'
'Oh, yes, we must go. The sooner the better, now we are on our
way,' said the grandfather Hermippos. The little family, with their
diminutive slavewoman, were helped aboard. The child Philokleia
was wheezing piteously; her grandfather claimed it was because of
the
dust, and the dirt of
the household in which they had been staying.
'She'll be better at sea, I hope,' he said.
Indeed, the child's eyes brightened as the captain lent her his hand
to help her get on the ship, and she smiled at him as we cast off. I too
felt the consolation in being again in the care of a captain, a strong,
reliable and attentive person who knew how to manage the ship and
seas, and how to take care of us all. Harkening once more to the
familiar and comforting rhythm of
the keleusma and dipping oars, we
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STORM AT SEA
proceeded out of
the harbour of Naxos. Once more we were in what
I thought of as Aristotle's world of
light and colour. Sun shone upon
the sea, which grew deeper and darker.
'How very deep a blue the water is now,' I said to Aristotle, really
in order to say something. If
we could not converse about what most
concerned us, it would yet seem unnatural for us not to address each
other.
'Yes. Like the hue of the Indian gemstone, the hyacinth stone,'
Aristotle replied, looking likewise at the deep waves.
In silence we watched for a long while as Naxos receded. Naxos,
splendid in the rich midday sun, its glowing peaks like marble waves.
That lovely island, which now held so foul a secret - and an ugliness
from which we were running away. We seemed always now to be
fugitives, Aristotle and myself. But this was more starkly serious than
the mysterious unpleasantness in Athens. Aiskhines' death was more
final, the mystery of his killing more grim and urgent than mere
menaces, however grotesque. Worse (from our point of view, at
least), Aristotle and I were now implicated in a murder. Suppose
Aristodamos felt his safest course was to go to the magistrates and
complain about us? The noble Naxian might be ready to sacrifice us
to the law, and his slave housekeeper to torture. Then the woman
would certainly scream out all she could about our own presence and
the likelihood that the visiting strangers had killed the sailor. Neither
Aristodamos nor his housekeeper, however, would be able to supply
any motive for our killing our good-hearted captain. But as there was
nothing to stop them from inventing motives, that was small comfort.
Worst of all, we were certainly in the way of a determined killer.
The decorous functioning of the law offered us all a bare chance at
life, at least. In the time it would take to transport Aristotle and myself
back to Athens in chains, perhaps new information would come to
light. But a man determined to slice your throat is quicker and more
lethal than the law. Unlike a jury, such a man does not stop to wrangle
over niceties, like a rhetorician, but goes straight to his point. Were
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
we perhaps genuinely obnoxious to the killer? Were we just in his
way? Or were we mere bystanders? Perhaps this unknown murderer's
quarrel was simply with the seafaring Aiskhines.
I puzzled over the motive, but could make little headway. Either
somebody in Aristodamos' house had killed our poor captain, or he
was followed to the place, and to the orchard, when he came up those
long hills from the port. Why was the captain in the orchard, ifhe was
coming to speak to us? Why had he come to Aristodamos' estate at
all? What - or whom - had he seen that made him wish to speak
urgently to Aristotle? So anxious that he was willing to give himself
the trouble and fatigue of
that long uphill journey. Some man he had
seen - but whom? Something he had overheard - but what? If
Aiskhines' death involved some dishonest professional business on
his part, such as secret trading and tax avoidance, he and criminal
confederates might fall out. But that should not have involved us.
I longed to talk about all this with Aristotle, but could not. We were
under great constraint. It was necessary to ensure that the new crew
did not suspect anything untoward, and we also had to keep our
secrets from the little family from Laurion. Aristotle and I watched
Doris, and she watched us - like inimical hawks. Doris did nothing
remarkable, and prosed on to the women about her aches and pains,
or her need to use the pot, in a highly normal manner.
'Now gentlemen - and ladies too' - Nikias smiled at the child
Philokleia - 'I must warn you that we have a long voyage ahead. We
cross the Aegean here. It's not like hopping around the Kyklades. We
can stop for a while in Amorgos, but it would be going out of
our way
to try to take anchorage in any islands after that - any islands of
good
size are all south of us. So after Amorgos we go straight on eastward
to Kos. And then the wind will blow and the billows will heave, I
promise you. It is a long passage for my rowing men, and they must
not be disturbed by coming to your aid. They cannot hold your head
over the basin while you puke! So - bear up and we shall press on.
Going quick with the favouring winds we shall soon be at the end, and
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STORM AT SEA
all our troubles over.'
We all attended to this and were internally ready to put up with
whatever might befall. Certainly the ship drove on well through the
waves, and the waves were great. The short interval on land in Naxos
had slightly unfitted me for seagoing again, and I felt queasy the first
day. I did not much care - bodily discomfort was a distraction from
the anxiety that tormented me; I kept pulling my mind away from the
image of Aiskhines with his throat cut.
Even when the water was calm (relatively calm), so that we could
see other ships in the nearer distance, I could not really talk with any
of my companions - at least about anything that mattered. I tended
to brood in long reverie. I thought penitently of my mother. Dear
Mother, who had always been so kind to me. Mother, who had saved
my life by attentive nursing (and also by maintaining the helpful
fiction that I was at death's door) at a very dangerous time a couple
of years ago. Now I had sent poor Mother, the only human being on
earth who loved me fully, away from her own house and into the
keeping of a man not really a relative. What a shame! Suppose he
abused her - Robbed her? Starved her? Suppose Smikrenes -living as
a single man and a kind of widower - took a sexual fancy to her and
pressed his attentions? The thought was too sickening, though it
seemed absurd. But it was not absurd to question that old peasant's
temper. Suppose the ill-humoured man beat my little brother? What
could my mother do to prevent it? I had cast my family into danger
thinking I was guarding them, and had gone off on a wild chase after
someone else's heir. The only thing I had gained from this selfish
journey so far was to learn what seasickness meant, and to risk severe
danger from the law. How did I know that my own foolish quest had
not helped to bring an unjust fate upon the unfortunate Aiskhines?
I hoped to behave better if
I were allowed to go back to Athens and
live in peace. I would amend my life. I would stop spending the family
money so selfishly, going to brothels and buying hot food at public
stands instead of going home to eat. My mother never expressed any
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
disapproval of the brothel-going, which she must have guessed at;
indeed, she probably considered it necessary for my health. But the
hot-food stands were a subject of
contention between us from time to
time. 'A head of a household, Stephanos, does not eat out in the
public markets or on the roads! A head of a household - a man who
is a gentleman - comes home to eat. It is frugal, and means he is keep-
ing an eye on the servants, as well as keeping company with his own
family.' Yes, I would change my ways ...
'When I get home,' I suddenly informed Aristotle, 'I mean to stop
spending so much money on prostitutes, and to cut out sausages in
the Agora and so on. Completely.'
'These are evidently good resolutions,' said Aristotle. 'Do not take
a vow or anything of
that sort, I beseech you, Stephanos. We so often
feel differently once we are on shore.'
I felt put out, seeing he thought I was making these decisions under
the effects of
seasickness. I had adjusted to the sea by this time, even
when our craft went rapidly. Some other ships had left Amorgos at
the same time, and seemed inclined to race us; we encountered them
sporadically, popping suddenly into view amidst the foam. Even
speeding along in the midst of great waters, I was feeling quite well,
in body, if not in mind. Soon, however, a change ensured that none
of
us could feel extremely well.
After a night in which we kept going, under a favourable wind and
with half
of
the rowers on watch, another dawn came. This dawn was
hazy and misty, with a whiteness over the sky. It felt hot and stuffy,
even here on the deep sea, which was now like the colour of
skimmed
milk. The sUn was, of course, rolling along in his usual path, but
Apollo's orb was hidden by clouds and mist, so that it looked like a
gold coin rather than the radiant light-giver.
'Dirty weather ahead,' said the captain. 'Up sail again and see if
we
can outrun it, men!'
We made good headway for a time. Then the breeze slackened,
and the sail flapped disconsolately. Abruptly, before the mast could
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STORM AT SEA
be taken down, the wind reversed itself and blew strongly from the
north-east, spinning us almost completely around. Indeed, I could
see that our captain Nikias had to yield to the wind to avoid our
being swept broadsides. He ordered the mast to be taken off and laid
in the hold, so we now went without sail, only with oars. At least we
were in less danger of
being blown to nothing. Suddenly there was a
low mutter of thunder. It came after us - so it felt - pursued us
with peal after peal. Lightning flashed. Heavy bursts of
rain fell upon
us. It
was not possible for anyone to stay dry. Aristotle and I and the
old grandfather and even Parmenion all took a hand at bailing out
our poor ship as rain and waves sent water upon our craft. As we all,
men and women alike, wanted our lives saved, even the women
joined us - Philokleia and her mother, their old slave and even
crippled Doris.
'All hands stay at oars!' the captain commanded. 'Mind the
position - we don't want to be shoved upon Lektera!' The men bent
at the oars, and strained anxiously to hear his signals heartily ready for
any manoeuvre that would help us to elude the wildest waves.
The storm was an unyielding enemy - and the sea the greater
enemy. For now, chafed by the winds which were pushing the sea
from different sides, the waves grew immensely tall. We almost
surrendered ourselves to the baneful ocean. The waves were now
peaks like mountain tops, looming over us. It was night, but no moon
or stars were to be seen. It was totally dark, darkness complete, only
ceasing to be absolute deprivation oflight when the bolts from heaven
flew for a moment across the sky.
The sea was pitch black in the shadow of the darkness. Our ship
now rode up towards the invisible heavens, now fell with a plunge
into the interminable black gulf
where death awaited us. Death began
to seem quite welcome. The wind was behaving very strangely -
winds, rather, puffing at us from all sides, so they blew about in circles
bringing water up from the deeps to spray upon us - as if
we needed
more! The whole universe was awhirl around us, with the sky-fire
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
leaping from time to time across the heaven, sometimes shooting at
and hitting the water close by us, or so it seemed. Eventually more
fire joined in the game, with odd flashes of
light dancing above us, like
stars but much closer. Nikias addressed these round bits offrre as the
Dioskouroi, Heaven's Twins. He and the sailors said prayers aloud to
them, as these peculiar balls of light flame rolled about us. Some of
the sailors said this was a saving sign. Then the balls of fire
disappeared, and we were left in dark rain, dark wind, dark water
once more.
I had long wished for death, and yet I kept on bailing out, throwing
my pathetic bucketful of water overboard as more came in. On and
on, the same relentless powers, the same darkness ... it was impos-
sible to tell if
it was still night, or if
the day had continued to be as the
night had been. At last I thought I felt a slackening in the violence of
the waves, and the rain actually ceased to fall. This respite allowed us
to advance in our work, and the water level in the hold began visibly
to diminish. Now some of
the sailors could be spared to help us bail,
and that made us feel better than we had done for a long time. We felt
better too when a thin strip of light amid the clouds promised some
daylight at last.
'Captain! A ship! - North - just north!'
The youngest member of the crew drew the captain's attention to
a ship in the distance to our left.
'Who knows whether that's north, you monkey,' growled one of
the
older men. 'No stars in the night, and we've been turning around like
a scrap of bark in a cascade. Heaven knows which way we're
pointing.'
'I say the monkey is right,' said Captain Nikias. 'It is north. And
this is morning - later than dawn, but still a morning by the look of
it,
and therefore we know what way is east. Put up the sail, boys!'
I watched eagerly in the sluggishly growing light as we drew closer
to the other vessel. Even before we got to it, it was obvious that it was
a large passenger ship. Not a trireme, yet a long vessel with two
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STORM AT SEA
complete banks of oars and a capacious hold. It was certainly big
compared to our own craft. Only, as we got close to it, we could see
that this big ship had suffered terribly in the storm. The sailors had
not been able to ship the mast and remove the crossbar holding the
sail, and this yardarm hung in splinters, with some tangled shreds of
sail around it.
'Captain! We can easy go on board! Can we-'
To my suprise the captain gave the excited youth a terrific blow
across the face. It was a wonder the boy had a jaw left. He wobbled
on his feet, and his eyes stared nearly out of his head. Yet he was
well disciplined enough to say nothing.
'Hush, you monkey!' said the captain. 'Quiet, or there's more
where that came from! Men in their business doesn't want to be
disturbed by boys' babbling or yapping. Deciding what to do - you
leave that to your betters. Let's see what the matter is.'
We cruised with relative ease, given the still-heaving water, and
with admirable efficiency our craft drew level and hung off beside
the injured ship.
Now we could see how the mast had suffered. A burned or
scorched spot on the ship's side clearly showed that it must have
been struck by lightning. The vessel was listing markedly, and men
were bailing with frantic haste. We could hear a low moaning from
injured passengers, though whether these were victims of lightning
bolt or falling objects or just seasickness I could not tell.
'Shall we board and -'
'Hush, boy. Let me speak to her captain first.' Captain Nikias
hailed the other ship, and the distraught captain came over to talk
with us.
'We can assist you, probably,' said Nikias. 'Do you want us to
come on board? Many passengers injured? How about your crew?'
'Oh, sir!' The captain of
the thunderstruck ship was visibly shaken.
'Five men swept overboard - five good oarsmen! And two passengers.
We have about one hundred passengers on board. Some of
these are
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
important men, bearing messages for Alexander. So it would be a
great service if you could take them on your ship, seeing as you are
undamaged. You're bound for - ?'
'For Kos,' said Captain Nikias. 'And I could. For a fee. Nowhere
else than Kos, mind.'
'Should do. I think most were going to Rhodos - that's near Kos.
Someone is going to what used to be Halikamassos,' responded the
captain of
the damaged vessel. 'We would be glad to set them on their
way,' he continued, his tone expressing a limited relief. 'They could
put in a good word for me, too, and say it wasn't my fault but the
storm's. We are bound to be late.'
'As I can swear, too, in your excuse,' said Nikias. 'But your ship is
not in mortal danger, seemingly, though it's surely damaged. Unless
- what's making her list so bad to one side?'
'Cargo of woollens and hides,' said the unfortunate captain
ruefully.' Just our luck! Of course the water has saturated them.'
'Best toss them all overboard,' said Nikias curtly.
'Aye, and we've still got to patch up the vessel before we can go on.
Luckily, we have our spare mast, and some cloth for a sail, though it's
soaked.'
'Well, we'd best leave you to all your repair work, neighbour, and
be going on. Give me a few male passengers. No women, at any price.
And no more than ten. Put out the grapples men, easy, so as to go
alongside. '
The two ships were held together by grappling-hooks, and there
was now a scrambling among the dishevelled passengers. Several
came clamouring to us swearing they were carrying important
dispatches - several whose claims others seemed inclined to dispute,
including the sailors belonging to the distressed ship.
'That one's no more carrying dispatches than my aunt!'one sailor
said in disgust, firmly, removing a passenger who was trying to climb
across to our ship. Luckily, the crying women and children made no
attempt to move. But the important men were eager to escape their
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STORM AT SEA
injured craft, and a group soon gathered; these personages were more
or less decorously pushed into the Nike.
'And you, citizen Koriskos, are you not coming with us?' one of
those who had just joined us entreated his companion, who was
standing on the splintered deck of
the injured boat.
'No,' said this calm citizen, steadily surveying us. 'I am quite well
where 1 am, thank you. 1 and my embassy will continue on this vessel.
Without paying extra. 1 think here we know the worst.'
'But the vessel may sink! You will drown!'
'And it may not, and 1 may live. Who knows what safety is?'
Koriskos shrugged. 'Somehow, 1 think 1 shall get my embassy to
Alexander and his generals. We shall do our best to keep dry, and to
get there unbroken.'
'Well- who'd have thought it!' The new arrival turned to us, in
order to have someone to whom to express his wonderment. 'That
ship has been through - 1 cannot tell you! It must be ready to fall
apart. How Koriskos can trust her 1 do not know.'
'No accounting for tastes,' said Nikias, making ready to set off
again.
His men rather sullenly unhooked the grapples, while Aristotle
leaned forward and spoke to the other ship: 'Good citizen Koriskos,
1 know you, and 1 knew your father. Pray, when you arrive in Asia on
your embassy, remember me, Aristotle, to Alexander, and to my
nephew Kallisthenes. 1 am Aristotle of Stageira, dweller in Athens.'
Koriskos stared. 'You there, Aristotle - the philosopher? 1 recollect
you. How goes it with you?'
'I am travelling here, on the ship of Nikias of Kos, with my friend
Stephanos of Athens and my student Parmenion. We are well
enough, despite a testy night. 1 hope you are the same. Our captain
Nikias is very able. 1 wish you a good journey, by all the gods, and
good speed!'
Aristotle sat down again, under the grumbling of
the men who were
hastening to get out their oars and settle on their benches. They
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
seemed put out, perhaps because of the extra work after a long hard
night. They had suffered delay, and now an addition to their load.
Our mast was put up and we went off, leaving the damaged vessel to
get rid of its sodden cargo and patch itself up as best it might. The
men who had joined us gave fussy thanks for their deliverance, and
settled themselves. I thought they might have had more compassion
for their former fellow-passengers, still stuck on the dangerous listing
vessel. But then, I too was thankful that our ship was whole and
sound (more or less), and that we were speeding forward to Kos once
more.
'That's a relief,' said Aristotle.
'You mean that the sun's out and we're on our way.'
'Yes, that. And that I spoke to Koriskos. Now Alexander will know
where we are.'
'Or where we were,' I pointed out.
234
XIV
==~9_P~=
c)'-'G"
The Healing Island
The day grew brighter, the sea a little calmer, and we made our way,
not without difficulty, towards our destination.
'Got blown off
a bit,' said Nikias. 'We're nearer Cape Lektera than
I'd like. Dangerous rocky sort of place. See, if Kos is like a big fish,
then Lektera's the tail, and we want to get to the fish's mouth, so to
speak. To the new city and port of Kos near the shrine to Asklepios
and so on. There was an old city, in the south-west of
the island - but
that was destroyed by the Spartans.'
We agreed that we wanted the port of
the new city of
Kos, near the
Asklepion. We went on fast enough, after more bailing. The men
were tired and inclined to ill-humour; I noticed they spoke in
disparaging tones of the large ship. 'An old tub, warped and crazy-
take everything to the bottom with her, so she will,' one sailor
remarked gloomily. 'Oh well,' rejoined his companion, 'not much
loss. Cargo was only wools and hides.' I felt disgusted at his lack of
feeling - if not for the passengers, then for the vessel's oarsmen.
'Now you see,' said Nikias, 'the advantage of
our little cargo. Rough
stones of marble. Ballast when we want 'em, and cargo if and when
we like. Seawater does them no good, but no great harm either - and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
they don't swell up and cause trouble. I'd hate to be a shipper of
grain! Hides is about the worst in a long run, it's so hard to throw 'em
overboard once they've swole up. Stones, now, they're easy tossed
over if
need arises. And we can sell the marble without much trouble
- carvers here can make it into plaques and small figures and so on.'
We sailed into the harbour of Kos eventually, for which we gave
proper thanks to the gods who had seen us though our dangerous
journey. The little family were especially vocal regarding their inten-
tion of going to the local shrines as soon as they could, in order to
offer particular thanks to Poseidon and also to the Dioskouroi, the
Heavenly Twins, who appear as rescuers in moments of
crisis and had
appeared to us in balls of
fire aboard the Nike. The landing itself was
easy; Kos harbour was nicely fitted up with a good mole. 'Had to be,'
said Nikias, when 1 commented on this fact. 'Alexander used it for his
fleet for a bit.'
At last the feet of myself, Aristotle, Parmenion and Phokon tasted
dry land. Although we walked in a rather wobbly fashion, we gave
hearty thanks to be on firm ground. The easy harbour offered a
smiling prospect. The city, climbing up the gentle hills and spilling
around its port, looked, at first glance, a prosperous place. Aristotle
paid off
the captain Nikias, adding a gift to his men for bringing us so
successfully through the storm. The men still seemed contentious,
however, perhaps because they feared they would not get their share
of
the payment. 1 saw them as we turned away, arguing - a couple of
them quite fiercely - with Nikias.
We were too tired to go far for a residence, and took lodgings at the
first place we could find. Doris insisted on coming with us. 'Just until
1 can get word to my mistress,' she explained. 'I want to stay with
respectable folks.' The little family too was looking for lodgings with
us, and we all came to the same house, one respectable enough for
Doris and large enough for all of
us. It
was quite a nice house, really,
and the garden was large enough to allow us men to sleep out of
doors, in the coolness. Of
course the mother and the little girl were to
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THE HEALING ISLAND
sleep indoors. Best of all, we told the people that Doris was acting as
our slave, and she had to go to the kitchen quarters and gut fish.
The owner of the house was a fishennan at least part of the time,
and he ensured a steady supply of
food from the sea. So we ate well,
with fresh olives and grilled fish and fresh beans and green stuff, and
loaves just cooked by our landlady. They promised us better fare on
the morrow, and an abundance of fruit including fresh figs and
apples.
'The vegetables and fruit on Kos are justly celebrated,' said
Aristotle. 'This is the best watered of these islands, known for the
perfection of its air and its waters. Hence Hippokrates and others
have chosen it as their centre for health. This is a centre for the
service of
Asklepios and it is known for the training of doctors.'
During this brief lecture the grandfather and the mother looked
anxiously at the child Philokleia. She was not wheezing or coughing;
1 thought that Kos might prove of
benefit after all. Nikias of
Kos had
told us this was the healing island. 1 myself felt relief and pleasure, as
if! had just recovered from an illness - really, as 1 had been delivered
from the sea.
'I wish 1 could stay here,' 1 said to Aristotle. 'Unfortunately 1 must
leave this wholesome island and go on to Rhodos to look for my
prospective bride's uncle.'
'Wait until we have made some enquiries here,' he advised.
1 was anxious to talk to Aristotle alone. At last there were no sailors
about to overhear us. Doris was shaken off, doing servant's work in
the house. 1 recommended that Parmenion take a rest in the orchard
with Phokon to look after him. Then Aristotle and 1 were able to go
for a quiet stroll in a secluded place, and at last 1 could repeat to him
the questions 1 had asked of myself: What had our good captain
Aiskhines seen - or heard - that made him decide to come after us all
the way up those hills to Aristodamos' house? Was he really trying to
speak to us? Was it barely possible that he was bound on some other
business altogether - smuggling, for instance, or some love intrigue -
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
so that he just happened to find himself
in Aristodamos' garden - and
to find himself dead?
'These questions,' said Aristotle, 'are the same as I have asked
myself. The sea journey gave me leisure for silent reflection, but no
answers. I think as you do, that it is unlikely that the captain had any
business in the hills of Naxos other than what concerned ourselves.
From what the sailor said, it is likely that he saw something or
overheard a remark of importance. Perhaps some facts just fitted
together suddenly in his mind.'
'Miltiades,' I said hesitantly. 'The sailor thought it odd that
Miltiades made so much ado over shipping one not very large statue.
Of course, it might be of value for its antiquity, and sailors aren't
judges of art. But did Miltiades try to get our sailors out of the way
for a while? And was he disappointed that they performed their task
so expeditiously?'
'I agree that the part played by Miltiades is not clear. He may be
just a businessman. It sticks in my mind that he was very anxious to
tell the magistrate in Delos that we were involved in a murder and
a disappearance. Yet he came to our ship, all smiles, the next day.
Something not quite right there. Our good captain, an intelligent
man, may have made some deductions of his own. It seems most
probable that Aiskhines came to Aristodamos' dwelling in order to
warn us of
something. But he was killed before he could talk.'
'Nobody alerted the household,' I observed. 'If
Aiskhines came late
at night, he was an intruder and the house-dog should have barked.
Or Doris' dog. But there was no noise in the night time.'
'No dog did anything in the night time,' agreed Aristotle.
'Aristodamos suspects that his own house-dog had followed one of
the slaves, who is the dog's great favourite. The slave either didn't
notice (which is what he will say) or he encouraged the animal to join
the party (more likely). As for Doris' lame dog, she must have left it
muzzled, so it physically could not bark. Hard to keep a dog from
barking any other way. Even if it knows the person - if that person
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unexpectedly turns up on the premises late at night, a dog will bark.'
'Even if muzzled, it should have whined. Of
course,' I speculated,
'perhaps it is as well we didn't awaken and investigate when Aiskhines
came. An investigator might have been murdered as well.'
'Possibly so. Somewhere, Stephanos, there is a determined enemy
at work. Remember the events on Delos and Mykonos. An attempt
was made in Delos to prevent us from moving on, with the suspicion
of
foul play - the blood on the ship. Philokhoros - of
whom we know
next to nothing! - having caught our attention, was actually spirited
away, by persons unknown, who took a great deal of trouble to
inveigle him away and tie him up. His slave boy was possibly stolen -
or possibly acted in collusion (either forced or voluntary) with the
kidnappers. And Philokhoros, the unfortunate man who was nearly
thrown to the pigs, must have been decoyed away - did you notice
this? - just at the time we were talking to Doris' mistress.'
'I didn't like that woman,' I agreed. 'Nor do I like her slave Doris
any better.'
'And now Doris seems almost part of
our household. By the way, I
hope you noticed how adeptly I have evaded the charge of slave-
stealing, by indicating that we have borrowed the slave - indicating our
intention to pay. I wish that dreadful Kardaka would reclaim her
property! But I wonder if we'll see that lady again. Perhaps her
purpose has been served. Was she a tool? But whose? And why? Yet,
it is suspicious, Philokhoros' abduction and being tied up coinciding
with our being tied up - metaphorically only - in the interview with
Kardaka.'
'But it may just be a coincidence. After all, our interview with
Kardaka wasn't actually very long. You know, we really spent much
more time going up the hill Kynthos and looking at the view. And that
was at my insistence - Philokhoros may have been abducted because
I wanted to see the shrine of
Herakles and the view from Kynthos. So
it is my fault too, in a way.'
'If
you have a fault, Stephanos,' said Aristotle, laughing, 'it is that
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
you are somewhat too fond of
strenuous uphill walks to make you the
ideal companion for an old person. Philokhoros' abduction is not
your fault. Philokhoros - who is he? We know only what he has told
us. We do not know why he was abducted in that manner. What
purpose could it possibly serve?'
'Maybe,' I suggested, 'Philokhoros has an enemy of his own who
wants to finish him oft?'
'Why didn't this enemy do it, then?' Aristotle retorted. 'If the
murderer brought him to the brothel, he had the perfect chance for
murder. Or is Philokhoros in possession of some secret - and was he
secured in the pigpen so he could later be interrogated by this
"Solon"? Was Philokhoros really abducted, or was he pretending -?
No, it is nonsense to think any man of
birth or breeding would allow
himself to be bound and tossed in the pigpen for a stratagem.'
'Now what will happen? What do you think Aristodamos will do? -
has done?'
'Aristodamos,' mused Aristotle, 'is a man of exceedingly good
reputation, and very ancient lineage, who has the happiness not to be
overlooked by a lot of
inquisitive neighbours. He had with him when
we left one devoted servant, a woman terrified for her life. She would
do anything to aid him and avert disaster. Aristodamos is an
intelligent man.'
'Do you mean, he will give us up to justice - if he can make some
sort of
bargain about her?'
'Oh, do think, Stephanos! But there,' he caught himself, 'who am
I to say that I am such a prophet I can certainly tell what Aristodamos
will do? I know what I think he will have done after we left. He will
take the rational way out of the difficulty, if he can. I think the body
of Aiskhines will be discovered - probably by now it has been
discovered - well away from Aristodamos' "Apple Place". Probably
in some ravine or vale among those steep Naxian hills. Most likely we
shall eventually hear that the body of
Aiskhines has been transported
to Athens in the Eudaimonia by his crew, and that these injured and
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puzzled sailors, along with the family of the murdered man, are
demanding justice of
the authorities. There will be proclamations and
questions.
'
'So in any case our names will come up?'
'Our names will inevitably be mentioned - if
not sooner, then later.
It is not unlikely that a magistrate in one of
these islands will eventually
get hold of
us. We need to make some good local friends as quickly as
possible. Also, I was not lying when I said in my farewell speech that I
had an embassy for Alexander. I have already sent messages to Asia to
advise some of the Makedonian leaders that I shall be near the Asian
coast. Luckily, because of
Parmenion's poor health, I alerted them in
the spring to the possibility that either Theophrastos or I might be
going to the islands, and I let them know of
my departure as soon as I
knew it myself. I am hoping soon to receive an official message in
return, and that could protect us until we get out of the shadow of
Aiskhines' murder. So -' he turned to gaze towards the town - 'after I
have sent a message to advise Oromedon of Kos that we are here, let
us walk into Kos town, where I can make enquiries for some other
persons I know of. Then we can go to the Asklepion.'
Returning to our lodgings, Aristotle sent off his note and I invited
Parmenion and Phokon to walk with us. The family from Laurion
were anxious to put Philokleia under the care of a doctor, and
Aristotle promised to find a good one for them. When we got into the
town, we found it was not as charming as it had first appeared. A
number of what had been houses were simply piles of rubble with a
few fragmentary remains of
walls. I pointed this out to Aristotle.
'Some were ruined by the last great earthquake, I think,' he replied.
'But the town doesn't look as cheerful as it used to, and one must
admit, these look like very modem ruins. Presumably the result of
severe fighting at the time Alexander took the harbour. Alexander's
army is very good at using missiles to destroy buildings. It was only
three years ago that he took this island. Before that, you will recall, it
was a Persian safety zone. The Persian commander Memnon had
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
escaped to Kos.' He cast a worried glance at Pannenion. 'There
wasn't much fighting here,' he added reassuringly. 'It was a famous
and favoured port, and the island valued as a good source of
provisions. Kos did not suffer too badly, by all accounts - not as badly
as it did in our war against Sparta.'
Yet it became impossible not to notice the ravages of war. In the
Kyklades men had spoken of
war - but veritable war itself
had passed
this way. We began to be accosted by beggars. Numbers of persons
were encamped in Kos and its outskirts, living a ragged and
precarious existence. There was much crying of children and a deal
of dirt and refuse, beside the harbour and in nearby areas.
'These are surely not Koans!' Aristotle exclaimed, as we went up a
gentle slope away from the smell of
the worst of
the ragged camps. 'I
remember Kos as so enlightened and civilized, so clean -'
'No,' said a middle-aged man nearby, a tall man with a rippling
beard, who had caught this exclamation. 'These people are unfortu-
nates in flight from Asia - people who have lost their cities. Many are
from ruined Halikarnassos. Look yonder.' He pointed. 'You can
make out a headland from here. We see the side of
the Myndos cape,
that some call the Cape ofHalikarnassos. That great city is - was - on
the southern side. You cannot see it from here, because of the cape,
and the city's harbour is masked by two little islands, but
Halikarnassos is not far off.'
Certainly, I could see land, bluish and dim in the morning mist but
not remote, rising on the immediate horizon. My first sight of
Asia!
My blood quickened. Now I was truly in another part of
the world.
'Halikarnassos, a great city. Entirely destroyed. It was smitten by
projectiles and its walls battered down. Its soldiers - and many
inhabitants who were not soldiers - were put to the sword amid great
tumult. And the whole city was set on fire.'
'Yes,' I said, 'I have heard about that.' But the young man who told
the history had seemed to me then - only a few months ago! - merely
a teller of
exotic tales. My notion of
the real was changing, or perhaps
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the real was changing as I looked at it, as in Aristotle's translucent and
iridescent world.
Meanwhile, the man with the rippling brown beard (streaked with
grey) was looking fixedly at Aristotle. 'Don't I know you?' he asked.
Aristotle gazed back. 'By the sons of
Asklepios - it is Iatrokles!'
'So I am recognisable, at least, old friend - with sufficient prompt-
ing. And I know you, though we both have aged. You are Aristotle of
Stageira.'
'You may claim me as that and as your friend in medicine,' said
Aristotle, embracing this man cordially. 'How could I not recognise
you straight away? My eyes are not as good as they once were, I fear,
and my mind was elsewhere. Times have changed since we studied
together the arts of medicine.' He turned to me. 'Let me introduce
Stephanos of Athens. Stephanos, this is Iatrokles, one of the best
doctors in Kos - which means the best in the world.'
'A practitioner in the mystery, and a searcher for truth, nothing
more,' said Iatrokles. 'There is so much more to do and to know.'
The two men settled themselves on some sun-warmed steps
looking down on the harbour and continued their conversation, while
I hovered nearby.
'How do you get on?' asked Aristotle, when some questions as to
the fates and fortunes of several acquaintances had been asked and
answered. 'And what is Kos like now?'
'Well, it has suffered from the war, though less than many other
places. The Persian military, when they retreated here and defended
this island, allowed us doctors both to study and practise, just as the
Persians had always done before. Now that Makedon has taken over,
we go on now much as we did. We get a few well-off pilgrims in
search of health, even now. But there are numbers of people here
without a home or a city any more, and so there is a constant call for
our services. To people who cannot pay.'
'That kind of patient is never difficult to find,' commented
Aristotle.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
'But we must regard this troublous time as an opportunity. Kos'
soil is rich and produces good food - you should see the great shrine
of Demeter, a day's walk from here, by the way. Wheat and
vegetables. Fish of
course. Kos still has what it always had - excellent
and abundant food and pure water. Clean and lively air, scented by
sea and pine trees. Hippokrates recommends it above all other places
for restoration of
physical and mental harmony.'
'So he does,' said Aristotle. 'My grandfather, who came here to
study at one time, knew Hippokrates,' he added.
'My grandfather did too,' said latrokles, 'and not only my grand-
father but my father saw him as a boy. Our family is long-lived.
Indeed,' turning to me, 'you should think of
staying here, young man.
We Koans have a fine prospect of
life. Now, in such cases as those of
the wretched people without a polis who have come here, we can
examine whether the conditions offered by Kos do indeed have
curative power, and for what ailments or bodily states they work best.
If
we can improve the health of some of
these wretches, then indeed
all our claims can be justified. Also, we shall have a much clearer idea
as to how to go about cures in various cases.'
'The art of medicine is indeed changing,' said Aristotle. 'For the
better, I think - largely owing to Hippokrates and the school of
Kos.
Hippokrates taught us how to treat medicine as a separate category,
and how to examine physical phenomena and record them. Once
medicine was the province of one tribe alone. But now the school of
Kos is admitting worthy young men who can pay to learn the skill,
whether or not they come from the medical lineage. The subject can
now advance, and we shall have a sufficient number of
doctors.'
'You have no reason to complain of the old way, Aristotle, as you
are a descendant of Machaon. And thus rise from the chief medical
lineage,' said latrokles, laughing. 'And I too descend from Machaon.
But my friend and partner Kleumedes is a descendant of Asklepios'
other son, Podaleirios. Together we cover the whole ground - surgery
and internal medicine. But the opening of
the art to those possessing
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THE HEAliNG ISLAND
sufficient skill is an excellent innovation. There is far more demand
than one family line could meet. Kos can become the centre of an
even greater school. Of
course we have the advantage of
the shrine to
Asklepios, which will always bring to the island those who seek cure
or relief. Have you seen the Asklepion?' he asked me. 'No? Oh, you
should see it
- it is one of
our sights, and not too far away. A pleasant
walk, even in summer.'
This sounded good in my ears. The harbour area was less attractive
to me because of
the number of
people who came to beg from arriving
and departing passengers, and anyone else. I had given as much as I
cared to part with.
We went back, around the harbour and past our lodging house. We
continued going inland, up some gentle slopes; the road wound
among groves and orchards. It felt good to be walking in the country-
side again and I was glad not to be in a vessel, pitching on the waves
under the hot sun. We drank from a natural spring on the way, and
gave thanks to the nymphs. Certainly Kos looked as latrokles the
ageing physician said - lush, fertile, well watered and most pleasant
to the senses. Little settlements were dotted here and there, mostly
farms with outbuildings.
'Some of these folk are Persian,' the Koan informed us, 'though
they keep quiet and don't speak their language out of doors nor
practise their religion in public these days.'
It seemed very strange to me that Persians should be allowed to
remain on what was now most definitely a Greek island - even if this
isle had formerly sided with Darius the Great King. For that very
reason, I should have thought the Greeks and Makedonians would
have ruled with a firm hand and got rid of the Persians altogether. I
said as much.
'But,' said latrokles, 'enough of
that kind was done at Halikamassos
- and elsewhere. Throwing people off
their land! All Koans are against
it. We argued with Alexander's generals. And, after all, Alexander's
troops and navy need the port, even now the navy is so greatly
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
reduced. Kos is wanted for repairing vessels, shipping in supplies, and
for sending men home. Sick or wounded army officers come to the
island for health. With so much activity here, we need a regular supply
of food, for Alexander's own convenience. Forcible removal of
intelligent farmers in Kos would endanger the food supply. So - it has
seemed wisest to proceed by turning a blind eye to the Persian
presence on their small but productive farms.'
We walked at an easy old-gentleman pace, but even so we arrived
at the Asklepion in a short time. I could see the advantage of its
proximity to the port. 'Even invalids - most of them - could walk
here.'
'Yes,' said Iatrokles, 'and it is also easy to bring them by donkey or
by cart - or by litter.'
'Just enough effort made to make the journey seem like a pilgrim-
age,' said Aristotle. 'I had forgotten the beauty and impressiveness of
this site.'
It was a well-wooded place, with a delightful prospect. On one side
you could see all the way to the sea and to Asia beyond. The whole of
the centre was a great grove of
cypresses, with around it a thick wood
of pine trees. Short lively grass, smelling of thyme, sprang from the
slopes where we entered. In the midst of
the site, a temple to Apollo
glimmered white and gold. Cicadas chirped their summer song;
wherever there was no shade the heat moved like waves in the air.
'This is a sacred grove,' said Iatrokles, 'and the whole wood beyond
is sacred too. It is forbidden to die or be born there.'
Again I felt a slight twinge of
nervousness, lest I offend against the
gods by dying in the wrong place. 'There are mineral springs, a little
fountain and a shrine of the Nymphs. Drink of the water - it has a
decided taste,' Iatrokles urged. 'There, you see the shrine of
Asklepios. Until very recently indeed, there was just the great open-
air shrine and altar. The altar has become more magnificent, and now
we have a small temple to Asklepios.' He pointed this out, a little
round structure glimmering among the trees. 'We hope,' he con-
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THE HEALING ISLAND
tinued, 'to have something much bigger - or at least, there is a lot of
talk about this in Kos now. For with the establishment of
a really fine
port, recently enlarged to accommodate great ships, as well as a
flourishing city (or one that could readily be so again), we could
afford to make this a first-class temple complex.'
As we walked towards the centre, latrokles pointed out the various
spots of
ground that would do for a much larger sacred precinct.
'Here we could have the building with underground rooms for the
incubation of
dreams,' he explained. 'As well as a truly fine temple to
Asklepios. With a good road, and some organisation, we could have
crowds of
pilgrims. Just imagine them - see them all in white, coming
up that road yonder!' latrokles pointed back the way we had come.
'Waving palm and olive branches, singing to divine Apollo and in
praise of immortal Paieon, and in pleading to Asklepios. A holy
sound, in tremulous voices. There they come - full of
hope!'
We could almost see the processions of the future, coming to the
magnificent temple complex, to the fountains and terraces with
marble stairways, the great temple of
Asklepios with its surrounding
porticoes, all of
which he had imagined for us.
'I tell you, we could vie with Delos,' said latrokles, mopping his
brow. 'In fact, we are much better than Delos. For look, the site is on
a slope of
Mount Oromedon, which graciously gives us many springs.
There are other mineral springs nearby. And we have perpetual fresh
sweet water, which certainly isn't true in little Delos, a desert in the
sea. Water is essential for the treatment of
invalids.'
'There is truth in what you say,' said Aristotle. 'The development
of the sanctuary would go hand in hand with the growth of the
medical school in Kos, one feeding the other. For there would be
enough wealth coming into this island to fund the teaching of
medicine and to give teachers and scholars agreeable conditions. The
glory of
Kos would spread.'
'But it does so already,' said latrokles confidently. 'Many cities
want Koan doctors. Some payout of
public funds for a man to come
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
and study with us. Then he must go back and be a doctor for the city.
This custom is bound to gain wide acceptance. Alexander and his
chiefs all want Koan doctors to attend on themselves and even on
their troops. Once all the soldiery who have been made better by
Koan doctors return home, they will want doctors of Kos for
themselves in time of
peace.'
'So the war could work out very well for you, in the long run,'
commented Aristotle, with a smile. 'This is as you say, "a beautiful
site",' he added. 'I had forgotten how pure and clear and sweet the
air is, smelling of pine trees. Let us acknowledge Apollo and
Asklepios.'
