"Athens' Darling": Love, Lust and War in Ancient Athens

Athens’ Darling

Love, Lust and War in Ancient Athens

Joanne Summers

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© 2012 Joanne Summers. All rights reserved.

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First published by AuthorHouse 1/12/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4670-7321-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-7320-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-7319-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011919234

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Contents

PartI

Prologue

Chapter

1

Chapter

2

Chapter

3

Chapter

4

Chapter

5

Chapter

6

Chapter

7

Chapter

8

Chapter

9

Chapter

10

Chapter

11

Chapter

12

Chapter

13

Chapter

14

Chapter

15

PartII

Chapter

16

Chapter

17

Chapter

18

Chapter

19

Chapter

20

Chapter

21

Chapter

22

Chapter

23

Chapter

24

Chapter

25

Chapter

26

Chapter

27

Chapter

28

Chapter

29

Chapter

30

Chapter

31

Chapter

32

Chapter

33

END NOTES

PartI

Athens

Prologue

In the year 440 B.C. on the island of Samos across the Aegean Sea from Athens, an eight-year-old girl was branded on the forehead with the mark of a samena, the low, flat ship used by the merchants of Samos. It was the mark of a slave.

The girl was Timandra, daughter of the wine-merchant Gorgias, who had come from his native Sicily several years before, considering the island of Samos a better location for his trading enterprises. Lying just off the mainland of Asia and the vast and powerful kingdom of Persia, Samos was a central link in the chain of islands that crossed the Aegean from Greece to Asia, and in the 5th century B.C. it became one of the chief commercial centers of the civilized western world. Here Gorgias prospered, trafficking not only in wine, but in many other commodities that came his way, be it grain from Sicily, timber from the Black Sea, rugs from Carthage, or ivory from Ethiopia. He built a villa for his family on the slopes of the mountain overlooking the port and lived luxuriously as an influential member of the aristocracy—until the day the Athenian fleet sailed into Samos harbor.

Timandra would never forget that day. From the colonnade of their villa she and her older brother Mikko saw the colored sails of the Athenian triremes on the horizon. Never before had so large a fleet come to the small island, and the children rushed indoors to tell their mother of the hundreds of ships approaching.

Celissa rose abruptly from her spinning and went out on the colonnade. Shading her eyes against the sun’s glare, she looked out over the water. ‘They’re Athenian, she said, with fear in her voice. It bodes no good for Samos."

Can we go down to the harbor and see the ships dock? Timandra asked.

No, Timandra. There may be trouble. She reached out and drew her children close to her. All these years she had raised her son and daughter behind the walls of her protection, taught them to read and write, and ventured only occasionally with them into the harbor town, which she considered a menace. It was always crowded with rough seamen, mercenaries, slave traders and other undesirables. But now, an even greater menace faced them, a menace from which neither Celissa nor Gorgias could shield them. Not understanding what was going on, only sensing that something terrible was going to happen to them, she clung to her mother and cried.

Their fears were justified shortly before dark when a breathless Gorgias rushed home with the news that the Greek fleet had encircled the island and had demanded surrender.

Wasn’t it enough that they destroyed our fleet last month? Celissa asked. Our navy is no longer a menace to them. What more do they want?

We defied Athens twice, Gorgias answered, first when we refused to obey her command to stop our war with Miletus, and then when we overthrew the garrison Pericles left here last spring to maintain his democracy. Pericles will not let rebellion go unpunished. He means to rule Samos now as a colony of Athens. He lowered his voice so the children would not hear. It will mean death for all of us if we surrender. Pericles will demand revenge on those of us who led the rebellion against the democracy he established here.

Why did you have to attack his garrison? I knew it would make matters worse.

That’s easy to say now, but how did you feel when we had Athenian soldiers eating at our table, demanding our best wine, and taking our dishes and statuary, all in the name of democracy? I for one couldn’t take it any longer.

At least then we had our house and our lives…

For how long? Gorgias interrupted. This was our island. They had no right to send soldiers to rule us. Distraught, he paced back and forth across the inner courtyard, and Timandra stood frightened in a corner with Mikko, silently watching her parents and listening to the conversation she only half understood. She reached for her older brother’s hand and clutched it nervously.