We offered a prayer, though not a sacrifice, in the quiet afternoon,
at both the Temple of
Apollo and the little shrine of
Asklepios. Small
as it was, the interior of this shrine was covered in votive offerings,
with many more legs, and arms and hands than usual, and some
uncommon and rather graphic depictions of holes in the torso. 1
thought of the last time 1 had been in a shrine of Asklepios with
Aristotle and the now departed Pythias, and looked anxiously at him,
but he made no sign of grief. He glanced with professional curiosity
at the little images.
'These with holes in their bodies must be military petitioners,
people wounded in the war,' he commented. 'But 1 see the familiar
concerns of
peacetime here too - there is a complete image of
a child,
a little girl, offered in thanksgiving by her parents.' He gestured at the
silver image; the child seemed to gaze back, round-eyed.
'That reminds me, we have in our party - or, rather, we have
travelled with - a family from Athens, whose only offspring, a little
girl, is sickly with what 1 diagnose as asthma. 1 rashly volunteered to
find her a doctor. Could you, latrokles, offer your expert knowledge?
The family have come intending to pay,' he added. 'But 1 am sorry
for the tiny maiden, so if
the family cannot rise to the whole fee, 1 shall
pay the remainder.'
'Think nothing of
that,' said latrokles. 'Of
course, 1 shall be glad to
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THE HEALING ISLAND
have a look at the child. Asthma is one of the conditions the Greek
doctors of Hippokrates' school have been good at defining and
treating.'
We left the shrine of
Asklepios, quiet among the trees, and walked
back to Kos. The short excursion had given us each an appetite, even
Parmenion. We were glad to take some midday food at our lodging,
with Iatrokles as our guest. Out in the orchard at the back we
addressed ourselves to fresh onions, cheese, olives and flat cakes. The
landlady was vexed to have to tell us that Doris had suddenly gone,
saying only she had instructions as to how to reunite with her mistress.
We reassured the landlady, saying that Doris had our permission to
depart and we were glad she was able to go home. Certainly, Doris had
our permission to depart! What a great relief, I felt, not to have to see
her again. Of course, this loss of a servant meant our landlady was
short-handed while trying to feed new lodgers.
'It is so lovely here, I wish I could stay,' I commented. 'But I must
continue my journey. I wish, however, that I could get a letter from
Athens before I set out again. I would so like to hear that all is well at
home before undertaking this search. We must ask at your friend
Oromedon's house. You know, Aristotle, I must set off for Rhodos -
for a more difficult search than I had thought when planning it out.
For I do not know Rhodos at all. How hard it is to find one
unimportant person in a strange place! And I now realise that Rhodos
is a great large island, much larger than Kos, and yet we have hardly
seen anything of this island.'
'Why go to Rhodos? What are you looking for?' Iatrokles asked.
'I am looking for a particular person. His name is Philokles, son of
Philokles. He is a man of Athens - Hymettos in Athens. And uncle
to the woman I hope to marry.'
'Ha - skat!' Iatrokles spat an olive stone into the garden with
delighted emphasis. 'I believe I know exactly the man you mean. It's
no good going to Rhodos to look for him. He has been here - in Kos
- for his health.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Oh!' I jumped up. 'Where is he? Let me find him at once -'
'Now sit down, young man. Don't get overheated. He's not in Kos
at this particular time. He and some mistress of his have gone to
Kalymnos. But they'll be back.'
'You have seen him?'
'I believe so. He is - or was - the patient of a friend of
mine.'
'He is ill? Oh, that could be a dreadful misfortune. Ifhe dies before
he hears my news -'
'I don't think he's anywhere near dying,' said Iatrokles impatiently.
'And I've seen a sight of dying in my time, too. No, he had pains in
his back and joints. Not thinking too much of Rhodos after all -
terrible windy it is - he came over here. Easy to do with all the
shipping available these days. Of
course Rhodos is a goodly way from
here, it's south and east of us, well beyond the Cape of Knidos. But
this man Philokles of Athens came here, and then he took to living
with a woman who has some money, and a place of
her own.'
'A woman with a place of her own?' It seemed incredible. 'You
mean a prostitute with a brothel?'
'No. Not exactly. She's a young widow. Mind, I think she was the
hetaira of one of Alexander's naval commanders. Her friend the
commander set her up with her own house and garden and slaves. So
as long as the Greeks and Makedonians are in power here, nobody
dares abuse her, and she was living discreetly until this young
Philokles came along.'
'Well!' My head spun. I had been looking for Philomela's uncle,
the brother of the bee-woman, strange but beautiful Philonike. I had
been imagining this uncle as a hard-working dour type of man,
labouring hard as a settler in Rhodos. And here I heard of him
gallivanting about quite another island with a questionable lady.
'Really!' I was almost cross. 'I have put myself to some trouble on
account of this man. I hope he turns up.'
'They're bound to tum up, as she has her place here - unless he's
foolish enough to quarrel with her. He's not married, and he hasn't
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too much of
his own, so it's handy for him to have somewhere to live.
She's not poor. She has business in Kalymnos too. Sponge fishery.'
'Stephanos, the gods seem to drop your answer into your lap,'
Aristotle said. 'Instead of another tedious journey, you have only to
rest in charming Kos and wait for this gentleman and his light-of-Iove
to return.'
'That does seem easy,' I admitted. 'Though we don't know when
he will come. And I had hoped to deal with a serious man. Now
Philokles doesn't sound serious at all.'
'You'll find back trouble serious enough,' said Iatrokles. 'Ah - and
who might this be?'
While we were talking, the family from Laurion had come out into
the garden. The mother came veiled and walking slowly. But
Philokleia had run over to us.
'This is your potential patient,' said Aristotle. 'This is Philokleia.
And here is her grandfather - no, don't take the child away. Let me
introduce you. Tell Phokon to bring the chairs here so we can all talk
together.'
Once we had settled ourselves, the grandfather Hermippos, with
some prompting from the child's veiled mother, gave the Koan
doctor an account of the little girl's history and malady. Then
Iatrokles asked the child to come over to him, placed her in front of
him, and with his large gentle hands felt her chest and throat and
listened to her breathing.
'She is not a bad size for her age,' he said, straightening. 'The
breathing does not seem bad, though I detect the labour and uneven-
ness of asthmatic patients. Do you cough, little one?'
'I used to,' said Philokleia. 'Not at sea, though, and not much in
Kos.'
'Aha,' said Iatrokles. 'So - we progress already. You live in Attika,
I know - but where?'
Before her elders could answer, the child piped up. 'We live near
Laurion. It's a big place with a lot of
mine works, and we live by the
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
big mines. Not like here - the earth is all tumbled about and poor men
go into the holes in the ground and stay there all day.'
'That is right,' said her grandfather. 'My interests are largely in the
mining business. I own a washery and a furnace. Laurion is a very
thriving place now.'
'In the mine workings - of course!' exclaimed the doctor. 'Lead
and silver mines. Lots of dust from the earth. Much of the time you
would also be breathing dust and smoke from the furnaces for
melting metal. Now, it seems to me that the little girl's breathing
could be greatly alleviated or even cleared up by remaining in a pure
air. As she seems to respond well to the sea air, let her stay here for a
time. Kos would be perfect for her. Let her take regular exercise, and
eat our good vegetables. And -' he gestured an order - 'bring wine to
the table for us.' The red wine was instantly brought, and the doctor
gazed upon it with a pleased expression. He poured a libation and
then ceremonially gave each of us a drink, to mix with water as we
wished.
'Hippokrates says "drink the good wines ofKos", and I myself
have
been endeavouring faithfully to follow that advice my life long. Let
the child drink the pure water, with a little wine added. I have often
found that such an addition clears up any impurities and enhances
the good of
the water. Bathe her carefully, and do not let her go about
with perspiration drying on her skin, which is another source of
impurity.'
'Well,' said the grandfather, 'you give us reason to hope our little
one will be well soon and running about like other children. And that
she will live to be a grown lady, and marry and bear many children,
as her good grandmother did.'
The girl's mother said nothing, but made an impatient gesture with
her foot. I suppose she did not like being reminded that her own
father thought she hadn't done well in childbearing, since she had
produced only one child, and that a daughter.
'Yes - yes,' said latrokles, smiling. 'We could all live longer lives if
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we were careful about what we breathed and what water we drank.
And if we were less inclined to eat too much. Yes, little one, stay in
Kos. You will like our island. I will tell you a Koan story, which bears
out my points.'
He took the child on his lap. Sipping our wine and water as the
afternoon shadows lengthened and the fresh sea-flavoured breeze
sprang up, we listened as he told us the following tale:
The Tale of
the Hungry Prince
'Once upon a time there was a powerful king - let us call him
King of Myrmidonia. He was a widower, but still quite young,
and he fell in love with a beautiful girl called Dimitroula, after
the goddess Demeter whom she served faithfully. Of course the
lovely girl was flattered, a little, when the King told his love and
offered to marry her. But she rejected him because she was in
love with a poor but honest man, who was handsome and kind.
The King was furious and he swore he would fight and kill his
rival, the poor man. They had a great fight in a sacred wood
belonging to Demeter, and Dimitroula crept into an oak tree to
watch the battle. Now, so it befell, the King did kill the poor
man who would wed Dimitroula. But that unfortunate
handsome poor man wounded the King, so the King died too.
His only heirs were his son the Prince and the Prince's young
daughter Mestra.
'Then the King's son, the Prince of Myrmidonia, who was
close by, swore that he would take his revenge upon all beings
who had compassed his father's killing. So this Prince in his rage
went at once to the wood where his father had died, vowing to
cut down all the trees within the wood in his revenge. His sword
plunged into an oak tree, slipping through a knot hole in it. And
the tree screamed! And the tree bled! When the tree was cut
down, the Prince saw the bleeding Dimitroula, pierced by his
sword and dying. Oh, but the Prince was horrified - and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
terrified too. He had angered the wood-sprites and the gods! He
and his men fled away from that wood, but not before he was
cursed by the goddess Demeter, who was determined to punish
him.
'The goddess Demeter made the Prince of Myrmidonia so
hungry that he could never be satisfied. Oh, he had an out-
rageous hunger upon him always! He felt like us before we had
the olives and the onions and the flat loaves - but now we feel
full. So we aren't hungry any more. The Prince, you see, the
poor Hungry Prince - he could never feel full. His appetite was
insatiable. He used up all his money in buying food to feed
himself. You never saw the like of what went into that palace!
Why, there was roast meat and boiled meat, of cows and oxen,
pigs, sheep and goats. And geese and ducks and chickens. And
fish from the sea. - all different kinds of fish, from the sardine
to the sturgeon. And octopus and sea urchin and cabbage and
lettuces. Eggs and olives and cheese of
all kinds, flat and round,
and herbs. Wheat loaves and barley loaves, and cakes of
millet.
And sesame pancakes with honey on top, and more honey
cakes, and then radishes - and of course lentils. Talents worth
of lentils boiled and cooked with oil and cooked with cheese,
and served plain and fancy and made into puddings. And
rabbit, stewed and roasted, and every kind of sauce. He had
sixteen cooks, that man! Until he couldn't afford them any
more.
'The Hungry Prince soon spent all the money in his own
purses and boxes in the palace to buy food. I was going to say,
"for his meals", but the Prince didn't have meals any more in
the usual way because there was too much time in between. He
just had one big meal all the time! Well, eventually even the
Prince found he could not afford to go on like that. By now, he
had spent all the money in his treasury. So he sold his palace
furniture and his golden cups to buy food, and then he sold his
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THE HEALING ISLAND
bronze annour. And then he sold his carved bed and his
cushions of silk tapestry made in Persia - and all his deceased
wife's jewellery, which should have been given to his daughter.
He even parted with his own gold-leaf
crown. Then - he sold the
pots and pans that weren't doing their work any more, and most
of the spoons and forks and spits in his kitchen. Fifteen of his
sixteen cooks departed, and he had only the youngest and
poorest of cooks to work in his cool bare kitchen. Then - what
did he have left to sell?'
'I don't know,' said the little girl. 'Did he sell his own ann?'
'He would have sold it if anybody had wanted to buy such a
thing. But he had something that he thought buyers would
want. I told you he had a little daughter named Mestra. And he
sold her!'
'Oh! That was bad,' said Philokleia.
'It was - very bad. The goddess wouldn't let him get away
with it. So Demeter gave her friend Mestra the gift of changing
her shape. Her father sold Mestra to a big landowner, who took
her to the fann on his great estate. Mestra liked this not at all,
and immediately turned herself
into a fox. Then she ran back on
her little fox legs to her father's palace and changed back again
to her own shape. Next time, the Hungry Prince sold his
daughter to a wealthy jeweller. The wealthy jeweller put a collar
of
gold around the young girl's neck, and placed Mestra on a big
red horse pacing along beside his very big black horse. They
trotted off away from the palace, and then they galloped along
the road. The jeweller made his big costly horses go faster and
faster. "Soon be home," he said to Mestra. But then he saw
nothing riding beside him on the red horse but a weasel! The
weasel jumped off her horse, the gold collar slid to the ground,
and Mestra ran back on her little weasel legs to the palace, and
changed back into her own daughter-shape again.
'So then the Hungry Prince sold his daughter to another rich
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
man, this time to a great merchant from a land far away. He took
her aboard a big black ship and told the rowers to row fast and
take them out upon the deep deep sea. But on board ship, in the
middle of the deep dark sea, Mestra changed into a dolphin and
plunged into the waves. Then she swam back to land. When she
arrived at the seashore, she changed herself into a brown-shelled
turtle, and walked, in a slow turtle-y way, through the seaweed
and up the sandy beach to a wood beyond the shore. In the wood
she became a cunning little rat. And she scuttled back to the
palace on her little rat feet. But this time, she wondered if she
should change back to her daughter-shape again. She twitched
her pretty little rat whiskers and peered about with her little sharp
eyes to see first how things were at home.
'By now, the palace was quite dilapidated and falling apart.
The only reason you'd be surprised to see a rat in it in broad
daylight would be because there wasn't a crumb of food left!
You must know, that deplorable Hungry Prince had eaten all
the food of
his neighbours and their tenants and the poor slaves.
By this time everybody, high and low, had run away. So - what
did he do, do you think, this Greedy Prince?'
'Eat a person?'
'Yes. But he didn't eat another person. He would have done
so, but he couldn't eat anybody - simply because he couldn't
catch them. In his feasting days, when the heaps of geese and
cakes kept coming into the palace, he had got out of
the habit of
running, or walking, or doing anything for himself. So now - the
Hungry Prince turned to and ate himselfl There - what do you
think of that!! He ate himself till he was all gone, and nothing
but the crumbs were left.'
'Oh,' said the little girl. 'What happened to his little girl?'
'To Mestra? Oh, she cried two tears out of her little peery
eyes. She changed herself back into her daughter-shape and
cried two more big tears, and ran out of the sad ruinous palace
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THE HEALING ISLAND
to the seashore. Then the god Poseidon came and asked her to
come with live with him in a sea cave and have his children. And
he promised she could enjoy living right here in Kos, except now
she would live in the wet instead of the dry, along the seashore
instead of inland. So she agreed, and enjoyed her life. Mestra
had sponges and coral and pearls in her sea cave, and when the
waves were high she danced on top of them, and admired the
island of Kos and the stars above it. And she had a son by
Poseidon, whose name was Eurypylos. He became the first King
of Kos in ancient days. Everyone was very happy, and they
forgot the Hungry Prince of
Myrmidonia.'
'Wasn't that a good story, Philokleia?' her grandfather asked.
'Yes,' she said seriously. 'It was - but I don't like how the first girl
died.'
'Well, don't hide too long in one tree,' advised Iatrokles.
'You are a politician, Iatrokles, as well as a moralist,' said Aristotle.
'/
see clearly the point of your philosophical tale.'
'Ah,' said Iatrokles. 'You may think you do. That is the trouble
with telling you philosophers a fable. You want to make application.
It is the hardest thing in the world to make application! Nor is this
story my own invention. Truly. A tale of
Demeter here in Kos, a story
oflong ago. Demeter gives us enough - enough and to spare - but the
gods do not say "be piggy", do they?'
'It's a very good story, with a good moral, Philokleia,' said the
grandfather. 'Though I have to say, greed is not this child's fault - she
doesn't eat enough, sometimes. Our girl doesn't need warning
against overeating.'
'Oh, no, I never thought she did,' replied Iatrokles. 'And I hope you
can take time from your business in Laurion to let her stay here - or
somewhere like this - for a time, and grow up a strong girl. Often,
under favourable conditions, such maladies as hers wane or disappear
at maturity.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
'Yours is a fable about desire,' said Aristotle. 'And like all such
fables, it has something to say to everyone. 1 had forgotten how
charming, ingenious and devious you Koans can be!'
'I thank you,' said latrokles, bowing as if he had received a
compliment. 'I hope you all enjoy Kos, and meet none but good
Koans, charming and devious as we are.'
258
xv
The Doctors
I have often thought of that quiet afternoon of storytelling, its small
pleasures and its laughter. We lingered as the day cooled and shadows
spread. Parmenion, who had joined us in the middle of the tale,
condescended to sit on the grass and share some food. He was still
aloof and his eyes wandered off. He gazed into a distance that only he
could see, his eyes flickering back and forth as ifhe were searching for
some invisible rescue party who would snatch him from despair. I saw
Aristotle give Iatrokles a significant nod.
'I cannot stay with this pleasant company all day,' said Iatrokles,
casting a shrewd glance at Parmenion. 'I ought to hie me to my own
house and see what patients await me. It is easier for some of
them to
come out in the cool of the evening. Of course,' he added, 'the very
ill - or the very rich - I see in their own homes.'
'Let me walk with you,' said Aristotle, 'and Stephanos too, if he
will. Do you wish to come with us for a walk, Parmenion?' Parmenion
indicated he would rather stay where he was; on this occasion
Aristotle seemed rather relieved than displeased at his incivility. I was
happy enough to move after having sat in one spot so long. We
strolled at an amiable talking pace back to the harbour and to the
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
street on the other side where Iatrokles had his dwelling. As I
suspected, Aristotle wished to take the opportunity of consulting
Iatrokles about Pannenion.
'It is a double problem,' he explained. 'This boy has been longing
for home - he is most anxious to know what has happened to his
father. And I have had no written word or other sort of
message from
his father for a very long while. Because there is some real cause for
concern, I could not send the boy away to the eastern islands on his
own. I wished to hear myself about the condition of
his father before
I took him to Rhodos. There was no need to gossip about the boy's
trouble in Athens, where Makedonians are not always looked upon
with favour.
Pannenion is
related to extremely important
Makedonian leaders.'
'You mean, I take it, the great Parmenion?'
'Yes. He is grandson (if on the wrong side of the blanket) to the
great Pannenion. Although neither this lad nor his father is, strictly
speaking, legitimate, both have been acknowledged by the rest of
the
family; his uncle Philotas would be his guardian if anything has
happened to his father. But this boy's grandfather, Alexander's right-
hand man, as well as the boy's uncle Philotas are both engaged in the
wars far to the east. The boy's father, Arkhebios, is also a military
man, though of much less importance. Arkhebios' mother's family
are of Rhodos, where Arkhebios was also posted at the time the boy
came to our school. The anny sometimes finds men with local
connections useful in pacifying a region. The problem is, now I
cannot seem to reach Arkhebios. The boy himself
fears for his father's
life in these wars.'
'You know,' said Iatrokles seriously, 'this is no slight matter. Many
people have disappeared in the wars, for one cause or another. But
what about the boy in himself? I can tell you are not satisfied with his
own health.'
'That is so,' said Aristotle. 'Frankly, I fear that, whether from worry-
ing about his family or from some other cause, young Pannenion has
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THE DOCTORS
become - or is becoming - insane. At moments, however, he acts like
a normal person, yet at other times he is not only morose but
abstracted and wandering. Melancholia seems to be claiming him -
even to the extent of turning his wits so that he is unfit to go about.'
'A difficult case,' said latrokles. 'Melancholia in the young is a bad
sign - and yet it is the young who often plunge into melancholy, who
are even willing to kill themselves over some little love problem or the
like. But you need to talk to my friend and partner Kleumedes, the
doctor whom I admire most. He is a physician with great under-
standing of
humours and the balances of
the body - and mind. Come
and let us see if
Kleumedes can help you. He is a widower and we live
together, and help each other out in seeing patients.'
He turned into a dwelling of modest size, but neat and very clean
in appearance. It was well sited on a hill, with a view of the harbour
and the sea and even of the Asian coast. The house seemed more
spacious inside than it had promised without, with a pleasant court-
yard and handsome main room. 'Ah - books!' said Aristotle with
approval, going over to examine them.
'Kleumedes, you're wanted!' latrokles shouted. His speaking in
such a rudely raised voice, as a man would speak to a slave, surprised
me. latrokles perceived my reaction.
'Kleumedes is a man of many parts, but a trifle deaf. He hears
better when he can look at your face, but from a distance you have to
shout.' A bushy head popped round the door.
'I was just speaking about the fish,' Kleumedes explained. This
new doctor had a great beard and a large head with quantities of
hair,
much of it grey, standing out in various directions; some seemed to
be growing straight upwards. His mouth was wide and generous, and
his large brown eyes looked us over curiously but without hostility.
'There's enough fish to do for two dinners,' he remarked to
latrokles, 'but we have to grill it all now - I told the cook.' After this
piece of domestic information he settled into the formality of
introductions. 'Aristotle the philosopher, famous in Athens, and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Stephanos of Athens - Kleumedes son of Kleumedes of Kos,' said
Iatrokles. Kleumedes made suitable response in his rather rumbling
voice.
'My friend Kleumedes,' Iatrokles went on, still in a loud clear tone,
'is a descendant of Hippokrates. And a descendant of Asklepios'
second son, expert in curing invisible ills. Kleumedes is the best of
all
doctors - in the world, I think.'
'You must forgive the bias of
my dear friend,' said Kleumedes. 'He
means well. Hyperbole is his only fault. I am a doctor who does the
best he can.'
'We want to consult you about a case,' Aristotle admitted.
'Sit down,' said Kleumedes, 'and I am all ears.' Indeed, he cupped
a hand behind one of
those members (very large in his case), as he sat
himself opposite Aristotle. 'Proceed.'
Aristotle explained Parmenion to Kleumedes much as he had
already done to Iatrokles.
'Ah,' said Kleumedes, nodding thoughtfully. 'There are two parts
to young Parmenion's problem. One external and the other internal.
But I fear you must find out the truth about what has really happened
to his father before you can commence any lasting treatment. Either
his father is alive or he is dead. If alive, either he is well or he isn't.
Either he still has his money and position, or he has lost one or both.
All of these things can be ascertained eventually, as they are facts in
the real world. But the deeper problem lies in what Parmenion thinks
is in the world. And that is harder to fathom. There can be no cure
for his condition without knowledge of the truth.'
'That sounds right,' said Iatrokles. 'But the condition might be
ameliorated meanwhile.'
'Yes,' said Kleumedes. 'I should like to see this young man. Bring
him to me tomorrow.'
He rose rather grandly, as if once he had made up his mind there
was no further use in talking to us. I was amused and a trifle annoyed
at this imperious and dismissive address. There was nothing for it but
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THE DOCTORS
for us to say farewell, and to tell the doctors that we would bring
Parmenion on the morrow. We found that we were addressing only
latrokles. Kleumedes had already left the room and gone to the inner
apartment before we had got to the door. We made our farewells to
latrokles without commenting on his friend's abrupt behaviour,
which he seemed to find unremarkable.
'What a strange doctor,' I said to Aristotle, once we were well away
from the house. 'He is evidently quite deaf
- how sad!'
'Yes, that must make difficulties for him, in his profession,'
Aristotle observed. 'He copes well with it, however. Sometimes partly
deaf persons train themselves to hear remarkably well, and to read
faces and gestures acutely. Whereas some people whose ears are very
good don't really listen well.'
'It is good that each of these doctors has a friend to cheer him
during this sad time,' I remarked. As latrokles was Aristotle's friend,
I did not comment on what an odd household his was. Two ageing
men, neither with a wife. And no children, apparently. It seemed
pathetic, grown men living together in an empty house, talking
about fish for dinner. Men in their twenties, and even their thirties,
often fall in love with young men and boys, and there is a great deal
of poetry about that passion. But greying older men could hardly
have such erotic feelings about other greybeards. I reminded myself,
however, that the people of Kos had endured war and straitened
circumstances, so it was probably economic prudence that made
these two share a life in common.
Aristotle said crisply, 'We must try to get Parmenion to talk sense
to the doctor. That will be our real difficulty.'
That difficulty became evident the next day, when Aristotle,
exercising his talents of persuasion, prevailed on a reluctant
Parmenion to accompany us to latrokles' house. As we walked along
the harbour way the youth's eyes flickered here and there. He looked
curiously towards the shipping and then glanced away, taking flight
somewhere in the sky with his unknown ideas. The lad had often
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
appeared fairly sane during the voyage, but now he seemed both more
tense and more evasive. At last he spoke out.
'You want me to see that doctor,' he said to Aristotle. 'You want to
do something to me! But you haven't found my father. And you don't
try to find him. 1 want -' He stopped.
'Yes,' said Aristotle. 'You want?'
Parmenion was silent for the rest of
the way
When we entered the little house again, both latrokles and
Kleumedes awaited us.
'Come,' said Kleumedes. 'To our special room.' This room, built
on to the side of the house, appeared designed to accommodate
patients. There were benches that could be turned into beds, with
cushions and some coverlets neatly rolled up. There was a basket of
herbs, and pottery jars emitting a pleasant smell, as of
herbal mixtures
and lotions. On a table a set of
bright implements sat in a leather case.
Hanging on the wall was something like a saw, beside something like
a hatchet.
'By the gods!' 1 exclaimed to Kleumedes. 'I believe you cut off
men's limbs with these things!'
Parmenion shuddered and stiffened; Aristotle gave me an angry
glance.
'Those toys belong to latrokles - he's the surgeon,' laughed
Kleumedes. 'He is one of
the tribe of
Machaon. I, on the other hand,
am a descendant of gentle Podaleirios. 1 am a doctor - 1 deal in
coaxing the body along, not chopping it up. Do sit down, all of
you.
Goodness, it is as solemn as the tombs! You are all so quiet. 1 shall
have to hire a harp player for my patients' room - music, you know,
is good for the soul and body.
'Do you play an instrument, Parmenion?' he asked the boy,
addressing him comfortably by name. Parmenion shook his head.
'Nor do 1 - and now 1 am getting hard of hearing, so 1 dare say 1
shall never learn. My lad, they tell me you are not well. Why don't you
tell me about it?'
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THE DOCTORS
'I am all right,' said Parmenion irritably. 'Nothing can be done,' he
added in a low monotone.
'No - no!' said Aristotle. 'Something can always be done.'
'It troubles you, I gather,' said Kleumedes, 'that you do not know
what has happened to your father. That would trouble anyone.'
Parmenion shook his head impatiently.
'You think,' said Kleumedes, 'that instead of
our fussing about
you,
we had better go and look for your father.'
'Yes,' mumbled Parmenion.
'You have to speak up, child, I fear I am a trifle deaf. What you
mean is that you would search for your father if
you could, but you
don't know how. Is that right?'
'I would!' Parmenion shouted. 'But if he's dead, you fool, nobody
can find him! Can they? Oh, I should have stayed at home!'
'Ah - yes,' said Kleumedes. 'You feel it was wrong to send you to
school in Athens when the war meant that your father was in danger.
In fact, you feel guilty about having left him in the East, as if
you had
done a wrong thing?' His patient nodded. 'But that was not a wrong
thing, Parmenion - you did what your father wished you to do, and
that was right. You have no cause to blame yourself.'
I wondered that Kleumedes could speak so soothingly after
Parmenion had rudely called him a fool. The boy should have been
whipped or at least cuffed for such bold disrespect - and to one who
was not only an older man but the friend of the boy's tutor and
temporary guardian.
At least Parmenion was not encouraged into further wrongful bold-
ness by the kind forbearance of
Kleumedes. The youth now hung his
head and looked wistfully down at the floor. The one good thing
about this was that his eyes were not wandering in all directions as if
he expected help from a platoon of cavalry that never arrived.
'It seems to me,' said Kleumedes, almost with severity, 'that
someone should have done something about finding this boy's father
ere now. Eh?'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Something has been done,' said Aristotle. 'We - Theophrastos and
I - wrote to his father and to his uncle likewise, but received no reply.
At this disruptive time, however, it is not unlikely that the posts
simply have not been getting through. Or, a letter may sit and gather
dust in some remote spot while the man addressed is travelling many
parasangs in another direction. The boy's father is Arkhebios. His
grandfather would be very easy to trace - Parmenion, the general of
Philip and now of
Alexander. Very highly thought of. Both Philip and
Alexander have loaded him with honours.'
'Aye,' said Kleumedes. 'That is the sort of
person whom everybody
knows and nobody knows how to get hold of. Not now when
Alexander's army is marching far into the eastern hinterland. As this
Arkhebios is a Makedonian by paternal descent, not truly a man of
Rhodos, I suppose he was merely billeted there, or given some
temporary responsibility in that island. He could well have been given
a new posting.'
'Tell you the best thing,' said Iatrokles. 'Make an enquiry of one
of Alexander's ships - or rather, a ship bearing his officers and
messengers - when it comes into port. Such ships come regularly. I
believe a ship carrying dispatches and people of importance is due to
arrive from Asia very soon.'
'I had already written to members of
the Makedonian command in
Asia,' explained Aristotle. 'In the spring I began to write enquiries
about Arkhebios, though of course couched in guarded language.
One can never be utterly sure. Spies are everywhere, and some
soldiers are, inquisitive by nature. If my earlier letters got through,
however, some persons of importance will have known that I was
probably coming eastward - though, in the event, my departure from
Athens was more hurried than I could have wished. And I have
written this summer, from Athens, from Peiraieus and from Naxos. I
also sent word by a man on a ship we encountered before arriving in
Kos. Enquiries are well under way.'
'Excellent,' said Kleumedes. 'Meanwhile - how to help this young
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man?' He looked at Parmenion, pondering. 'He is thin, now, thinner
than is quite proper for his height. I take it you are not eating very
well, my lad?'
'He has not manifested an appetite for some time,' said Aristotle.
'He often seems flushed and excited, yet there is no fever - his skin is
cool. Nothing changes except that he fines down, and loses his spirits
and his attention.'
'Not only so,' I added. 'He sometimes seems quite dumbstruck,
thunderstruck with grief or fear or something - and yet on the voyage
he was often quite like other people.'
'Very good,' said Kleumedes, nodding his bushy head. 'Things
become a little clearer. Now, it seems to me the first thing to do is to
get his humours into a right balance. Some become ill because they
have taken in too much of
meat and high food, but that is not his case
- is it, Parmenion?' Parmenion shook his head, as if uninterested in
this discussion.
'A good diet,' Kleumedes pondered. 'Food that is soothing, a little
on the infant side, might be of
use. We could study his reaction every
time a new food is introduced. Let him be encouraged to sleep, but
after taking some exercise. Not too great an exertion. Sleep - yes. It
occurs to me - although we do not have a proper place of
incubation
- nothing like Epidauros - it is not unknown for a patient to stay
overnight in the shrine of Asklepios. A helpful dream might be
vouchsafed, and he could tell us about it.'
'No!' cried Parmenion! 'No - no dreams!' He rose up and flailed his
right arm, brushing the air against Kleumedes as if
to send back to its
lair the horrible suggestion.
'Very well,' said Kleumedes. 'No dreams. Though the god is more
beneficent than you seem to think. A good dream with Asklepios can
sometimes put to flight the horrors of nightmares, as of waking
torment. But, Parmenion -' he turned to him with a look of
concern,
'your heart is stufIed with painful thought. Will you let me try to
relieve you with a light herbal poultice?' He had already got up and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
was mixing some herbs and oils in a jar. 'This,' he explained, 'is
simply to lighten feelings of oppression - it is very mild. Come now.'
He smeared the verdant concoction on Parmenion's arms and chest
so that he began to look green. 'Let this dry, and simply breathe it in.'
The scent pervaded the room, a friendly scent. Thyme and sage and
rue with other refreshing odours 1 did not know. Parmenion subsided
and inhaled, with a bemused look.
'Good, good, we make progress,' murmured bushy Kleumedes in
his rumbly voice. 'My lad, at least walk out to Asklepios' shrine and
make him a small offering. The little walk will be good in itself. The
air is clear and refreshing at the sacred site. You are braced up like a
warrior about to rush into the fray - but at the moment there is no
battle! That is terribly wearing. You need inward rest, and not to go
about like a bow strung at its tightest.'
'Good advice for anyone,' Aristotle said in a low tone. 1 noticed
suddenly how tired he himself looked. Certainly the work of looking
after Parmenion was telling on him.
'Now,' said latrokles, 'my fellow physician will begin a disquisition
upon the humours.'
'I am sure Aristotle knows all about the subject,' said Kleumedes,
laughing. 'The work on the humours is one of the great
achievements of doctors who follow Hippokrates. For we see the
design of the whole - the body is meant to be in a full and perfect
balance. All the humours are necessary to that balance. But let one
get out of
proportion, and at once changes occur, both physical and
mental. A little too much of
that essential humour the blood and the
man is rash, loud, self-indulgent. A great deal too much, and he is
impatient of contradiction, lords it over his fellows and dies
suddenly or has a terrible fit. That is the easiest one to see, perhaps.
But too much of black bile, and melancholy follows - leading to
thoughts of
damage and self-destruction. Often an unhappiness that
has no full object and no end in sight. Or, say there is a real object
of fear or of loathing - the man spends his passions and spirit on
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that thought alone. So he loses mental and physical strength in
brooding.'
Parmenion, I noticed, appeared to be listening.
'Let Parmenion have a very good diet, but not too much at anyone
time,' continued Kleumedes. 'And follow Pythagoras at least in this:
eat no beans! They blow the body up and give uncomfortable
thoughts. In fact, that is probably good advice for all - especially if
sharing sleeping quarters.'
'Thank you,' said Aristotle, laughing. He arose, and the rest of us
did likewise.
'Here is a sponge, so you can sponge off the medicine,' said
Kleumedes, handing the object to the boy. 'Parmenion here does not
wish to look like a green man in the streets ofKos. But do you not feel
the benefit of
the treatment already?'
'Yes,' admitted Parmenion. 'Can I stay here?' he added.
'Good heavens, Parmenion,' expostulated Aristotle, 'we cannot ask
this of your doctors. This is their home and not a place of residence
for the diseased.'
'Not so hasty, friend,' said Iatrokles. 'This comes upon you as a
surprise, true enough, but if
you stop to think of
it - might it not be a
good idea? Your friend Stephanos here has other fish to catch - he
must look for the man from Hymettos that he seeks. You yourself
will
have to search for Parmenion's father. It is too hard on Parmenion
himself for you to drag him about with you. It would not be
impossible for him to stay here, progressing towards a cure.'
'I should have to think long and hard about that,' said Aristotle. 'It
is a grave responsibility to give one's charge over to another. He is a
well-born lad, and I am responsible for his safety.'
'You - and he - are safe enough,' said Kleumedes frostily. 'My
Hippokratic oath binds me from making any sexual overtures to
patients - and I can assure you my affections do not tend towards
boys.' He looked smilingly at Iatrokles for confirmation before con-
tinuing his emphatic speech. 'Neither am I in danger of
trying to rook
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
money from patients, or of asking any other favour whatsoever. Nor
will I let him wander about and get into danger. Remember
Hippokrates' motto: "First do no harm!" I govern myself by that
always.'
'And I too,' said Iatrokles. 'At least, as far as a surgeon may, who
must cut sometimes in order to heal.'
'Forgive me,' said Aristotle, embarrassed, 'I meant that I did not
mean to lodge the boy with others. That was not my design in coming
here to you and asking for your professional help. As for your medical
assistance, I am most grateful - and of course I shall pay you at the
ordinary rate.' He put a couple of
coins on the table. 'Not as an insult,
but to keep our friendship from moulting,' he added, speaking over
Iatrokles' expostulations. 'I hate being the debtor. It's a thing that
makes me ill- so you must humour me!'
'I can readily humour you,' retorted Iatrokles, 'but only to this
extent. Do you leave us this money as earnest for Parmenion's keep,
and let him reside here. After all, Aristotle, you will be moving about
and probably will not have Stephanos with you. You cannot leave
Parmenion unsupervised at the lodging you now have. Meanwhile, he
does need some medical care, to help him recover his balance. Which
my friend Kleumedes knows how to bring about. There - have I
produced sufficient arguments to convince a rhetorician?"
Aristotle, his brow creased with thought and anxiety, turned slowly
to Parmenion. Parmenion, standing, looked at him fully, giving him
a rare span of
real attention.
'I did not intend this - I never thought of it,' Aristotle said. 'It is
always hard for me to accept an idea that was not first my own. There
are some things to recommend such a change of plan. But the most
important matter, Parmenion, is your own choice. Come - be per-
fectly sincere and frank in your response. Would you like to come
back to the lodging with me, or would you yourself really like to stay
here?' The boy hesitated. 'Speak just as you feel,' he added
encouragingly.
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'I feel - oh, of
course 1 am grateful to you, and you are my teacher
whom 1 must obey until my father is found. But for a while 1 would
like - oh, yes, 1 want to stay here, in the doctors' house.'
'Let it be so,' said Aristotle. 'Of course, latrokles and Kleumedes,
it must be on the understanding that you allow me to pay both for his
board and his treatment. The few possessions he brought with him 1
will have brought over by Phokon straight away.'
And so we left - without Parmenion. Still dyed by his herbal
poultice, the lad said his farewells and watched us depart, going no
further than the doctors' threshold, as if the little house offered him
some kind of sanctuary. Strange, for 1 could not see that the two
doctors had offered anything we could not.
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0-6
Facing Asia
Strangely relieved and yet diminished by the absence of Parmenion,
we walked back from the doctors' house. We glanced curiously at the
harbour in the dazzle of noon sun to see if any great ships had come
in. But nothing had. Only the usual small ships were stirring. One
light vessel containing a few passengers was easing its way slowly to
the inner harbour among the larger ships already there; it moved like
some small insect along water too glittering to look at in the rays of
the sun. On our return to our lodging place, Aristotle gave Phokon
orders to find and transport Parmenion's few belongings to the
doctors' house.
As Phokon was setting off, another slave came from the contrary
direction, walking hastily but anxiously glancing at the houses as if
not too sure of
his destination.
'Do you know where the great Aristotle lives?' he asked Phokon.
'This is it,' said Phokon with a grin. 'And that's my master, right
there.'
Another slave, a stocky fellow who happened to be passing on the
other side of the road, gave us a curious glance, but then walked
quickly by. The slave we had first seen, his confidence restored,
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FACING ASIA
rushed up to us and said, 'Oh, sir - 1 speak to Aristotle, the great
philosopher from Athens?'
He had picked the right man. 'Yes, boy. At least, 1 am Aristotle,'
the philosopher replied modestly.
'I thought you must be the philosopher, because of
the beard,' the
young slave explained. 'The other one's too young. 1 am very glad to
find you, for my master Oromedon of Kos, having received your
message, has sent to you in return. Hoping to see you this evening.
He wrote you this letter yesterday - and here it is.'
He proffered some neatly tied tablets.
'Excellent!' cried Aristotle. 'Come into the garden, Stephanos,
while 1 read these and consult with you. We will ask our landlord to
give my friend's servant something to drink while he awaits an
answer.' 1 followed Aristotle into the garden where we sat in the shade
and he looked over his letter.
'There,' he said. 'We may be as wise as each other,' and he offered
me the epistle, written in a sprawling hand, extravagantly covering
two and a half sides of
the four waxed tablets.
Oromedon son of
Daliokles to his most honoured Friend, Aristotle son
of
Nikomakhos, Greetings
Greatly beyond measure do I regret, dearest and wisest of
friends,
that I have not been in Kos to receive you at
your arrival. I have but
now returned from a short journey. How greatly to be regretted that I
should be absent at a time when you are honouring Kos with your
beloved presence. You must come and take what hospitality my
humble roof
can offer. What fond memories of
Plato's lectures and the
good days of yore the sight of you will inspire. But first I have
important matters to deliver. Returning to Kos, our small ship passed
a large three-banked vessel, bearing news and messengers from
Alexander. And one who knew me hailed me from the deck, and let
me know that this great ship bears messengers and messages of
great
importance, including news sent to Aristotle if he is in Kos at the
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
present time. This great ship, having stopped in Patmos, comes south
and should arrive in the harbour of
Kos tomorrow evening, or the day
after.
I pray you to come and dine with me tomorrow, though I cannot
invite you to arrive any earlier than early evening. An unfortunate
request, doubly so when it is but humble fare for which you are asked
to wait. I apologise for all delay, when I shall be so rejoiced to see you.
You and
your
friend, I trust, will be residing with me from tomorrow
night.
No letters have yet come for you. If
you say Yes to my invitation,
as I entreat, I shall leave a message at the harbour for any and all
dispatches to you or your friend to be conveyed to my house. I
earnestly hope I can be of
assistance to you in any enterprise you have
on hand. I beg your forgiveness for the fact that you are presently
lodging anywhere other than my own home. My brother-in-law has
been staying with me, and he is an invalid, which has made matters
more complicated. But I hope as soon as the morrow's evening to see
you happily in residence under my roof, if, my dear friend, there is
any virtue in the entreaties of
your
friend Oromedon son of
Daliokles
'This is important!' I was impressed. 'Who knows what
Alexander's message may be?'
'Well, it is less likely to come from Alexander himself than from
some officer, or a friend - perhaps even my wonderful nephew
Kallisthenes.' Aristotle's mood had lightened. 'It will be good to see
Oromedon again. We were students in Plato's Akademeia together-
so long ago. I must send a reply, if you do not object, Stephanos,
saying that both of
us will be happy to be received by him this evening.'
I saw no objection, and he quickly dashed off a reply. Things
seemed to be going well (save that I did not yet have a letter from
home). But the style of the Koan's letter and of the messenger had
somewhat disappointed me.
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FACING ASIA
'I thought Oromedon was one of the important men of
Kos?'
'Oh yes. Son of
Daliokles who was a very important citizen indeed.
1 should certainly like you both to become acquainted.'
Well, the manners ofKos might not be quite as ours. The slave was
slightly impudent, but not suave, and the letter seemed awkward if
florid. 1 was rather puzzled at the man's odd reference to his brother-
in-law, and his putting Aristotle off for the sake of this other man. 1
ventured to say as much.
'Dear old Oromedon would not be too formal with me,' Aristotle
responded eagerly. 'His letter may flourish a bit clumsily, as you say.
But he would know he need not stand on ceremony with me, if his
brother-in-law is a cripple or something, and requires special
attention. 1 dare say Oromedon is the same delightful fellow he always
was. He was always a generous party-giver in Athens - 1 dare say he'll
offer us a first-class dinner. His slave is a bit unpolished, 1 grant you.
But the wars in Kos would have made it harder to keep good servants,
as slaves have so often been pressed into service by one side or the
other.'
1 tried to think about how to make my over-travelled clothes
respectable enough to go to a first-class dinner. Even the new
garments purchased for me in Rhenaia had been through a storm at
sea. 1 shared this humble problem with Aristotle.
'Let us ask the house slaves here to clean a khiton for each of us,'
he suggested. 'Phokon would do it, but he is out. It would probably
be more polite not to arrive at Oromedon's house with all our
baggage, despite his kind invitation - we can move completely later
on. While we dine, the slaves can clean some more clothes for us.
Now, let us go out ourselves and make the most ofthis beautiful day,
Stephanos. As we are waiting for dispatches, I cannot do anything
further about Parmenion's father at the moment. Why don't we take
a leisurely walk, by the sea and not uphill? If
we are to ask the slaves
to do a washing, we can ask for bread and cheese and thus get out of
their way for a while.'
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And so we set off for a good walk along the seaside. We moved
along the coast, and as we did so, even for a little distance, the coast
of Asia became slightly plainer to our vision. 1 could pick out a few
scattered farmsteads on the infertile cape. At last we came to a good
stretch of shore; like most Koan shores it had a profusion of round
grey pebbles, but it also had a little soft fine sand, and some low
sandstone rocks to sit on. We sat down lazily, looked at the rock
pools, and then lapsed into silence. For a long time we had not had
this kind of peace, the kind where nobody can overhear you. Some
gulls screamed overhead. The little waves came up tranquilly and
splashed along the shore. Beyond, the sea stretched green and blue to
the far point where the blue line of coast seemed to beckon us to
come.
'Asia,' said Aristotle. 'I hope you see it some time, Stephanos, it is
very beautiful.' He sighed, and was quiet. 1
was restless. After teasing
a couple of crabs, 1 felt hot, and the water looked refreshingly cool
in its blue transparency. The stones beneath the water were visible
and striped with slender threads oflight as the light was woven by the
sea.
'Come on!' 1 said. Freeing myself of
clothes I rushed into the water,
with the usual wonderful almost frightening cold shock that you get
when you enter the sea on a hot day. When 1 was chest deep in the
water, before 1 could stretch out my arms to embrace the waves and
kick off for a swim, there was a sudden loud hiss. 1 started as an
enormous octopus swam towards me, all its tentacles waving. It
looked angry and covered the distance amazingly quickly. Its strange
mouth was making a great noise, blowing water and air in a steamy
'Hsss - sssht!' Stumbling on stones, 1 moved awkwardly backwards
through the water. The thing was chasing me - or so it seemed - its
horrible pink tentacles all alive, stretching out, now parallel to me,
now closing in on me, the tips waving and curling; 1 could see the
powerful suckers. One fleshy obstinate strand caught on my arm and
clung -
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Aristotle rushed into the water and we both yelled at the creature.
Slowly it let go and swam off, indignant. Its tentacles curved and
undulated in the water and reappeared among the foam of
the further
waves.
Aristotle was laughing, the first genuine laugh I had heard from
him in a long time. 'That creature nearly had you! What an amusing
reversal! Octopus has Stephanos for dinner.'
I went spluttering back to the beach, coughing out some water I
didn't need.
'Powerful animals, octopodes, in their way. Amazing. They belong
to the category of bloodless animals: the Softs. You can see how its
head is between its legs, and these legs are an extensive part, highly
active, used both as feet and hands.'
'It seemed to whistle and hiss at me through its mean mouth,' I
said.
'No - no. It was whistling to you - as you put it - through its tube.
They have a tube to send back from the belly-sack any seawater which
has got in. That is not the mouth.'
'Those horrible tentacles - I have heard that if it gets its suckers
fastened along your throat an octopus can choke a man.'
'I have heard so too, but I have not known a case. Did you realise
the octopus does not use all tentacles alike? As I have often said,
Nature makes special parts for various activities. An animal is like a
good drama, each lively part with its own function, and the parts well
articulated. The octopus uses two tentacles to take in food, which it
puts in its real mouth - it has an oesophagus and a very neat gut. Such
interesting animals!' Aristotle perched on a warm sandstone shelf,
idle in the sun, and continued giving me the benefit of all that was in
his capacious mind about the octopus in general.
'Do you know, a female octopus' gut can become extremely large,
overflowing with eggs like the fruit of white poplar, which she dis-
charges into some shady chamber under the sea - like little Mestra's
sea cave at the end of latrokles' story. Hidden treasure. And one of
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF llFE
the male's tentacles is divided at the tip and is specially used to uncoil
and touch smoothly. That is the one he uses in the sexual act. So, you
see, the female octopus is not going to be tom apart or unpleasantly
clamped by the suckers at the great embrace. The pair lie down
together, the second fitting itself carefully on to the tentacles of the
first, so that their suckers match. Wonderful creatures! Come,
Stephanos, cast care aside - let us swim!'
We swam, diving and tossing lightly through the cool waves and
riding on the foam. When we were tired and had enough of this, we
returned to the warm rocks and let ourselves dry in the sun. We
looked together across the water to the land quite close to us.
'The coast of Asia,' said Aristotle slowly. 'And not far hence the
towers of our most unfortunate Halikarnassos.'
'Too bad!' 1 did not wish him to go on in this melancholy
reminiscence, for we both knew people who had endured the fatal
siege of the destroyed city. One of them was only a girl. 1 stretched
out in the sun. Exercise had given me many hungers.
'I really need to find a brothel,' 1 grumbled. 'And not one like the
"Naumakhia", either.'
'Oh, 1 don't know, Stephanos,' he retorted. 'A nice plump sucking-
pig and a nice plump sailor.'
1 burst out laughing - chiefly with surprise, for such talk was
most unlike him. He laughed also - too loudly. When 1 looked at
him 1 found that his laughter had changed to sobs. Aristotle was
actually crying! 1 gazed at him helplessly. Painful tears slowly and
against his will left his eyes and coursed down the furrows of his
face. As he was naked he could not fling up a cloak or sleeve to cover
his emotion.
'Forgive me,' he said, 'but 1 must weep. Whether it is the salt
waves, like tears themselves, or the memory of
Asia, 1 cannot now but
weep. 1 remember and lament my lost wife. Oh, Pythias, Pythias, why
did you leave me? We were once together, and now 1 am so lonely!'
He wept. 1 looked away the while, embarrassed, and unwilling to
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FACING ASIA
grieve him with a memory of
curious eyes fastened on his tears. I was
very startled.
'Dear friend,' I said, once his shoulders had stopped shaking, 'I
thought you were a stronger - I mean, I thought that philosophy had
given you the means to quench grief.'
'No - not exactly, Stephanos. Philosophy may tell a man why it
may do him little good to mourn, and why others will despise him for
doing so. But grief cannot be held for ever within the breast. It seeks
relief.'
Aristotle sat up on his rock; a few tears still coursed down his
cheeks and neck and fell on his chest, on the chest hair, matted but
grey. I saw him suddenly as an old man. Yet he was strong too, his
chest well muscled, and he held his head erect on his strong neck,
turning his countenance towards Asia.
'You don't know - you cannot know - but I feel moved to tell you,'
he said slowly, 'what Asia means to me. I left Athens after Plato died.
His death shook me very much - all the more as I had been an orphan
early, when I first began to study with him. My father was a deeply
educated man, a physician of Stageira. Our city is in Khalkidike, of
old accounted part of Thrake. I am so tired of being considered
simply a Makedonianl My father's family came from the island of
Andros, the northernmost of the Kyklades, an island sacred to
Dionysos. My mother's family came from Khalkis in Euboia,
wonder-working Khalkis of the workers in bronze and copper
. We
were making bronze armour and other intricate things when most
Athenians could barely cut and store a little grain! I still have some
family land in Euboia, inherited from my mother's side. With Plato
gone there was nothing to keep me in Athens. I started roving,
drawing on my inheritance. It occurs to me that, having never been
short of
money, I've been able to do what I wanted, most of
the time.'
'Some would say there are dangers in that.'
'Perhaps there are. Well, still young and still in the constant quest
of philosophy, after Plato died I went to the court of Hermias of
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
Atarneus, where other friends and former scholars of
Plato had gone.
I won't say that I had not some notion of
pleasing King Philip, who
was anxious to keep up good relations with a Greek city on a coast so
largely controlled by Persia. But I remained because of Hermias
himself.'
'What made him so fascinating?' I was really curious. Aristotle
seemed to hold this odd and unsuccessful character in such high
regard.
'W
ell- how to describe him to you? A slave who was no slave in his
mind. He started out as a slave indeed, a mere banker's assistant, and
rose by his own abilities to an important position as the ruler of
Atarneos and Assos. His native ability was very great. But he was
uneducated. Therefore Plato had sent to his court two of
his scholars,
Erastos and Koriskos, members of
such important families in Skepsis
that Hermias could not ignore them. They became friends, and
created a little Akademeia in Assos. Hermias, unlike the bullies who
so frequently rise to power, was eager to learn.'
'Admirable,' I commented, still puzzled at the notion of
a banker's
slave becoming a ruler.
'Hermias had an aspiring soul, and an intellect that could grasp
essentials. His court became a centre of learning. And not only that.
Only think, Stephanos, the man changed his mind! This is astonishing
in any human beings, especially in the powerful. Hermias modified his
ideas of the ruler or dictator, and gave his little nation a constitution
along the lines that we suggested. It was very exciting to see thought
becoming reality. That was one of
the best times in my life. It
was also
in Assos, amid the wonders of the Asian landscape and coast, that I
decided to study all life - the living creatures. A subject not much
touched upon in our books. We live in this great and beautiful world
full of
living creatures, and yet we understand so little about it.'
'So,' I said, encouragingly, 'that was a good thing. It explains why
you are still studying the animals and so on.'
'Yes, Stephanos. It may be the interest comes to me from both my
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FACING ASIA
father's and my mother's family. From my father the physician's side,
the interest in living forms of bodies. From the metal-workers and
designers comes this deep concern with how things are made and how
they function. Study of
the living material beings has been a lifelong
work. Nowadays I have those adult scholars to assist me, and we have
begun to make great strides. But it all began with my wandering
about the rocks and sands of
the coast of
Asia, and going out in small
boats to little islands.'
'All on your own?'
'Eventually I had one companion and fellow-worker - a little girl.
She used to come to me with a basket or a pottery jar and we would
go out to look for specimens. Catch things in rock pools, or watch
anemones. At first, of
course, I was just "amusing the child" in letting
her pretend to help, but rapidly I realised she was truly observant, and
had great patience. As you have guessed, this little girl was the
daughter - adopted and motherless daughter - of
Hermias.'
'What a strange way to take up with a woman!'
'Well, it was our way. But then came the bad time, when Hermias'
position was not so sure. I took the child to safety at his request, and
we settled for a while in Lesbos. It was in Lesbos also that I truly came
to know Theophrastos and we began the connection that has proved
so happy for me.'
'So - there you were in Lesbos, looking at tadpoles, the three of
you-'
'Yes. Lesbos is very beautiful, and its coast is warm and full of
wildlife. Our work kept us all happy and distracted the child from
sorrow over her separation from her father. We would watch crabs
together by the day, and study the behaviour of fishes and little
molluscs - and octopodes. I thought of all this when you saw the
octopus today. I remember talking about octopodes with Pythias. We
watched a pair mating on the sea floor in a shallow area - so beautiful,
like dancers. Pythias and I used to wander along the shore and stop
for a long while to watch the little crabs and sea-urchins.'
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'How curious!' I was struck by a certain impropriety in all this. 'She
had no other guardian?'
'Just her old nurse. But she was a sacred trust to me. Now I wish I
could have the old days back again, with young Pythias on a rock
beside me. Her long legs stretched out, and her hair flopping into the
water as she watches the rock pool's inhabitants. Or the two of us
waiting in dusk, quietly, for the rising of
the moon, and counting the
various night birds.'
'Did she feel no anxiety about her reputation?'
'Well, we lived quite a solitary existence for a while, and she was
used to me. And then we all went to King Philip in Makedonia, at his
command. He thought I could be useful in telling him about Asia,
and also acting as tutor to Alexander. I should add that Alexander
had a number of
tutors - I was but one. King Philip perhaps wanted
me under his eye. It struck me later that the reports I had sent back
from Atarneos and Assos may have been too good. Maybe I praised
Hermias over-much. Oh, Stephanos, I fear King Philip threw
Hermias to the wolves and deliberately let the Persians have him!
Hermias too knew that unless his luck took some very decided new
turns, his life was threatened. But he trusted a man - a Persian,
though oddly enough he was named Mentor. And Mentor it was who
betrayed him.'
'And as Hermias was a ruler,' I thought aloud, 'he could not just
leave, or take evasive action by disappearing, as a common man may
do if
he has enemies.'
'Indeed not. And you must not think of Hermias as weak, or
lacking in practical military ability. He withstood a Persian siege
during the time I was with him. Under the last fatal threat, Hermias
did not run away, neither did he try to injure innocent Persians to
retaliate against those who injured him. In the end, the Persians
captured Assos and took Hermias. That was less than a year after I
had arrived in King Philip's court.'
'And Hermias met his end.'
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FACING ASIA
'And Hermias met his end. I could not help him. All the rest of
my
life I have treasured up - a terrible treasure - every bit of
information
I could gather about the dreadful end of
my friend. Hermias did not
give way under torture, nor lead his torturers to anyone else. Among
his last words were a request to his brutal captors to tell his friends
that he had done nothing against the soul or unworthy of
philosophy.
'
I could now begin to see why Aristotle was always such an
enthusiast for the former ruler of Assos, though many people others
in Athens said everything denigrating they could about Hermias -
who still seemed to me somewhat odd.
'And so,' I said sympathetically, 'you were left with his daughter on
your hands. Who probably had nothing! No inheritance, no dowry.
The Persians would have taken everything Hermias had.'
'Yes. As she was the daughter of Hermias, who had died tortured
by the Persians and out of favour with the Makedonians, nobody
would be anxious to befriend her. Hermias, however, had earlier
asked me to take care of her always, in case anything happened to
him. She was a sacred trust.'
'Another burden for you,' I said sympathetically. 'It seems a pity
the Makedonian King could not help her.'
'Philip practically ignored her existence. Better so. But you must
understand, I loved her. Of course I had loved her when she was a
little child, but as one feels affection for a little child. One day when
she was fourteen I suddenly found myself
feeling ...
something quite
different. But I was determined to take no advantage of
her youth and
helpless state. Indeed, I do not approve of early marriage and child-
bearing for girls. It weakens their bodies; the babies are often
unhealthy and the young women die. So I said nothing to Pythias.
And I made no gesture to her that couldn't have been made by any
brother before an audience of
watchers.'
'But then - you married her?'
'I ardently wished to, but held back, until Pythias herself told me
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
she wanted this and felt she was ready. She was always a reserved
person, but deeply honest. And very steady.'
'An improper courtship! And one in which the lady asks the
question!' I nearly laughed, but caught myself. 'I mean - you couldn't
ask her father, neither of you had parents, you were drifting about
together in each other's company every day - most unsuitable -'
'Well, when you put it that way I agree it was unorthodox,
Stephanos,' said Aristotle stiffly. 'And it is not what I would advise
others to do. No, not at all. Ours was a special case. We married -
quite properly and formally - in Pella. We were of
an appropriate age.
Eighteen for the woman. Really, nobody should bear children before
that. I was in my later thirties. I have maintained that thirty-seven is
a good age for a man to beget - and that was about what I was when
we started seriously on child-creation. We have always lived with the
greatest propriety as man and wife - no more wanderings by the
shore. Pythias has been exemplary. At the time, I registered the
marriage everywhere one possibly could. My sister accepted her as
my wife. Then I took Pythias in my arms - but oh, the joy is now
repaid by grieving! I fear I killed her, Stephanos. I ought not to have
allowed the pregnancy to proceed. I was too old for this last child -
too old for child-getting.' His tears, which had dried up during his
narrative, started to flow again.
'I have even published my opinion that a man should not beget
children after he is fifty years old. But Pythias was so much younger,
I felt it worth the risk. We hadn't had a son - and our little girl is very
healthy. If only I had my Pythias back, we could go back to living in
that brotherly manner, as we did when we watched the shellfish off
the rocks of
Lesbos.'
This seemed too odd a vision of happiness to suit with my own
notions. But I knew I ought to try to comfort him.
'You have the memories,' I said lamely. 'And really, Aristotle, it has
been a while since your wife died. I thought you had got over it. Or
almost. like all good philosophers, you seem in your writings to hold
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FACING ASIA
women of such little account, on the whole. Philosophers are
supposed to excel anyway at doing away with grief, even for the death
of a man. You have seemed so like your normal self on most of the
journey.'
'Oh, Stephanos,' said Aristotle, 'it is hard to hold back all the time
- more than flesh and blood can bear. But you are too taken with
externals.' He dried his eyes, and looked away from me for a moment,
out to sea. 'You must make a distinction between what men say and
what they think. And between how they appear and what they are
feeling. Many a man with a broken heart will smile; many a fellow
who is full of
rage will speak in a polite and even kindly manner.'
He got up, in the slow manner of the ageing. When he stood up,
however, outlined against the sea with its deep transparency and
afternoon brightness, he looked sadly heroic, like a bronze figure. He
looked out again at Asia, which I now knew was a land of
dreams and
memories for him. Then we both scrambled into our clothes again.
'Have you observed,' Aristotle remarked conversationally, 'how
soon one dries off after bathing in salt water, and how much longer it
takes after being immersed in water that is sweet? The cause must be
all the material in the sea - there is less actual water.' I was not
pleased to find that a gull had made a target of
my khiton. At the sight
of the bird-shit painting my garment Aristotle laughed heartily,
though I did not.
We made our way back to our lodging and put on our clean khitons
in preparation for dinner. Oromedon's house was large, almost
magnificent. He had a marble statue near the entrance, and a kind of
floor I had never seen before, of pebbles arranged in a pattern,
handsome but not comfortable to walk on. His house was certainly a
contrast to the doctors' modest dwelling. Indeed, it seemed so large I
was surprised that the presence of a brother-in-law could at all have
incommoded him. Oromedon seemed a man accustomed to making
arrangements.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF liFE
'I regret,' he said courteously, 'that so far no letters have arrived for
either of
you. But most probably that will soon be rectified.'
'I hope so,' 1 said. 'I really don't think,' 1 added, turning to
Aristotle, 'that 1 can leave Kos until 1 have heard from home.'
'It pleases me to inform you both,' said Oromedon, 'that 1 have
sent a messenger to bring your messages from the great ship; they
should arrive as soon as you have eaten. It wouldn't do, my dear
Aristotle, for you to have news before a meal. Such a diversion is bad
for the digestion. 1 must uphold the reputation of Kos for good
medical practice.'
Aristotle, weary as he was after today's grief, was alert at the idea of
news, and chafing secretly at having it withheld from him. 1 also
ardently wished for a letter. Dinner, served only to the three of us,
seemed unnecessarily elaborate and long-lasting, though we were
certainly hungry enough at the outset, after our swim. Oromedon was
a middle-sized man with an impressive middle-aged manner, though
not a great deal to boast of in the way of looks. He had aged less
gracefully than Aristotle. He was not quite bald, but his hair at the top
consisted of a few strips more distressing than baldness. While he
talked, he had a habit of
smoothing these grey wisps along the top of
his head, as if to make sure he still had something in those regions. 1
decided uncharitably that Oromedon's idea of being philosophical
was to talk slowly in long sentences. But then, 1 was spoiled by
Aristotle's quick way of
going on.
At length the meal was done, compliments exchanged. Oromedon
left the room and came back almost immediately.
'I had hoped merely to offer you letters, and to see to it myself,' he
said. 'But there is an actual messenger for you, 0 Aristotle. He claims
to be on an embassy from the very highest quarters. 1 would not,
however, allow this person to incommode your dining hour. We have
fed him in the kitchen, do not fear. But it is probable that you had
best speak to him.'
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FACING ASIA
'A messenger? News!' Aristotle jumped up quickly.' Yes, let us
have the man in.'
The messenger who came into the room was a surprise. He was a
well-developed man smartly dressed. Too good for a slave.
'Sir,' he said to Aristotle, 'I am sent to entreat you to come aboard
the warship in the harbour, where there is one who would speak with
you with a message from Alexander's officer. We beg that you will
come now, even though the day waxes late.'
'Butwho-'
'Sir, 1 am a freedman, serving Peleus who is in the great army.
1 understand that he has a message for you - messages, both in
speech and in letters. The matter is of some urgency, and Peleus
begs that you will come today. We have a tender to carry you aboard
the ship.'
'My friend Stephanos will come with me, in that case,' said
Aristotle genially. 'He is accustomed to assisting my faltering steps.'
1 wondered, doubtless open eyed (I hope not open-mouthed) at
this outrageous statement.
'And good Oromedon,' Aristotle turned to his friend, 'would you
like to board the vessel?'
'I shall accompany you, of course,' said Oromedon. 'You are my
guest and 1 am responsible for your safety and pleasure. Only if
you
wish my presence during your conversation.'
'Three of you then. Very well,' said the freedman, bowing. 'I can
lead the way, sir, if
you do not mind. Time presses.'
We left the house with much less ceremony than I would have
thought possible in Oromedon's deliberate, and followed the sturdy
and active fellow back to the harbour mouth.
'I am sorry, Stephanos,' said Aristotle, 'to drag you off to another
ship. But it suddenly struck me - 1 do not know this fellow or his
officer, and it
is sometimes foolish to go alone into you know not what
company. It is always good to have a young and active man in the
party.'
289
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
We two and Oromedon were soon engaged in the business of
getting into the small boat, rowed by only two men, and setting off
through the crowded harbour towards the area beyond, where the
great ship lay at anchor. 1 looked back at the harbour of
Kos and the
houses that we knew. The waters were richly golden in the light of
the
sun as it slid down the sky. Suddenly we had arrived, and 1 was
moving up a fragile-seeming ladder of
rope, trying not to look down.
This vessel was so large - nothing like the friendly boats in which
we had made our journey. This was a long sleek craft, wide enough
in the waist to hold the ranks of
oarsmen. These men were busy oiling
themselves or serving cold food, while the ship lay at anchor.
Evidently they had not been allowed to go ashore. We looked upon
rows and rows of
benches.
'Please come aft, gentlemen,' said our guide. 'There is one there
who waits for you. He will explain all.'
We were shown into a small cabin with a kind of
shelf for a bed and
other purposes. Standing in the centre of
the room was a well-muscled
man of
a commanding presence. His hair was cut military style, and he
had a manly and military bearing.
'Sir,' exclaimed Aristotle, 'I see you are a member of the Greek
army. From the look of
you, you are one of
those in the Makedonian
brigades. We are honoured to meet an officer of
Alexander's forces. 1
am Aristotle son of
Nikomakhos for whom you have sent. This is my
friend Oromedon son of Daliokles of Kos. This is my friend
Stephanos son of Nikiarkhos, a man of
Athens. We are told you can
give us news?'
'Delighted to see you on board my ship,' said this military person,
bowing. 'Peleus at your service. 1 have come from the interior of
Asia
and shall return to the southern coast. 1 have a commission to deliver,
and will be pleased to be of use to you, Aristotle of Stageira. We
should converse - Pray sit down.' We sat on the small folding stools.
'I have much to ask,' said Aristotle. 'First, and most important, 1
must ask about the father of the young man in my charge. Young
290
FACING ASIA
Parmenion, whose father Arkhebios, half-brother of Philotas the
brave, is in the army. Formerly posted in Rhodos, now 1 think
fighting in Asia. My lad's even more famous grandfather is
Parmenion, long Alexander's second-in-command. Parmenion who
fought with such distinction at Granikos and in the battle by Payas
river near Issos town. We enquire most earnestly for the health of
Arkhebios. '
Peleus frowned.
'I fear,' he said gravely, 'we do not start on the happiest of
notes. 1
wish 1 had better news to relate. As for his health - Arkhebios is dead.
He died in one of those mountain skirmishes when the army was
pursuing Darius, and not in the main battle. His body could not be
brought back. You may tell Arkhebios' son that his father was
properly buried.'
'I am sorry to hear this,' Aristotle said seriously. 'We feared as
much. That the boy's father is dead sufficiently explains why we have
not heard from him. So 1 suppose we may give the lad into the care
of
his grandfather Parmenion?'
'This is even more difficult to say,' said Peleus. 'Hard to know how
to put this. But there seems to have been some kind of disagreement
between Alexander and Parmenion. Parmenion is no longer as
favoured as he was. He is not the second-in-command any more. He
has been told to take on the task of delivering the treasure of
Persepolis to Ekbatana of the Medes, while Alexander pursues his
conquests further in the East. Parmenion is even now engaged in this
difficult escort duty, rather than pursuing the Persian King to his last
stronghold. 1 fear if you wish to advance the youth you speak of,
Arkhebios' son, it would not be a good policy to give him in charge of
Parmenion at this moment.'
'Parmenion in disfavour!' Aristotle seemed much struck. 'Hard to
imagine! Parmenion has been such a strong support of both Philip
and Alexander. The army seemed to depend on him - and on
Philotas, too'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Too bad!' said Oromedon, arranging his three locks of hair
carefully. 'But in many affairs men cool to each other and then warm
again. Likely this will all blow over in time.'
'The army does not depend on one man,' said Peleus firmly. 'All of
us serve to the best of
our ability.'
'Quite so, quite so.' Aristotle's eyes went upward as if he sought
inspiration in the rought planking that served as a ceiling. He
scratched his beard. The boat rocked slightly.
'Our questions in this case are, sadly, answered. Thank you,
however, for your candour in giving us the news which cannot be
agreeable but must be heard. 1 wish also to ask you about my nephew
Kallisthenes.
'
Peleus' brow cleared. 'There 1 am happy to help you,' he said with
a smile. 'Kallisthenes will go far. His unflagging energy and attention
to detail impress everyone. He has made himself useful in many
things, including the interrogations of Persian prisoners and the
organisation of scouts and spies. 1 hear him well spoken of
everywhere. Kallisthenes' ability to write truthful and yet captivating
historical accounts has greatly endeared him to Alexander. The first
part of his history of the campaigns of Alexander is already being
copied. What an indispensable history it will be! Alexander, so 1 hear,
is most pleased with it. And Kallisthenes has been given many favours
by the Commander.'
'I expected no less,' said Aristotle, glowing. 'Kallisthenes has the
most remarkable abilities, and he begins with a store of learning
surprising in one so young.'
'I have even better news to report,' said the soldier Peleus
encouragingly
. 'You will have every opportunity of meeting your
nephew, should you wish to do so. For Alexander's friend the noble
Harpalos is inviting you to come and meet him within Asia, and
Kallisthenes will accompany Harpalos.'
'To see Kallisthenes - and meet Harpalos?'
'Yes. My commission is to invite and entreat you to come back with
292
FACING ASIA
our contingent to Greek Phaselis in western Asia. Not really so far.
Harpalos, Alexander's Treasurer, wishes to take advantage of your
proximity to consult with you personally about affairs in Athens and
elsewhere. Naturally, Alexander and his ministers need to know
where their resources are best deployed.'
Aristotle looked at me. I said encouragingly, 'Don't worry about
myself, Aristotle, for as you know I have another personal com-
mission to fulfil. While you are in Asia I must really wait in Kos for
the man you know of to return.' I didn't want to spell out all of my
affairs in front of this military Peleus. It was no concern of his. If I
were a little surprised at having Aristotle spirited away from me, as it
were, so suddenly, I had no business to complain. I had come to the
islands on business of my own. But Aristotle hesitated, his mouth
pursed in dubiety.
'I should prefer,' he said at last, 'if it could be arranged that my
friend Stephanos accompany me. I have no other travelling com-
panion on this journey -
except my slave Phokon of course.
Stephanos' presence would be of assistance to me.'
'No trouble in the world.' Peleus seemed confident. 'Two men
are as easy to take along as one. You won't need to take your slave:
you are advised not to do so, for you will have abundant servants
supplied by us. But it would be suitable that you had some company
for the road. Both for the way out and the way back, for it's likely to
be a different group of us accompanying you back to the coast on
your return.'
'If you would only come, Stephanos?' Aristotle turned to me.
'Instead of waiting in a sedentary manner in Kos, you could take
advantage of the opportunity - perhaps the only one - to see some-
thing of
Asia.' I hesitated. This scheme was no part of
my own plans.
But - it was my chance to see Asia ...
'If
it were not for the expense - and the fact that I hadn't heard
from home yet,' I began.
'Pray, don't think of expense,' said Aristotle, while Peleus
293
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
answered, 'Oh, there will be no expenses. You will travel in royal
style, all paid for. Your friend is welcome to come, Aristotle. Our
destination is between five and seven days' march from the coast.'
'We go by land?' Aristotle was surprised. 'I took it you meant a
quick sea journey to Phaselis.'
'Not exactly. A swift journey to Halikarnassos port, and then
onward by land. We are escorting supplies for several garrisons. You
will see something of
Asia itself, not just the sea coast - and no danger
of
pirates. You should arrive at Phaselis at the same time as Harpalos.
Kallisthenes will be travelling with Harpalos, and is himself delighted
at the prospect of
a reunion. Here is his letter.' The epistle the soldier
brought forth was on two small waxed tablets, tied together and
backed with highly polished wood.
'A letter from Kallisthenes! 1 recognise his scrawl,' said Aristotle,
happily seizing and perusing it instantly. 'Brief, Stephanos, but to the
point. This is what it says:
To my most honoured uncle Aristotle son of Nikomakhos, from
Kallisthenes, Greetings
That
you are well, dear uncle, is the prayer of
the writer, who also
wishes for your presence. By the greatest good fortune we are closer
to one another now than we have been for years, and nearer than I
could have hoped. I have turned back briefly to accompany
Harpalos after travelling many parasangs with Alexander. I want
to give you my new book. I earnestly hope you will come. Your sight
will give pleasure to the eyes of your affectionate and admiring
nephew.
'Oh, it is true,' said Aristotle, clutching the tablets. 'I cannot pass
up such a chance. But we must think . . . This journey - the
difficulties.' Aristotle's face, which had lit up with his pleasure at
hearing from Kallisthenes, became thoughtful again.
'To go by land into Asia as far as Phaselis - that is an expedition.
294
FACING ASIA
How long do we have? And how - what is expected -'
'You need have no cares,' said Peleus. 'Nothing to worry about. No
expenses as I said, and hardly anything to arrange. You will want to
collect clothes and so on tonight. Don't bring too much with you.
Remember, baggage impedes. We have blankets and pots, to be sure.
Come aboard before dawn. I will keep our oarsmen here tonight so
we can make a rapid start on the morrow. It is a very short voyage
indeed to Halikarnassos - as you know.'
He ushered us out of
his room again, and into the open. The setting
sun burned its colours upon the waters around us as Peleus prepared
to send us off.
'A brief and pleasant voyage tomorrow. Once we disembark at
Halikarnassos, by the little citadel, we proceed to the camp by Mylas
Gate - just a few stadia. A proper baggage train with horses and mules
meets us there, and we shall be on our way. We can travel quickly, we
know the road. No danger. It is cleared of Persians, and there are
military posting houses along the route. Best method of travelling!
You'll be surprised at how comfortable it is.'
295
XVII
==~9_,~e==
a---G
The Letter
A small train of men, animals and wagons moved in a light cloud of
dust along a hot and winding road. The winding road led down a
precipitous rough cliff. An onlooker - and there must have been
onlookers (some hostile) in the hills - would have noticed the curious
wagons and their load. They would have noted the excellence of
most
of
the horses, the fine quality of
the dust from the arable land, and the
military discipline of the men. All save two. Aristotle and I moved
with the weariness of civilians, not accustomed to the regular tramp-
tramp of an army. We had been going for some days; at times, it felt
like some weeks.
I now thought rather enviously of
our past experiences of
travelling
by water. The most recent of our sea journeys was the short voyage
from Kos to Halikarnassos. That could not take place until an
unhappy errand had been fulfilled. We had gone in the middle of
the
night (or so it seemed by then) to break the news of the death of his
father to young Parmenion. Telling these tidings was by no means
pleasant, though Parmenion was not inclined to scream and cry. He
stood pale and stony, a statue of misery. We had to leave him to
Iatrokles and Kleumedes to deal with. Aristotle and I then packed our
296
THE LETTER
few things and left the comfortable lodging in Kos at an uncom-
fortably early hour. To my surprise, Oromedon joined us in the
tender that once again set out for the big ship in the outer harbour.
'Naturally, I could not be easy unless I had seen you off, Aristotle,
and knew that you were in good hands,' he said. 'I regret so deeply
that you will not be under my roof! Fate snatches your visit from me.
But please convey my regards to your nephew Kallisthenes. And -
oh, yes - I find a message for your young friend Stephanos here was
sent to my house last evening.' Oromedon handed me a letter. Two
rather shabby waxed tablets, battered at the edges and bound with
coarse twine. The epistle was undoubtedly meant for me. The outer
part bore a small piece of grubby papyrus sealed to the board with
pitch:
To Stephanos son of
Nikiarkhos
With Aristotle
By favour of
Oromedon
son of
Daliokles of
Kos
'I recognise the handwriting!' I nearly shouted. 'Theodoros! My
brother, Theodoros. What a relief to my mind, to hear from home.
Forgive me but I shall open it straight away.'
I broke the twine in a great hurry to see the letter. It
did not reward
my haste.
The waxen page within was very clean and new, and incised with a
few lines. First, a straggling line of salutation, large letters incised
irregularly (as in the rest of
this epistle), in a youthful hand:
To my dear and honoured Brother Stephanos
was followed by a line that might be found in any ordinary letter:
Greetings to you from Th and I trust you are well.
297
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
So far this was a conventional and proper opening. But no ordinary
letter followed. Instead there were two lines of
poetry - a quotation.
This couplet was followed by the short line Mother's love, and then the
conventional word 'Farewell'. The whole of this puzzling epistle
didn't take up a page. The other page, the facing waxed side, was a
perfect blank.
'Strange,' I exclaimed. 'Aristotle, he does not write me a real letter,
merely sends a quotation - from Hesiod I think. What can he be
thinking of? And I shouldn't have thought Theodoros knew Hesiod.
Homer, yes, he's started Homer -'
'Probably his schoolmaster quotes those lines,' Aristotle suggested,
looking over my shoulder. 'Conventional schoolmaster stuff. Works
and Days. I have often quoted those lines myself:
"Best is that man above all men who everything can know,
And next in good is humbler he who to these wise will go;
Who cannot for himself see truth, or from another hear it
To store away in his own mind - this man is without merit.'"
'Yes, that sounds most likely.' Oromedon nodded sagely, having
peered (uninvited) over my shoulder likewise. 'After all, how old is
your little brother?'
'He is not yet ten years of age.'
'There you are, then. He wishes to write something impressive to his
elder brother, and to let you know they are all going on well at home.
So he sends this odd missive - a boy showing off and trying to look
grown-up. But at least,' Oromedon continued, 'you have the comfort,
as you set off on your brief journey, of knowing that everyone is well
and that your little brother has leisure to pursue his studies.'
I read the letter again.
To my dear and honoured Brother Stephanos
Greetings to you from Th and I trust you are well.
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THE LETTER
W'ho cannot for himself
see truth, or
from another hear it
To store away in his own mind - this man is without merit.
Mother's love
Farewell
'It seems almost like a joke.' I frowned. 'Theodoros should know
better than to play jokes or to show off at such a time. Expensive to
send such a letter all this way too, with no news - he might have said
something about everyone.' I caught myself. It was impolite to
grumble about something that was certainly not the fault of my
company. Nor did I have reason to seem churlish to Oromedon,
especially since he was such an important man in Kos.
'I thank you a thousand times for delivering this to me,' I said
earnestly. 'You have gone out of your way to accommodate me and
mine. Let me reimburse you for anything you have had to pay a
messenger.
'
Oro
medon waved away any question of payment with an elegant
air of
finality.
The short ride in the little boat gave me time for reading and
pondering Theodoros' epistle, but we were soon scrambling aboard
the great ship. The three-banked vessel looked very splendid in the
dawn light. Baggage was being loaded aboard, including, I saw,
several great parcels of sharp spears, piles of helmets, and even parts
of siege engines. Peleus and his adjutant supervised these, whilst his
men inspected and stowed bags of
flour and unwieldy flour mills and
other humble goods. In much less time than I expected, we were
waving farewell to Oromedon as our great ship set out for sea.
It
was exciting to be on a vessel with such an enormous number of
rowers. We plunged magnificently through the waves, the ship
seeming to pass the measure of
her own length with one sweep of
the
great oars. It felt as if there were no pause at all. The men worked
miraculously together and the vessel shuddered as if
with excitement
299
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
at this power. The keleusma on such a big ship is practically deafening,
unignorable; I wondered how anybody could get used to it. The
speaker or singer was accompanied at one end of
the ship by a piper,
at the other by a heavy triangle struck at the same instant as his cry.
The metallic shout and the whistle blended with the human in an
unearthly concert of
pure sound.
Aristotle was made uncomfortable by the sight of the rowers
working together with unremitting and concentrated labour.
'But this is a mill, Stephanos!' he exclaimed. 'A giant mill, where
the men are made into parts, like blind oxen and donkeys that turn a
stone. How can one make citizens of
people who do so?'
'Well, they get paid, and they do make us go fast,' I pointed out
practically.
Indeed, the coast of Asia loomed close, rising out of a drapery of
white morning mist. Kos receded rapidly. I regretted leaving its quiet
hospitality and friendly doctors. And suppose my brother-in law (to
be) returned to this island while I was not there? True, I had asked
latrokles to get in touch with him, but would the doctor remember?
We proceeded parallel with the Cape of Myndos, passing an odd
triangular hill and then swooping to our harbourage. Halikarnassos
itself
was masked by two or three low scrubby islands, and only when
we passed between them could we see the magnificent harbour, and
behind it the ragged edges of the broken city set on low hills. The
harbour is a great semicircle; as you approach it there is a castellation
on the right, and to the left a fortification and towers (ruined now) on
a high and terraced hill, with an outlook over the whole harbour. The
walls of this town had never been mended; they consisted largely of
heaps of
stone lying about. Here and there I could make out the shape
of a building. One structure had notoriously been spared - by
Alexander's personal order. Directly ahead of us, rising above the
wrecked centre of the town, was the glittering Mausoleum, monu-
ment to the dead ruler Mausolus put up by his widow (and sister)
Artemisia, twenty years before the city fell to Alexander. On top of a
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THE LETTER
pyramid stands a four-horse chariot in bronze and gold, with giant
statues of
Mausolus and Artemisia in it. They appeared unduly smug,
driving along in their splendour over the ruins of their people and
their city.