Celissa began to weep. Is there no way we can escape the island?

Gorgias went to her and put his arm around her. We can’t break through the blockade of ships. But I don’t think it is hopeless yet. The government has sent word that we will not surrender. The Athenians may have the docks, but they don’t have Samos. They can’t breach our walls, and the island has provisions to withstand a siege.

Siege? They will try to starve us into surrender? Celissa looked up at him terrified.

Our people have flocks of sheep on the mountains and pigs and chickens in backyard pens. The fields are at full harvest. It will be a long while before we will be in danger of starving. And Pericles will probably become bored with besieging a small island and go somewhere else.

But Gorgias had misjudged Pericles’ tenacity, and gradually Celissa’s worst fears came true. The 200 ships remained encircling the island month after month, choking off its food supply and trade. The small island had always been dependent on trade for most of its sustenance. The produce and livestock the islanders raised was not enough to sustain them, and they had to import staples such as grain, oil and some meat. But now no boat could slip through the line of Athenian ships to bring food to the island, even under cover of darkness, so tight was the blockade. The islanders hoarded their supplies, and through the fall, as the fear of starvation grew, they poached their neighbors’ livestock and robbed each others’ farms and vineyards. To make their stores last longer, they boiled leaves and roots for food. Then winter came and the land was bare. Through the cold, bleak months of January and February, the Samians ate their cats and dogs, and then the rats that had always abounded on the quays. But then even those were gone. When Gorgias ventured out of doors, he want armed, for there were stories that women, children, the weak and infirm were being killed for food by hunger-crazed mobs in the harbor town and roaming the hills.

It took nine months, but Periicles finally starved the island into submission. On a cold and blustery day in early spring the government of Samos surrendered, and the Athenians landed. As a member of the island’s aristocracy, Gorgias went with the other leaders to negotiate terms of surrender with the Athenians. When the negotiations were concluded, the great ships began to land, drawing a dazed crowd of Samians. In the general confusion, a tired and weakened Gorgias slipped away to his home.

He went to his wife’s bedroom where she had spent most of her time in the last month. Slow starvation and its accompanying despair had robbed her of her strength, and even the slightest movement had become an effort. On the floor beside her bed the children were playing listlessly at dice, their cheeks sunken, their stomachs bloated, their eyes large and dark-rimmed in their pale faces.

Timanra looked up. When are we going to have something to eat? she asked.

Her father held out his hand. The buds of the oleander were just beginning to swell. I picked some for you. He dropped them into her hands, and she and Mikko hungrily devoured the small, hard buds. Timandra offered some to her mother, but Celissa refused, saying she wasn’t hungry. Often during the past months she had denied herself, so her children might eat.

She looked at Gorgias and knew without his speaking a word that the end had come. Samos has surrendered, she said.

Yes, Gorgias answered. The Athenians have landed. They have demanded that we pay them an indemnity of twelve hundred talents.

Twelve hundred talents! It will take all the coins and jewels on the island, and all the gold and silver in the sanctuaries. Even then, we won’t be able to raise that much.

Gorgias sent the children to the well before he answered, but Timandra remained outside the door and heard him. They are taking hostages also from the families of the aristocrats to make certain we pay that indemnity, he said. My greatest fear is for our children’s safety. We should try to make it to the cave at the water source. Gorgias had taken what few valuables they had left and hidden them in the cave several days before. If we could hide out there for a few weeks at least, we might be safe.

What good would it do? We would only die of hunger. At least we have a chance of getting some food if we remain here.

Mikko came in with the water, Timandra following him. There are soldiers down on the mountain making people tear down the walls, he said. They’re tearing down the walls all over the island. There are hundreds of soldiers, and they’re driving people out of their houses and forcing them to take down the walls stone by stone.

Will they come after us? Timandra cried, suddenly frightened, and ran to her father. Although a small man with a graying beard, he had always seemed strong to her and the one who could always protect her.

With an effort Celissa rose from her bed. Maybe you’re right, Gorgias. Let’s try to get to the cave.

But as they entered the central courtyard, a knock sounded on the heavy oak door, and a voice shouted, Open in the name of Athens.