The Mausoleum is just beyond the port, which was surprisingly
busy. We heard the sounds of activity, the work of the hammers of
smiths and the cries of
vegetable sellers. A row of
hopeless beggars sat
in the sun - men mostly, wounded and useless. The beggars exhibited
a variety of afflictions, and their appeals and groans mingled with the
more vivacious cries of the hucksters. 'Pray, a small coin, sir?' 'Spare
something for a poor man, I beseech.' Some said nothing, perhaps
almost resigned to their fate. One pathetic man had a wen and a raw
scar. Next to him sat a blind man, in a ragged and foul cloak with a
kind of
hood; he made no appeal, simply waggled a dirty foot to and
fro, groaning occasionally and incoherently. He was too repulsive to
tempt one to go near, his skin scabbed with dreadful red sores.
In what had once been a city you could see the fallen towers and
stones burnt black, with a few charred beams not yet cleared away. I
had heard before of the fire and the devastation from someone who
was in Halikarnassos when it was taken. It was not rebuilt. Here and
there would appear an apologetic group of
dwellings in ill-made mud
brick - humble housing that had either been spared or was thrown up
after the cataclysm. You couldn't imagine this city truly recovering.
Yet some poor folks were actually dwelling in the scorched ruins, as
their rags showed.
'Oh, yes,' said Peleus. 'They hunt about for pickings from the
ruins, largely. And there are some wells of good water in there, once
they're cleansed and purified. The harbour supplies work. Queen
Ada is anxious to put things back on something like the old footing.
A slow business. We have assuredly clean wells with excellent water
for the garrison at Mylas Gate. Also stabling for a good number of
animals there. You'll see how convenient it is.'
The men, having quickly unloaded the ship, with the help of
mules
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
and carts moved the goods to the garrison station, a series of sheds,
temporary houses and stables. Some soldiers and their servants were
waiting to join us.
'Another shipment of arms and armour just came down from the
North,' said Peleus, pleased. 'We'll add them to our load - we will be
taking armaments and a few other supplies with us. Won't take us
long to load up. One never goes east without taking some more
supplies. Here, this is Menestor, a Theban slave. He can assist you.
His Greek is perfect of course, but he knows Persian by now too.'
A diffident young man, rather grimy like most slaves but with a
humble uncertain smile, came to see if we wanted anything.
Attentively he offered us food and drink while we were waiting, and
carefully made sure our luggage was stowed properly away. 1 felt
uncomfortable dealing with a slave from Thebes, and remarked on
this to Peleus.
'Well, you must realise there are a lot of Theban slaves,' he said
frankly. 'Something like thirty thousand men, women, and children
were made captive at the fall of
that defiant city. And of
course a lot
of people on the mainland don't like having them, so a great
proportion of
them were brought over here to Asia. Quite a number
serve the army, which needs many Greek-speaking porters. They
are quite serviceable. That boy makes himself useful. You see how
smartly the men and their attendants get things ready. We can soon
set off.'
True, the preparations had gone quickly. Alexander's army and
those who served it were used to efficiency. 'I am surprised at the
order with which you arrange the things in the wagons,' 1 remarked.
'I am more surprised,' said Aristotle, 'to see wagons at all. 1 believe
Alexander, like his father, is firmly against their use.'
'Oh, that's in warfare,' said Peleus. 'Yes Philip and Alexander like
the army to move along briskly. There's no doubt wagons are slow.
Having slaves to carry stuff and march with you is much faster - and
of course each soldier carries his own basic supplies and weapons.
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THE LETTER
You know that Alexander forbade women and children of
any kind to
follow the army, and the ban on wagons supported that policy. But
that ban applies to an army on the march, invading and conquering.
Nowadays we have settled garrisons to supply. Naturally, we use
wagons and large carts, and take all sorts of heavy loads. We have a
great many mules, for one thing - and tough and strong, so we can
cover the ground. Let's be om'
There were military men armed to the head and to the rear of our
party, and where Aristotle and I walked in the middle there was also
an armed soldier. Instead of
making me feel safer, this was alarming.
I suddenly realised that I had come to a region at war, or recently
pacified, where armed insurrection was a possibility.
'Don't worry,' said Peleus, seeing, as it were, into my thoughts.
'This land is ours now.'
I was no longer in Attika, my native and good Attika, where our
ancestors sprang out of the soil. We know it is our natural place; we
belong on land that is truly ours. Sword-taken land seems another
kind of thing from home land. Every step I took I felt I was going in
the wrong direction, farther and farther away from my home, from
my mother whom I had sworn to protect, and from my puzzling
Theodoros, who was old enough to write, it seemed, but not of
age to
make sense.
We came to a river, which I was told was the Xanthos. Barges were
lined up for our use, and with our supplies (including heaps of
animal
fodder) and our cargo of arms and armour we got into them and
moved on down the river. The flat boats were propelled partly by the
draught power of animals and partly by men rowing or pushing the
craft along. We had a good view of
some of
the land and the trees; the
breeze from the river made a welcome coolness. Too soon we had to
get out and march again, at the staging post by the riverside where a
host of animals and some more soldiers awaited us. Again, the cargo
was put aboard wagons and carts (except for some equipment left at
this post), and we set off, marching on and on. Soon we were covered
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
with the fine dust that floated up from the arable ground, beaten into
a flour by the tramp of
men and animals.
Aristotle and I were offered a place to ride in a wagon, under a linen
shelter, but we refused. It was too undignified, in the presence of
these soldiers to sit (like old ladies or wanton camp-followers) on top
of the armour and baggage. We marched with the rest.
The pace was
not too hard for civilians, but it was hard in the sense that we could
not stop and dally at our own sweet will. Not at all like travelling to
Delphi. Although my journey to Delphi had its more frightening
aspects, I remembered the meadows, and the places where we
stopped to eat and look at the flowers and hear the (quarrelsome)
shepherds sing. Now the songs we heard were military ditties. From
the people whom we passed, silence.
We had to stop occasionally to let the animals eat and drink.
'They seem to need a lot of
water,' I remarked.
'And food,' said Peleus. 'That's the difficulty of organising any
kind of army expedition - keeping up with the demands not only of
the men, but also of the animals. When you work the animals hard,
they drink even more. We calculate how much fodder the animals will
need - we cannot always rely on the land. We now have charts
showing where the good wells are. An expedition like this is nothing
compared to a truly major operation. I must admit, Parmenion is
wonderfully able in organising transport in big operations - almost as
good as Alexander himself. Now, they tell me, Parmenion, in order to
transport the great Persian treasure to Ekbatana, must take twenty
thousand mules and five thousand camels!'
'Ah! Five thousand camels?' said Aristotle, brightening. 'Then it is
no wonder that Alexander has asked him to conduct this complex
expedition. Only Parmenion could deal with it. That gives me cause
to hope that there is no real falling-out between Parmenion and
Alexander. Such a task might be seen as a high compliment.'
'Perhaps,' was Peleus' only reply. But Aristotle whispered to me,
'This man is not of high enough position to know the truth about
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THE LETTER
generals. We must enquire of
Kallisthenes, or Harpalos.'
Each night we stopped at a posting house, as promised. There was
dinner every night, and we usually slept under some sort of roof,
though in a place with open walls to let the air in, as it was so hot. The
animals, both by night and by day, emitted a good deal of
noise, and
some smell. The army possessed (or had commandeered) an endless
supply of donkeys and mules, most of
which seemed to bray outside
my bedchamber. There were numerous and very handsome horses.
All these animals emitted unignorable smells.
At the posting stations they also had a few oxen for really heavy
loads, but these slow beasts were used for local transport. We were,
however, escorting some heavy loads of valuable equipment. I saw
one wagon full of sarissas, those very long light spears favoured by
Makedonians, and a cart brimming over with shining bronze helmets
and corselets.
'I should have thought,' 1 said looking at these, 'that by now you
had the Persians making this sort of thing.'
Peleus laughed.
'Yes, we have taken over all the Persian manufactories, and they are
remarkably good. They have made armaments and armour for Darius
and his ancestors for many ages. But, you understand, a lot of
Greek
generals and most Makedonians, especially the leaders, don't want to
fight with anything but the best - and what they are used to. So they
send back for weapons and armour from the mainland. The sarissas
come from Pella or from Deon, in Makedonia.'
'And the bronze helmets and corselets are certainly from Khalkis,'
said Aristotle, fingering one of
these in a thoughtful and familiar way.
'Where else could you find quality like that?'
So in this military style we were marching day after day at a good
pace, in company with horses, mules, asses and men, through huge
brown hills which became increasingly craggy. The country is very
vast: it seemed bigger than Greece. Sometimes you would see fields
stretching to the horizon and then hill after great hill. When we
305
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF l.lFE
turned south we occasionally caught a glimpse of
dramatic crags and
cliffs plunging seaward. The weather was hot, save when a breeze
blew, which was rarely. In the fields, a few peasants toiled.
'We thought it best,' Peleus explained, 'to let some of
the Persians
go on growing crops. We need the food. It would not help us if the
region were consumed by famine. But more of the farms are being
taken over by Greek settlers, and we hope eventually to have the
inland area just as Greek as the coast.'
'Do the remaining Persians not try to resist and fight you?' I asked.
He laughed. 'They have very little chance against a well-armed and
organised army, I assure you. Most of them know better. Besides,
here in western regions of Asia they cannot go far - we have taken
over most of their animals. And a lot of the people are dead or have
fled. But the peasants remaining can still grow food. We had a good
wheat harvest. Observe how fruitful this land is - how valuable.'
It was literally fruitful, for we were now on a road above a
steep valley in which were orchards of fig and pomegranate trees,
heavy with fruit. A few women were working sadly among the
pomegranates.
'Splendid!' cried Aristotle. 'With such wealth the Greeks can feed
themselves - almost, one is tempted to think, the world. Improved by
better management, both Egypt and Asia will give such provision that
we may no more fear famine - that great evil to mankind.'
'But I dare say Darius thought well of this land for feeding his
Persians,' I said, laughing a little on thinking of that discomfited
King. Yet I was not entirely happy to think of all the people killed or
fled who had lived a few years ago in these prosperous homesteads
and tilled the fields.
'Well, Darius should soon be done for,' said Peleus impatiently.
'Then we will know the real peace has begun. It is a great pity we are
still chasing Darius. He has gone into that hinterland of
mountains, a
very inhospitable region beyond the real Persia. So it will take time to
dig him out. That is where the man you were asking about -
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THE LETTER
Arkhebios - fell. In one of the many little fights among the crags of
that grim country.'
'Sad,' said Aristotle. 'One of the misfortunes of war. But the
Commander should make it up to the man's family. And to gain such
a fair country for Greece is worth even the painful expense of
lives as
well as of
material and time. This war is changing the world.'
'It is wonderful,' I assented. 'But I wonder how easy the Persian
lands will be to retain? Could not the Persians complain to the gods
that we captured them unjustly, as they were not making war on us
when we invaded?'
'What kind of
complaint could they make to their gods, Stephanos,
since in days of
old they themselves were simply conquerors of
all this
land? Persia marched into this region, which was largely settled by
Greeks. There were other peoples here before; there is a good deal of
mixture in the population.
'My greatest hope, Stephanos, is that this great war and this new
circumstance of having almost a new world to settle and control will
bring to the Hellenes what they so badly need. Unity. Greece - or at
least parts of
it - is the leader among mankind in all civilised arts, and
in practical matters too. Where do you find better things - from flutes
and house tiles to corselets and statues? Where is there a poetry like
that in the Greek language - or a language more lovely and expressive
in itself? Moreover, where are there better laws, or a deeper under-
standing of a political constitution? Greece is the treasure-house of
civilisation. But what holds her back? Simply that Greek fights Greek.
Even within the same city-state there are civic quarrels, factions, even
broils and bloodshed. And Athens and Sparta, two great com-
munities, wasted their strength in fighting each other. Now in this
cause all of Hellas unites - or can unite.'
'That is an amazing vision,' I said. 'I am not sure if! like it. Not if
it means Athens becomes less like Athens. I shall always be an
Athenian.'
'It is my belief
- my prayer, if
you like - that the settlement of
Asia
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
will bring about the political peace and humane stability of
which the
Athenian - and all other Greeks - may be capable but have not yet
realised. We could create a new Athens without its defects. The first
to benefit from the new way of things, really, are the wretched
inhabitants of
this region whom you see before you. For they will now
share in the arts and letters and political structures of the Greek
world. When they have been taught aright, and the area has been
leavened with new settlers, all the inhabitants will recognise their
benefits and blessings, and hasten to create a brighter order. New
cities will arise here, adorned with marble council halls and high-
pillared temples. Citizens will move in an orderly way to vote in their
own councils, each a citizen of
his own city, but all sharing the great
idea. Then the earth will be full of light. The light of learning and
knowledge, with good trade, good art, good medicine - and the
highest philosophic thinking about the good of
mankind and the best
political structure. In that new world, all mankind will eventually
participate, and old disunity be done away.'
He was breathless with the quick, passionate utterance of his
long speech and the rapture of his vision. Truth to tell, I had not
thought about any of
this. To me, the war against Persia had been a
kind of grumbling nuisance. For the first time I felt how it would
affect my children, and my children's children. I was not sure that I
wanted all this alteration - it was like someone giving you too much
dinner.
'I admit that it makes a change,' I said slowly.
'You will live to see it all. I have written carefully to Kallisthenes -
as he keeps such close company with Alexander - about our civilising
of Asia. All our policies in the conquered lands should drive to this
end. Oh, how happy I am to think I shall see Kallisthenes soon! I have
missed him. You will like my nephew, Stephanos.'
'I am sure I shall,' I said, politeness masking my relative lack of
interest. I could think only of my little brother Theodoros. Was he
showing off? Impudent? Or merely practising his handwriting? Was
308
THE LETTER
his handwriting better or worse than I remembered it? I wanted to
look at the letter again, but felt reluctant to discuss it.
At this point, we had to save our breath and shut off discourse lest
we tumble or fall behind. We were winding down steep mountainous
cliffs, turning once more towards the sea coast. It was prudent to
watch one's footing, so as not to tumble straight down the rough
incline on to the rocks below. Then we reached a kind of road along
a beach, where sand made the going difficult.
I could scarcely believe that the journey would not go on and on,
and I felt no sensation stronger than that of
surprise when Peleus said
we were approaching our objective, the harbour city of Phaselis. He
himself seemed brighter at the thought, and regaled us with the
glories of the town, including a freshwater lake. 'There is an inland
town called Milyas,' he added, 'or there was, but Alexander destroyed
it as he wanted to keep the passes open, without danger of attack.
Phaselis is surrounded by mountains.' He laughed. 'One mountain
we call "The Ladder". Our army had practically to carve steps in it -
so steep! At its foot is a narrow pass on shore which is dry in calm
weather but full of
sea at flood tide. Alexander insisted on going over
into Pamphylia in stormy weather, when the water had come in - you
must believe it! Soldiers had to march in water up to their belly-
buttons.'
As we were simply coming from the west, however, and the sea was
ebbing, we soon marched more or less dry-shod, and gained Phaselis,
with its three harbours. Phaselis was quite in tune with Aristotle's
vision, for it is a handsome Greek city (if
small). Its walls, temples and
meeting houses were intact.
'This was one of the wise cities,' said Peleus. 'The leaders of the
town came out with a gold wreath for Alexander and offered the city
to him. Greek place, as you can see. An important garrison now.
Alexander placed Nearkhos here to govern Lykia and Pamphylia.'
I felt at home - or almost - there in Phaselis, looking about me at
the shining marble buildings in the centre of the town. Had the
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
governor Nearkhos been there, of course we should have introduced
ourselves, but we were told he was away. The streets and the Agora
were full of soldiers, so Phaselis was less like a normal town than it
first looked. Yet, there would be taverns here, and songs that I knew.
But I was not to stay to examine the place.
We stopped, not at the central military office next to the governor's
house, but at a guard post in the eastern wall of the city. Here we
dropped off some of our freight, and a couple of
new soldiers joined
us. 'This is Diophantos, who knows his way backward and forward by
now along the coast of Lykia,' said Peleus introducing this captain.
'He has charge of a platoon which will be useful to you in getting
everything around and up the hill road. For it seems we must go on -
a new message with orders for us.'
'Yes. So sorry to incommode you,' said Diophantos pleasantly. He
was a nondescript man with a broad sunburned face and agreeable
manner. 'We have had a message from Harpalos saying that if he
wasn't at Phaselis by the time you got here, you and your party were
to go on and meet him in the next posting station, in the direction of
Side. Wait for him there.'
'Well, we must do so,' said Peleus resignedly. 'Might as well start
off at once.'
We didn't start off at once, as there was a little discussion about
whether we should take 'The Ladder' or the beach route. As we still
had carts and some baggage, including supplies for Harpalos,
everybody elected the beach. The going was squelchy and slow and
we all had to put our shoulders to the carts to hoist them out of
wet
sand from time to time. To get to the posting station we had to climb
sharply uphill. Lykia is vertical country. This next posting station east
of Phaselis was, like many others, set in a wretched ruined village, as
that offered good well water and the shelter of the few walls left
standing. We were told to wait in a shed-like structure attached to a
large expanse of
broken wall. Here we had a roof
thatched with leaves
and brush to keep off the sun, but not much else. After the promise
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THE LETTER
of marbled Phase
lis, we might as well have been in the middle of
nowhere.
Waiting seemed worse than walking, but we were fortunate, for the
day after our arrival the scout announced a cloud of dust on the
eastern road, and assured us that the party of Harpalos was
approaching from Side. He proved a true prophet. Aristotle and I, in
respectable clothing, were urged to meet the Treasurer and friend of
Alexander as soon as he arrived. We lined up obediently, looking in
the direction of the approaching storm of dust, hearing its horses'
hoofbeats and beholding the looming horsemen as they emerged each
from his particular cloud.
311
XVIII
==~g_,~e==
0'-'6
Harpalos the Treasurer
Harpalos, first to arrive, looked down at us for a moment, not
immediately dismounting from his remarkably beautiful white horse.
Man and horse, even if dusty, looked finer than statues. Harpalos,
sitting easily on his lovely steed, was dressed not only for riding but
for war. He wore no helmet, but his red tunic was covered by a
corselet of the cleanest bronze, ornamented with sculpture work in
relief depicting a crowd of
men looking towards the sun. Untarnished
and undented, the bronze glittered in the hot rays of the day. About
his neck a scarf glittered like a cobwebs with dew on it, some kind of
airy Persian work. It had floated lightly behind him when he rode, and
now rested in graceful folds.
'Well!' Harpalos broke into a broad smile, most pleas~ng to
behold. His teeth were white and even, his smile no vulgar grin but
the smile of a gentleman who delights in meeting a friend. 'A happy
meeting! 0 Aristotle son of Nikomakhos, it is good in you to
come this long journey to see me.' His clear grey eyes, set wide apart
in his sun-bronzed face, gazed at us from above with concentrated
interest.
'It is an honour to see you, 0 Harpalos son of Makhatas,' said
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
Aristotle mildly. 'This is my good and trustworthy friend, a man of
Athens, Stephanos son ofNikiarkhos.'
'A friend of
yours is welcome, 0 Aristotle. For you know the good.
Men, mark this day as fortunate -' turning to those cavalrymen
behind him - 'for we lay eyes on one of the great men of our age,
Aristotle the philosopher of Athens, who toils for the empire of
knowledge and virtue.'
The men set up a dutiful murmur of
applause as Harpalos wheeled
his horse about. 'The two of
you must share such poor shelter as I cali
offer. I shall let my horse take a well-earned rest.' He moved to the
area set aside for the best horses, a light shed to protect them from the
hot sun, and leaped off his steed. One of his men stood by to help
him. I realised with a shock that this impressive man was crippled,
one leg slightly withered and shorter than the other. He seemed active
enough, despite his lameness, and certainly used to riding. The horse
nodded peacefully as Harpalos laid a hand on its nose. The other
Makedonians came up and the grooms took charge of the horses,
rubbing them and feeding them grains since grazing herbage was
scarce in this sunburnt place.
Harpalos strode towards us with his energetic but uneven gait; his
soldiers and some servants who had arrived in a second wave were
already unloading baggage. We stood at the opening of the
unadorned shelter that served this station's visitors, and resumed our
greetings.
'So good in you to come,' repeated Harpalos with hearty goodwill.
'Sorry not to have met you in Phase
lis, but I have ridden all the way
from Side.' The ride did not seem to have incommoded him. Despite
his disability this man seemed youthful, full of energy. He was of
course slightly older than I, a schoolfellow, as I now recalled, of
Alexander - Alexander's age or just a trifle older, perhaps twenty-
seven or twenty-eight. A man just arrived at his prime, and flowering
in that prime. His height was in his torso and he looked less tall
standing than he did sitting. But he was undeniably good looking -
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
not as beautiful as Demetrios of Phaleron, but almost. He had the
straight well-cut nose of a nobleman, and those winning frank grey
eyes.
'Well, Aristotle, it is good to see you. How it brings back the days
of
my boyhood,' he continued. 'Do you remember the day we - Alex
and I - released all the horses in the stables and put a gadfly on the
rear of each? So the poor steeds, from the noblest stallion to the
pitifullest knock-kneed hack, all fell to galloping in every direction
over the whole world?' He turned and gave me the benefit of
his smile
also. 'We were bad boys at that time, you see. Oh, those were the
happy days.'
'And you do not seem unhappy now,' said Aristotle, smiling. 'You
have a high position. We are truly honoured in meeting you, 0
Harpalos.'
'And so - but why do we stay to talk in this pen!' Harpalos looked
about him with disfavour. Our shed was indeed little better than a
shelter for animals, though it had an impressive view of
the sea below,
broad and endless, burning blue and white and golden in the summer
sun. 'I have asked my servants to make us a worthy room in the shade
of
this shanty. I did not ask you here, Aristotle - you and your friend
who is so kind as to accompany you - in order to make you miserable
in this poky little place. Come, we shall see what my fellows can
provide for us.'
He led the way around the exterior wall. On the shadier side three
men were setting up a tent on the bare ground. From a roll of
material
in a slender bag they quickly conjured up an elegant white structure,
fluttering gently in the breeze, but apparently fixed solidly enough to
the ground. And the ground was not to be bare any more, for with
quick gestures the men ran about, strewing strange colourful stuffs
and tapestries upon the earth, so that we were led into a miniature
and quick-made palace.
'Seat yourselves,' said Harpalos, handing us each a cushion in a
hospitable manner. It was most affable of
him to see personally to our
314
HARPALOS THE TREASURER
comfort. 'I had my fellows set it up so we shall get the breeze from the
sea, without the glare. And, with my men standing guard outside, I
can take off my armour.' He shrugged himself out of his handsome
corselet. 'Made to my measure at my instructions,' he explained. 'A
light hard bronze, so it is not inconvenient but the heat does make a
difference. The scarf keeps my neck from burning.'
He clapped his hands and two servants appeared - Persian, I could
guess by their appearance. He spoke to them quickly in an unknown
tongue and they bowed and left the tent.
Aristotle laughed. 'You are becoming a master of languages,
Harpalos. I knew a couple of Persian magi - Plato had them at the
Akademeia. But the only word I could make out was "chicken".'
'Then I cannot surprise you with our meal!' Harpalos retorted.
'Too bad. But I have a better surprise for you. It will be ready by the
time another party arrives, bringing one of my treasures that I am
anxious to show you. '
'I shall be happy to see it.' Aristotle was polite.
'But - where is
Kallisthenes? I was promised Kallisthenes would be here.'
'Yes, Kallisthenes of Olynthos. Your nephew, I believe? Our
Commander's historian and adulator. Eager to see you, I promise
you. He is conducting the other party I just spoke of and will be here
shortly.'
'Now we are at leisure, we must congratulate you on your
promotion.
'
'I wouldn't call it precisely that,' Harpalos said easily.' Something
I could do for Alexander. You remember I was Treasurer before, after
the death of Philip.'
'And I am glad,' said Aristotle, 'that whatever differences you and
my other pupil have had in the past have been patched up.'
'Oh, well,' said Harpalos, 'all that has been widely misreported, I
think. I went to Megara to help Alexander. Of course I missed the
battle at Issos town. But of course you must know - I cannot fight.
Not with this leg - and not with this arm.' He gazed ruefully down at
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
this left arm and I suddenly saw that it too was withered, and the
extremity of it was immobile. The hand was like a limp claw, not in
use.
'As you see, young man -' he gazed at me squarely. 'That hand
could grasp neither sarissa nor buckler. Alexander knows I cannot be
a warrior in the field. But Alexander needs about him true men of
Makedonia - nobles of his own kind, that he can trust. And he can
trust me. You know of our history of old, Aristotle. My loyalty has
been tried - and proved.'
'Yes, indeed, I know it has. Harpalos,' Aristotle explained to me,
'was sent into exile by King Philip, who was jealous of the loyalty of
some of
Alexander's men.'
'That was after King Philip's second marriage,' added Harpalos.
'Boy! Fetch us some wine here. Yes, Philip (though he was old
enough to know better) was besotted with his new wife and cast off
Queen Olympias, Alexander's mother, using her and even Alexander
with disgrace. Those of us who were true to Alexander were badly
treated.'
'Great men like Philip are always expecting treachery,' remarked
Aristotle.
'But the group who remained loyal to Alexander through exile or
imprisonment - these Alexander knows he can trust. We are the
Good Companions. Boy, serve my guests in the best goblets.'
We made libation, and Harpalos stretched; he lay back on a
cushion, as one glad to be at leisure. I noticed, as he drank his wine
and rested, that there was a strong line on his face, a furrow carved
from nose to mouth, such as one sees in those who have suffered
illness or pain. It cannot have been easy for crippled Harpalos to
remain so active. Perhaps, handsome and debonair as he seemed, he
was not free now from bodily pain.
'Bit of a journey,' he explained, as if reading my thoughts. 'Came
by ship from Damaskos, and went to Perge and then to Side.
Carrying messages from Alexander to the governors. Philoxenos, in
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
whose charge the western part of
Asia is laid, is busy with the fleet in
the Aegean. He can hardly be everywhere. So I do a few errands in
the West. We mustn't neglect the cities and stations in the West while
we push our way East. Mind you, my own headquarters are really in
Babylon. A most beautiful place - we are trying to restore it to all its
glory. Even Damaskos seems now a long way westward. A busy time
we're having in the East. I have good news that will surprise you!'
'Yes?' said Aristotle eagerly. We both leaned forward to hear.
Harpalos rose from his cushioned place and stood up in the middle
of
the tent to make his dramatic announcement.
'Darius - Darius the great King of Persia - is dead!'
'What? Really?' we exclaimed.
'Yes. I have talked with those who saw his corpse. You must know
that Darius had sought shelter with his friend and loyal supporter
Bessus - one of the great Persian commanders at Issos, you will
remember. But Bessus, like a treacherous hound, turned against his
master in his last extremity and put Darius under arrest, proclaiming
himself the new King. Alexander went in swift pursuit of Darius, all
the way to the Hyrkanian gates. Then with a picked band of cavalry
he rushed after the fugitive Bessus. Alexander must have gone like the
wind! Amazing, the distance he covered in eight days. Going over
terrible country, I promise you. Anyway, the rebels had Darius with
them in a cart with bars on the sides, a moving prison, with two
generals to guard him. When they saw the Makedonians coming,
these two generals Satibarzanes and Barsaentes knew there was no
safety for them. So they stabbed Darius themselves and fled away
with six hundred other horsemen, to hide in the desert.'
'And thus the Great King died,' murmured Aristotle. 'The end of
the story of
Darius' life.'
'And what an end! I tell you, the rascals in their haste to run off
didn't even stab the King properly. Darius wasn't dead when they
sped away! Darius was just gasping his last when our men came up.
So - there is the end of the golden king. Powerful Darius, with his
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
thousands and hundreds of thousands, his wealth and his strength.
Killed pitifully, like a stuck pig in a farm cart. How much better and
more honourable a death it would have been for him had he fallen at
Gaugamela!'
'Extraordinary,' said Aristotle. 'History is certainly rich in the
marvellous. How has Alexander conducted himself at this victory?'
'Oh, Alexander is noble. You must be proud of
him, Aristotle - as
one of
his former tutors and as a Makedonian yourself. For Alexander
swore to pursue and capture Bessus and all Darius' murderers. And
Darius, his great opponent, Alexander has had honourably buried in
Persepolis.'
'That is true greatness of mind!' exclaimed Aristotle. 'I am most
heartily glad to hear it.'
'What about Bessus?' 1 enquired.
'Bess
us? They're looking for him. Treacherous dog. 1 dare say they
have found him by now, and 1 shouldn't envy him when they do.
Better for him too had he fallen at Gaugamela. Hark! 1 think 1 hear
the other party approaching.'
The man's hearing was excellent; shortly after, we too heard the
noise not only of hooves but of wheels, and then voices. Harpalos'
eyes grew bright. He rose quickly from his cushioned lair.
'Stay here,' he commanded. 'I will bring a beautiful thing to you,
to delight your eyes.'
He left the tent. 1 could see Aristotle fidgeted to go out likewise, but
our orders were clear. There was a babble of voices outside; soon 1
heard someone walking with haste - even running - towards our tent.
'Uncle!' A young man burst through the tent flaps and almost
leaped upon Aristotle, who was already moving towards him. With-
out first pausing for polite sentences of greeting, the two embraced,
with great affection.
'You will impress our friends by our formal manners,' Aristotle
remarked. '0 Kallisthenes, 1 have missed you!'
'And 1 you! 1 couldn't miss a chance to see you. Not that 1 would
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
have missed this whole expedition to Asia for anything in the world.'
Kallisthenes was almost boyish. His fair hair curled along his head
and down his neck. But I could see on second glance that he was older
than Harpalos, a man certainly in this thirties. Aristotle's favourite
nephew was tall, well-formed, thin in a manly way, in the seasoned
shape of one who lives much in the open air.
Aristotle introduced us, and I was the object of
a glance from those
glowing deep-set eyes, disconcertingly a younger version of
Aristotle's
own. 'I am happy to meet a new friend,' Kallisthenes said. 'But I am
sorry not to see some older friends. Theophrastos - wouldn't it be
pleasant if Theophrastos was here? - Or Demetrios of Phaleron,
student of both of you. Demetrios will be one of the greatest of us.
How I should love to talk with Theophrastos about the plants we have
discovered in Asia! I have a very carefully packed bag of flowering
plants and some jars of root material for you to take back.'
Aristotle laughed. 'As if
we could run them over to the next village!
I tell you, young scapegrace, it took us long enough to get here.'
'It is a trouble to carry such stuff, but you will be sure to appreciate
the roots - and Theophrastos will be especially happy. Harpalos and
I are going to work together to create great gardens in Babylon.
Theophrastos must come to see them. And
- I have brought you my
book. Boy' - to his slave - 'fetch me my box!'
'Your book is finished?' I asked politely.
'How can I finish when the story is going on?' Kallisthenes
retorted. 'Of course it can't be finished at this point. I am to record
all the deeds of Alexander, and Alexander isn't fmished with the
Persians yet. I have written the beginning. Here it is!'
Kallisthenes took from the young slave's hands a box of nicely
polished wood. 'It is all written out. I was able to get good copyists, no
expense spared. It needs revision of course, but it is readable. I have
found a new medium to write on - the inside of sheep's hide, scraped
and dried. The army eats so many sheep, there is a constant supply.'
Aristotle looked at one of the stiff sheets covered with fme brown
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
wntmg. 'It should last well,' he commented. 'The material seems
stronger than papyrus, and not breakable like tablets. I wonder if the
Babylonians found it out before? Durable, if
not as cohesive or handy
as a roll.'
'No matter,' said Kallisthenes. 'It will go into rolls when it is
finished. This material is cheap and ready to hand. Very good for
maps and illustrations. This is only the first part. As more events take
place, I write about them. So - I shall send you pieces now and then,
until the whole is completed. Whenever that may be. But these first
sections cover a great deal, including Tyre, Egypt, Issos. And
Gaugamela, the great victory. I also offer a clear record of places we
went through, the terrain, the plants and animals. I am keeping my
own journal of such discoveries as those, not about Alexander but
about the places.'
'Extremely valuable,' said Aristotle, taking up the book with loving
hands. 'I shall treasure it always. Your philosophic writings, your
natural descriptions - these I long to see also. Be observant and
accurate, like a good philosopher. Keep account of the peoples too.
Describe the Persian King's former subjects, their different tribes,
their settlements and customs, just as you describe the animals and
plants in their habitats.'
Again there was a noise outside the tent door, a most unexpected
sound. Flutes! Delicate flutes, well played, astonishing in this
barbarian outpost. The graceful curls of sweet sound put an end to
our conversation. Harpalos poked his head through the flap.
'I promised you a treasure worth seeing,' he reminded us. 'Now
you shall see it!'
We were all standing facing him when Harpalos moved into the
tent, slowly to the sound of
glowing music, leading by the right hand
another person. A female. Ye gods, a beautiful female!
The woman who came in was slender but fmely modelled, with
beautiful breasts and long well-turned legs. I can say this because I
could see almost all of
her. She wore a clinging tunic of
fine Egyptian
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
linen, and her bosom was covered only the filmiest of fabrics -
something that shone and glowed. The lacing did not hide the beauty
of
the little apples. The veil over her head was equally filmy, a sort of
immaterial idea of a veil, totally transparent. Even this delicate
integument was partly cast back from her face. She seemed a little
embarrassed and a trifle amused also, perhaps dishevelled from just
having been kissed. Her lovely face, unveiled to our view, showed a
delicate flush. The fluctuating rosy hue, like sunset light cast upon
glowing marble, made her more interesting than the finest statue,
however brilliantly painted.
'There!' said Harpalos with pride. 'This is one of the wonders of
the world. Pure Greek - here in the middle of Asia. How I love
Athenian art! This is my female companion, Pythonike of Athens.
These men' - he addressed her respectfully - 'are friends of mine,
Pythonike. The most reverend one is Aristotle, of whom you so oft
have heard, and that is his friend Stephanos of
Athens.'
'Greetings, gentlemen,' she said in a clear voice, her modesty not
confounded by speaking to strange men.
'Yes, Pythonike is all mine, but she is used to meeting company,'
said Harpalos. 'I do find so boring those proper women who cannot
eat and talk with one. Pythonike, now, she eats and converses. I adore
her, and I think of her as Perikles did of his Aspasia. Boys!' He
addressed the servants at the tent door. 'Let us eat. We are starving,
I promise you!'
There followed a most unusual meal. Unusual not only in a
woman's being one of
the diners. The food was indeed the promised
chicken, but cooked in a delicious manner with spices I do not
recollect having tasted before. I could hardly believe it was I who was
dining on Eastern food, and in such fine state (for there were low
tables and proper plates, as well as handsome wrought goblets). It
was I, being served by Persians while reclining on soft and colourful
Persian stuffs and gazing at the most beautiful woman. It was like
some enchanting dream.
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'Pythonike goes about with me everywhere,' Harpalos said. 'And
everyone respects her. Even Alexander knows it's hands off.'
'Our Commander,' Kallisthenes announced admiringly, 'is famous
for his temperance and self-control. For when he had Darius' wife
and daughter and his concubines in his power, he treated them civilly
and did not rape any of
them, even the servants. He has treated them
as royal ladies, and put them in proper lodgings.'
'Again, he displays magnanimity,' said Aristotle, with approbation.
'This is how a man great of soul should behave.'
'True,' said Harpalos. 'But the temptation was only moderate,
after all. Now, had Alexander been faced by a beautiful youth, the
down just coming on his cheeks, he would have more need of his
vaunted self-control.'
'But Alexander loves women too,' objected Kallisthenes.
'Yes. Everything that is lovable our Commander loves, which is
most worthy of
him.'
'I hope he is temperate,' Aristotle said in a worried tone.
'There speaks the tutor. Look, he is no glutton. He told Queen
Ada to stop sending him sweetmeats and baked goods as if he were
a boy. His tutors, he said, had taught him that hunger was the best
sauce and to eat sparingly. On the march, he shared all supplies with
the troops; the rougher the going, the more scrupulously he limited
himself to his men's own ration of food and water. Nowadays, 1
admit, when he makes camp he is apt to enquire after the cooks and
the bakers, and he loves to sit long at splendid dinners with his wine,
talking of
this and that. Of
course, he's not a lad of
twenty any more.
And as for women - he ate up that gorgeous Persian woman,
Memnon's widow, the lovely Barsinna, fast enough when she was set
before him.'
'And,' said Pythonike, 'the Commander now pays court in a
respectful but interesting way to the elder daughter of Darius. She
might be a queen yet if she plays her game well.'
'True. But he is a man for men, and loves above all his dear
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
Hephaistion, whom he calls his Patroklos, the dearest to him of the
Good Companions.'
'Hephaistion is also a fine general,' said Kallisthenes. 'It's
excellent that Alexander has so many young generals. They under-
stand what he has in mind - and they possess great energy and
fortitude. '
'That reminds me,' said Aristotle. 'I was sad to hear recently of
the
death of
Arkhebios, the general Parmenion's son - a recognised son,
though born out of wedlock. Arkhebios was the father of one of our
students at the Lykeion, a young Parmenion. Now, as this boy -
almost a young man - is a grandson of
the general, I thought the best
thing we could do for this youth is to give him into the care of great
Parmenion. Or into the care of the boy's uncle, admirable Philotas,
commander of cavalry. But I do not know how to reach either of
them. Surely, Harpalos, you might help us.'
Kallisthenes looked grave, and put his goblet down. He and
Harpalos looked at each other, and Harpalos set aside his plate.
'You broach a difficult topic,' he said, pausing sufficiently to let us
know he chose his words with care.
'Parmenion has grown old in the
service of the royal house of Makedon. A great general and a great
man, undoubtedly. But we had best tell you frankly that he is under
a cloud, and it is unlikely that cloud will be lifted.'
'I had some hint of this before,' said Aristotle. 'Hard to believe.
What has gone wrong? Is there no remedy? I know great Parmenion
- reliable and indefatigable. He always seemed the epitome of
loyalty.'
'Loyalty . . . Hmm. It is difficult to define what "loyalty" is in all
circumstances. If
you are loyal to a man it's either because of crude
self-interest, or because you respect yourself as well as him. And if
this man behaves so as your loyalty and self-respect are in conflict?
Then what? There are several factors in the fall of Parmenion from
grace. In the first instance, both he and your friend Antipater lost
their places in the inner core of Alexander's heart when they urged
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him - too emphatically - to marry and beget an heir before taking off
after Darius.'
'But why should he mind that?' I was genuinely surprised. 'It is
good advice. For a king to marry and leave an heir is good for him and
for the country he rules.'
'Ah, yes. But that showed, you see, that Antipater and Parmenion
were capable of thinking of a Makedonian world without Alexander
alive in it - and this our Commander doesn't like at all. He was - and
is - still young, with the immortality of
youth. He takes great personal
risks, so that one would think he had a contempt of
death, but in fact
he doesn't wish at all to imagine the world after his death.'
'Well, that is a minor matter,' said Kallisthenes. 'Young men often
don't like old men jawing at them about marriage. And you see
Antipater remains on quite good terms with Alexander.'
'Yes -
as long as Antipater stays in Greece and does what
Alexander tells him. But now comes a graver reason for the
Commander's displeasure against Parmenion. The general has
spoken too frankly to Alexander of
putting an end to these conquests,
now that Persepolis is taken.'
'Parmenion thought the taking of Persepolis was the end of the
war! That once we killed off Darius we were all to stop, and go home
for supper, as it were,' interjected Kallisthenes. 'That's because
Parmenion's too old. He must be over seventy! He is physically a
wonder, I grant you, for his age. But he is too old.'
'That may be. Parmenion has certainly displayed to the Com-
mander that he cannot share the Commander's view of the future.
That is a grave fault. The problem is the more serious as this man has
undeniably given his life to Makedonian service, and so have his sons.
Alexander has endeavoured to keep him fairly happy while demoting
him - which is what he has done in sending him to Ekbatana, to guard
the treasure. Two of Parmenion's legitimate sons are dead now, as
well as your bastard Arkhebios, but Philotas is still quite powerful.'
'But it may be,' said Pythonike, unabashedly addressing a room of
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
men, 'that Philotas will not hereafter be too friendly to Alexander.
Now that his father has been tucked away as a mere caretaker of the
treasure in Ekbatana and is no longer an important general.'
'Yes, we know what Philotas is like - a priggish man with a great
conceit of
himself.'
'He is not as priggish as you make him out,' said Pythonike. 'He
has sent for his beloved from Athens - a woman called Antigone -
who is travelling all the way to the veritable East to keep him
company. Philotas is no youth by now: he must number some forty
summers. But that shows a certain amount of
youthful ardour.'
'Antigone!' Aristotle was startled. 'I wonder if this is the same
woman - ? Well, well. Rather juvenile conduct on Philotas' part,
certainly. It would give a handle to detractors.'
'Oh, come now,' said Harpalos. 'Be reasonable, Aristotle. This is a
long war! Not every man likes Persian ladies. And some of us fully
value the beauty of Greece.' He smiled upon Pythonike. 'But this is
not the time to hand over any poor youth to the care of
Philotas.'
'Harpalos is quite right,' said Kallisthenes. 'It would be putting the
lad in harm's way. His father Arkhebios was picked out for a
dangerous detail, with little chance of
glory, live or die.'
'And you see, he died,' said Pythonike, with a gentle smile.
'Killed in one of
those mountain skirmishes - his body not brought
back, either.'
'I understand you, gentlemen,' said Aristotle, with a sigh. 'Though
I do not know what to do with the boy. Perhaps things may take a
happier tum in the future. At present I shall simply tell the young man
that his grandfather and uncle are in remote and dangerous areas,
and cannot wish him to come until things are more settled. I deeply
regret that I cannot see Alexander myself. I hope he is not being
unreasonable.
'
'You must watch your words!' Kallisthenes laughed. 'We don't talk
of
him that way in the army, I do assure you. He is the bravest of
the
brave. Kingliest of kings. Fit to command all other men of war who
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
ever lived. Never has there been a general his equal. Philip may be
said to have discovered a new art of war, the phalanx with sarissas
bristling. But Alexander has perfected it. Our Commander also
discovered a new method of beginning battles and sieges with
missiles, which rain destruction and confusion. He is invincible.
There is no man like him!'
'Our Commander is fortunate in his historian,' said Harpalos,
smiling at Kallisthenes. 'Isn't it true that you were the one who said
that very pretty thing about the waves that subsided along the
Pamphylian coast near here? That they were like the Persians
prostrating themselves in homage to Alexander! Very poetical. That
prettiness took very well with our leader.'
'Indeed,' said Kallisthenes, 'men in the future for many genera-
tions will long to hear of Alexander and will tell stories and make
poems about him. I am happily the first narrator of his exploits, the
one who is with him while history is being made. I see as it were, the
great bronze statue while the metal is melted and poured and shaped
and worked - I am in a position to supply the most appropriate and
potent imagery, to create for readers of the far future the complete
feeling of the events and these occasions.'
'It is given to few to live in such stirring times,' Aristotle said
pensively. 'The reconquest of the western regions of Asia is most
heroic. We have liberated Ionia, Lydia, Karia. But it is only a
beginning. Now it is clear that in order to make the world safe and the
Greek settlements secure, Alexander will take charge of
more of
Asia.
He comes in the name and power of all the Greeks. Peaceful and
prosperous cities, well governed and beautiful, will rise in these hills
and along the great rivers. Hellenic civilisation will extend to the
Euphrates and the Oxus.'
'So I do believe,' said Kallisthenes. 'Alexander will make us safe for
ever from attack from Persians, or from Assyrians or any other
barbarians. These crude peoples will change their nature, as our
settlements take root and their world is absorbed into ours. Then,
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HARPALOS THE TREASURER
after Egypt and Asia, we must also conquer Karthago and the
Phoenician dominions. That was Alkibiades' plan in the Sikilian
Expedition - which he was not allowed to complete. First take all of
Sikilia, then Karthago. A good idea, simply postponed.'
'In the end,' Aristotle added, 'the arts of
peace shall complete what
war began. Just as in the islands of the Aegean, as in Syrakousai and
in Great Hellas of
the far western lands - so will all the known world
eventually be rendered civilised.'
'You go so fast, you philosophers,' grumbled Harpalos good-
humouredly. 'You, 0 Aristotle - and Kallisthenes takes his vision
from you - do not have to wield the sword. Just as easy for you to say
"conquer Karthago" as for me to say "Boy, fetch a cheese"! Nor do
you have to pay for these expeditions. Really, you know, many Greeks
in Asia - in Ionia, Lydia, Karia - were perfectly happy under the
Persian Empire. Who asked to be liberated? Not they. In fact, at the
beginning of
the war, there were more Greeks fighting for Darius than
for Alexander - if you subtract Makedonians. After the defeat of
Issos, many of the Greek soldiers in the Persian army fled to Krete,
and there Agis of Sparta was able to raise his army to fight against
Antipater, last spring. Some Greeks - in Asia, too - don't consider us
Makedonians true Greeks, anyway. And, after all, these barbarian
lands have some good in them.' He stretched luxuriously. 'For
instance, they have the most wonderful way of
making drinks of
snow
that they collect and keep from the mountain tops - unimaginably
delicious in hot weather!'
'True, I have tasted it,' agreed Kallisthenes. 'But such things a man
would disdain to call "civilisation". We need to illumine the path, not
only with law courts and cities but also with Greek knowledge and
learning.'
'And now there will be fewer boundaries to learning,' Aristotle
mused. 'Once the land is pacified and settled, Greek travellers and
scholars shall be able to pass easily from one region to another,
eastward as far as one can imagine, and so to the southern lands also.'
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'Yes,' agreed Kallisthenes. 'As we press on now into Persia proper
and the other lands that Persia owned farther to the east, we discover
more about the earth, and more about plants and animals. We will be
able to build up our knowledge, far beyond where it was before.'
'You philosophers may well enjoy running after conies in the sand
or trying to snatch buzzards in the high slopes.' Harpalos grinned.
'That's not my idea of
pleasure. Do not forget the labour of
conquest.
It was comparatively easy to take the western edge of
Asia. It may be
relatively easy to hold down central Persia, with its great cities. But
beyond, there are many wild lands that the Persians themselves
conquered with difficulty. Speaking so many languages, too, it's hard
to tell them they are conquored! In the hill country, enemies - even
their children - can lay down jagged objects on the few and narrow
roads. We call them "cavalry-stoppers", and these can halt a troop of
horsemen. Horses in pain may throw themselves and their riders off
precipices. So many angry tribes on their mountain tops. They may
not have loved Persia, but they are not friendly towards us.'
'We will train people to learn those languages,' asserted Kallisthenes.
'I myself have found men among our troops who learn these languages
well enough to interrogate prisoners. That is one of the things the
Commander put me in charge of - interrogations - as well as of
calculating and recording distances.'
'I drink to the success of our Commander in seeing Darius to the
tomb.' Harpalos suited his action to his words. 'But now the easy part
is over. Bessus fled to the wilds of Baktria, where it is extremely
difficult to get at him. All sorts of princelings in rough mountain
districts will pop up.'
'Some will wish to avenge Darius,' said Pythonike.
'Certainly. Unbelievably lucky for us that one of the natives killed
the Great King. What a piece of good fortune that has been!'
'Alexander does seem born under a lucky star,' Pythonike
observed.
'True,' said Harpalos. 'But are we under the same star? You forget,
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o Aristotle, that all this war-making is costly. It costs greatly. It costs
many lives. It swallows up many years, and great labour. It costs
money, too.'
'But making war against a rich empire yields profits,' Aristotle
objected. 'You captured all the wealth of Sardis - and then of Susa.
And do you not have the treasure-store of Persepolis?'
'We do. And we already have demands upon that wealth. People
who have waited for their money need to be paid. We have to payoff
former members of the infantry and cavalry. The Athenian cavalry
was practically useless, between ourselves, but that is by the way.
They still want silver in hand.'
'The Athenian cavalry was most valuable as a token,' Kallisthenes
commented. 'To make everybody - including the Athenians - think
that the Athenians were heavily engaged in a pan-Hellenic war. We
Makedonians do the best fighting.'
'Not that we should say anything against Athens,' said Harpalos,
observing my frown. Mter all, I was the only Athenian present
(discounting Pythonike). 'Where should we be without Athens -
without its intelligence, skill and leadership through the years?'
Nobody answered this question. It occurred to me, to my chagrin,
that it might be ironic.
'Our pleasant meal has nicely taken up the hot afternoon,' observed
Harpalos. 'Now I wish to talk with Aristotle alone. Perhaps you,
Kallisthenes, will escort Pythonike outside to her waiting woman.
You might like a linle stroll along the cliffs, my dear? Kallisthenes, I
count on you to take care that no one listens to us. Move the men
away from the tent, and see that all the servants are busy somewhere
else. Tell the boy to bring me a lamp and a brazier with live coals, and
then make sure he gets out of
the way.'
Pythonike obediently stood up, and Kallisthenes also. I likewise
arose upon this hint, but Aristotle beckoned me to stay. I sat down
while the others left.
'I can tell from your tone, Harpalos,' said Aristotle gravely, 'that
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
you are going to ask me to do something for you. As Stephanos is my
travelling companion, I would have to tell him in any case. It appears
best for you to tell both of
us as much as you can.'
'Hmmh,' said Harpalos. 'I cannot refuse myoId tutor. Though
there is one point, Aristotle, which I shall beg you to keep to yourself
only.' He turned to the servant entering the tent. 'Put the lamp there,
boy. And the brazier on that table. Now light the lamp. And begone.
Close the tent flap.'
He turned to us as we sat there on the cushions and beautiful stuffs.
The lamplight now fitfully illuminated the tent and cast a glow on the
fabrics with their strange patterns.
'It is about money, is it not?' Aristotle's deep-set eyes scanned
Harpalos' face, though it was not easy to see in that flickering light.
'Yes, indeed. About money. Look, Aristotle, I want you to take
with you some bags of gold for me. This transporting wealth around
has to be done delicately. I want you to take one bag to Kos. Do not
tell Oromedon, but only the man whom I shall indicate to you. Then
take the other bag to Athens, and give it to citizen Phokion or his
brother. To no one else.'
'Harpalos, you cannot be serious! You expect me to carry bags of
gold about? Someone could steal them! And suppose anything were
to happen to me? How could I take on this responsibility? We are not
travelling in great naval ships, you know. The journey back to
Peiraieus is going to be arduous, in small boats -'
'Do not worry.' Harpalos smiled magnificently.
'We shall arrange a
naval transport for you to travel back from Kos to Peiraieus. And now
there will be a three-banked ship waiting for you at Halikarnassos
harbour, to get you back to Kos. No expense spared, and everything
thought of. You will not yourself have to pay a penny. Neither you
nor your friend Stephanos here. Have you spent anything thus far?'
'No,' Aristotle admitted, but without smiling.
'Now, my dear tutor, is it fair of you to come all this way to meet
me without doing for me what I need done? Really such a small
330
HARPALOS THE TREASURER
thing.' He laughed. 'I am not asking you to spend the money - I know
you philosophers have trouble with that. But I need to pay for goods
and services, to sustain Alexander's credit. The gold has to be kept
secret - money must not fall into the wrong hands.'
Aristotle sighed resignedly. 'I can say nothing against that,' he
remarked. 'And I dare say you mean that I should be discreet in giving
the money to the men in question. If
that is all, it can be done.'
'Discreet - exactly! And there are so few men who are trustworthy
like yourself, my dear philosopher. The world is so full of
thieves! You
are a ruby among pebbles. Discretion is what I count upon. Today I
shall give you the two bags of
gold to deliver. But that is not quite all.'
'No?'
'I need you to go to another place, a particular spot. Go there in a
small private vessel after you have arrived back in Kos. In a moment
I shall write down the direction and draw a map. For your eyes only.
In a hiding place, not too far from Halikamassos, I have secreted a
little store of money and other treasure. I want you to remove -
discreetly - these treasures and money from that place of deposit.
Take all of that with you to Athens and give it to ...
to a particular
individual whose name I shall write down for your eyes alone.'
I felt greatly dismayed, and I think Aristotle did too.
'That is much more complicated,' he protested.
'True. That is why we - Alexander and I and the rest of
the Good
Companions - count on you, 0 Aristotle. You see how well your
nephew is getting on. You must wish to forward his promising career.
I trust you. And you, with your strength of
intellect, will already have
perceived that it is not only Persians whom we cannot trust. This
wealth must fall only into the right hands.'
Harpalos opened a cloth bag and took out a thin fragment of
material. 'This is a kind of
bark that is strong enough for one to write
on,' he commented. He took up a pin and wrote quickly, scratching
into the bark. 'Come Aristotle! Here are the names - one Koan, one
Athenian. And a little map. You know the geography of the coast
331
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
well: an advantage. Can you make it out?' Aristotle went over to the
lighted lamp, and the two bent over the piece of bark.
'Can you commit that to memory? Absolutely? Do you know where
to look?'
'Yes.'
'Look at it one more time. Now I destroy it. There! It is gone!'
Harpalos lit the bark with the flame of the lamp, letting it sizzle and
smoke on the brazier until it was nothing but an ashen fragment. I had
hopes of
snatching a glance, for I have often observed that marks can
survive burning, but Harpalos stirred the ashes into tiny particles of
dust.
'This is a great boon,' Harpalos said joyfully, this ceremony being
accomplished. 'A great relief. There is nothing I will not do to repay
you. I task myself
with doing something handsome the next time I see
you - perhaps in Babylon.'
This was evidently a farewell of sorts. Alexander's Treasurer
himself held open the tent flap for us (as the servants had been sent
away) and we all three left his tent, where we had enjoyed such a
happy dinner. Less carefree than during the little feast, we walked
outside. The sun was low in the sky now, the shadows were
lengthening, and the sea was a deep and silent purple.
332
XIX
==~9_~P==
a-G
Carrying
Treasure
That night Aristotle and I slept with Peleus and Diophantos and the
rest in the shed that Harpalos had so disdained. Harpalos and
Pythonike shared the white tent and its cushions. Laughter and
kissing (and other noises) emanated from the tent. I had to grit my
teeth. It was a long time since I had had a woman. And I doubted I
should ever have one like Pythonike.
In the morning we had to get off. Kallisthenes lovingly entrusted
his book to us.
'Be careful in handling it,' he enjoined. 'The parchment is firm and
reliable, but the ink is only cuttlefish and it would wash off if the
manuscript gets wet. Wrap materials around the box and keep it in
the very driest part of any ship.'
Aristotle promised, and went off to find a place for this new
treasure, which I could see he valued above the bags of gold that
Harpalos surreptitiously gave him. These bags were not as con-
spicuous as they sound, of very plain leather, and scuffed, with
woollen material bulging out of them as if they were merely con-
tainers of
warm clothing and fleeces.
Having a momentary opportunity to talk alone with Aristotle's
nephew, I put it to use.
333
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'You know a good deal about manuscripts and books,' I remarked
to Kallisthenes.
'Do you use wax tablets?'
'Who would be without them? We have quantities in our baggage
train. I take a little pile with me each day, so I can jot down notes
during Alexander's excursions. To capture how things looked and
what the Commander said. But anything of
the sort has to be copied
quickly into some firmer medium.'
'Tell me,' I said. 'You work at catching spies, and you know about
writings. Would it be possible to fake part of
a letter on a wax tablet?'
'Yes, indeed!' he answered before I could finish. 'Tablets are
famous vehicles for forgeries -
letters of all kinds convey mis-
information in various ways. You remember the story Herodotos tells
of the secret message hidden in a letter sent in tablets? The man in
Asia who warned Sparta of the coming invasion of the Persians, in a
letter that seemed perfectly ordinary. Until the woman Gorgo
guessed the secret and bade them look under the wax, where they
found the warning inscribed on the wood itself.'
'But suppose - would it be possible to falsify just part of
a letter on
a waxed tablet? Leaving the original salutation, say, and first line, and
then inserting another message?'
'Certainly. As you are Aristotle's friend, I won't ask why you want
to forge an epistle. It would take some trouble and skill, but with a hot
bar of
metal, held by some kind of
handle, you could melt the wax on
the lower half of the page without injuring the top. It would have to
be done quickly and accurately. Then, wait for the wax to cool and
you can insert your own statements without losing the original lines
at the top of
the page.'
'Perhaps I had better show you,' I said. 'I have received a strange
letter.'
I called to the slave Menestor to bring my own bag, and he did
so at once. My relatively few possessions were all there - all save
Theodoros'letter.
'It may have been put somewhere else.' Worried, I asked Aristotle
334
CARR~GTREASURE
to see ifTheodoros' letter were in his bag, but no.
'Must have fallen out on the journey,' suggested Menestor.
'Yes,' said Diophantos. 'We went down some very steep paths,
could have been jolted.'
'It's not important,' I said, embarrassed at the attention the matter
was attracting. 'I just wanted to refer to something in my brother's
letter. That's all. Doubtless it is lost, as you say.'
'Perhaps it will tum up somewhere,' said Peleus, in the usual
uninterested way in which people bear the losses of others. I
determined to say nothing more of
the matter.
Meanwhile Aristotle had his farewells to say to Kallisthenes. He
spoke in a low tone, but so earnestly I could not help overhearing.
'I feel sad to leave you. And I am worried - perhaps unduly - by
some things you have said. That flattering remark to the Commander
about the waves prostrating themselves - it bothers me. If
you flatter
a king too well to begin with, you can never go back. Anything less
than hyperbole will seem like criticism.'
'Oh, don't worry. It was rather a joke, you know - the Persians are
so ridiculous, prostrating themselves to the great man. Figure of
speech. The Commander knows poetry when he hears it.'
'But does he? Alexander values the Iliad as a record of fact and a
model of conduct. Moreover, he takes himself for Akhilleus.
Remember, Kallisthenes, he is a king. And I know him from a boy.
He is full of charm - he bewitches all who come near. And he seems
- nay, he is - so good-humoured and generous. But he may love in
the waning moon what he despises at the full. Don't rely on him. He
is given to fits of
rage.'
'Don't be so anxious, uncle.' Kallisthenes patted his elder relative's
arm reassuringly. 'I can take care of
myself. And since I have travelled
with Alexander for two years now or more, I know him very well. He's
not a boy any longer. Cheer up! After a year or two more of my
excursions in Asia, I shall come back to Athens and publish my
history to the world. Alexander will be so pleased he will doubtless
335
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
award me a pension! Then you'll see me back in the Lykeion. 1 can
help you and Theophrastos with your giant plan of collecting all the
plants and animals that ever were or can be.'
With a laugh, Kallisthenes sprang to his horse. Pythonike, with a
demure wave, got into her wagon with her attendant and was seen by
us no more. Harpalos, preparing to mount his perfect white horse,
embraced Aristotle.
'A pleasure to talk with you once more, my tutor,' he said. 'You will
be hearing from me, of course, and 1 expect to hear from you. And
from Theophrastos - perhaps he will come to Babylon and help with
my gardens. You don't know, 0 Aristotle, how much you mean to me
- as well as to Alexander. The way of reason - we shall all pursue it!
And perhaps we can spread some of the civilisation and laws you so
value.'
He leaped on to his horse and set off at the head of his party. His
group had attached the sarissas and the helmets we had been trans-
porting, and one of the carts. Our party, led by Peleus with
Diophantos as second-in-command, now had in their train only one
large cart drawn by mules, half full of rugs and tapestries in the
Persian style. We set off, much less dramatically than Harpalos'
entourage.
'I was very glad to meet Kallisthenes,' 1 said to cheer Aristotle up
as we marched along. 'I know everybody must have told you this for
years, but he is very striking in looks, and in bearing. And so markedly
intelligent.
'
'Yes,' said Aristotle. 'He is my beautiful sister's son. 1 think he is
like my father in intellect, and a little like him in disposition.'
1 chewed on this for a while. Something about this statement
puzzled me.
'Aristotle,' 1 said, 'Kallisthenes is your sister's son. Now, you know
you have said in your lectures and written in books that the child is all
the father's, with nothing of the mother in its essential nature. The
child belongs completely to the father. So your nephew Kallisthenes
336
CARRYING TREASURE
must be like his father, your sister's husband, and that man's father,
and so on. He cannot resemble your own father Nikiarkhos at all!
And it follows that he cannot be like you, either.'
Aristotle seemed displeased at my observation, though it was both
scientific and logical.
'I never said the mother contributed nothing,' he said defensively.
'Obviously, the quality of
the mother's flesh and blood affects that of
the child, and her milk nourishes it. And there is something in
influence - the things the mother looks at while pregnant, the way she
teaches the baby -'
'But that isn't the main matter, is it?' I persisted. 'The child inherits
none of its qualities from the mother, so you say. If I have a child, it
will be all mine. It will take after my family and not its mother's.' I was
thinking I would not care to have my poor son looking like Smikrenes.
'Oh, don't bother me,' said Aristotle, really quite cross. He drew
me apart from the marching band. 'Cannot you see,' he said in a low
tone, 'that I am quite worried. I am trying to work out what has just
happened.'
'What happened?'
'It was no accident, I think, that we didn't meet Harpalos in
Phaselis as was planned - or was said to be planned. Better for him to
meet us in that out-of-the-way comer of the world, where he could
have everything his own way, and shake off the people who might
interfere or distract us - or overhear. Harpalos isn't the sort of
person
who lets things happen accidentally. He bribed me to come with the
promise of meeting Kallisthenes. We meet in a wilderness. Harpalos
tells us disturbing news, he makes me worry about my nephew, and
then he asks me to do something very awkward - perhaps dangerous.
A secret errand along the coast of
Asia.'
'Never mind,' I said consolingly. 'We shall be taken back first to
Kos. From there you can set out on your errand and do it quickly.
After that, we can go back to Athens on a real naval vessel - a fast
ship.'
337
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
I myself was cheered at the thought that this time I was facing the
right way. Every step I now took was taking me westward, towards
Kos and then home.
We arrived in Phaselis, where Peleus said we had better stop for the
night at the guard post and prepare for a really long journey next day.
'I find I have to go into the city to get further orders,' he informed us
with his usual frank courtesy.
'It looks as if! shall be your escort,' he continued. 'We should get
to the coast without mishap. I'll put you on a three- or five-banked
warship in Halikarnassos. The weather is still fine, you ought to get
swiftly back to Kos. See you tomorrow,' Peleus added in pleasant
farewell, as he strode away to get his orders at the central military
offices near the governor's mansion.
The remaining soldiers gave us a bed-space in their quarters by the
guard post, and we were up betimes. The Theban servant Menestor
arrived early; ever willing to help, he assisted us in getting all our
belongings well stowed. We now had a good deal to keep account of!
There was a large rough homespun bag full of earth and roots that
Kallisthenes had given us, and two earthenware pots with some kinds
of
bulbs or root material in them. There was the sacred wooden box
with his manuscript History. And Aristotle had to worry about the two
bags of 'clothes' that were really bags of gold, the coins and bricks
wrapped up in fine wool so they wouldn't chink. (I knew because we
had checked the bags privately ourselves.)
I looked forward to seeing Peleus again this morning. An efficient
and pleasant man, I thought, remembering how cleverly and really
quickly he had brought us such a distance on our earlier eastern
journey. Peleus, well organised in his thought and actions, would get
us to Kos with a minimum of trouble.
We were standing ready, waiting for him, when Diophantos came
up and said, 'It seems I am your captain and guide for the rest of
this
expedition.
'
'But where is Peleus?' I asked, letting my disappointment show.
338
CARRYING TREASURE
'He has an assignment elsewhere. I dare say he told you that was a
possibility. '
'Yes,' I had to agree. 'He warned us before, we might go back with
somebody else.'
'Well, I am the captain Somebody-else. And we have a few more
goods for the load. Changing from a cart to a light wagon. Ready in
a moment. Come on men. Stow all goods!'
The soldiers began hastily to take out of
the cart all our other cargo,
including the bags of
woolly gold and Kallisthenes' box, and started
to put them on board the light wagon. Meanwhile, two porters who
had brought things in another mule cart approached our larger
vehicle. When their turn came, the first thing these servants did was
to disarrange all our packing to make room for the stuffs they had.
The chief
object of
their care was a very large carpet or tapestry rolled
around some blankets. When they had made a suitable space for this,
they carried it between them, one man at each end, to our wagon and
laid it near the bottom. Then they placed on top of this tube of
material many new packages, and heaps of stuffs and cushions. We
had to rescue our own things and find crannies again in this now-
crowded wagon for our rootstocks and the precious manuscript and
the bags of 'woollen clothes'. To our dismay, the two porters added
at the very top of the pile a pungent horsehide.
'That won't come to harm,' they said. 'It protects the rest against
rain.' Looking at this ugly object, Theban Menestor drily agreed. 'No
- such things don't come to harm.'
About the wagon there was a scent of resin in the air, not
unpleasant, some sort of
treatment of
the Persian fabrics, I supposed.
It was in combat with the odour of stale sweat and withering horse-
meat. The hide was unmistakably still in the shape of
horse, rendered
flat instead of being a solid body. 'It's like the poor ox-hide at the
Bouphonia,' I remarked to Aristotle. 'Except it's not stuffed.'
'Hooves and all,' Aristotle agreed, wrinkling his nose. 'Not
sufficiently cured.'
339
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF liFE
We set off with our new wagon, drawn by straining mules, and
continued our march up a winding craggy path. The days were
shorter now. I thought longingly of long sunny days when we had
been travelling in our pretty little boat among the Kyklades. Now we
were covered in dust and pestered by flies.
'That horsehide!' said the Theban slave disdainfully. 'It attracts the
flies so. How it stinks! Who could want such a thing?'
'Well, there you are,' said one of the soldiers. 'We were told some
general or someone had lost his horse in the battle and wanted its hide"
and hooves shipped home as a memento. Funny thing, isn't it? The
horse coming back - when so many brave men don't come back to be
buried, not so much as the skin or nails of
them.'
Nothing much of note happened on the journey, save that one of
the men sprained his ankle. Aristotle ran into trouble with his sandal
and requested a stout cobbler's needle, saying he would repair his
own footwear himself, and could do so by moonlight. I was surprised
at his demeaning himself to this humble task, but the men were tired
and had enough to do.
We were all glad to come to the River Xanthos, to be pulled along
in barges by stout oxen on the riverbank. The men amused them-
selves in the shade with stories and gambling games, and enjoyed
being off their feet. Disembarking from the flat boats, we struggled
into marching order again, on a road that seemed always uphill. But
at last it was clear we were near to Halikarnassos. Then from a hilltop
I saw below the crescent of harbour that would give us a ship
homeward. At last I could leave this weary march and the abominable
horsehide whose stench seemed to gain remarkably in volume.
'I just hope the stinking thing doesn't affect the manuscript,' I
whispered to Aristotle. 'I should not like it to smell of dead horse -
though I suppose the pages are made of dead sheep.'
'No, I thought of that,' he said. 'I soaked some stout cloths in
vinegar and spices a while back and wrapped it around Kallisthenes'
box.'
340
CARRYING TREASURE
We found the harbour area of Halikarnassos agreeably full,
crowded with sailors as well as with petty merchants, vegetable
sellers, and the inevitable crowd of pitiful beggars. Passengers were
going and coming, including three men in white, who stood together
near the ships as if expecting something.
'Here we shall enquire about your warship,' said Diophantos
briskly. 'I wonder which it is.' He put his hand over his eyes and
scanned the harbour. 'I am afraid,' he remarked, 'that 1 do not see any
big naval vessel here. But 1 shall make enquiries at once of
the soldiers
and the boatmen.' Diophantos plunged into the crowd. He was back
again soon, looking crestfallen.
'It is too bad!' he cried. 'There is no ship of
the sort here now - the
naval vessel left yesterday and another is not expected for some days.
But this is vexing! 1 promised to have you taken to Kos as smartly as
possible.'
'Yes,' 1 agreed, straining my eyes to look towards Kos.
'Well, sirs, good morning!' a familiar voice greeted us.
'Nikias!' 1 recollected this man with the kindly broad smile and
weatherbeaten features. Our second captain, the one who had
rescued us when we were at a loss in the port ofNaxos. "Nikias, how
do you do? What a strange thing, running into you like this.'
'A surprise, maybe. But not really so strange. This is a fine harbour,
and almost everyone hereabouts uses it. Were you dissatisfied with
Kos, then? 1 took you there, remember. And that other family - they
came over here looking for a better air for their child. But they have
had enough of it, and they're ready to go back to Kos.'
And there was that little family again. 1 remembered suddenly my
first glimpse of them at the harbour at Sounion: the old man
Hermippos, so respectable, the stolid veiled mother, the little wheezy
girl Philokleia who was so much better at sea.
Aristotle and 1 uttered our greetings. 'The last time we really spoke
with you,' Aristotle said, 'was when we listened in the orchard to the
good doctor latrokles' tale of
the Hungry Prince.'
341
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'That was a good day,' said the grandfather. 'But we got tired of
the
lodgings and the beggars around Kos harbour, so we took a turn in
Patmos. That didn't answer. So we took another tum at sea for the
sea air. Didn't even bring our servant this time, she has a sickness in
her stomach. We came on this short journey to see Halikarnassos. But
it is a rather sad place, isn't it?'
'This city was all knocked down and burned,' said the child
earnestly.
'Too true!' said Nikias. 'And so you see, they are anxious to go
back to Kos. And some pilgrims to Asklepios was likewise minded to
cross over.' He nodded at the three men waiting by their bundles. I
could see now that one fellow, leaning on the arm of
his friend, looked
decidedly feverish, and the third man was crippled. 'They need to go
to Kos for their health. I regret, we're already spoken for. And you
seem to have a deal of
baggage.' He looked at the soldiers unloading
our wagon. 'But we could come back and collect you, gentlemen.
Though we have a short crew today.'
'No,' said Diophantos firmly. 'We can commandeer the boat, by
the authority of
the army. I must inform you, Koan captain, that you
are compelled to take these men back to Kos without delay.'
'Why should we not wait for another ship - an official one?' asked
Aristotle. He drew Diophantos aside and explained in a low tone,
'When I sailed with this man before, I was not at all sure that he
wasn't a pirate.'
'Oh,' said Diophantos impatiently, 'some of these islanders mis-
behave a little, but not when they have the army's eye up on them.
And he did take you safely before, did he not? His is a good swift ship.
Alexander's army grants you a right to this or any other seaworthy
craft that we command to take you. Sorry about the want of
a trireme.
But - no point lingering about in Halikarnassos when we promised
immediate passage to Kos.'
'But-'
'No fear - the army warrants your safety throughout. Man -'
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CARRYING TREASURE
turning to Nikias - 'you are commanded to take these two gentlemen
back to Kos. As for these other civilians, clodhoppers they seem, let
them wait. This counts as official business. Army orders. As from the
Commander.'
'Will your Commander be able to pay for a trip? That's the
question!' Nikias expostulated. '1 ain't in the army, nor the official
navy! Just a humble boatman, trying to make a living. Me and my
rowers, we don't work for the good of our health alone.'
'No impudence, fellow! We pay what is reasonable. These others
will have to wait.' Diophantos looked scornfully at the little family
and the two pilgrims.
'No!' said the grandfather. 'We already made the arrangement!'
Little Philokleia asked reasonably, 'Why cannot we all go?'
'These are important personages,' said Diophantos, waving towards
us. 'They have their mission. No reason they should be asked to mix
with who knows what sort of common people.'
'But,' said the Theban slave Menestor hesitantly, 'it is such a short
trip - and would the boat not balance better with a number?'
'Possibly,' said Diophantos grudgingly. 'But officials don't have to
travel with civilians and riff-raff. We also have cargo to stow. If
these
other folk are carrying a lot of their own baggage, it is out of the
question.' He looked hard at Nikias.
'1 see,' said Nikias, shrugging, 'Fortune is against me, and 1 yield.
No, these others do not have much baggage to take aboard. Very well.
You see how it is, folks.' He turned to the family from Laurion and
the three nameless pilgrims, as they all stood there looking hopeful.
'You can come or stay as you will, but 1 am compelled to take these
persons to Kos.'
'And you can take all this baggage also, as far as Kos,' said
Diophantos decidedly. He and Menestor led the soldiers and the
other slaves in unloading the wagon and putting most of
the contents
into the hold of the Nike. The contents included the tube of carpet,
the many fine cushions and so on. 1 wondered whether these were just
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
personal mementoes, booty attached by individual soldiers during the
conquest and now being sent back home, or whether somebody in the
army hoped to make a profit by selling a lot of such stuff.
Nikias' sailors rushed up to help - both to see that the boat was
properly loaded and to receive some reward for their pains, 1 guessed.
Some of the idlers and beggars at the seafront tried to put in their
claim by offering feeble assistance, their hands held out for obols all
the while. The crippled and maimed promised to work for us, and
uttered appeals. The tall blind man whom 1 had noticed last time, the
one with the terrible skin condition, uttered a low wail, and offered
and asked for nothing. 'I saw him before,' 1 said, nodding in the
direction of this poor creature. 'Too bad. 1 suppose he lost his sight
in the war.'
'Oh, that fellow, he's surely crazy too,' volunteered one of the
ragged crew of
harbour rats trying to aid us. Menestor chimed in: 'He
seems lunatic - leave him alone.' Certainly the blind man kept up a
low muttering the way crazy people do, mixed with little moans. It
seemed too bad that no one offered him ointment for his sores; 1
threw him a hemi-obol anyway.
Aristotle had wandered off while the men were busy loading the
vessel, and disappeared into one of
the little food shops. 1 was amused
that even he could not resist the lure of
the fleshpots. Meanwhile, the
men busy at the loading complained vociferously about the stench of
the horsehide. Some people on neighbouring boats made pointed
remarks about our personal cleanliness. 1 myself was heartily sorry
that we were going to return to Kos in company with the stinking
hide. By the time Aristotle came back, wiping his mouth in a
meditative manner, those around us were uttering strong hints that
we should be gone with all possible speed. The feverish pilgrim
appeared deeply impressed, not to say knocked out, by the smell; he
and his companion decided not to go on our boat after all.
'Whyn't you take another boat, friend, too, as the stink is so
troublesome?' Nikias said to the crippled man. But this determined
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CARRYING TREASURE
pilgrim only murmured, 'I must get to Kos and see Asklepios!' He sat
himself in the boat, uncomplaining.
'You folk are going to mind the smell, too,' said Nikias to the little
family. But having got on board, they were reluctant to move.
'What happens to that hide once we get to Kos?' I asked.
'You'll be rid of it soon,' said Diophantos, looking ruefully at the
dark and redolent remains. 'Officers at Kos will take it from you and
send it on to the horse's owner. It will be only a short trip with this
minor discomfort. I shall send this Theban slave to look after you,' he
added, abruptly pushing Menestor into the boat. 'Farewell!'
'If
you are a Theban,' Aristotle said conversationally, 'Menestor is
an odd name. If
it really is your name.'
'I am a Theban,' the youth replied steadily. 'I was captured when I
was eleven years old. Menestor is the name I go by.'
I knew that Aristotle was not reconciled to the idea of
enslaving free
men, or children who should have grown up to be free. The scandal
of the Greeks made into captives in Alexander's wars had induced
Athens' chief political leader Lykourgos, just a few months ago, to
make a law that no Athenian was to buy an enslaved person from one
of the defeated Greek cities. Hearing about dead Thebes made me
uncomfortable. It was almost a matter ofluck that on the terrible day
when Alexander's men captured the city, my cousin Philemon's wife
had escaped from Thebes, and had thus also escaped being sold into
slavery.
Our craft moved away from the harbour and into the deeper water.
There were only twelve men rowing, but they were rowing hard. It
was a lovely day, with just a light breeze to help the sail, and the water
was beautifully still. I began to think about my future brother-in-law,
and whether he had returned to Kos with his disreputable woman. I
should have to look for him as soon as I got back. But - Kos wasn't
growing any closer. Aristotle noticed this too.
'Why aren't we drawing closer to Kos?'
'We have to bear to the other side of
the island,' Nikias said easily.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'A bad current that we need to avoid. 'Twill take us a bit longer, that's
all.'
We accepted this for a long time, until we really saw that Kos was
growing smaller in the distance, and turning an unfamiliar shape.
'What do you mean by this?' we asked in alarm.
'Make yourselves easy,' said Nikias. 'There is a weakness in two of
the oars, and in the oar-holes, which have worn too large. We cannot
pull as we should. We are just coming into an islet where we can make
all right again.'
It was a very small and sandy islet, from which Kos was barely
visible, partly because of other small isles in the way. The place
seemed not too distant from the Asian mainland.
'We will have to get rid of this stinking thing, too,' said Nikias
firmly. 'It is making the rowers ill.' He heard no objections from us-
the thing had been making me feel ill as well. And the little girl, pale
Philokleia, had thrown up once over the side.
'Get to it, men,' said Nikias. 'Get rid of whatever we don't need
before we go ashore. Fetch some old ballast stones and anchors.'
'Right,' said the most active of
the rowing men. He and the young
rower opposite him, the one whom Nikias once addressed as
'monkey', rose and dived off the back of the boat. Soon they were
wading about in the shallows, by a beach on which two other craft
were already resting. The industrious sailors collected a pile of
weights, round stones like old anchors and pieces of rough marble.
These the 'monkey' dragged to in a net and handed up to the others.
The pair neatly hoisted themselves back aboard over the side of the
ship, dripping lightly on the cushions and fine stuffs.
'Now,' said Nikias, 'before we land - get rid of this big stinking
thing.'
'Yes,' said the Theban slave Menestor, jumping up to assist, 'we
can be thankful that we need it no more.'
He helped to unfurl the horrible hide, and the sailor men filled the
middle of
the horse's discarded skin with the round stones. Philokleia
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CARRYING TREASURE
and even Aristotle turned slightly paler as the stench met us in full
force. None too soon, the men dropped the oddly shaped thing so
weighted into the water. We all watched. Slowly and lazily but
inevitably it sank, one side a trifle faster than the other.
'That horse rides no more,' said the Theban with a laugh. 'It has
run its course and served its turn.'
'Right,' said Nikias. 'Now, take heed of that long carpet, men - it
needs special care.' The men grubbed down deep into the boat,
dislodging all the baggage, so that we cried out in alarm. Aristotle
made a leap for the manuscript box of Kallisthenes, and the
rootstock. I grabbed the woolly bags of gold and a bulb pot, while
Hermippos' party saved their clothes. The seedy-looking pilgrim
seemed not to have anything worth saving. Soon two ofNikias' men,
aided by the agile Menestor, had taken a firm grip on the long round
carpet roll, and were moving this so that it lay on the top of
everything
else, a colourful tube. There was still a very bad smell, as if the horse
were still with us, but also the faint resinous odour. We were puzzled.
'By Herakles! What an uncalled-for stench!' cried one of
the two men
who had hauled up the thick fabric roll. 'What's in here?'
The two men began to unwind the roll. 'Stop!' cried Nikias,
running awkwardly along the top of
the vessel and its contents. 'Stop!
You'll damage it!' He slapped one of the two sailors a great clout
across the face. But before they had quite desisted, little Philokleia,
peering into the tube from her lower vantage point, was the first of
our party to find out the truth.
'There's a man in there!'
'Well, yes and no,' said someone ruefully. The other sailors were
already unrolling, first the rug and then within it a roll of ordinary
blankets - and then we could see that indeed there was a man. Peleus.
Peleus wizened and blackened, as a man will be who has been dead
for many days in hot weather. Peleus, who must have been dead since
before we left Phaselis
'When is a man not a man?' asked Menestor. 'When he's a corpse.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'This is terrible!' exclaimed Nikias. 'Someone has played us a trick.
However did this thing get here on my nice clean ship? Really, I am
surprised - I am shocked!' He glowered at his men. 'We will find out
more later about this here shocking affair. I suspect that Theban! But
meanwhile, this thing won't keep, no more than the horse. Sorry - but
necessity presses us.'
'You should've stopped it from stinking,' said one of
the sailors to
Menestor.
'Hot weather. We tried to reduce the stench,' explained Menestor.
'We covered the corpse with a mixture of vinegar with a little honey
and a lot of
resin. The Egyptians know how to preserve corpses for all
time. But we're no Egyptians!'
'Certainly you are not,' said the seaman with disfavour, holding his
nose. 'The horsehide was of
use to cover up the other stink, then?'
The older sailors were wrestling distastefully with the body, while
a couple of
rowers took our craft out a bit further into the little bay.
'Weight it with a couple of stones,' advised Nikias.' Not just to his
feet - his feet may not last. He'll be so yeasty he may bob up again.'
Quickly the men tied the stones to the feet and hands of
the cadaver
of
the thrice-unfortunate Peleus: betrayed - then killed - now denied
proper burial. Elbowing us out of
the way, the men did their dire task,
without putting a kindly coin in the mouth of
the departed. Standing
up and counting as in a keleusma, they flipped the dark and sticky
body of Peleus into the water, stone-weighted feet first. There was a
loud splash. Peleus made a hole in the sea. Through the clear water
we could see his face one last time as it submerged.