Too late, Gorgias muttered to himself.

Let’s leave through the back colonnade, Celissa said.

But the soldiers had already encircled the house, and three Athenian hoplites were on the colonnade before them in polished helmets, breastplates and greaves. When she saw them, Celissa suddenly grew faint and reached out and clutched a pillar of the colonnade for support.

One of the soldiers sauntered in. Fine house you have, he said, running his hand along the bas reliefs carved in the stone walls. You must be one of the leaders of the aristocrats.

I’m but a merchant, Gorgias said, and wish only to live in peace with whoever rules Samos.

The soldiers laughed and walked across the courtyard to unbar the oak door. An officer entered, a long, silver-hilted sword in his hand. He was followed by a hoplite carrying a scroll.

So they were at home, the officer’s voice was mocking. You’re a poor host, Samian, not to answer your door when guests come calling. He reached for the scroll his attendant carried and unrolled it. You name?

Gorgias, the merchant.

Here he is. He’s one of the aristocrats. Four of you, are there?

Please, give us some food for the children. Celissa said, trying to walk toward the officer. But her

legs trembled beneath her, and she sank down exhausted on a plush-covered couch. Timandra ran over and knelt beside her. Mikko stood next to his father, trying to appear brave, but he could not hold back his tears.

The Athenian officer ignored Celissa’s request and continued writing on his scroll. When he had finished he handed it to the hoplite. Take the children, he ordered his men. The parents look too weak and sickly to survive the sea voyage.

One of the soldiers strode over to where Timandra crouched by her mother and grasped her roughly by the arm. Timandra screamed and for the first time in her life she knew terror. She clung to her mother, but the soldier dragged her away. Another hoplite tried to take Mikko, but the boy kicked and struggled so violently that he had to call his companion to help.

Don’t take them away, Celissa pleaded. We’ll give you everything we have—our house, whatever we own—only leave us our children.

Your house and possessions are already the property of Athens, the soldier said coldly. And we have orders to take hostages from the families of the aristocrats.

Then take us too, Celissa begged, standing and stumbling toward her children.

Woman, you have not strength in you even to walk to the ship, the soldier holding Timandra said, as he pulled her toward the door.

Daddy she screamed. Don’t let him take me!

Suddenly Gorgias flew at the soldier, his hands circling his throat, in a last desperate attempt to save his child. The hoplite released the child and grasped the merchant’s arms. The muscles of his forearms bulged as with a violent thrust he threw his weakened assailant from him and heaved him against a pillar. Gorgias’s head struck the marble column, and the merchant slumped to the floor unconscious. Father! Mikko screamed as the Athenian soldiers dragged him struggling out the door. But Gorgias did not respond to his son’s call. The hoplite who had fought him picked up Timandra again and carried her from the courtyard, unmoved by her cries as she struggled in his arms sobbing for her mother.

Weak as she was, Celissa followed after them, imploring the Athenians to release her children, clutching at their armor and shields, pulling at their arms, until the officer finally ordered one of the men to take her back to her home and tie her there. Timandra saw the hoplte drag her mother back to the villa and with a length of rope lash her to a pillar of the colonnade, near where her father lay, still unmoving.

Then she and Mikko, with other men, women, and children from the island’s noble families were brought down to the harbor and herded on board a trireme. As soon as the ship set sail, they were fed well. Hunger took precedence over sorrow, and despite their tears, the ravenous children ate. Swiftly, its sails billowing with the wind, the trireme sped from the island towards Athens. Then when it was out of sight of land, in the gathering darkness, the officers heated an iron bar with the shape of a ship molded at its end, heated it in the embers of the cooking fire until the end of the metal bar glowed red.

Timandra and Mikko huddled in the bow of the ship watching and wondering what the soldiers were doing. Then they saw one of the Athenians abruptly grasp the prisoner nearest him, pull her toward the fire, and hold her before the officer with the bar. The officer carefully pressed its glowing tip against the woman’s forehead. She shrieked, and as they released her, her hands involuntarily flew to the bright red mark in the center of her forehead. The Athenians quickly took another prisoner and branded him, and then another.