'Well, now, that's a good deed done,' said Nikias.' You must all
witness that this was a matter of
reasonable public health. Have to get
rid of stinking corpses. I am not responsible for bad cargo sent
aboard. And now we can make for land. Beach it, men! Welcome to
my island!'
348
xx
==::::;:9_P~=
d-G"
The Killing Island
'Welcome to this little island,' repeated Nikias, once the Nike's prow
was fast in the sand. 'Look lively! You must all get off
this vessel while
we repair it. Yes, take your precious luggage with you. We may be
here for some while.'
We had to dig for our own bundles; the sailors were in no hurry to
help us.
They were more concerned with removing all oars from the
ships. The Laurion family, alarmed, searched hurriedly for anything
the little girl might need. Only the seedy pilgrim, who had scanty
personal possessions, seemed unperturbed. I made sure to take the
bag of
plants and the pots of
roots. Aristotle disembarked awkwardly
as he was taking particular care of the manuscript and the woolly
bags.
'Ho, old man, do you think you can use those bags of old clothes
as bladders to float you in the sea?' one of the sailors asked in mock
concern.
'Not much good for that,' said the Theban slave, joining in the
laughter.
'Sir,' said Aristotle to Nikias, 'we need to conduct an enquiry into
the death of the captain Peleus. How his corpse - apparently with
349
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
some attempt at embalming or mummifying by this Theban here -
came on our ship -'
'Oh, it's ill doing with a dead man. And this ain't Athens, my good
friend. 1 don't see no Areopagos hereabouts. Better let things pass for
a while. Make yourselves comfortable.'
We stood bemused on the sandy islet, clutching our goods and
gazing about us at the three beached ships, the scrubby thorn trees,
the signs of camp fires. There was a sudden sharp yapping. A little
lame dog came staggering into the clearing. 'By Herakles,' 1
exclaimed, 'I recognise that beast!'
'I do too,' said Aristotle. 'And that lame animal bodes no good to
us.'
'That creature belonged to the cook,' said one of the men. 'Not
here now - we have to cook for ourselves. But the dog can stand
guard, and don't eat much. Come on.'
The men hurried us to a narrow pathway through some low scrub
and a couple of short trees twisted by the wind. From this place,
though it was near the beach, we could not see the mainland. Neither
could we now see the longed-for Kos.
'My little realm - such as it is,' said Nikias. 'We've come here
before while making repairs. Not much here in the way of
shelter, but
it's still summer, after all. The men will cook you up some fish stew
soon. Time's getting on.'
So it was. The sun was lower in the sky than 1 should have liked.
The days were undeniably shorter now. It
was an unpleasant thought
that the night would come while we were stranded here in such
company. 1 needed no instruction - not now -
regarding our
companions.
'Aristotle,' 1 said in a low tone, 'these men must be pirates.'
'I know,' he replied. 'I suspected that before. And what imbeciles
we have been!'
'The Theban slave is their confederate.'
'Yes. But not only he.'
350
THE KILLING ISLAND
There was not much chance for private conversation, with the men
obviously guarding us, and Nikias looking at us with a leering glance
of superiority.
'Don't worry, Aristotle sir,' he said meaningfully to the
philosopher. 'We shall have a good talk on the morrow. Mayhap we
can come to some kind of agreement.'
We had to content ourselves with that. The men went fishing and
started the promised fish stew. Then they insisted on taking the other
travellers' bags and looking through them. There was little of value,
but they adopted what they could use.
'I shall take these earrings, if you don't mind,' said the tall sailor,
fishing two pair of silver earrings out of the little girl's mother's bag.
The woman shut her eyes and did not reply. 'But those are our
things!' protested Philokleia.
'Least said, soonest mended,' said the tall sailor in a jocular tone.
'I have a lady friend these baubles would certainly suit. She's sad and
lonely at the moment. You wouldn't want to deprive her, would you?'
'Well, if you have a woman already,' said a gruff sailor with a big
chin, 'then what about me? Don't I have a right to what has been
brought to us here?' He looked at the woman.
'Hush, pig,' said Menestor. 'Forbidden. Meat for your masters. Do
not interfere when not called upon.'
The big-chinned man subsided, scowling. But I felt for the woman
and the dangerous case she was in, surrounded by rough men who
had no other women on the island. If the sailors committed such an
act of
hubris as this man appeared to meditate, I ought to try to help
her fight off an attacker. But what chance would I have against so
many sailors? - as well as the Theban, for I could see that Menestor,
slave though he might be, was a leading spirit.
No outrages happened that night, however; the woman slept
between her father and her daughter, with Aristotle on the child's
other side, and myself by Aristotle trying to keep one eye open. We
awoke cooled by night breezes and stiffening in our sandy bed, but
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
the day was fine; there was water to drink and, a little later, a flat
bread cake only slightly stale.
'The oar-holes are filled in and the oars are mended,' announced
Nikias. The pilgrim and the family all brightened, as if they truly
believed they would be taken home after a slight delaying incident.
'Time for our promised excursion!' Nikias continued. 'Sorry, it's
just these two this time,' he explained to the others, nodding at
Aristotle and myself. 'Important folks, you understand. Boy, help
these masters with their luggage.'
The youth Menestor assisted with alacrity in handing all our things
back into the boat. While we were both wondering whether to get in
or not, two sailors pushed us into the vessel. The ship then went off,
with ourselves, Menestor and Nikias, and only two oarsmen rowing -
the two who had fetched the stone weights the day before. The other
sailors remained to guard the rest of our party.
'You may get to Kos yet,' Nikias said in encouraging tones. We
knew he was a liar. Yet my heart gave a painful thump of
yearning at
the thought of arriving in Kos harbour.
'I do not like to detain you unduly,' said Nikias, 'because we have
an old association. Quite friendly terms we were on, weren't we? After
all, 1 helped you out of a fix before, when you were stuck in Naxos
with no ship. So you can help me, and we will call it quits.'
Aristotle was observing him steadily, but said nothing. 1 asked,
'What exactly do you want?'
'Oh - exactly is hard to say. Our wants vary from day to day. What
does Alexander want, exactly?' Nikias seemed disposed to be playful
and philosophical. 'I want first of all to talk - now we are far enough
away from that mob, we cannot be overheard. 1 shall ask my men to
swim off a bit so you can speak freely. Off you go, men. Be dolphins
for a while!
'Menestor will stay here,' he added, turning to us as the two sailors
obediently dived off and swam away. 'Menestor and I are both
armed, 1 should warn you. Menestor has a club, and both of
us have
352
THE KILLING ISLAND
good daggers. So do not think you can take advantage of the
situation. You cannot.'
Menestor, with a mischievous smile, waved the thick knobbed stick
of
which he was possessed. I saw the dagger gleaming in a belt around
his waist.
'Well, now,' said Aristotle calmly. 'What is the mighty matter that
demands so much secrecy from your own crew? As you must surely
be all pirates together, it cannot be the mere fact of
engaging in crime
that you wish to conceal. Perhaps you think there is some way of
benefiting yourself and leaving them out of it.'
'Maybe,' said Nikias. 'And maybe it does you no good to try to
think too much. I admit you got the better of me before - to Hades
with you for a clever fellow! And a fortunate! When we were in easy
sea there was at first too many boats all around us. The storm at sea
was unlucky. The big ship was too big and too damaged for us to take
as a prize. By Herakles, I could have strangled you when you gave the
news about yourself to the passenger in the damaged ship! After that,
we couldn't conveniently do our business. Too many people would
know about where you were last seen, if that storm-damaged vessel
chanced to come to port. And it did. I was prudent to hold off. So you
escaped me then.'
'So - my guess was correct,' retorted Aristotle. 'Who commissioned
you to take a particular interest in me, by the way? Who exactly paid
you to kill me - and how much was the deed worth? I had deduced the
piracy. Later, however, I began foolishly to doubt my suspicions.
Luckily, the damaged vessel was too big and still too seaworthy for you
to overrun it. I am glad that my words to my friend's son - uttered by
design, to ensure our safety - had a good effect.'
'For a little time,' agreed Nikias. 'Who knows what the Fates have
in store? Maybe the gods have favoured me. I am lucky too. The
Heavenly Twins appeared to me, you remember. Then you had
nothing much worth taking. Now - now you have things I really want.
And something that others who work with me - never mind who they
353
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
are - really want. So we shall all do much better than before. Speak
up and tell us where the hidden treasure is. Frankly. Let us deal quite
frankly, and you shall have less trouble to endure.'
'I see,' said Aristotle. He remained silent for a good while after that.
'Well, Menestor,' said Nikias after a long, frowning silence. 'Since
he seems uncommunicative, what do you say to looking at their
luggage? Hey?' He picked up the bag of plants and peered into it.
'What have we here? Cabbage?'
'That's material for natural philosophy,' I said, trying to explain.
'It's only valuable to people like Aristotle and Theophrastos who are
working on the history of
plants and animals. These are just pieces of
plants from Asia.'
'So, now - soup for supper, Menestor. Catch!' He tossed the large
leather bag to the youth, who caught it by the thong around the top.
'Are they poison?'
'I don't know. Some of
them may be.' I answered at random since
Aristotle was not talking.
'And you really have no idea,' said Nikias admiringly, 'which are
poison and which aren't? These roots and shoots might kill the cooks
as well as the eaters, might they not? So - though we have need of
vegetables, we shall have to forgo them. Toss them away, Menestor.'
Menestor, despite Aristotle's movement of distress, opened the
mouth of
the bag and tossed the contents into the ripples of
a moving
current, which bore them away.
'The bag itself can be useful,' said Nikias easily. 'Next item. Some
more plant stufl?'
'Yes - you can see for yourself.' I wasn't disposed to inform him
further, could I have done so.
'Well, and more vegetables go into the briny stew!' The roots and
bulbs were tossed away, some sinking and some floating on the foam.
'Now,' said Nikias happily, 'we shall come to more interesting
materials. And I think, 0 Aristotle, that you are distressed by these
losses of your peculiar treasures. You are not blind! From your lack
354
THE KILLING ISLAND
of speech, old man, I fear you may be going deaf.' Nikias suddenly
spoke very loudly. 'Deaf people need optical proof. You have had
optical proof. Realise this: I will indeed destroy what is not useful to
me. Unless you cooperate. Or unless you persuade me that something
is useful to me. In that case, you can beg me to take it as a gift. That's
the way. See? Assist me now on one small matter and you will see how
grateful I can be.'
Aristotle still said nothing, but sat like one in earnest pensive
thought rather than like someone studying a retort or defence. Nikias
turned to me.
'Tell this old man,' he said loudly, 'that if he wants to save any
more of his precious goods he must cooperate with me. I need to
know something, and I want to know it now.'
'What is that?' I asked after a moment, to fill in for the unspeaking
Aristotle.
'Harpalos the Treasurer had an interview with you both. Harpalos
wants you to go to pick up more treasure elsewhere. I want - I need -
to know what and where it is. And I want you to tell this old
philosopher there's people in Athens who will be better pleased with
him if he is more reasonable.'
'I cannot help you,' I said. 'If
there is anything to know, Aristotle
alone knows it.'
At last Aristotle spoke. 'Stephanos knows a little,' he said casually,
'but that little is useless without me. Together we perhaps have some
knowledge - but of
things that do not concern you. '
'And perhaps,' said Nikias, 'you feel - being a philosopher - that
you can be content with what you have already?' He peered into the
woolly bags. 'Let's see now - Why, isn't this a pretty toy!' He picked
up one of
the little tablets of gold, unwrapped it and waved it about.
The morning sunlight flashed off the bright clean metal.
'Men dig for gold. Let's dig into this fine bag again ~
and look what
comes out! Lots and lots of gold coins.' He showed us some in the
palm of his hand, waving them teasingly towards us and then away,
355
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
above his head. 'See, here's a pretty coin and here's its brother - and
its sisters too!' He dropped the coins into the bag, all save one which
he flipped on the back of
his hand.
'I see Darius' head. A golden dareikos. From Sardis, perhaps, or
most likely gold from great Persepolis. Or does this fortunate sack
breed gold on its own? Menestor, I beg you to take the other bag, and
secure it. Carefully - and don't take your eye off these gentlemen.
Better not to wave the coins about any longer, lest our loyal dolphins
catch sight of
it. They would feel aggrieved they were not let in on this
pretty secret.' The two men tied up the bags of
gold.
'Does not this sight lacerate your hean, 0 Aristotle? What wealth
you are in the process oflosing!'
'Gold is not my chief
good,' said Aristotle mildly. 'Money is not the
end for which I live.'
'Well, but suppose you had a duty to perform regarding this gold?
Suppose you can no longer perform that good deed. Suppose a
shocking fact becomes known to the powers of
Makedonia and to all
good citizens in Athens: old reliable Aristotle took what didn't belong
to him? Bags of wealth - too much for the ageing philosopher. Pure
fresh gold was seductive, and he abducted it. A prudent coward,
though, this old rascal. He hides himself
so cleverly he is not heard of
any more. Reputation - gone for ever. Will folk then think gold was
not your object? Will it matter what you really used to live for - or say
you lived for?'
'You must deal with your own honesty or dishonesty as you see fit,'
said Aristotle. 'It is clear I am not able to furnish you with a sense of
the Good or any respect for Justice.'
'Well- Justice!' intervened Menestor. 'Justice is a fine word! But
who knows where Justice resides? Or if there is any such thing? Was
it Justice that destroyed Thebes? Justice that put me and thirty
thousand like me into slavery? Justice when Alexander and Harpalos
and the others stole all that gold from the Persians? Don't prattle here
about Justice!'
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THE KILLING ISLAND
Aristotle looked at the Theban with a kind of sad interest. 'There
is something in what you say,' he remarked. 'I should be willing to
converse with you on the subject. Have you read the Republic, by the
way?'
'''Have you read the Republic?'"
Menestor mimicked him. 'I
suppose you think slaves can sit about reading all day. But I have read
it, or some of
it when I was a boy -'
'Stop it!' commanded Nikias. 'Where do you think this is, a school-
room? You are a scholar, sir, as they say -' turning to Aristotle. 'So
here I suppose is something you do value. Menestor and I looked into
this box before. It is a thing with writing on it.'
'It's a book,' said Aristotle. Nikias freed the box of
its integuments
and opened it. The pages of Kallisthenes' parchment manuscript
were quite fresh and undamaged by the journey. The clear sepia ink
was readable in the easy daylight.
'Yes, it is a book,' said Menestor in his angry mimicking tone. He
picked up the first page. 'The Deeds of
Alexander- glorious Alexander?
Ran around Troy
- declared a son of
Ammon in wilds of
Egypt - great
feats on the riverside. Fig-sucking prattle!'
'This is a valuable piece of history,' protested Aristotle, taking the
page from Menestor. 'A great labour. And I haven't had time to read
it yet.'
'Well, you might have time to read it now,' said Nikias. 'We might
use it for bum-wipe and stick it down the latrine.'
'Not so good for us, if
somebody tried to read our latrine,' laughed
Menestor. 'If
one of
Alexander's loyal henchmen came peering round
our camp, such disrespect to these pages would be unhealthy.'
'Pity - we're so short of bum-wipe. So, 0 Aristotle, what to do? I
see this treasure has caught your attention. I'll make you a fair offer:
you may read half of it. How's that?'
'Generous,' said Menestor.
'And the other half
- well, there's too much writing in the world,'
said Nikias. He snatched the top leaf from Aristotle. 'No!' cried
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Aristotle, trying to stay Nikias' hand. Menestor jumped up and
twisted his arm until he let go. 'Aha!' Nikias threw the leaf
overboard.
'Now we see where your treasure lies! This will make you talk!'
Nikias began to throw more of the manuscript pages overboard. I
could see them floating on the deep, the ink melting slowly off, yet
still legible. "Alexander wrote then to Darius the following letter"; "a
whip, a ball, and a chest of gold"; "In the spring Alexander broke
camp ...
"; "expecting that Darius' forces would meet him ...
"; "like
Akhilleus, remembering ...
'" Words jumped up and down through
the water. Aristotle clenched his hands on the bench where he sat, but
said nothing.
'Be reasonable, man,' said Nikias encouragingly. 'Be wise. As I've
heard it said:
"Best is that man above all men who everything can know,
And next in good is humbler he who to these wise will go;
Who cannot for himself see truth, or from another hear it
To store away in his own mind - this man is without merit."
Be instructed, men. You are wise if you do what we tell you.'
'Not altogether the case, even - Was it Diophantos who repeated
these verses to you?'
'Diophantos? No - What does that matter? You are simply losing
more of your book. We know that Harpalos told you to go to
somewhere secret to pick up more treasure. Here's the agreement.'
He leaned forward and looked steadily at us. 'You two take me to the
secret spot where Harpalos has stored his hoard of gold and gems.
Give me all the wealth and goods we find there - and swear by all the
gods to keep quiet. Then you can have the rest of
the manuscript, and
a free passage home.'
'I entirely believe I should not have to worry about paying for a
passage,' said Aristotle, with a dry laugh. A gull swooped down and
358
THE KIlLING ISLAND
caught a page, then stared at the piece of
writing in disappointment
and dropped it back in the sea.
'You should not go about destroying books,' Aristotle continued.
'It's the act of a barbarian, not a Greek.'
'Pa-ta-pa-ta. I am Greek enough to serve my turn. Some say the
Makedonians are only Greeks second-hand. Don't come high and
mighty with me. You and your young friend. Your life is in my hands
- think of it. If
you won't cooperate today, we must see what can be
done to get a better answer on the morrow. I'm being generous, mind
that. But we're not patient men.'
Nikias turned the boat about and gave a whistling cry for his
'dolphins', who soon bobbed into view. Dripping from their swim,
they grabbed the oars and returned us to the island. We were not glad
to get there, nor was our reception agreeable. As soon as our feet
touched ground, Nikias barked out an order and the men held us with
a strong grip.
'Fetch the chains!' Nikias ordered Menestor, who obeyed at once,
returning with zealous swiftness. In his hands he bore the dreadful
manacles with which obstreperous slaves are kept in check. Metal
locks and links were new and of
good quality, stolen, I thought, from
army supplies.
'Sorry,' said Nikias. 'But you have given me little choice. With so
many of you on this island, I cannot have you all running around,
chatting and plotting.' He looked at the rest of
his guests - the family
from Laurion, the pale-faced pilgrim.
'Pay no mind,' he said jovially. 'Just a little unfinished business
between me and these naughty gentlemen here. They owes me, and
won't give us our due. Know that as soon as they cooperate with me,
we can all leave this island.'
They were obviously astonished, but nobody made any move to
rescue or to remonstrate as the chains were fitted on us. Soon I wore
an iron ring around the right hand, and iron rings about both ankles.
A chain attached to the ankle rings made walking difficult, nor could
359
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
one take long steps. In this degrading clanking costume we were
obliged to follow our tormentor, who conducted us with mock
ceremony to a side of the island away from the others, a small cove
partly hidden from the view of our party's side of the island by a
screen of thorny shrubs deformed by the winds.
'There you are,' said Nikias.
'We may remember to give you food
and water occasionally. Or not, as the fancy takes us. It
is sometimes
good for health and sanity to fast. But Menestor shall listen to what
you say, in case your conversation proves interesting.'
The period of
suffering began. It is true that Aristotle and I had the
consolation of
being together, but we could not really talk with such
a perpetual listener. The little lame dog (Doris' dog, I was sure of
it)
romped towards us, whining as usual, but it was driven away by
Menestor. The sun beat down upon our beach and made us thirsty.
'You can often come upon a rill of
fresh water by quickly scraping up
sand near a beach,' Aristotle informed me as he dug with manacled
hands, 'but drink quickly, the water soon becomes brackish.' This
proved true; our scraping was not rewarded with any great quantity
of water, but it helped.
It was embarrassing to answer the calls of nature. We dug out a
trough with our hands and feet, a small pit on the inland side at the
furthest distance our chain would allow. I had never realised the
horror of
being truly a prisoner. Since I was a boy I had loved walking.
As a free man I could go wheresoever my feet would carry me, taking
pleasure in moving through the changing landscape. Now I was
deprived of the power of movement, a power that wild animals (and
even some tame ones) take for granted. I irritated my companion by
walking restlessly the length of
my chain. He pointed out that wasn't
a good idea as it was using up bodily moisture. Water was supplied
irregularly, food more rarely still.
The second and third day they let us alone except when Nikias
came to bark some questions at us. We gathered that some of the
sailors were occupying themselves with fishing, and others were
360
THE KIl.LING ISLAND
indolent, playing gambling games and drinking what they had
brought with them. The fourth day Nikias' active henchmen brought
us out in front of our companions and subjected us to beating.
'Now you will learn, old teacher, what happens to stubborn
students,' said Nikias jocularly. He flogged Aristotle on the shoulders
with a rope. The others - the pilgrim and the little family - were made
to watch.
'Tell this old man,' Nikias shouted,' that if he promises to behave,
you can all go home.'
Aristotle gritted his teeth and said nothing - made no outcry or
remonstrance - and gave no information, of course.
They did not beat Aristotle very hard, I think because they feared
for his health. Nikias earnestly hoped to get his hands on the secret
cache, and killing Aristotle would spoil that game. For me they had
less compunction. They tied me to a tree, bared my shoulders and
beat me with rods, as a slave is beaten. I protested that this was
hubris, and liable to the utmost prosecution of the law, as I was an
Athenian citizen. But they were not in a mood to heed. Then I
endeavoured to hold my peace, but I did not, and in the end - I am
ashamed to remark it - I roared like a young child. People say slaves
are cowardly because they cry when beaten, but I am now certain that
it is easier to bear wounding in battle than this kind of contemptuous
torture. Once the party were satisfied that we were experiencing
punishment, they threw us down on the beach together to recover
from our lashes. The dew gave a grateful coolness to our tortured
skin. We recovered as best we could the next day, when we were
unmolested. We were so sleepy and unconversational that Menestor
gave up listening, and went off. That meant a precious chance to talk.
'That was bad,' I said. 'It can only get worse.'
'Yes,' said Aristotle, 'it probably will. But if! tell him what I know,
it will mean instant death for the whole party. Whereas if we stall,
something may tum in our favour.'
'You are sure they will kill us?'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Certainly. It was very bad that they let us see they had the corpse
of poor Peleus on board. We instantly knew too much. They did not
care enough about us to deceive us - therefore we are not meant to
tell a tale to the world outside. Not any of us. I cannot think of any
way of
inducing them to let the little family go.'
'Nikias did give them a chance,' I recollected. 'In Halikarnassos, he
told the family and the pilgrims to wait or to take another ship. A
sporting chance - but Fortune was not with them.'
'True. The worst thing is, Nikias is not acting on his own. As a
mere pirate, he might be more persuadable. He is in the pay of
someone much more powerful. A person or persons connected with
Diophantos and his cohort.'
'While Peleus, we may believe, is what he seems - seemed.'
'Yes. A straightforward loyal Makedonian officer. So those playing
some other game had him killed, in order, it seems, to get hold of us.
After we met with Harpalos.'
'I believe,' I said, 'that my letter from Theodoros was largely forged
- the Hesiod verses inserted to cover up what was there before. Odd
that Nikias should have quoted those lines! The forgery would have
been done before we met with Harpalos. I wanted to look at the letter
again, but you remember it was lost.'
'Somewhere,' Aristotle thought aloud, 'there is mind at work.
Somewhere an organisation, a structure. Nikias refers to people in
Athens - not just Makedonians. Diophantos is a Makedonian, but he
seems to have gone over to this other invisible party. We may presume
there are officers who are disaffected, if not from Makedon, at least
from Alexander. Perhaps they simply don't favour the move eastward.
Or perhaps they hope to take over, leaving Alexander enmired or per-
haps killed in the distant depths of
Asia beyond the far mountains.'
'It reminds me,' I said, recalling a conversation once heard in the
Agora. 'There are some who want Athens to keep to herself, but there
are others who would like to revive the Athenian League. Athens - or
the most important citizens - would take control of
the cities of
Ionia
362
THE KIlLING ISLAND
and Karia and so on, and the islands. Their own empire, free of
Alexander. '
'True, Stephanos. We are confronting something much harder to
resolve than a simple crime. Even murder is only part of
it. Whoever
it is, our hidden enemy, hopes now to get the money of
Harpalos, for
his - or their - own purpose. Presumably someone with no love for
Makedon. But yet, someone of good enough position to know
Harpalos, or know about him.'
'Could the plotter be Harpalos himself?'
'Not entirely impossible. There is something of
the trickster about
Harpalos. Whoever is behind all this seems to be a trickster of some
kind. But Harpalos could scarcely act alone. I don't see what interests
he could really serve by this series of events. He serves himself pretty
well already!'
'That Theban slave is mixed up in it,' I said. 'He has no love for
Makedon.'
'Indeed. And we know one important thing. The lad can read -
probably at a much higher level than these seamen who are his
current masters. So he could have abstracted and read your letter -
and destroyed it. But he is unlikely to have been the original forger,
since he was in Asia. Forgery is a skilled job, not work you'd give to
someone with little opportunity to practise writing.'
I was trying in a stupid head-aching way to think what all this could
mean. The sun beat dully upon the water, birds cried dull cries.
Suddenly there was a commotion on the other side of the sandy
island. Screams, sound of
running. Menestor came bursting through
the underbrush.
'Come, my lads,' he said jovially, grabbing the two of
us and taking
us on our clanking way. 'This is sport! And it may open your eyes and
mouths!'
A terrible sight met our eyes - the poor puny pilgrim with one badly
bent leg was spreadeagled on the ground, face down, and two men
were standing over him with rods.
363
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'We waited for you,' said Nikias. 'We wanted everyone to see this
judgement executed. This man was caught trying to flee. We will
make an example of
him.'
Two of his men started beating the prostrate form in a rhythmic
manner.
'Put some more into it, lads!' yelled Nikias. 'Menestor - 1 think this
grovelling fellow's a foreigner, not a Greek. So even though you are a
slave, you may have your chance. Here!' And he tossed to Menestor
not a rod but a short whip. 'See what you can do!'
Menestor gritted his teeth with the effort and bestrode his victim.
He lashed and lashed away, as if he had taken leave of
his senses, his
face writhing and distorted, his muscles heaving. The display of
rage
was terrible, like an earthquake or thunderstorm, as if Menestor
himself
was not in charge of
it but the rage in charge of
him. The man
twisted and shrieked under the lashes. At last he ceased writhing, then
became quite still.
'Stop!' said Nikias. He took the whip from Menestor. 'I don't want
you to get into the habit of unnecessary murder, my boy. There's a
right and a wrong way to do everything. Let this wretched fellow die
slowly, now. Turn him face up, and we'll just leave him here. We'll
let the females and the old man leave the place. But you can watch,'
he said to Aristotle. 'You cut up animals, don't you, and observe
them? This will be a nice treat for you, doctor. You will be able to tell
us in the end which it was - pain, blood loss, heatstroke or thirst - that
killed this fellow. No - don't go near him -' as Aristotle started
towards the hapless pilgrim supine in the sand, his hands tied with
ropes to tree trunks nearby. 'You must only observe, mind.'
Weak and shaken, still in our fetters, we had to sit on the sand and
observe. Little changed. The poor man's shoulders heaved occa-
sionally with the effort of taking breath. 1 kept thinking he was
breathing his last, but no. On it went, on with the wearying relent-
lessness of life that seems to have no other purpose but itself, tiring
the possessor.
364
THE KILLING ISLAND
To my surprise, one of the sailors (:ame tiptoeing over to us with
some water to quench our thirst.
'Good man,' said Aristotle in a mild tone, 'as you have had parents
and people who love you, take this drink to that poor fellow there.
Dabble his lips gently - see ifhe can swallow.'
Surprised, the man obeyed, still in silence. The swollen mouth took
in a little water. Then a little more. 'Enough,' said Aristotle
eventually, with the same gentleness as .before. I could see the sailor
felt some awe of him, even though he had seen him beaten two days
ago.
'Let me, I entreat, sit near this man all night,' Aristotle asked. 'I can
do you no harm.'
The man agreed, and let us move our iron-bound selves closer to
the victim; he also allowed Aristotle to keep the water with him.
'You see,' Aristotle said to me, in quite a normal tone. 'Death is not
always predictable. Life and death are mysteries. Some would have
died already under this treatment. It seems to me we each have our
own vital heat, and this becomes exhausted slowly or quickly. In the
very old, heat has been gently drawn off, and they die easily. In
others, heat fluctuates, as in violent fevers, when it is over-spent. The
lung and the brain supply coolness. When these do not function, the
vital heat exhausts itself more rapidly. Sustain radical heat and
tempering moisture both, and Nature may restore a lease on life.' He
dabbled the man's mouth with water again.
Aristotle sat serenely and solemnly watching as the pale stars came
up and went down. He seemed inwardly concentrated. I ceased to be
able to feel anything. Not pity. Not astonishment. Looking at the
dying man, I knew that this might be my fate too, just as surely as I
knew that the white light around me came from the moon above us.
Perhaps Nikias was himself somewhat awed by the terrific flogging
of the hapless pilgrim, for he gave us relative peace in the next few
days. On the second day he moved us away from the still-breathing
pilgrim back to our lonely little cove. But on the third day (I think it
365
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
was the third), a day of some wind and grey sky, Nikias came to us
and announced he had had enough. He seemed more glowering and
anxious than usual. The slow dying of the pilgrim was perhaps
twitching his soul, rendering him strained and anxious, and the
weather aroused an impatience to finish his mission before the
autumn.
'You cannot sit about here in this holiday fashion,' he said angrily.
'We must soon set off. Now, join the others while we think what we
are to do.' We were dragged away from our prisonous hiding place
and moved to the other beach. By the 'other beach' 1 mean the place
where the little family were, and Menestor and the other sailors.
'There are too many of
you,' said Nikias, 'all giving us trouble. You
need food and that is becoming a serious problem. We are running
out of
grain for flour - and other supplies. We must depart before the
weather turns. And all this trouble because of
this stubborn old fellow
there!' He pointed at Aristotle. 'You tell him to give us what we want,
so we can let all of
you go.'
'Pray, sir,' said Hermippos to Aristotle, in a voice that did not
succeed in not shaking, 'pray give them what they want.'
'Will you really let us go?' asked little Philokleia. 'Will you let him
go?' pointing at Aristotle.
'Oh, that old man,' laughed Nikias. 'Don't worry your head about
him. He'll have to go a-journeying with me.'
'I don't like you,' said the little girl. 'You are mean. You do bad
things. 1 think,' she said to Aristotle, 'he is just like the Hungry
Prince. You remember, in the story. And the gods will punish him!
Maybe he will try to eat himself all up.'
'What's this?' Nikias was suddenly purple with rage. He strode up
to the child. 'She's a witch! Making threats and prophecies!'
'But you are,' said the child. 'You are like the Hungry Prince. And
the gods will punish you. After you have eaten everything, then you
will eat yourself.'
'This is sorcery - 1 won't have it!' roared Nikias. 'Uttering curses-
366
THE KIll.lNG ISLAND
the little toad! A seeress possessed of a demon! She's bad luck. It is
bad luck to have a woman-child aboard.'
With the child in his grasp, he moved towards the smallest of his
craft where it lay lightly beached. He threw the child into the little
ship and jumped in himself.
'Push off, Menestor!' he ordered. And Menestor pushed the ship
away. Then Nikias took the long oar and poled himself from the back
of the ship, slowly, until the craft was a little way off shore. Only a
little way - about the length of four or five men. Then he made the
child stand up.
'Now we shall put an end to these ravings!' he cried and laid his
dagger against the child's throat.
'No!' cried Aristotle in an anguished voice, but one of the sailors
clapped his hands over the old man's mouth. Aristotle was trying to
run towards the boat, but we both toppled in the sand, having gone
the length of our short chain.
'No, I beg of
you, sir,' cried aged Hermippos. 'I implore you, give
us back our child and we shall give you anything you demand - to all
my estate in Laurion!'
'No!' screamed the mother. '0, Mother Demeter! Save my
Philokleia! 0 sir, have mercy, she is only a child, a virgin -'
'A virgin! Yes, that's a problem,' said Nikias. 'Sacrificing virgins!
No, I won't do that. We can soon solve that one.' He took the
horrified child and thrusting up her clothing he raped her in the day-
light for all to see.
'There! There's no virgin in the case now!' he screamed. The quick
bronze dagger gleamed and whizzed. A dark line appeared on the
child's throat. Nikias held her body up for a minute so it did not
crumple to the floor of the boat even as she was giving up the spirit
and the life went out of
her.
'There's one less of
you!' he cried, and threw the body overboard.
We all heard the splash.
There was a horrible silence. Even the mother was not crying but
367
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
stood like Niobe, a statue. The old grandfather had slumped down
into the sand. I could feel the excitement and perturbation of the
sailors. Aristotle's breath came heaving up, as if
he had been able to
run for parasangs to save the child - as his mind wished to do and his
body could not.
'So, there you are!' shouted Nikias, defiantly. 'That's war for you.
It's happened before and will happen again to better females than her.
And no more witchcraft - no nasty prophesying - no curses!'
He need not have worried. We were all beyond speech. Nikias
joined the other sailors for dinner and they left our little group to
ourselves for a time. The moon rose. We all just sat there staring into
the sea or into space.
'Look,' said Hermippos softly. 'The child floats!' We saw a gleam
of light on white clothing, showing in the moon track on the water.
The body was tossing gently on the top of
the waves, not far from us.
At last, we dropped off
to sleep, still in our sitting postures. We awoke
in the middle of the night on hearing - once more - a splash.
Hermippos was missing from the group on the shore. First we
thought he had swum out to recover the body, but then we saw that
he had gone out to make a hole in the water. That was another of
us
gone. When we awoke in the morning, there were two less of
us. The
woman was hanging from a thorn tree, turning and turning in the
gentle wind.
368
XXI
==~9_~e==
a'-'G
Escape
The sequence of
deaths seemed to have shocked even our captors. At
least I think so, because they behaved with less hostility to us in the
next few days. They let us use some of
our clothing (though our bags
had been adopted by the pirates). I was glad of my crumpled
himation now; one needed a cloak in the nights. Of course, our
enemies' work of guarding us was greatly lessened now that three of
our number were gone. And a fourth, the poor pilgrim, seemed to be
breathing his last, stretched on the sands where they had put him. Yet
at Aristotle's dignified remonstrance and entreaty, one of the men
(the same who had come to us before with water) supplied the pros-
trate sufferer with moisture for the lips, and even allowed Aristotle to
sit by him, ministering as much as he was able, at regular intervals.
Aristotle had the temerity to demand honey for his patient so he could
make hydromel, and after some grumbling the sweet stuff was given
him from Nikias' own supplies. I noticed that Aristotle did not use all
of the honey, nor put it back in the jar, but kept some in a leather
pouch under a bush, which struck me as odd treatment for honey.
Nourished by the hydromel that Aristotle poured delicately through
his lips a drop at a time, the man continued to breathe.
369
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'He is not as feeble as he looked, obviously,' said Aristotle. 'Or he
would have died long before this. His constitution is excellent. The
man must have been of a good habit of body before he got whatever
wound or distress it was that urged him to take a pilgrimage to Kos.'
'Bad luck for him,' I remarked. 'He did not get to the healing island
of
Kos, but to a nameless island for torture and dying.'
'That does seem to be pure chance or Fate,' said Aristotle thought-
fully. 'It is no accident that you and I are here. But it seems accident
that the others are - or were - here.'
We were talking as before on our old prison-beach where we had
again been led, the pirate group wanting an undisturbed mealtime.
These days they gave us a longer chain so we could even stroll some
distance along the beach, and separately if we wished. But
customarily we sat together, as now.
'I wonder exactly how long we have been here?' I looked at the sky.
'We have been way from home a long time. I kept account of
the days
pretty well at first, at least until we got to Asia. But now I don't know
how long we have been away. The weather is still warm but the days
are shorter. The stars have changed; there is a dew in the morning. I
think it must be in the month of
Boedromion. The celebration of
the
Eleusinian Mysteries may have begun by now.'
'Boedromion. Yes. The month of
Apollo the Helper. Apollo-quick-
to-help. The month's name means running to a man shouting for
help - only too appropriate for us. But we are dumb before our
slaughterers.
'
'May the time bring us assistance,' I said. '0,
Aristotle, it was in the
month of Boedromion that I came to you for help. I was a man
bellowing for assistance, and you came to my aid.'
'It is kind of you to remember that, Stephanos. What I see too
clearly now is that I have led you into terrible trouble. But for
knowing me, you would not be here.'
I knew that was the simple truth, and could not clearly see how to
comfort him.
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ESCAPE
'It doesn't matter,' I said feebly.
'But it does. You are a young man with your life before you. You
have a bride waiting for you, children yet to be born. I am old. Any
man who reaches fifty must realise he is not immortal. With so much
I still want to do, I judged, perhaps foolishly, that I should be given
more time. But I let myself - I let us - drift into this danger. It comes
to me now that my grief affected my judgement. I didn't notice
things. I had not so much attention to give to life. Thus important
signs passed me by.'
'How so?'
'I should have seen that of
course we were going to be followed out of
Athens - at least, I was. Someone would be anxious to know that I had
gone, and where I was bound. There are large political interests at
stake, not just spite. We both see that there is what we might call
crudely pro-Makedon and anti-Makedon sentiment in Athens. But
who is using these sentiments for their own purposes? There is a strong
and intelligent antagonist at work, some individual or group with a
larger design, and I am important enough to have a place in that person
or persons' calculations about the future of his design. Therefore I
would be watched - at very least. Probably it was always intended to
get rid of me once I was far enough away. We were followed out of
Athens - out of
Attika, rather - perhaps by more than one watcher.'
'Who? Oh, yes, that slavewoman Doris. We talked about her
before. Now we know she is assuredly connected with these pirates.
Doris' dog is here, though she is not. But Doris seems too lowly -
and too crippled - to be a real enemy.'
'Do not underestimate her intelligence, or her cold blood. We
don't even know that she's really a cripple. She certainly had access to
the kitchen and the knives in Aristodamos' house. Doris is the most
likely murderer of our first captain. Because he came to warn us of
something, he had to be disposed of then and there. Most likely there
was some original plan to make sure, in any event, that on the last part
of our journey we sailed with Nikias.'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'Diophantos could not have been the killer on Naxos,' I agreed.
'Whatever he may have been up to in Phaselis.'
'I firmly believe that Doris alone - though acting under orders -
was the killer of
our good captain Aiskhines. As we noted before, her
dog did not bark in the night. Who else could keep the beast quiet?'
'Perhaps the pirates got her to this island and then killed her, too?'
'No, Stephanos. If
she were buried on this islet, the dog would dig
up her body. If
she were dead in the sea, he would be moaning at the
water's edge. The dog is not grieving. Doris was here as cook. She
then went away, on some other errand, without her pet. Her job of
watching us was over.'
'And other watchers on the journey?'
'Philokhoros is a puzzle. He may have been trying to do us some
good. Or perhaps he was merely the agent of a rival party, and both
he and Doris were seeking to do us ill, in different ways.'
'And in that case, Doris' party got rid of him. Philokhoros got
thrown into a pigpen. I suppose he is still searching for Sosios, his
runaway boy. It is a long time since we have seen anything of those
people. Delos.'
'Yes. But almost immediately after Philokhoros was no longer with
us, in Naxos, Doris the efficient agent got rid of
Aiskhines and put us
in care of Captain Nikias. A pirate by profession. Now Nikias has
made clear his intentions on that journey. What fools we were! We
should have noticed his men's peculiar alertness regarding the
damaged big ship that we came across, and their disappointment that
they couldn't take it. They were still indignant about it when we
arrived in Kos - about that and I suppose about our walking off in
good health, so they lost their fee. Mere suspicion led me to take the
valuable precaution of
telling an acquaintance where I was. Yet, once
arrived safely in Kos, I foolishly forgot my suspicions of
Nikias.'
'And in Kos,' I continued, 'we had other things to think of,
including young Parmenion. Then we were led on the journey to
Harpalos, so you could see your nephew -'
372
ESCAPE
'An interesting but costly journey that has proved to be! You
remember, Nikias said some men in Athens would be glad that I was
rendered more "reasonable". That statement gives me pause. It
would be so much easier to negotiate with Nikias if
he were acting on
his own. There is no reason to doubt that he indeed has contact with
someone ofimponance in Athens - directly, or indirectly. The centre
of
the plot must be Athenian.'
I arose, restlessly twitching my chain. 'Come,' I said impatiently.
'Let us walk. We have so little time before those sailors come back.
They seem to have become quite confident now, leaving us alone for
large periods of
time.'
'I think they don't trust Menestor,' said Aristotle, getting up stiffly.
'And they don't like to risk letting anyone individual among them
hear our conversation. They are not so confident that they leave oars
in their ships; they always take them out and guard them.'
'Except,' I responded, 'for the man who is so keen a fisherman and
keeps those octopodes and so on. He is sometimes a little careless.'
'Pirates often fall out among themselves,' Aristotle observed. 'I was
hoping these men might do so, but I have seen no opening.'
Unhappily we paced the seashore in the autumn light, as the sun
slid down the western horizon. 'Watch out for sea-urchins,' Aristotle
warned, as we crunched along the foreshore. 'Many are poisonous,
and if
one of
the stinging spines gets into your foot you will be in pain
before it works its own way out.'
'I know it from childhood,' I said feelingly.
'A number of Testacea have this system of protection, as insects
have their sting.' Aristotle seemed happy talking about his animal
categories once more. 'The hard matter or spine is all outside, in
contrast to us mammals who have the hard matter at the centre of
the
body, the way modellers built figures of clay upon a hard core. The
little sea-urchin has the best defence system of all shellfish. A fine
palisade of
stakes. Interesting - no creature is without some strength.
The cuttlefish, our Sepia, can confuse its enemies by the dark ink it
373
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
squirts when frightened, evidently with the same involuntary ease as
men urinate under the same circumstances. Interesting creatures.'
We moved cautiously along the tide-dampened beach, looking at
the detritus that the sea spume leaves. Worm-casts and bivalves.
Empty shells and strips of seaweed. Little stones and some small
pieces of pottery, even some little pieces of once-valuable glass,
polished hard by the sea. A large piece of
painted pottery, laced with
worm holes. A rotten piece of planking. An oar, broken at the
handle ...
'An oar!' I seized it and on an impulse hid it under my cloak. That
cloak was already disreputable and dirty from our outdoor sleeping
but it had not gone into holes yet, so the oar was momentarily safe
from sight.
'An oar,' repeated Aristotle. 'An important but fragile object. Ifwe
think of any escape, we must try for it soon. Not long hence, the
pirates will decide to go off this island and they will take me - us -
with them. They were shocked by their own killings, I think, and then
decided to await the poor pilgrim's natural death and then bury him.
But this island is too full of bodies. They yearn to depart. They will
finish the poor man's dying for him and take us away. They will hope
to get me to talk on the mainland, near where they imagine Harpalos'
hoard must be.'
It occurred to me that Aristotle was optimistic in talking of the
pirates taking 'us'. So much more likely that it would be Aristotle
alone who would be taken off
in a boat, while I made one of
the bodies
buried in the sands of
this islet. The prospect made me more alert.
'We must get free enough of movement to seize a ship,' I said
firmly. 'And then we can use this oar to take ourselves off. To be sure,
they would be after us right away -'
'My plan includes taking one of these vessels,' said Aristotle, 'The
second smallest, if we can. Not the very smallest.' Neither of us
wanted to say we could not bear the smallest ship as it was the site of
the worst of
the murders. We never spoke of
that event.
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ESCAPE
'That smallest ship is the one that the fisherman-sailor uses all the
time for fishing, anyway,' I remarked. 'It has his tackle in it, and he
keeps live fish and octopodes there also. In a net like a bag hung over
the side, so that if he needs a meal he can take one without going
fishing again.'
'Yes. That figures also in my plan,' said Aristotle. 'You and I - we
couldn't handle the largest ship at all. The second ship handles well
in the water, I've noticed. We might just about get it to move. It
seems a forlorn project, but let me explain my plan. You must
promise not to be hungry, for it entails a night offasting.'
He told me the details of it as the sunset colours began to spread
across the sky.
The pirates had not eaten their main meal yet, and we had been able
to smell the stew cooking all the time we were in conversation. We
started back down the track, in the direction of
the main camp, though
of
course we couldn't go there in our bonds. One of
the men could be
heard advancing, bearing some food for us. It was only some tired
bread, and thin soup abstracted from the beginnings of the rich stew.
'Thank you,' said Aristotle politely. 'But, no. I should feel better if
we were able to share of
the dish you are all going to eat. I can smell
it.'
Menestor - for it was he -laughed loudly. 'So - you now suspect
us of
poisoning you, do you? Let me tell you, we're not done with you
yet, old secret-keeper. Nikias knows a trick worth two of
that. But for
tonight - !' The Theban slave uncoupled our chains from their
mooring.
'You can trot along to the camp,' he said. 'A little exercise will do
your old bones good. There you can see this fish stew you hanker
after. Beg for a fish, like a pet duck! Though now you two look like
two asses, being driven, or two naughty steeds. Holla!'
Laughing at this image, he drove us like a charioteer in playful
hurry to the place where the men were gathered around the fire.
Aristotle went slowly, after Menestor tied the end of
the chain. The
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
philosopher circled about the cooking-pot peering into it: 'Aha,' he
muttered, as some old gentlemen do in the kitchen. 'Here we have
crayfish and some white fish, and some shellfish mixed together. I
suppose it's very hot - ' and he stretched his hand over the pot to feel
the steam.
'Dainty, aren't we?' said Nikias. 'Never mind, since you're
becoming peevish about eating your own meals, you can mess from
the common plate. I don't mind, this once.'
'There's fish enough,' said the fisherman with his mouth full. This
was the man who kept octopodes and crayfish and other things in a
net bag. 'Now we have to cook for ourselves all the time, but the
food's good.'
Aristotle and I were helped with platefuls in the coarse wooden
dishes (each a slightly hollowed piece of tree).We were given a
reasonable amount, and the fish smelt so good it was a little difficult
not to be tempted. Following Aristotle's lead, I pretended to touch my
stew, munched at nothing with my eyes on the sky, and tipped some
surreptitiously into the sand. The lame dog came in for his share.
Nothing happened for a long time after this. We sat quietly. The
men, replete, belched and dozed. Then Menestor got up in a hurry
and ran frantically into the bushes. Unpleasant sounds ensued. This
was followed by a similar fast trot on the part of another pirate, who
seemed in even more dire straits. The place began to smell really
bad. Tipped off
by Aristotle, I stumbled offinto the bushes, dragging
the chain, and did a good imitation of sickness. So much excrement
from both ends was now lying about in the retired spot in the bushes
that it would not be easy for anyone to swear I had not been ill.
Aristotle promptly followed suit. Nobody thought to secure our
chains again. The little dog had gone off already - to be sick
somewhere on its own, I surmised. Inwardly I hoped it choked to
death on its vomit. Time passed numbered by groans and upheavals.
The men then snored uneasily in unpleasant sleep, wakening to be
sick once more.
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ESCAPE
Aristotle and I watched the sky impatiently. At last the thin stripe
of silvery light was followed by a firmer indication of a dawn. 'Now,'
Aristotle whispered and, picking up our chains, we moved off to the
place where the boats were beached. The men had shipped and
guarded the oars but Aristotle found one left by the careless
fisherman in the smallest vessel. I had my almost-good oar with me
under my cloak. Furiously I pushed at the middle-sized ship, and
heard with relief its crunching slide back into the water. We hopped
aboard, unhandily, as we had to carry a weight of
chain. Aristotle had
paused to pick up the bag of fishes danging from the end of the
smallest boat. The philosopher also had to arrange some other
property where he thought it would do the most good.
'om' I said in an urgent but low voice, and we cast off. We were
not best equipped for an expedition by sea. Although I had practised
for fun with the men in our island-hopping days, I was the least skilful
rower that could be found - except for Aristotle. But we had a strong
will to succeed and strove mightily at our oars.
I had hoped that our departure might go unnoted, but that was too
good to expect. We made enough noise and splashing to arouse even
the sleepy and sickly pirates. The two strongest and youngest, the
sailors who had gone out with us and Nikias that first day, came
running (staggering, rather) down the beach.
'Ho!' they shouted. 'Come back, you! We'll make you sorry you
tried such a trick!'
'Just going for some fresh air,' Aristotle explained in his usual calm
and reasonable tone.
'We're coming to get you! You'll be sorry!' they cried, but not as
loudly or ferociously as they might have done before their dinner. In
the dawn light we could see them clearly - the tall sailor and the other
one - as they prepared to come and get us. For the sake of
speed they
simply dived in and swam out to us, not stopping to release one of
their own boats. Of course, these were Nikias' 'dolphins'.
'Are you ready?' Aristotle asked me. I was excited rather than
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
ready, but we got our ammunition where we wanted it and kept the
boat from rocking too hard.
'Ho - won't you suffer for this! But it will be better if
you give up -
now!' cried the tall sailor, who was the first to reach our craft. He
grabbed the boat firmly. We could see his face below us as he was
about to board. Aristotle was not attending. He was reaching into a
net. Then quickly and cleverly he scooped out the largest octopus
among the captives and splatted it against the face and throat of this
man, who was still in the water and just about to rise from it. The
octopus threw about its tentacles and wrapped itself around the face,
head and neck of the would-be boarder. He screamed but his scream
was muffled by the octopus which had given him a new face.
Meanwhile, despite my flailing about with the oar as a weapon, the
second man had swung his feet over. I made sure our cavalry-stoppers
were laid just where he was going to step. He put his foot down on a
sea-urchin and then on another. He let out a yelp and then a yell. 'Ai!
Ai - eel' He was just distracted enough to allow me to hit him on the
head, then to push at his knees and toss him overboard. The victim
of sea-urchins wasn't much help to his companion, who was still
crying for liberation from the terrified octopus. Aristotle let fly a
volley of sea creatures at the pair in the water, wrapping more
octopodes around them and loosening upon them some terrified
cuttlefish, which made a nice discharge of sepia. Then we pushed
with our oars and went off as rapidly as we could.
This was not very rapidly. We were awkward and uneven rowers,
and even had we been good there were only two of us. We were not
used to keeping time. I called out a keleusma. The broken end of
the
oar handle cut into my hand, and my hamstrings strained. My weak
shoulder (the one that had been thrown out as a result of a fall in the
mountains) began to protest. I can only imagine what Aristotle must
have felt, a man by no means in his youth, troubled with sciatica and
quite unaccustomed to such efforts. Yet he laboured at his oar,
uncomplaining. The good thing was that we could see a distance
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ESCAPE
between us and the islet. We tried to calculate a course and make for
the mainland, but although we could see this shore dimly, it now
seemed an enormous distance away.
'A sail! A large vessel under sail!' Aristotle was first to spy this
phenomenon. A vessel with many rowers was almost bearing down
upon us. I wondered if it were possible to avoid it - it might not be
friendly. But the ship came relentlessly on, despite our best efforts,
and it gained on us steadily. 'That's no merchant vessel,' I said,
watching it. 'She moves too rapidly.'
Aristotle had to give up and gasp; leaning on his oar, he watched
the ship's swift advance upon us. 'Either this brings friends of the
pirates, come to see how they are,' he wheezed, 'and we are lost. Or
it is a normal government ship, and we may be saved.'
As the ship came on, we could see it bore all the earmarks of
a smart
and well-disciplined naval vessel. It was a trireme, well painted and
moving at speed. At last, we could make out the individual oarsmen.
'We have to cry out so they don't run us over,' said Aristotle.
'They're too close.' He let out a call. Just then we were able to make
out the faces of the little group of men standing at the prow of the
ship, scanning the water. As one of them, presumably the captain,
replied to Aristotle's hail, I recognised the man standing next to him.
'Philokhoros!' I exclaimed in amazement.
And it was Philokhoros. The oars stopped at his command. He was
visibly giving orders at a terrific rate, and telling the captain how to
attach our vessel to theirs.
'We're sending two men to help you,' Philokhoros yelled.
'You have to send a file with them!' Aristotle yelled back. 'We are
in chains. Most inconvenient. A file, please!'
After some active searching in the naval ship to find a file (the ship's
carpentry store yielded one), two active sailors boarded our fishy ship.
After freeing us from our chains, they helped us to grab hold of
a rope
thrown from the large vessel, so we could be swung quickly up and
aboard the trireme.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'At last 1 find you!' cried Philokhoros, joyfully embracing us. He
kissed each of us on both cheeks. Tears came to his eye. 'I have
sought you so long,' he explained. 'And 1 failed - oh, terribly, stupidly
failed! - in my mission. 1
was supposed to take care of
you. 1 promised
Antipater himself! would do so. But my boy - my beautiful boy! How
could 1 fail to search for him?'
'And,' said Aristotle, a trifle drily, 'you were a private gentleman,
not someone anybody could order about, like a soldier in the army.
You were free to use your time as you deemed best.'
'Exactly. Not that 1 didn't fully intend to act for Antipater. My
being a private gentleman was a distfnct advantage to the very task he
wished me to perform. But there 1 was, so foolishly trapped in
Mykonos, to my shame. And 1 still needed to look for poor lost
Sosios. Only for a little while.'
'So you tried to come back to us? Picked up the scent again, as it
were?'
'Yes. Resigned at last to the loss of my poor boy, 1 indeed started
looking for you. At last 1 got to Kos and picked up the story of
your
travel to Asia. Your failure to return left me alarmed. 1 went to
Halikarnassos with this ship. At the military post there we first heard
that the man who conducted you to Phase
lis, one Peleus, had
disappeared. Unnerving, as you can imagine. But then 1 got your
message - the word you left with a tripe-and-pickled-fish-seller in the
harbour at Halikarnassos. Though 1 was not entirely sure what to
make of
it. But we set out to search for a sailor-captain called Nikias.'
'I shall be delighted,' said Aristotle, 'to hear your side of
our story.
But not now. We have to go and save a life. A poor pilgrim, hideously
abused by the pirates, lies on the point of
death on a little islet not far
from here. They committed a terrible murder before our eyes, such
as will darken your own eyes to hear. The islet is full of dead bodies
and living pirates. They have held us prisoner for an unknown length
of time. Rescue the pilgrim - punish the pirates! And perhaps 1 can
also recover the remains of
Kallisthenes' manuscript.'
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ESCAPE
*
The ship went eagerly on at our direction. It took no time at all to
arrive at the island. It seemed to take longer to beach the immense
craft. I don't know what I had expected would happen then - simply,
I suppose, that the leading men on the trireme would take the pirates
into custody and we could all go away. But the clearing was deserted.
Of
course the pirates had had sufficient time to see the ship from afar.
Had they gone already? Yet surely we should have seen their ships as
we advanced upon the islet? Curtly selecting a gang of armed
mariners to comb the island, the naval captain ordered the others to
stay in the vessel, ready for instant departure. 'Take 'em alive, if
you
can,' ordered Philokhoros, who seemed to have unusual powers given
him on this expedition.
With Aristotle and myself acting as guides, we all hurried to the
other side of the island. To our surprise we found the criminal group
- or most of
them - at the beach where Aristotle and I had been held
captive. I suppose all these men had been somewhat sluggish because
of their induced illness. They had not been able to give chase to us,
or to make an expeditious departure once they knew we had got away.
Their two remaining ships they must have picked up and moved
across the narrow island, hoping to depart unseen, out of view of the
warship. The smallest pirate keles was upon the water already. The
largest, the Nike itself, was beached still but ready to depart; its prow
rested on the sand, but the stern swayed on the light waves of the
shallows. Men were loading objects into her: they nearly dropped a
familiar handsome wooden box. Among the objects successfully
carried aboard was the body of the unfortunate pilgrim. The pirates
ashore were frantically yelling to their fellows at sea urging them to
speed away. Our trireme's captain ordered one of
his men to run back
to the naval vessel and tell it to give chase to the pirates' small ship.
The rest of
us continued to advance through the thorn bushes to the
cove.
'Enemy approach!' yelled Nikias, one of
the group by the Nike. He
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
brandished a sword. Most of the pirates were armed. But when they
saw our party advancing the pirate sailors tried to flee by jumping into
their boat. They were a little less agile than usual; not only did they
have the spoils of war to pack aboard, but they were also trying to
handle both weapons and oars.
We rushed up to them. The men of the trireme - the captain,
Philokhoros, and a select party - were well armed. We should have let
these men deal with the enemy, but we were carried away. I think I
felt blood-lust for the first time. Aristotle, stimulated by the sight of
the container of Kallisthenes' precious manuscript, lost his dis-
cretion. 'Stop! Stop! Give me that box!' he shouted. With great vigour
he ran splashing through the shallow sandy water up to the ship, his
hands outstretched. He thus ran directly into danger: one of the
pirate sailors, a big man, grabbed him by the hand and held a javelin
to his throat. This man called to one of his mates to assist him and
they seized Aristotle and dragged him aboard the ship. A useful
hostage, Aristotle was a captive once more.
I had forgotten that I was not armed at all, and the pirates were. In
my enthusiasm I overstepped the mark, grabbing the boat to stop it
from leaving. I felt only that I must prevent them from carrying off
Aristotle. I did distract the big man, who turned towards me his
attention and his javelin (actually a cut-off spear with a heavy point).
Had he succeeded in putting that point through my throat as he
intended, I should have looked my last upon the light then and there.
But I wrestled with him and his arm skidded, as it were, so that he
thrust his weapon deeply into my left shoulder. I could even hear the
noise it made, grinding at the side of
the bone.
There was a hot sharp pain. I felt as all of
me were pierced through.
I lost my footing and dropped into the shallow water, which was now
a confusion of legs and feet and oars and sandy splashings. Near me
I saw, or sensed, a man, or parts of
a live man - an arm, a hand, a foot
- a man appearing and disappearing into the churning sand. An
incomplete man in his death throes. I was able to move out of
the way
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ESCAPE
a little, crawling like a crab on my good arm and hand. The presence
of the javelin as an attachment was inconvenient. I worked at getting
it out of my body. All I could hear were shouts. Curses - groans -
cries. A splash! A wooden box flew away from the boat, hurled into
the deep. Another splash. Aristotle jumping - or falling - into the
water. I don't now how it
may be in a real military battle, but I expect
it is something like that, a vigorous and deadly confusion. Although
the captain of
the trireme and Philokhoros too had wanted to take the
leading pirates alive, our enemies were putting up a desperate fight.
It was obvious that they (rightly) had no belief that mercy might be
accorded them.
More cries. A lesser splash near me. Someone had dropped a
sword. I grabbed it with my good hand - at first just to take control
of it so that I should not cut me, rather than for any higher purpose.
I struggled to my feet, desiring just not to be drowned in the
trampling. Still holding the sword, I saw a confusion of
bodies around
the Nike. I saw Aristotle, saturated and dripping, scrambling to his
feet with a piece of
seaweed on his head. The others were all occupied
in fighting.
Two of the pirate men had ceased to struggle. I was thinking that
it must be nearly over. But it was not. Menestor loomed, angry and
like one invincible, over the fray. Having seized a superior foothold
(standing on a dead body within the boat) he raised his sword and
slashed violently down on one of
our naval party, a man who was just
about to kill Nikias. With a dreadful cry and groan, our man fell to
the Theban's blow. Menestor looked hungrily about for another
enemy.
Given this respite, Nikias suddenly jumped overboard, landing
almost next to me. He held a sword and he was glaring at Aristotle,
who stood there, harmless, unarmed, and dripping.
'You! Old man - you are the cause of
all my trouble!' he shouted in
rapid angry cry. 'By the gods, you shall not outlive this day either! I
take you to Hades with me - and now!'
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF UFE
His sword was about to descend on the unarmed philosopher. But
I was not unarmed, through the mercy of
Fortune and the help of
the
gods. I struck just once - clumsily but effectively - at the man's neck.
Nikias dropped with an expression of great surprise. He was not yet
dead - I saw recognition in his eyes as he realised what had happened.
Blood gushed out of the side of his throat. I tried to pull my sword
loose. I remembered that someone once told me that a sword sticks
near the bone, and I found this to be true The blade had bitten into
his neck bone and was reluctant to let go. My strength was not great,
and my own pain and the weakness from the javelin wound were so
severe that I began to crumble. I might have submerged again had I
not been caught by Philokhoros.
By the time I revived, the thing was over. Menestor was the last of
the enemy party to die: he had killed one of our men and seriously
injured another. Our enemies had been hampered by fighting in a
confined space, and striking each other. The little ship was full of
dead bodies; a good deal of
water had got into it and now surged back
and forth over the bottom of the vessel - water that looked red, so
much blood had been mixed with it. Six pirates lay dead within the
vessel, and three on the beach. And Menestor. At the orders of the
trireme captain, our rescuers made sure that each pirate in the ship
was dead before being tossed overboard, and then that all other
contents were taken out of the ship.
This wealth in this ship, Nikias' hoard, included most of
the gold
he had taken from us, as well as things that we did not recognise, such
as some finely chased silver cups, presumably from another expedi-
tion. Lodged beneath one of the thwarts under a rower's bench, a
gold object glinted through the bloody water. Not a coin, but a gold
knucklebone. This I kept to myself. I carefully thrust it to the bottom
of
my scuffed leather bag as soon as I found that piece of
baggage.
To their credit, the men of Philokhoros' group did not linger now
over their new-found treasure. Following the order of their com-
mander, a group of
them got into the bloody boat and seized the oars
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ESCAPE
with professional skill. They went off at a brisk pace to overtake their
mates in the large ship pursuing the departing pirate craft. That little
ship, which first delayed by watching the beginning of the fight, had
made off in great haste when the trireme was visibly in pursuit. The
great ship of
war had now nearly caught up with the small vessel. As
we gazed, two figures on the retreating pirate ship rose up, tall and
black against the sky, and then dived off
the end of
it. I could not see
their faces, but I knew these were Nikias' 'dolphins'. Dolphins swim-
ming home in their element, escaping the fate that awaited the others.
'Don't worry,' said Philokhoros. 'Our men will get them. They are
done for.'
Philokhoros was now in command of the group on land, as our
captain had gone off in the small boat to support the trireme. He
efficiently took charge of the remaining contingent of the rescue
party. At his orders they lined up the bodies neatly on the beach,
including Nikias, and Menestor who looked angry and brave even in
death, and terribly young. I gazed on the dead face of
Nikias whom I
had killed, remembering his cheerful glance, and how glad we had
been to see him the first time we met him. This man had been living
- breathing - planning - talking - but a very short time ago. Now I
had put a stop to all of that. It seemed almost unthinkable, but the
fact lay there calmly on the sand.
'Ho - look here!' one of the sailors announced, pausing over a
corpse. 'This one is not dead!'
'Oh!' I said. 'How could we have forgotten? That is the poor
pilgrim - so terribly beaten, and left for dead.'
'He wasn't dead,' said Philokhoros. 'Likely they were taking him
along with them as a hostage.'
'Give me some water,' said Aristotle. He went over to the man and
gave him some moisture on the lips. To our surprise, a weak voice
spoke out of
the body that had seemed corpse-like for a long time.
'Are they gone?'
'Yes,' said Aristotle. 'All gone. Except that some of them need to
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
be buried right here. And we need to set up a little hospital for the
wounded - for you, and my friend Stephanos here.'
Aristotle attended to my wound, making Philokhoros find some
wine and vinegar to wash it with. He also attended to the injured
sailors, including the one whose right arm had been badly hacked
with Menestor's sword.
'Burials next,' said Philokhoros. 'Best to be tidy. Minimum of
rites
and prayers, but at least it will keep the beach clean. See if
there are
any others.'
His crew began to dig in the sandy soil, except for two men who
were sent on a tour of inspection. 'May 1 come with you?' Aristotle
asked this pair. 'I have an idea as to where we may find another body
- one 1 badly want to find,' he added. His idea was right. They came
back shortly, with the remains of
the child Philokleia. Her poor little
body was badly nibbled by fish, but still recognisable.
'I thought,' said Aristotle, 'that her corpse would have drifted into
that side current, and been held against the snag further down. And
so it has proved. Let us give her a decent burial, and in honour to the
dead atone for our failure to preserve her alive.'
And so it was. Philokleia was buried, not with the ugly pirates but in
her own place, where we also interred the remains of
her mother. We
all said prayers over the site. Aristotle placed in the child's mouth as a
fee for Kharon the most beautiful silver coin in the bags of
Harpalos.
Harpalos' money (or most of it) had been recovered. 9ur plants
were of course gone, and the box of Kallisthenes proved unfindable.
Perhaps it had been weighted with stones so if lost it would sink for
ever, buried in the depth of
the sea. The trireme had soon returned,
towing the pirates' small ship. The naval men had killed the pirates
on board her, and recovered property. But the two 'dolphins' had
escaped. 'Perhaps Poseidon will take them himself,' said the captain.
He assembled us and all of
the things taken from the pirates, and we
set out for Kos in the big confident ship, leaving at last the island of
bloodshed and woe.
386
XXII
==~9~~e==
d'-"G"
Healing and Light
I know little of that short journey to Kos. I fell into a kind of stupor
for a while, and then became aware of being most disagreeably
affected by the movement of the boat underneath me. When I did
awaken, everything appeared larger than normal, curiously bright or
curiously dark. The sound of the keleusma battered my soul. It
seemed better to go to sleep. I was very hot, and sometimes quite
cold. Rats gnawed at my left shoulder and chest; I kept trying to beat
them off, and they turned into an octopus that hissed and dug its
giant tooth into me. Then a small child in a cowl came and waved the
herbs he carried at the sea-creature, and it
went away. I knew who this
cowled figure was - Telesophoros, helper of
Asklepios. I slept. When
I awakened, I was in a bed and nothing was moving, for which I was
grateful. It was obviously daytime. I tried to get up and found that I
had a large mound of cloth on my left side. I tried to tear it off, as if
it were fetters.
'Hssh - it's all right.' Aristotle's face appeared, looming large above
my bed. 'You were wounded, you know - those are bandages. You
are in Iatrokles' house, under excellent care.'
'Who takes my name?' asked the physician, stepping into my view.
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
'You are doing well, young man, you have an excellent constitution.
But despite the efforts of
our friend here' - nodding at Aristotle - 'your
wound was not clean. Sandy, I call it. So we had to clean it out again,
going in deeply. Then we wanted you to sleep, and regain strength.'
'Aristotle did try to wash the wound,' I said, defending him, 'but
we were not in the best place to do that.'
'You are fortunate,' said latrokles. 'You will probably always feel
the effects of it, but you are very lucky. Had your enemy struck
slightly to your right, just a very little distance further into the torso,
his spear point would have rammed through the heart or lung. There
would have been nothing any doctor could do. And if
he had in hand
a good sarissa -!'
'I suppose,' Aristotle speculated, 'the man who struck you was
hampered by fighting at close quarters. A spear or javelin works best
at some distance. He would have been a better fighter with more
room.'
'You sound sorry for him!' I snapped.
'No, not at all. You saved my life, Stephanos. I am deeply grateful
- your debtor for all time, as I can never really repay such a gift. I have
nothing to give that could -'
'I'd like some soup,' I declared.
'Hungry?' asked latrokles. 'A good symptom. It is long enough
since you had the wound - three days. I think a little soup would be
in order.'
'Three days!' I was surprised at losing time in that spendthrift
fashion. But when I drank the soup I soon fell heavily into sleep again.
Yet the next day I stayed awake longer, and by the fifth day I declared
myself
well, and got out of
bed. Aristotle looked greatly relieved when
I was able to join him in the front of the house, dressed properly,
though still with the great bandage.
'Thanks he to the gods you are going to be all right. It would have
been a dreadful exchange if
your life had been given for mine, a young
for an old. I don't know how I could have lived with that.'
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'We should sacrifice a cock to Asklepios,' I said. 'I am grateful to
my doctors. But I would like to think I knew exactly what has been
happening to me - to us - and I don't. I notice you are not staying
with Oromedon. Is that just because I am here?'
'That is my excuse.' Aristotle's look darkened. 'Certainly I am not
staying with Oromedon. It is quite comfortable here, and my slave
Phokon is here now also. Tomorrow Philokhoros will join us, and we
shall endeavour to piece together some of these events. But you and
I should have a talk first.'
While I was reluctantly preparing in my foggy mind for a
discussion, latrokles entered the room. He extended an object to me.
A battered pair of
wooden tablets.
'This will make you feel better, I hope. A letter from Athens, by
way of Naxos. I asked at the harbour for all letters to you or to
Aristotle to be sent here, and a messenger just brought this.'
The letter bore on the outside the superscription of address to me
in care of Aristodamos of Naxos. It had been forwarded to Kos. I
opened the tablets and read the writing on the wax:
To my dear and honoured Brother Stephanos
Greetings to you from Th and I trust you are well.
We were attacked in Smikrenes' house but all are well.
Thrasymakhos'men. Moloss bravest and best. Smik to law
Philemon very brave we guard.
Mother's love now to Phi Come soon
Farewell
I read this over twice before I fully took it in. With a violent twinge
of heart I realised what it told me - that my own hapless family, the
dear ones left behind, had been attacked. Even on that peaceful farm
near Eleusis.
'Look at this!' I forced the letter under Aristotle's nose. 'I have to
go home at once! My family is in danger. Thrasymakhos - that
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
pompous unsmiling man! - he is the source of
trouble. I suspected it
was his slaves I glimpsed running away, after the horse's head was
deposited on my herro. But I wasn't sure. Now I know. Agents of
outrages - which were plotted by Thrasymakhos.'
'Among others, most probably - not alone.'
'And that other letter was a forgery of
my brother's real letter, with
some parts left as they were. See here!'
'Ah-ah.'Aristotle studied the new document intently. 'The real
letter sent by Theodoros. That young man will go far. He had the wit
to send the same letter twice - once to the address you had given him
in Naxos and again to the address in Kos. And this epistle tells us how
and where the other letter was tampered with. The forgery took place
in the Aegean, most likely in Kos - not in Athens.'
'Had I only got the real letter in time,' I groaned, 'I should have
headed straight back home, and not gone flitting about Asia and
looking for trouble.'
'But you did not get the real letter in time. Someone took great care
that you should not. Nor did they wish you not to receive any letter
at all, in case anxiety over your family caused you to decline further
ventures eastward. In that case, I too might not have remained in
Kos, nor gone to Asia.'
'Oromedon,' I said. 'Oromedon gave me a false letter. Or rather, it
had been the real letter, but got altered. Kallisthenes told me it is
quite easy to do that - you can even forge just part of
a message, if
you
have the right smooth iron and a good steady hand.'
'Precisely. Now you deduce that our friend in Naxos is honest and
our friend in Kos is not.'
'But the letter - the forged letter,' I puzzled on. 'It doesn't sound
like Oromedon's pompous style. Would he have the wit to quote
Hesiod? I can say nothing of the handwriting, for the hand was
imitating that of
Theodoros, but the manner of
the letter was not like
Oromedon. Could it be Diophantos? Or Menestor?'
'You are perspicacious. Not Oromedon's style - true. Someone
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other than Oromedon forged the letter, though presumably
Oromedon knew the forgery had taken place. You remember how
anxious he was to act as a soothing interpreter?'
'I suppose it is unlikely that Diophantos or Menestor would have
been called upon just to forge a letter. And Nikias quoted to us those
lines of Hesiod - which he must have heard recited by someone else
recently.'
'Exactly. No reason he should have known of
the forged letter, but
he had recently been in company with the the Hesiod-quoter. And he
let out, before he thought, that it
wasn't Diophantos who had recited
those verses to him, but another. We know something else now, too.
An actively hostile agency in Athens has something to do with
Thrasymakhos. A well-born man with good connections, some sayan
orator. Not a lout. Yet his servants were rharrying your family in
Eleusis.'
'This is terrible! How can I know that my family are all right! - for
the time when this letter was sent is now some weeks ago.'
'Theodoros' real letter,' Aristotle observed, 'indicates that
Smikrenes has sworn out a charge against the servants of
Thrasymakhos. That should put a sufficient stop to them at least for
a while. It ought to occur to Philemon to do so as well. A pity your
cousin has not written to you -'
'Philemon was never one for writing letters,' I said. 'Not even when
he was in exile and Aunt Eudoxia was so worried. He hates writing.
And Smikrenes isn't much better. I am surprised - and pleased - that
my future father-in-law has sufficient Athenian spirit to prosecute a
law case. But I think he dislikes letters and documents because he
writes badly.'
'Well then, you must cultivate Theodoros, who seems a boy of
unusual intelligence. Theodoros has covered the main points. At
least, to him his dog is a main point. Let us hope that your enemy -
and mine - is a rational being who knows he has overreached himself
in this unnecessary attack upon Smikrenes' house. But we now have
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
evidence that we did not possess before. Let me see if I can make it
out.'
He propped his chin in his hands and stared into space for a little
time.
'I seem to see Athens before me in its deep divisions,' he said after
a while. 'We know that here are pro-Makedon and anti-Make
don
parties. There are divisions even within these divisions - between the
democrats, who want a continuation or expansion of the rule of the
people, and the oligarkhs, who want to go back to the rule of a few
very rich and very well-born men.
'Many of
the poorer sort actually prefer Makedonian rule, seeing it
as a means of checking the aspirations of the wealthy and powerful.
Some of
these are vociferous supporters of
Makedon, arousing the ire
of certain Aristos. Some of the older and wealthier families see any
favour to Makedon as treachery, and as an impediment to their
elevation. But of
course there are many rich and powerful people who
prosper under Alexander and quite like Makedonian rule - as long as
it remains indirect.'
'Athens will always be independent!' I interjected indignantly.
'Athens must remain free!'
'I agree with you, Stephanos. But what do we mean by "free"? A
city, a society, is held together by the spirit of the whole. By its
constitution, which organises it and gives it life - as an animal has a
constitution which permits all its parts to function well and the entity
to survive and thrive. Iatrokles says you have "an excellent
constitution". So does Athens. In a man's physical body, part is
unlikely to fight against part and ruin its constitution, but that is very
likely to happen in the artificial body of the city-state. Who among all
these men is going to be free to do what he wills? Difficult times we
live in.' He drew his chair closer to mine. 'Now, together let us
reconstruct the strange events of
the summer.'
'First,' I said, 'fragments of animals are left on the herms or
doorways of people sympathetic to Makedon.'
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'True. But what gave someone the idea? At the festival of the
Bouphonia, attended by so many whom we know, an animal is
ceremonially killed and parts of it adorn our city. Soon after, as you
say, fragments of
animals insultingly desecrate the entryways of
many
houses. Including, at last, my own.'
'And mine!' I reminded Aristotle of the hideous episode of the
horse's head.
'You ought, Stephanos,' he teased, 'to consider that the Black
Demeter of Arkadia has as her emblem a horse's head. In some
regions it might be a compliment, I suppose.'
'Kallias' poor monkey was cut up for your benefit,' I retorted. 'Do
you see that as a compliment? Poor Kallias, so fond of
his animal- he
surely had nothing to do with slaughtering it that way.'
'No, no. I imagine Kallias still mourns his lost monkey. Kallias is
fond of
the new world and the new ways, which foster trade and bring
in plenty of money. He is not against Makedon.'
'I can scarcely imagine Thrasymakhos, however anti-Makedonian,
cutting up pieces of animals,' I remarked.
'Not exactly. But Thrasymakhos is important. And -
good
heavens, we must call in the boy Parmenion! How could I not have
seen into this before? That unfortunate lad - we must talk to him.'
He sent Phokon immediately to fetch young Parmenion, who came
at once. But with him came Kleumedes, defensively standing by the
boy as ifto take his part against us.
'Now,' said Aristotle, 'we have some important questions to ask-'
'Now,' said Kleumedes sternly, looking over his bushy beard at
Aristotle and not smiling, 'we have something important to say. I have
long wished to have the opportunity to speak with you, 0 Aristotle,
and shall do so now you are free from anxiety over Stephanos. In your
absence Parmenion and I have had many chances to talk. The youth
has things to say to you that should have been said before. And for
that I hold you responsible, not this lad.' Kleumedes turned to
Parmenion, who was shifting from foot to foot. He was pale and
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
nervous, but he held his head up and looked at Aristotle, who rose to
his feet.
'Speak, Parmenion,' said Kleumedes encouragingly.
'Kleumedes blames you, but I understand,' the boy said. 'And it
was partly my own fault, because I let him bully me and also deceive
me-'
'Oh, by the gods! How could I have been so blind?' Aristotle cried.
'I see it all now. My poor boy - tormented, and under my own roof
at the Lykeion. How blind I have been!'
'Tell him how it was,' said Kleumedes. 'Why don't we all sit
down?' he added.
They all sat down around me, Parmenion too. He raised his head
and looked Aristotle in the eye, directly but not defiantly. He seemed
less anxious than he had in the old days; staying with the doctors must
have done him some good.
'Please,' said Aristotle, 'tell me everything, my dear Parmenion.
But I believe I can guess some of
the truth that you tried to keep from
me. You were trying to protect me, was it not so?' The boy nodded.
'Then you were brave, but ill-rewarded. And your tormentor is -
must have been - Thrasymakhos' son, young Mikon.'
'Yes,' said Parmenion. 'That is so. But it only got really bad when
you were away in Delphi. Mikon teased me and he tortured me, and
he got some others to do so too. I accused him of
being a spy on you,
o Aristotle, and so he was. I caught him going through your private
writings. But he called me "Makedonian bastard" - you see, he knew
my parents were not married properly according to some of
the laws.
Indeed, my father's parents, too - Arkhebios was not quite - but great
Parmenion always acknowledged him. And my uncle is Philotas,
whose fame is glorious.'
'Yes. Very brave man, your father,' said Aristotle gruffly. 'And
Philotas too.'
'Mikon told me that if I told on him, he would see to it that my
father was punished - tortured and killed - for treason. Mikon said it
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HEALING AND UGHT
would be easy for him to get Arkhebios killed, for many on Rhodos
resented him. Then Mikon would tell me he found out through
Thrasymakhos and his high-placed friends that my father had been
removed from Rhodos and sent into Asia. Later, he told me that
wasn't right, that he found my father had been secretly imprisoned in
Rhodos, along with my mother's family, for disloyalty. Then he said
he wasn't sure. Sometimes he told me he heard my father was dead,
and that he had been executed by the soldiers in Asia - at Alexander's
orders. But he wasn't certain and would keep looking into it. In a way,
it is easier to talk about this now - now that I know that my father is
truly dead. I can do nothing more to save him. And you are still sure
that he died in the war?'
'Yes,' Aristotle affirmed. 'We have heard from more than one
source. Your father died in one of those skirmishes that the brave
advance guard get into. I have it on good authority that he was
properly buried. His death is, alas, not deniable.'
'At least now I know. But then - I didn't know if my father were
dead or alive. Or how I could help him!'
'No wonder this anxiety was too much for you in the end. But
Mikon seemed to be in your company with your free will -'
'He told me I needed him to protect myself, since if he stopped
being my friend his father - the respected Thrasymakhos - would see
that I was punished, too. As I was not a citizen of
Athens I could be
beaten or killed. And he said that his own father might get angry at
you, 0 Aristotle, and punish you as a foreigner who committed acts
in his thinking and speaking which were pernicious to the state. But
then Mikon said we - he and I - must both keep an eye on you and
prevent you from doing wrong, so you didn't get into trouble.'
'How amazing,' I said 'A boy to do all that! And he seemed so
cheerful and light-hearted. Such an engaging little fellow, really.'
'Mikon really is cheerful,' said Parmenion. 'He is richer than the
other boys, and they look up to him. But it pleases him also to be
important in secret ways. Mikon liked being a spy. But he is also truly
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
interested in learning -
he loves thinking of the great books
cataloguing all the animals and plants. He did enjoy the studies, you
know, cutting up animals and things.'
'What a viper I have nourished,' Aristotle groaned. 'How pleased I
was when Thrasymakhos brought Mikon to my school! - Thinking it
a sign that the old breaches were healing and that I could bring
together both pro-Makedon and anti-Make
don citizens. The boy
himself, so intelligent - he seemed to have real abilities in natural
philosophy. Even Theophrastos and Eudemos saw nothing wrong in
him. And they are both good judges of character.'
'I suppose,' I said, 'we don't expect complicated crimes from
children. But Mikon was a good child, in a way. He was working to
please his father. Mikon must have found out about the monument
for Pythias that you planned -'
Parmenion blushed. 'That was me. We knew there was to be a
monument, you mentioned it, but Mikon made me look in your
private writings myself to see if I could find anything more. And I
found who was making it, and passed on to him a copy of the
inscription that was to go on Pythias' tomb.'
'Ah, it becomes clear,' I said, thinking as I spoke. 'Thus
Thrasymakhos knew in advance about the monument for Pythias -
and its inscription. So he was able to organise Megakles and
Hypereides and the rest who came and committed the dramatic
destruction. And thus they knew ahead of
time how to write a parody
of
your inscription and set it by Kallias' monkey.'
'It was all my fault!' exclaimed the boy wretchedly.
'No, the fault was essentially my own,' said Aristotle. 'First, for not
having read correctly the state of Athens at the time, and my
situation. Second, for my folly in trying to get on good terms with
Hypereides. It was certainly entirely my own fault that I saw that sour
Epikrates and gave the seductive Antigone an excuse to visit me.'