Then Timandra felt rough hands laid upon her, and she was pulled toward the cooking stove where the embers still were red. The officer had replaced the brand in the embers to reheat it, and as the child was dragged before him, he pulled the bar from the coals. Timandra saw its fiery tip coming closer to her face. She cried and struggled in the tightening grip of the soldier who held her. Then a searing pain pierced her forehead, and she felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck her between the eyes. She screamed in terror, and when the soldier released her, she reeled dizzily across the deck. The pain, the stench of burning flesh, and the heavy stew she had eaten combined to sicken her, and she stumbled to the rail of the ship, leaned over it, and retched again and again, sobbing for her mother. One of the women hostages came over and tried to comfort her, and Mikko put his arm around her and whispered that it would soon be over, that they would be home again one day. The retching finally subsided, and slumping to the deck, Timandra looked up at her brother. On his forehead too was the mark of the samena.

When they reached Athens the hostages were sold as slaves and the money turned over to Pericles. The government stipulated that the hostages be kept in Athens, and sent word to Samos that their lives would be forfeit should the island again revolt against Athens’ rule. Samos did not dare another rebellion. It became a colony of Athens, and as Pericles wished, a democracy guaranteeing equal rights to all its inhabitants.

Timandra and Mikko were sold to a rich manufacturere named Cephalus who owned a large armament factory in Athens.

ATHENS’ DARLING

Chapter

1

An Athenian dockhand working on the wharves in the harbor of Piraeus was the first to spot the ships. Our soldiers are coming home from the battle of Potidaea! I saw the sails of the triremes on the horizon, he shouted to those working in the harbor, and the news flew from person to person up through the Long Walls to the city of Athens. Then the city’s people poured into Piraeus harbor to find out if their sons or fathers were safe and to welcome the men home from the first major battle between Athens and her enemies, the city-states of the Peloponnesus. The crowds on the docks and wharves shouted and waved as the ships glided toward shore, their sails now furled, their only motive power the three banks of oars moving in unison, rising, catching the glint of the autumn sun, then sweeping back, deftly guiding the ships up to the docks.

One after another the long warships drew alongside the piers that jutted out into the bay, and in the

shade of the slanting roofs covering each pier, the ships discharged their cargo of men. Rank after rank

of the city’s finest soldiers filed through the cheering crowds, magnificent in their crested helmets and

polished breastplates, their bronze circular shields slung over their shoulder, marching tall, proud, and

invincible.

In the throng making its way from the docks to the Long Walls was a handsome young blond-haired soldier named Alcibiades, striking in a brilliant purple cloak and gold crested helmet. He was surrounded by a group of young men listening to his account of the battle. Then several women pushed through the crowd to reach him. Lydia, Thetis, he said, embracing them and giving them each a kiss. This is what a soldier wans on his return from battle—women. Then he saw another woman nearby, a beautiful slave with dark hair and brown eyes watching him. There was something about her that drew him and excited him, and he put his arms around her and gave her a long, lingering kiss. She was flushed and breathless when he released her. He smiled. That’s so you will remember Alcibiades.

He walked up the road between the Long Walls jubilant, glorying in the power of his city, which not long ago had held the whole Persian empire at bay. Sparta too would soon feel the might of Athens. I will lead armies and rule this city one day, he thought. Potidaea is only the beginning of the battle.

In the marketplace he left his companions and hurried past the Altar of the Twelve Gods down a

narrow street until he came finally to a house that was obviously finer than those surrounding it.

Although the wall fronting on the street was bare except for the doorway and several small windows set

high in the second story, the façade of the building was made of fine marble. Graceful carved pillars and a

sculpted pediment adorned the doorway.

Alcibiades knocked, and a porter admitted him into a large, open courtyard, flanked on three sides by

columned porticoes. Nearly a dozen people were in the courtyard, most of them clustered in the shade

of the small trees and flowering shrubs that shielded them from the afternoon sun. Alcibiades recognized

the old generals Lamachus, Tolmides, and Nicias, and near the Altar of Zeus was his uncle Pericles with

his mistress Aspasia. It was rare that an Athenian woman appeared in the outer courtyard. But he knew Aspasia was not an Athenian, and not an ordinary woman.

Alcibiades approached his uncle. "We almost have Potidaea, Pericles. With a few more

garrisons and another strong attack on their walls, we could take the city."

Welcome home, Alcibiades. Pericles clapped his nephew on the shoulder. I hear from Lamachus that you disported yourself with honor on the battlefield, and even won a suit of armor. Tall and well-proportioned, the bearded, high-browed Pericles was an imposing figure, and a man that commanded the respect of all Athens.

Aspasia held out her hand to him. She was still lovely, although past forty, her luminous golden hair piled high, the beauty of her features enhanced by skillfully applied rouge and mascara. Congratulations, Alcibiades, she said. Your bravery would have made your father proud if he yet lived. You do honor to his memory."

He smiled. She had known the words that would please him most. He told them of the battle—how the Potidaean army, with the Corinthians that had come to the aid of their colony, had routed one wing of the Athenian army early in the battle. But our line held fast, he said. I thought one time I was going to be killed. I was holding off four Corinthians who came at me all at once, when one of them caught me with his sword and cut my left arm. He showed them the barely healed wound. I lost my balance and fell, but I still held my sword and fought them off. Yet I would have been killed for sure if not for Socrates.

Socrates? The philosopher? Aspasia asked.

You know him?

He comes here occasionally, he says to learn discourse from me, she laughed.

He was fighting on my right, and when he saw me go down and my arm bleeding, he charged in like a bull, plunged his sword into one Corinthian and held off the others long enough for me to retreat behind our lines. They wanted to give the prize for valor to Socrates that day, but he insisted the suit of armor be given to me.

So the victory was yours, Aspasia said.

Mine, yes, but not Athens’. The Potidaeans managed to escape behind their walls. Lamachus and Nicias had come up to listen to Alcibiades’ account of the battle. Flattered at having generals as his audience, Alcibiades began discussing military strategy. If you send two more garrisons with engines of battery, uncle, we could storm the walls and take the town. Or perhaps catapults to hurl fiery coals. If the town is set afire, the people will have to open the gates to flee. But we must act now. Their general Aristeus has already escaped from the city because we waited and did nothing!

Sometimes it is best to wait and be ruled by time, the wisest counselor of all, Pericles said.

Then are you going to do nothing?

It is not for you to dictate military policy. For that I have summoned the generals.

But a long siege will only waste time and money, and will cost more lives.

Pericles frowned. There is food awaiting you. Summon the servants to serve you when you have changed. He turned and walked away with the generals.

Angry at his uncle’s curt dismissal, he turned to Aspasia. I know I’m right!

You’ll have time enough to dictate policy, Alcibiades, she smiled. You are still young. Pericles rules now, remember.

And is deaf to good advice.

Perhaps, but why concern yourself with it today? You should be celebrating your homecoming with your friends.

The mention of celebrating dispelled his dark mood and he said excitedly, Aspasia, can I bring them here tonight for a banquet? Let’s make it a magnificent one, with Samian wine, and flute girls.

I’m sorry, she said. Not tonight. Pericles had Evangelus order only enough food for our household and the generals. You know how careful he is of household finances. Besides, a party would be distracting to him when he intends to spend the night discussing war policy with the generals. Perhaps another night."

But there would be no other night, he knew. Although he had lived six years in Pericles’ household, he was still but his uncle’s ward, not a member of the family. Pericles’ sons could entertain, but there was not room for his friends. He went to his room, removed his armor, and called for some bread and wine. Then changing into a white linen chiton and tossing a purple himation over his shoulder, he left without speaking to Aspasia or Pericles again.

Alcibiades headed for the palaestra of Taurus for a shower and some exercise, but instead of going the way he had come, he took a longer route back to the center of town. On a narrow, winding side street he stopped before a small but rich-looking house. It was here that he had lived with his mother until her brother Pericles took him into his household. His mother had lived here until her death two years ago, and he wanted to see the house again. He sat down on the stone threshold, thinking of his mother and his father.