'But that was my fault!' I exclaimed. 'In a conversation in the Agora
I said that Epikrates and Hypereides ought to ask your advice. That
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probably gave them the idea of
initiating the contact, so that Antigone
herself could be set to entrap you.'
'Which she was successful in doing. All she had to do was to catch
some phrase that would allow her to claim she had heard me speaking
blasphemously. What a liar she is! But I gave her sufficient opening.'
Aristotle nodded sadly. 'You have to realise that at that point I myself
was in too much anxiety about Pythias' health to be thinking as usual.
Then, when she died, I was too deep in simple grief to be capable of
real thought. I sensed enmity - but did not analyse it. Little Mikon
seemed sympathetic and pitying of
my grief, like everyone else around
me in the Lykeion. I should have realised he was a person most likely
to be working against me in a hidden way. After the - the outrage at
the Kerameikos - I knew simply that I was in danger as well as grief,
and it would be best if everything cooled for a while in my absence.'
'Yet,' I remarked, 'you could absent yourself from Athens, but not
from the danger. Parmenion, you felt safer - didn't you? - as soon as
we left. You seemed better almost immediately.' The boy nodded,
adding, 'Until things got bad again.'
'In fact,' I mused, 'instead of our leaving the danger, the danger
followed us.'
'How true. And in the cause of preserving my own life and safety,
the lives of
others have been destroyed!' Aristotle lamented. 'Our first
captain, the good Aiskhines - murdered on Naxos. I believe Aiskhines
came to warn me about something, and as a practical man he must
have had real reasons for suspicion. But once again, Parmenion, we
had an enemy agent within our doors.'
'Yes. That crippled slavewoman Doris,' I interjected, relishing the
chance to explain. 'Doris - who pretended to have injured her ankle,
so she could remain in Aristodamos' residence and watch us. Doris,
who had access to the kitchen knives in Aristodamos' house - and to
the Naxian powder for efficient cleaning of
cutlery. The woman who
could keep her dog quiet.'
'Stephanos and I discussed this before, Parmenion, and we believe
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that Doris was an enemy agent sent to watch us from the day we set
out from Peiraieus.'
1 took up the history again, for the boy's benefit:
'There were two agents, Parmenion, aboard the Eudaimonia. One
was Doris, the enemy's tool. The other was Philokhoros, com-
missioned by Antipater to look after us.'
'Oh, him,' said Parmenion. 'The man with the long nose who
slobbered over his boy.'
'Precisely. Philokhoros was spotted by the enemy spy as an
antagonist and temporarily put out of action once we arrived in in
Delos. Decoyed away and thrown into a pigsty in Mykonos. He was
not very efficient. Whereas Doris was very effective. She got rid of
the
captain and managed to get us aboard the craft of Nikias.'
'There may have been a third agent,' Aristotle added. 'That marble
merchant Miltiades. He reacted dramatically to the bloodstains on
the Eudaimonia at Skardana, hurrying off to betray our "murder" to
the magistrate at Delos. He could himself have easily created the
smears of blood in the ship. This incident, 1 suppose, was meant
chiefly to frighten us, perhaps to detain us for a while. Though
possibly there was a genuine hope we might fall truly foul of
the law.'
'Miltiades followed us to Naxos,' Parmenion remembered.
'You know,' 1 confided, 'I thought there was something odd at the
time. If he were really in the marble business, wouldn't he have
picked up the offer of
the other marble-man and visited Paros? At one
time, 1 think, he sounded as if he did business in Paros, but when he
got near that island he seemed to deny any interest in it. When 1 get
back to Athens, 1 shall try to find if there really is a Miltiades in the
marble business. Just out of curiosity. We have no legal complaint
against him. But you notice, under pretext of
moving a statue, he took
charge of
our movements by hiring the Eudaimonia for himself
for two
days.'
'That,' said Aristotle, 'might connect with why Aiskhines came to
find us. Something he heard or saw in the port confirmed a suspicion
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already aroused by Miltiades' fuss and expenditure over moving a
small statue - a job the crew performed more quickly than was prob-
ably intended. Perhaps Aiskhines overheard Miltiades conversing
with some other person, and this told him enough for him to realise
that there was a plot against us. Our good captain then rushed to
Aristodamos' estate to warn us, and sealed his personal fate. But the
enemy plan was probably always to put us - to put me - in the power
of Nikias on the leg of the voyage from the Kyklades. The original
plan may not have necessitated the death of the captain of the
Eudaimonia, just his being delayed.'
'If
Nikias was a pirate,' asked Parmenion, 'why did he not kill us
once he got us away from Naxos?'
'He complained to us about his loss of the opportunity,' Aristotle
replied. 'He was commissioned, 1 believe, to do away with me, and 1
fear with my close companions too. 1 think he needed to get to a place
where he felt safe and unobserved, so he could dispose of
the bodies.
Waiting too long, he lost his chance. There was the storm - and then
you remember, we stopped by that damaged ship and 1 spoke to a
man aboard her. Nikias knew it would be dangerous to do away with
us if that ship survived. Nikias himself told Stephanos and me that
much. And so we got safely to Kos.'
'I do not understand any of this,' said Kleumedes. 'But 1 think an
apology to Parmenion is in order, even as he has apologised to you.
And now we shall go and leave you to your discussion - which, 1 must
say, seems to interest you more than the plight of
your pupil.'
'No, no,' said Parmenion. 'This is really interesting to me. 1 went
on that voyage, too, 1 was among those people, and 1 need to know
the truth.'
'So you do,' said Aristotle. 'You have my sincere apology for the
pain 1 have allowed you to endure. That my lack of care was
inadvertent does not excuse it. We shall have a serious talk, the two
of us - and soon. But now, Stephanos and 1 need to talk.'
'We will leave you, then,' said Kleumedes. 'But 1 too desire a
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serious talk with you, 0 Aristotle, and soon.' And he left the room
with Parmenion.
'So we got safely to Kos,' I repeated. 'But we were not truly safe in
Kos. Someone's slave was looking for us. Then Oro
medon behaved
so oddly. And it was from his hands I got the forged letter.'
'Indeed. Oromedon's behaviour is suspicious. He knows I have
arrived in Kos, but he does not invite me to be his guest straight away.
He writes that pompous epistle explaining that he has someone else
staying with him, a brother-in-law. Now, who is this "brother-in-
law"? Oromedon is long a widower, and he never used to allude to
members of his wife's family. I could be wrong, but he has no sister
that I am aware of. He used the phrase, I believe, to disguise a
connection with someone who was not supposed to meet us - or,
rather, someone whom we were not to meet.'
'It cannot have been Thrasymakhos - he is too staid and important
to tum up in an island in the East without a slow progress and a lot
of
fanfare.'
'No - not Thrasymakhos, who I fancy has remained snugly in
Athens. But a leading spirit, mightier and more ingenious than
Thrasymakhos, may have been travelling too. Think, Stephanos -
whom did we meet on Delos?'
'I cannot remember - except your friend Aristodamos who guided
us around, and a lot of pilgrims, and that pompous lazy magistrate.
Oh, and that chatty slave and his mistress, that funny woman with the
Phoenician name. Kardaka.'
'Yes. You said at the time that there was something odd about
them. 0 Stephanos, had I been in my normal frame of mind ...
All
should have been detected then and there! You and I were deflected
from the scene of action while Philokhoros was being spirited away.
We were guided by the ingratiating slave - who seemed to disappear
immediately (probably he was an ancillary in the plot against
Philokhoros). We were taken to see that woman who gave us some
kind of feeble story as to why she had to see us, simply to ask for a
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passage for Doris. And this expensive lady was herself one of the
wonders of Delos! 1 believe she was not a woman at all.'
'Not a woman? Kardaka?'
'The entity we were taught to call" Kardaka" was or claimed to be
the mistress of
Doris. Thus, we do have a firm line tying Doris (whom
we know to be an enemy and murderess) both to Nikias and to this
questionable person. W"hen was Philokhoros enticed to travel towards
the pigs of Mykonos? While we were spending time rather foolishly
talking with Doris' "mistress". The more 1 look back on that scene,
the more clearly 1 see that someone really enjoyed playing a role.
There is this element in the whole terrible series of
events, Stephanos,
which puzzles me more than most things about it. The comedy, the
irony. The work of an ironist or jokesmith.'
'Nikias certainly has a joking side.'
'Which shows that jokers can be dangerous. Nikias did indeed have
a joking side, and he committed the foulest of
murders. But he is not
the dazzling central jester of the plot. You yourself gave me a hint,
when you said the outrages at people's doorways reminded you of
Alkibiades. 1 sense behind the plot someone of great and devious
intelligence. And an oddly light-hearted quality. Playful in a strange
way.'
'Playful? Yes, that reminds me. 1 have something to show you.' 1
got up and moved about my room. 'I had almost forgotten, in my
stupor. I'd intended to show you, when we were alone.' 1 took out
from my stuffed leather bag the shiny object 1 had discovered under
the thwarts of Nikias' ship. A gold knucklebone.
'I know only one person who has a gold knucklebone - a pair of
them. Euphorbos. 1 saw him playing with them when he was talking
in the Agora. And after the battle of the islet was over, 1 found this
thing shining where it had got caught in the planking of
the Nike.'
Aristotle took the golden object and examined it
closely
. 'You think
this is his?'
'Yes. When 1 saw it through the bloody water swilling around that
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wretched ship, the memory of Euphorbos came at once to my mind.
Though my mind was hazy then because of
the pain. And if this gold
toy does belong to Euphorbos that would mean -' I could feel myself
wrinkling my brow in an effort to work it out clearly - 'it would mean
there really was a connection between him and Nikias. Euphorbos
would have been a passenger on the Nike, some time before - but not
long before - our accursed trip from Halikamassos to that dreadful
island!'
'Excellent, Stephanos! So we clearly have an actor for the part of
our new Alkibiades.'
'Alkibiades lived in history. He is dead now.'
'True. But I think we have another candidate for a similar role.'
Aristotle began to play, unconsciously, with the shiny knucklebone.
'Someone tall, but not too tall, with fine features and complexion.
Who could dress to advantage in woman's clothes. Someone able to
sustain the part - the comic part - of a Phoenician pseudo-lady with
spirit and success. Intelligent enough even to preserve the right
female forms of words. So many would fail at that. I had begun to
think before now, Stephanos, that the lady Kardaka was a
gentleman.
'
I thought back to the hot day in Delos, the strange interview with
the fine lady in yellow silk speaking in her odd accent through the
gauzy curtain. 'I'm not comfortable doing business with ladies, and I
don't know how to deal with foreigners. It's not impossible,' I had to
admit.
'Consider, Stephanos. The chief mover, in this plot - against
ourselves, Athens, and certainly Alexander - would be a well-born
Athenian. A leader in the oligarchic revolt. A citizen probably closely
associated with Thrasymakhos, but far beyond Thrasymakhos in
ability, and a good deal younger. Not only an aristocrat, but capable
and versatile. This Alkibiades-person should be good-looking,
sympathetic, light-hearted, apparently at times even trivial, a good
mimic. Also shrewd, hypocritical, and far-seeing.'
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HEAliNG AND UGHT
'You are describing Euphorbos! And you really believe that when
we were talking to Kardaka, we were talking to Euphorbos all the
time?'
'I now think so. Though it was a good performance, and should
have won any actor an extra purse in the Panathenia. Kardaka of
Karthago was supposed to come from Peireaeius, and Euphorbos
knows Peiraeius quite well and has observed the shrines of the
goddess of Karthago, the triangle-goddess, which he mentioned.
Such a performance is also free of risk. Suppose Euphorbos were
discovered to be masking as a female of
Karthago, or at least of
Punic
antecedents in this way - what then? Why, everyone would laugh and
say only that teasing Euphorbos would have his joke. Nobody would
ever believe such a jest was connected to real plots, or real death.'
'So - Nikias must have been a creature of
Euphorbos?'
'Nikias' whole career was not based on Euphorbos - of
course not.
Nikias was a criminal in his own right. But Euphorbos saw how to use
him. The gold knucklebone entitles us to surmise also that
Euphorbos was very close by -'
'Yes, if he were Oromedon's guest, his "brother-in-law", he was
nearby. And he could have been the forger of Theodoros' letter,
which he obtained while in Oromedon's house.'
'Alas, these are all suspicions, Stephanos. We have no proof. But if
1 am right, he was closer even than that. Why, Stephanos, you and 1
actually saw this man again, our ironist and joker, in Halikamassos.'
'We did?' 1 was genuinely puzzled. 'Well 1 did not -'
'Oh yes, you commented on him. The blind man with the dreadful
skin affliction. When 1 went into that food shop, 1 did two things. 1
left word (cryptically) for any messenger sent by Alexander or
Antipater who might be looking for us. And 1 asked the landlord and
other customers if they knew whether the poor blind man were a
native of Halikamassos and who he was. They did not know him, he
had only recently come to the harbour. So 1 thought at the time that
this strange beggar was there for a reason. Though 1 didn't then
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
connect him with Euphorbos, of course. This beggar wore an excel-
lent disguise: people get enough of beggars in ports, and feel
particular aversion to someone with such terrible sores. He looked
most repellent - to anybody but a doctor! Casting a doctor's eye on
him, I thought the sores not quite real.'
'It is I who am blind,' I said in disgust. 'I myself
have used a similar
trick, in the past. And that disguise he chose fits in with the kind of
joke put into Theodoros' letter. "Who cannot for himself see truth"-
showing I was the blind man, not he.'
'And I am blind, too. For much good my observation in
Halikarnassos did me.' Aristotle spoke ruefully. 'Only later did I
realise this beggar was of similar height and even shape to Kardaka,
though no longer female. At the time, I thought this "blind man" at
the harbour was probably a spy for the government. Quite separately,
I suspected Nikias, but not enough. I myself was totally deceived by
Diophantos too, blinded by a sense of safety inspired by military
command.'
'But we did not know then - in Halikarnassos - that Nikias was
connected to Doris,' I said, trying to work it
out. 'When we got to that
dreadful islet and saw the crippled dog - I hope it died of dysentery!
- we knew Doris must have been with Nikias. Between the time we
last saw her in Kos and the time we got to the wretched isle ourselves.'
'Yes. And by now Kos may have given Doris a miraculous
"recovery" from her lameness. I am all too confident that Doris is not
the late lamented Doris, but alive and well, working as somebody's
agent somewhere in the world. In communication with her good
mistress "Kardaka" of Peiraieus - a personage better known to us, I
believe, as Euphorbos of Athens.'
'But it was Diophantos who killed Peleus in Phaselis, and insisted
on putting us in the care ofNikias. Hard to believe that an army man
like Diophamos would do such things.'
'These events indicate that the party or parties working towards a
new Athenian Empire without allegiance to Alexander must have
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HEALING AND LIGHT
some strong supporters within Alexander's army. Including
numerous Makedonians who don't want to press on to the farthest
East. And then - so much money! People who get their hands on
money can do more than just buy fine linens and perfume. They can
command arms - assassins - spies - troops of fighting men - loyalty
itself! The further off Alexander goes, the easier it is for many, even
in the army, to believe - even to wish - that he will not return. The
joker at the heart of these events, we may well believe, is on good
terms with such disaffected persons, and actively capable of creating
liaisons with them.'
'A truly ambitious man might see a good opportunity for picking
up solid power as well as gold bars. It is tempting to take charge of
the
Greek cities of
Western Asia, and all their riches.'
'Precisely, Stephanos. Again, remember Alkibiades - how he tried
to use political events to suit himself? He was handsome and generous
and pleasure-loving! So people discounted his ability, his ambition,
and the potential extent of
his treachery. He betrayed his own country
in what he saw as his own interests. Yet he was entertaining. A
wonderful companion at a symposium! A man of such intellect and
attractiveness, he dazzles us even today when we meet him in the
pages of Plato or Thoukydides! All our Euphorbos lacks is a Plato to
give an account of him. Dear me, here is Philokhoros.'
Philokhoros indeed appeared, looking important and serious, not
at all like a man who had been thrown into a pigpen. After hearing
our profuse thanks to him for saving our lives, he wished to be
informed about everything we knew, so we told him of
the voyage to
Kos, the trip into Asia, and our being carried to the dreadful island.
Aristotle did not tell him certain things, I noticed; for instance, he
mentioned the gold in the woolly bags but said nothing to
Philokhoros about Harpalos' hidden hoard of secret wealth.
'And now,' I complained, 'everything is left in an unsatisfactory
state. What can we do? First, do we warn Harpalos? After all, it was
because we were carrying his money that we were so extremely
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
attractive to bad persons. Especially the captain of that platoon that
took us from Phaselis. They marched along with the decaying body
of their commander concealed in a carpet, the stench covered by a
nauseous horsehide. Aristotle, you looked so strange when Nikias
threw the horsehide overboard!'
'Because,' Aristotle explained, 'I had sewn a message in the
horsehide, and few gold coins, thinking it might get to the general
who allegedly once owned the horse and wanted the hide. Though I
now think that high-ranking horse-lover was a mere fiction. When the
stinking thing went overboard, that means of
tracing us vanished.'
'I knew nothing of
that idea of
yours. Had you told the "dolphins"
of
the gold coins, they would have recovered even the stinking hide,'
I remarked. 'Diophantos was behind the horsehide trick. What can be
done about that man?'
'Diophantos is definitely an officer gone to the bad,' agreed
Aristotle. 'Dangerous. We were not, however, meant to see the
contents of the carpet when we did - that was the carelessness of
Nikias' men. Our seeing that corpse increased Nikias' problems in
dealing with us, and also rendered the unwanted additional
passengers a more serious liability. I wonder if Diophantos knows
that Nikias and his gang are dead?'
'This is all very important and quite serious,' said Philokhoros,
looking important and serious himself. 'Those who commissioned
me are anxious to know the state of
affairs both in Athens and in Asia,
and to detect any disaffection in the armed forces. It had already
come to notice that some orders were being countermanded, that
some equipment was taken without strict authority. At the same time,
in an enemy country in the middle of a war, it is important not to
make open and large accusations and stir things up. So agents are
sent out to find the truth - myself among them. Though my primary
purpose on this occasion was to look after you, Aristotle, and see if
anyone dogged your steps.'
'You were ideal for the role. Not only young and intelligent but
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HEALING AND LIGHT
Athenian. No Makedonian, you could escape odium on that score.
Yet you had not lived in Athens and would not be recognised.'
'Just so. Now, from what you have said, there appears to be a plot
extending to the army itself. The further Alexander is away from
them, the more chance there is of
naughty business in Western Asia.
There is no time to be lost in confronting this Diophantos and
bringing him down. I shall go to Asia myself. I shall soon find out if
Diophantos already knows about the fate ofNikias, and if
so who told
him. But I shall indicate that - before they were killed - Nikias and
the Theban slave both confessed to the murder of Peleus as well as to
the abduction of
Aristotle, and fully implicated Diophantos.'
'You must be careful!' I exclaimed.
'Yes,' added Aristotle. 'Be careful that none of this redounds on
yourself. And I would rather not have it put about that I was abducted
- like a feeble girl, an heiress or something. It is only Justice,
Philokhoros, to point out that such tremendous greed might not have
arisen were it not for Harpalos' and Alexander's new money. All that
money washing around Asia is a great stimulative to the appetite for
wealth and power - in many men. I except the Theban slave
Menestor. He was moved not by lust for gold but by a desire for
revenge. A twisted honour.'
'Too bad I could not have interrogated that Theban. Your concern
is well meant, but don't worry about me,' said Philokhoros loftily. 'I
shall never be decoyed or deceived again, and now they have no
handle on my affections with which to gain control of me. Dear, I
wonder where my poor little Sosios is! I'll sift this matter quickly,
never fear.'
'How will you find out the truth?' I asked in my ignorance.
'The whole platoon will be put to the question individually, before
being executed. They all need to be got rid of,' said Philokhoros
easily. 'Don't worry. We shall learn everything in short order. The
prospect of
torture works wonders. Most people will tell you whatever
you want to know, sooner rather than later. After a certain point of
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
pain, most men prefer to settle for an easy death without undergoing
the trouble of
further questioning.
'I had better set about it
at once,' he added, rising. 'If! can discover
and put down such a plot within the army, my own repute will rise
with the Makedonian powers.' He left amid our protestations of
gratitude for his gallant rescue of
us from the pirates.
'You gave him rather an edited version,' I exclaimed. 'You said
nothing of my forged letter, for example. You entirely omitted
Harpalos' map and secreted treasure. You never mentioned
Euphorbos.
'
'The writ of a man like Philokhoros,' said Aristotle drily, 'cannot
extend to a man like Euphorbos. At present, either Harpalos or
Euphorbos is able to squash a Philokhoros like a bedbug. This is a
matter where the utmost tact and care are required. We cannot act
against Euphorbos.'
'Not when we know what he has done? And now Diophantos may
implicate him.'
'Even if Diophantos under torture were to incriminate Euphorbos
- if the officer knew so much - think how easy it is for Euphorbos to
defend himself. He was never in Asia, he will say. This is all the
fantasy of a desperate prisoner, incoherent outcries under torture,
quite possibly the confection of
some kind of
blackmail by the upstart
Philokhoros. He himself, citizen Euphorbos, was spending the last
weeks of summer quietly with friends in the Athenian countryside,
and he can produce witnesses to that effect - and so on. And we,
Stephanos - we do not know what Euphorbos has done.'
'I suppose not.' I had to agree, but unhappily.
'We have no evidence. We have merely intelligent speculations.
Probabilities. But what could we point to? Only slender threads of
connection - a crippled dog, people quoting Hesiod, and a glittering
childish toy. I am convinced by the evidence of
the knucklebone - but
what is a single knucklebone, even if of gold? A rare toy, to be sure,
but we cannot swear that no one else in the world has such a thing!
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HEALING AND LIGHT
Should such a preposterous case be brought to court, it would be
laughed away. We have no real evidence at all.'
'That is very disappointing,' I said. 'In the other cases of murder
and crime which we have worked on together, you always found the
evidence and the solution; the criminal was fully revealed. Could you
use Harpalos somehow?'
'I am very sorry to disappoint you. Even sorrier to disappoint
myself. But I urge you never to utter to other Athenians your
suspicions of Euphorbos, at least as long as things remain as they
presently are. And leave Harpalos out of it. He is too powerful
altogether. He himself is devious. There is no need for someone like
Philokhoros, however well intentioned, to know much about
Harpalos, or his hidden treasure - or his vexing commission.'
'What are you going to do about the hidden treasure?'
'I shall certainly now not fulfil Harpalos' vexing commission. It
is a
burden to me that I know where hidden treasure is supposed to be,
though a relief not to have to touch it. I must write to Harpalos, in
guarded terms, telling him what has happened. And I must warn him
too!'
'Warn Harpalos - of Diophantos - or Philokhoros?'
'No. Bedbugs, Stephanos! Harpalos' danger comes from himself.
Sly from boyhood, he loves to play his own game and seek his
advantage. Charming but not trustworthy. Alexander has fallen out
with him before. He will certainly do so again if
he suspects Harpalos
is playing fast and loose with what Alexander naturally regards as his
money. The best thing I can do about that treasure is to inform
Antipater that it is where I know it is.'
'At least if
somebody else hasn't go to it. You remember its location
still?'
'The most I shall tell you, Stephan
os, is that it is not a thousand
parasangs from the coast of Knidos. I hsall give to Antipater the
contents of both the woolly bags, and the information about
Harpalos' hidden treasure. Certainly I shall not entangle myself by
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
delivering this money to persons in Kos or Athens! They may simply
be members of another conspiracy. But all 1 shall indicate to
Antipater is that Harpalos tried to entrust all of this, including the
hidden portion, to my care, out of concern for safety. He wished to
make sure that there was enough money not only to pay troops in
Western Asia but to cover expenses in Greece. Antipater will be well
pleased. This way, Harpalos comes off well. He and his associates
merely lose the money - but he keeps Alexander's good will. Because
1 taught Harpalos in his childhood, 1 have a soft spot for him -
perhaps stupidly. 1 still could not wish him to run into Alexander's
wrath.'
'But Harpalos and Alexander are friends,' 1 commented.
'Alexander has a very bad temper when aroused; he has demon-
strated this from his childhood. He does not even consider it right to
stop and think when he is in a passion. 1 fear now for the fate of
Philotas, since great Parmenion has unexpectedly fallen from favour.
We must certainly not send our young Parmenion to Asia.' He
sighed. 'I cannot help feeling that it would be better for Kallisthenes
if he could come home now - though Kallisthenes would not agree
with me. And 1 have lost his beautiful manuscript.'
'At any rate it
was but a copy,' 1 said comfortingly. 'He still has the
original. At least we do know what happened to the book. There is so
much else we do not know! We do not know where Doris is now,
though she should be brought to her just reward. Nor do we know
what happened to Philokhoros' slave Sosios. We can't be sure if he
were murdered or not. But consider the strange plotters' string of
murders - the lives lost.' 1 counted on my fingers:
'First, Aiskhines, the good captain. Second, Peleus, the efficient
officer. Third, the little girl, Philokleia - that was terrible! And her
mother and grandfather too may be accounted victims ofNikias. And
one of our rescuers was killed. That is six innocent lives gone - three
of
these undoubtedly murder of
the most terrible kind!'
'Seven,' said Aristotle gloomily. 'I count seven lives lost. At least 1
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am not responsible for the first of
the murders that we know of. The
boy who died after the Bouphonia - do you remember him?'
'The vulgar child of
the fisher-people? The bull-faced boy strutting
about saying "I'm Alexander!" That was supposed to have been a sort
of accident. Or - do you think he was killed for insulting Mikon?'
'Not just for that. But the boy expressed his admiration for
Alexander -
the popular belief that the new power means the
subjection of people like us and Thrasymakhos and his friends.
Admiration for Alexander growing among the poorer sort displeases
such men. The boy was heartily punished for his little vaunt - killed
as a sacrifice, but also as an animal. The use of
the antique bronze axe
- there again I seem to get a whiff of our joker.'
'Yet we can do nothing about Euphorbos?'
'Nothing - as things stand. The best way to handle Euphorbos now
would be to find ways of harassing him with private lawsuits. That
would tie the man to Athens, perpetually defending his property in
civil courts. I might hint as much to Antipater. But as for bringing a
charge of murder - impossible! First, who would bring a case? The
lowly relations of Aiskhines? Nobody has any proof -
except
ourselves. And they are no proofs, but a heap of surmises that would
sound ridiculously feeble. Harangue against Euphorbos in the
Areopagos? Absurd. To fail in bringing such a charge - that would be
to fail indeed. These are dangerous times, Stephanos. Men lose all
objection to injustice when they stand either to gain greatly or to lose
their own lives.'
With this I could not be truly content, but I could do nothing more.
I put my mind upon my own recovery, and was soon well enough to
visit Asklepios' shrine myself. Not only I but the amazingly resilient
pilgrim was able to give thanks to great Paieon, to Hygieia and to the
kindly healer for recovery. latrokles offered many suggestions as to
diet and simple exercise to restore the use of my shoulder and arm.
Heartily sorry as the good doctor was for what we had been through,
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ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
Iatrokles seemed almost as horrified by the fact that Aristotle had
used his medical knowledge to poison the pirates' fish stew with
honey (obtained as a remedy) which had been fermented and mixed
in with animal and human dung and some very rotten shellfish.
Concentrating on the task of getting well enough to go home, I had
practically forgotten why I had come in the first place. I was surprised
when one fine morning Iatrokles told me that Philokles wanted to see
me.
'He's brought his hetaira with him,' Iatrokles said with some
disapproval. 'I hope I am tolerant of young people's behaviour, but I
don't want to lose the last of my respectable paying patients in Kos
on the grounds that disorderly persons frequent our house. '
Well wrapped up in my himation (as there was a sea wind blowing
and my wound felt the chill) I met Philokles and his woman in the
garden. Philokles was well-knit and personable, not in his first youth
but still able to look quite like a young man, with his curling hair and
large green eyes. I could see a decided resemblance to my Philomela,
though his hair was not the same colour. The girl (or woman, rather)
with him was well dressed and decidedly self-possessed, even at
meeting an unknown gentleman. Philokles was unembarrassed.
'This is Nanno,' he said proudly. 'We are living together in Kos. I
am sorry we weren't here when you came, but we were in Kalymnos.
Nanno comes from a sponge-fisher's family, and she has a good share
of
a sponge-fishing business herself.'
'I congratulate you,' I said to this improper but businesslike lady.
'Yes,' she said simply. 'I can always pick out the good divers.'
'Now, Stephanos of Athens, I understand,' Philokles began, 'that
you want to marry my sister's daughter. But you want something for
her out of
my father's estate - is that right?'
I felt unable to object to discussing family business with him in the
presence of
this strange woman, so I had to reply.
'If I could have some legal share in the honey business of the
Hymettos farm,' I said, 'however you wish it tied up for Philomela
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HEALING AND LIGHT
and our children, then I could go ahead with a much easier mind.'
'Oh, I have no problem with that,' said Philokles easily. 'Let me in
for a consideration. If
you will attend to the sale of
the honey, I should
be glad of some arrangement with you. I don't intend to go back to
Hymettos! Not now. I like the weather here. I don't have to strain my
back in the cold fields, nor go climbing up steep slopes to peer into
beehives and get stung. My sister is a remarkable woman. Let her
work at producing, and you at selling.'
'My idea exactly,' I said. 'But of course it is yourinheritance. Your
claim will be respected -'
'I am sure,' he said, 'as long as the farm doesn't go to that lazy
parasite Dropides, I shall be satisfied. I wish my niece very well. We'll
get documents written up in Kos. Mind, if
I have children, legitimate
or not, I expect them to get a share, and I shall write that in.'
'Your heir,' I felt compelled to point out, 'your legitimate son, is
entitled to the whole estate.'
'But that means marrying the daughter of an Athenian citizen and
living in Athens. I am well as I am. Don't worry that I mean to come
back and repossess the farm or anything. Highly unlikely. Give me a
share of
the proceeds, and I shall be content.'
Nanno appeared pleased, ifnot surprised, when Philokles registered
his lack of
interest in going back to Athens.
'It is highly unlikely,' said she, waving an elegant arm, with a gold
and cornelian bracelet that looked very well on it. 'Cold hillsides
don't suit my Philokles. Ifhe wants business, why there's the sponges.
Philokles has everything he could want, right here in the islands. We
have a charming home. You must come and see us.'
It was astonishing to me to see a man - an Athenian citizen who
would soon be related to me - give up Athens, citizenship, family
lands, legitimate nuptials and lawful offspring. Philokles seemed
perfectly happy with the arrangement. He could live on Nanno,
evidently. It struck me that he and Dropides had more in common
than either could ever suppose.
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Certainly I was fortunate, for Philokles was as good as his word.
Within three days I was in possession of
handsome legal writings, well
attested. I wanted at least one witness to be an Athenian citizen - and
found this useful citizen (not, as Nikias had supposed, a barbarian at
all) in the person of
our recovering pilgrim. This man's soundness of
mind might have been questioned, for he professed to have forgotten
almost everything that transpired on the island. My wound was
mending, and the way was now cleared for Philomela and myself to
set up a life together.
Once more I got on board a ship. It was no longer summer, and
there were long clouds streaking an autumnal sky. We had put off
sailing until it was almost too late, and equinoctial gales threatened
us. Fortunately, we were on a fast transport and a big one - no light
keles but an impressive naval vessel with four banks of oars and a
keleusma that gave me a serious headache at first. I say 'we' had put
off sailing, for Aristotle had refused to go anywhere until I was well
again.
This time our party did not include Parmenion. The lad had
announced to Kleumedes and latrokles his strong desire to become a
doctor. 'I will stay here,' he said firmly to Aristotle. 'I shall live in Kos
and learn to be a physician. Now I have no father, and you tell me it
is dangerous at present to seek Philotas. But I have Kleumedes and
latrokles who want me to stay. They will be friends to me and teach
me. When I am with them I am well, and can make others so.' I was
surprised at the power the lad had acquired, remembering the
shrinking white-faced boy I had once known. Aristotle agreed
wholeheartedly, almost meekly, for Kleumedes had expressed to him
very frankly his disapproval of the way in which Parmenion's real
troubles had gone unnoticed in the Lykeion.
So our travelling group consisted only of Aristotle, myself and
Phokon. We had no less baggage than on our trip from Athens -
more, indeed. Aristotle had purchased a mysterious stone chest
which he had ordered sent over from Halikarnassos to Kos, and this
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HEALING AND LIGHT
object (wrapped up and extremely heavy) had to be put on the ship
with us.
As we left the island and harbour of Kos I thought not just of the
past, but of the days to come. A future when, as Iatrokles hoped, the
great temple and treatment centre would be built, and Parmenion
would be a doctor to many pilgrims in search of health. I left these
lovely regions with some regret and some good memories - despite
everything that had passed - of sunny days of sailing among the
islands. The sun still gave us glimpses of the transparent world, and
the sun and moon and wandering stars gave us light as we went on
our way over the deep and wide sea.
415
==::;:gl_n~==
a-G
Epilogue
Aristotle and I returned safely to Athens - for which I personally gave
many thank-offerings to various deities. I could not, however, decide
in relation to my vow whether my voyage had been successful or not.
It
had a successful issue for myself, in that I had found Philokles and
got what I wanted. But the cost in human life of our expedition
seemed very great. I went, however, as bound by oath, on a special
journey to Sounion to give to Poseidon both a thank-offering for my
return and an additional one for the success of my journey. Yet I do
not think what we experienced on that journey was at all included in
my original prayer.
Athens now seemed more peaceful. The outrages involving parts of
animals had ceased. Aristotle was politely treated. There was no more
talk of putting him on trial for blasphemy, or anything of that kind.
On the whole, civility prevailed. Indeed, some wholesome fear
seemed to have filtered through: perhaps news of the death of the
pirates, more likely of
the harsh fates of Diophantos and his platoon.
At any rate, people invited the philosopher out to dinner, just as
before, and the work of the Lykeion went on.
As for myself, immediately on my arrival I sought out my family. At
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EPILOGUE
last I heard - and at length, from many competing narrators - of
the
attack on Smikrenes' holding. Two men had been lurking around,
had done some minor damage to the crops in the further field, and
had tried to entice the dog to take food from them. These intruders
were run off, but Theodoros had at once sent for his cousin
Philemon. Philemon arrived in cavalry style 'on a horse' as
Theodoros said in awed tones. (The horse of course was borrowed.)
Philemon threw himself into turning the house and farm into a
fortress, and supplied Smikrenes and Theodoros with weapons of
army quality (also borrowed, from fellow-veterans who were personal
friends of
his) .
In the dark of
night, the two men with others had come back. They
burned a small bam or goat-shed, yelled loud insults, and, still
hallooing, tried to knock the house door down. One man looking for
an easy entrance went on the roof, where he was surprised by
Philemon. Theodoros loosed Moloss-Molou at just the right
moment, while Geta worked at putting the fire out. Meanwhile, my
mother and Philomela, as instructed by Philemon, set up an irregular
cacophony of shouts and banging of metal frying pans and things.
They made as much noise as women at the mourning of Adonis.
They also threw stones: missiles collected the day before by
Theodoros and Smikrenes, directed by Philemon. This was the point
at which a certain friendship between my mother and Philomela was
cemented. My fiancee had gained, as Theodoros wrote, 'Mother's
love'.
Meanwhile Philemon wounded the roof-climber and made him
confess who he was, and that he and his fellows belonged to
Thrasymakhos. Moloss-Molou got a good bite or two of another
fellow. Smikrenes, searching for more intruders, ran about the farm
holding both a pitchfork and a shortened spear, like a man running
mad. He nicked one intruder in the buttock with his pitchfork, but
did not bring him down. Eventually the dog-bitten fellow and his
auxiliaries gave up and ran away. Theodoros was very excited that he
417
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
had been able to stand in the doorway holding a light sword, but
language failed him when he tried to describe the virtues of Moloss-
Molou.
Once I returned to Athens, Thrasymakhos backed down, and there
was no need for Smikrenes to pursue his lawsuit. Thrasymakhos
assured Smikrenes and myself that the slaves involved in the attack
against the Eleusis farm and its inhabitants had been severely flogged
and sold. Upon discreet enquiry, this appeared to be true. It seemed
to be quite safe to take Theodoros and my mother back to their home
in Athens.
I made other discreet enquiries also, and could find no trace of
Miltiades among the marble merchants of Athens. Neither,
apparently, had anyone in Peiraieus known of the foreign woman
Kardaka. A few residents remembered a little lame slavewoman who
used to appear in the district. I also heard in Peiraeius that Aiskhines'
body had been brought back to Athens, after being discovered in a
ravine in rural Naxos, where the unfortunate man must have been
attacked by night bandits. His sister's husband now ran his shipping
business.
One dull and drizzling evening Aristotle surprised me by coming to
my door and asking me to accompany him to do one special thing.
We went at midnight, that rainy autumn night, to the Kerameikos -
myself and Aristotle, Theophrastos and Demetrios of
Phaleron. The
others were armed with picks and shovels. I kept watch for them,
while they quickly and quietly dug up the remains (much altered) of
Pythias, daughter of
Hermias and wife to Aristotle. They enfolded her
bones in a large blanket and silently took them back to Aristotle's
home. There I saw that the Master of the Lykeion had caused the
stone chest he had brought back from Kos to be set up in his garden.
It was an ornate chest, with four erotes on the one side, well carved in
stone, and on the other a forceful rendition of
Medusa with her snaky
hair. The remains of Pythias he deposited in this stone coifm,
muttering softly formulas of
prayer and snatches of
poetic song as he
418
EPILOGUE
himself laid them in that depository. 'This is the best kind of
sarcophagus,' he said. 'It eats flesh hygienically and leaves the bones.
That is how they treat bodies of
the well-born in Asia. I would not let
my Pythias rest longer in that despised soil of the dirty Kerameikos,
where she wasn't wanted. Now she shall stay with me, or go with me
wherever I go.'
My reappearance in Athens caused surprise and relief, and some
happiness, especially to my mother who had never quite adjusted to
Eleusis. My mother and Smikrenes had not got on well at first, even
though all business between them had to be conducted (as propriety
dictated) by intermediaries. I fear Philomela had a bad time of it for
some weeks at the beginning of their visit. But the attack on
Smikrenes' house had given them all a common cause. Moloss-
Molou the valiant was now a prime favourite with everyone, and
Theodoros was respected even by Smikrenes. It was a source of
happiness to me that Mother and Philomela now got on well, and my
dear parent had ceased to regret - at least, had ceased loudly to
lament - my forthcoming marriage.
It was not such a source of happiness to me that my brother
Theodoros - the intelligent Theodoros - had conceived a great
admiration for his cousin Philemon, whom he regarded as a pillar of
strength and a model of military resourcefulness. (Of course,
Theodoros had no way of
knowing how I had once saved Philemon's
household when under attack, and it would seem boastful to tell him
outright.) But I resolved that Theodoros should admire his elder
brother at least as much as his cousin Philemon.
My own concerns - including persuading everyone in Hymettos to
understand the new arrangement - engrossed my mind. The year of
my marriage was to be very lively and busy, if complicated by the
puzzling affairs of
Demeter at Eleusis. But of
that another time. One
image connected with the activities of that strange summer when
great Darius died still haunts my memory. I saw Euphorbos from
time to time during the following autumn and winter - in the
419
ARISTOTLE AND THE SECRETS OF LIFE
distance, for the most part. He did become the defendant in several
lawsuits, just as Aristotle had predicted, only civil cases, but sufficient
to keep a man at horne instead of
wandering abroad. I earnestly tried
to keep clear of him, knowing (or believing) that this man was the
fount of my suffering. Euphorbos might, so I thought, nurse
malevolence towards me; after all, his plans had not truly succeeded,
and many of his agents had suffered, even though he himself
remained unharmed and unquestioned. But one evening in the
following spring I saw Euphorbos unexpectedly at close quarters,
almost running into him in the street. He was corning away from a
party, staggering, a little flushed with drinking as fashionable young
men are after a symposium. But in the moonlight and the torchlight
I could see him clearly. He was wreathed in violets and swayed with
joy, like Dionysos himself. It was hard to think harshly at that
moment of a man who looked so like a god.
420choice A
Hermippos – The silver merchant poisoned the wine, angry over a recent failed business deal with the victim.
choice B
Miltiades – The cheerful marble merchant used a blunt object to strike the victim during a heated argument over their journey’s arrangements.
choice C
Aristodamos – The gentleman of Naxos cleverly orchestrated a fall from a height, disguising it as an accident, in order to inherit the merchant’s shipping route rights.
choice D
Kleumedes – The physician from Kos injected the victim with a fatal substance during a routine medical check-up, under the guise of administering medicine.
difficulty
hard
domain
Single-Document QA
length
long
sub domain
Detective
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