He had not thought of his father in a long time, but Aspasia’s words had brought back memories from his childhood. His father would have been proud of him, she had said. He remembered the day he last saw his father Clinias. He was but a boy of five then, and they lived on the large family estate outside the city walls. Clinias had been dressed in full armor that day, his bronze corselet covering his short, red tunic, bronze greaves on his legs, his high, crested helmet hiding his thick blonde hair. He had not been able to find his son that morning, and had finally sent a servant to search for him. When the servant brought him to his father, Alcibiades could see Clinias was angry.

Where have you been all morning?

Ou – ou –out in the m –m –meadow with th- the horthis.

Speak up. Out with the horses, wasting time? Why haven’t you been practicing with the javelin as I showed you?

"I-I-I did it yethterday."

Clinias turned to his wife. See that he practices and exercises daily while I am away. We can at least make him into a warrior or an athlete. He will be no leader, that’s for certain, when he can’t even speak properly. Clinias looked at him. My only son. I expected great things from him. With my family’s wealth and your heritage he could have risen to power and high position in Athens, if not for his speech affliction.

Clinias was wealthy enough to have outfitted a warship at his own expense, and it awaited him. He kissed his wife goodbye and tousled his son’s fair hair. Then he was off to fight the Boetians. He never returned.

He and his mother Dinomache moved into town then, and although their house was small, Alcibiades never wanted for anything. At school he was always the boy with the most silver drachmas in his purse. But only his mother knew the long hours he spent alone in his room reading Homer aloud, delivering speeches to the empty walls, struggling to overcome his speech defect. He did finally over come it, except for the trace of a tendency to pause at intervals as he spoke, a habit which seemed to make people listen more attentively to him.

Alcibiades had spent a free and undisciplined boyhood, and Dinomache’s laxness served to increase his boldness and independence. He smiled as he remembered the day he and Phaedrus had given their paedagogi the slip on the way to school one day. They spent a blissful day wandering about the barrels and packing cases on the quays, climbing on the decks of the merchant ships, and imagining themselves sailors traveling to far ports. Phaedrus had been soundly thrashed when he got home, but Alcibiades had not been punished. Whatever he wanted, Dinomache allowed. If she were here today, there would be a welcome awaiting him and a celebration. She would have applauded his bravery, praised his keen mind and determination, listened to his ambitions and encouraged him.

He remembered the day she had told him he would be ruler of Athens. It was the day she had first taken him to his uncle Pericles. He was freshly bathed and combed and clothed in a new white linen chiton. It was a hot sultry day in August, and he was impatiently waiting for his mother outside the door when two boys sauntered down the street toward him—Androcles and Autolychus, two bullies who terrorized the school. Both of them were dirty and unkempt, dressed in the rough woolen tunics of the working class. Seeing Alcibiades so finely dressed, they began to mock him.

Look at the little aristocrat in his fancy clothes, Androcles sneered.

Autolychus laughed. He must think he is some king’s son.

Daughter, rather. He looks like a girl with his pretty face and his clothes.

Alcibiades grabbed the front of Androcles’ tunic. Take that back or I’ll show you how much of a girl I am."

Then Androcles scooped up a handful of dust from the dry street and threw it in Alcibiades’ face and on the front of his white chiton. Furious, Alcibiades began pummeling Androcles fiercely. It was a foolish move, he realized a moment later, for Androcles was twenty pounds heavier than he, and at twelve already showed promise of being one of Athens’ top athletes. Androcles punched him in the face and in a few minutes had him on the ground. They rolled and struggled in the dust, but the heavier boy soon had Alcibiades pinned down. Seeing him defenseless, Autolychus kicked him in the face, then in the side.

The pain of the blows only incensed Alcibiades more, and he kicked and twisted and struggled to get free. But even though he exerted his greatest strength he could not get out from under the heavy body of Androcles. Then suddenly Alcibiades lifted his head and turned and sunk his teeth into his opponent’s arm. With a cry of pain, Androcles saw the blood running from his arm and sprang to his feet.

You fight like a woman, Alcibiades.

No, rather like a lion, and Alcibiades leaped up and sent a blow crashing into his adversary’s right eye. Crying and cursing, his hand over his bruised eye, Androcles stumbled away.

Alcibiades turned to Autolychus. Shall I show you now how much like a girl I fight? Autolychus didn’t stop to answer, but ran off after his companion without even a backward look. That boyhood encounter began what became a lifelong enmity between Androcles and me, Alcibiades thought.. Over the years he has taken every opportunity he could to belittle me and damage my reputation.

When he and his mother reached Pericles’ house that day, although Alcibiades had washed and changed, the bruises on his face and arms did not escape his uncle’s notice. Pericles questioned him about them. Alcibiades was not shy or hesitant, but gave him a full and honest account of the fight.

Pericles rarely smiled, but as Alcibiades narrated his escapade, a grin spread across his face. When Alcibiades told of how he bit Androcles, Pericles laughed and put his arm across the boy’s shoulder.

With determination like that, you’ll go far one day, he said. If you were not so young, I would fear being outstripped and unseated one day by my own nephew. Now listen to me. Winning is not enough, Alcibiades. You must win fairly—or at least give the appearance of it—if you hope to gain the affection and the support of others. And I think you could use some lessons in boxing.

He turned to Dinomache. Send the boy to me each day after school. I will see that he learns not only boxing, but horsemanship, wrestling, and armed combat from my sons’ trainers. He is not too young to start learning the arts all men must know. And if he is to be a leader one day, he must begin his training early to surpass others.

Alcibiades smiled as he remembered how elated Dinomache was when they left Pericles’ house. The gods must have provided you with that black eye and those bruises today, she laughed. You are in their favor, for nothing could have impressed Pericles more. Then she grew serious. This is the beginning, son. Learn well what Pericles teaches you, and you will be ruler of Athens one day. It is your birthright.

For more than a year Alcibiades went daily to Pericles’ house or to his stables for training in fighting and horsemanship. He did so well that Pericles finally asked that Dinomache allow him to become part of his household so that his training could be more extensive and he could instruct him in the arts of government as well. He recognized the boy’s intelligence, his courage, his perseverance. Always cognizant of the problems of transition of power and aware that his own sons had not capabilities to rule Athens alone, he thought that Alcibiades might form a triumvirate with them, he had said. Together they would be strong enough to rule Athens competently and keep it secure from enemies without and her demagogues within. Although Dinomache grieved at losing her son, she realized Pericles’ offer assured son’s future.

He visited her often after he went to live with Pericles, and they were closer in those years than ever before, especially after Dinomache became ill. The sickness had begun as just a simple cough, but then it grew worse and Dinomache became feverish. None of the physicians Pericles sent could find a remedy. Finally Dinomache began to cough up blood and was confined to her bed. As she grew weaker, Alcibiades was at her side every day, although Dinomache had servants enough to tend her. He would administer her medicines, not trusting the servants to measure dosages accurately, and he had her favorite dishes prepared in the hope of stimulating her waning appetite. His lessons in horsemanship, government, and self-defense were forgotten, as Alcibiades spent days and even nights at his mother’s bedside. But Pericles understood, and even came several times to visit Dinomache and offer what assistance he could.

Faithfully Alcibiades had tended the altars to Zeus and Athena those last months. His mother had always been devout and punctual in offering daily sacrifices and prayers to the gods. From his early childhood he could remember her each morning at the altar of Zeus in their home, kindling the flame and offering some choice bit of meat, or pouring wine into the fire, as she prayed for the health and success of her son.

In those last weeks of his mother’s life, he had offered prayers and sacrifices every day entreating the gods to make his mother well again. He made a special trip to the shrine of Aesculapius, the god of healing, on the Acropolis, to pray for her. But his prayers were in vain. Six months after she developed the sickness, Dinomache died.

He remembered her racking cough and her cries for help before she died. But there was no help anywhere, he thought, not even from the gods. And in his grief and anger he smothered the fire on the altar of Zeus and smashed their statue of Athena. The servants had been horrified, he recalled, and prophesied all kinds of dire things—that the house would be struck by lightning, that he would be rendered blind because of his sacrilege. But none of it happened. It didn’t matter if you prayed to the gods or insulted them, Alcibiades had thought as he walked in his mother’s funeral procession. They didn’t exist. They were but figments of man’s imagination, a way for him to