even unto death. In any case, I believe that if our fate hung on it, the sailors and hoplites would be content-glad, in fact!-to serve without recompense. Before Salamis, did Themistocles question how many obols would purchase salvation from the barbarian? Not at all! Nicias is not unique in the sincerity of his patriotism. If I did not know better, I would say he’s insulted all of us with his self-serving calculations! You there, wouldn’t you serve without pay?”
Cleon was pointing at a fellow assemblyman in the front row. The stubble-cheeked man, who seemed hardly out of his twenties, was struck dumb by all the attention suddenly focused on him. Opening his mouth, he stammered. Cleon clasped his hands together in a mock imploring gesture that could be read from the back of the crowd.
“Come now, my friend! Don’t make a liar of me!”
“Of course I would serve!” the young man finally cried.
“Good boy!” Cleon winked. “Magistrates, dock his salary next time he’s in uniform… What’s a few lost drachmas for a man so rich in patriotism?”
More gales of laughter. Cleon was in good form that day. Meanwhile, Nicias scowled, pulling his head down in a manner that made his ears level with his shoulders.
“Yes, perhaps the day will come when men measure out all that is valuable in gold and silver. How convenient it would be, to search our hearts for virtue and know where to look-in the columns and figures of men like Nicias! Perhaps that day will come at last, long after the beating heart of Athens is stilled, when her legacy is scattered, and these stones bleached and cold. But by the looks on your faces now, my fellow citizens, I can tell that day is not here yet!”
He had the whole crowd now, from one side of the precinct to the other. As standing silent then, glowering, would have been less than politic, Nicias and his coterie joined in the ovation.
“As for the Lacedaemonians…” Cleon began, but stopped when jeers erupted from the vicinity of the Acharnians. “As for the Lacedaemonians… I tell you that what I feel toward them this morning is not the rage I expected. No, my friends, I feel instead a deep sadness for them, as I would feel for any Greeks who struggle with an implacable enemy. For I tell you that the real enemy of the Spartans is not Athens…”
He was interrupted again by voices from the right, crying “no!”; others showed their dissent by whistling and clapping their hands over their ears. The rest of the crowd was variously amused and annoyed by the partisans. Cleon raised his hand for quiet.
“No, their real foe is not Athens at all. Rather, it is the affliction of their own overwhelming arrogance! For how else may we understand what pours from the mouth of Isidas? Listen to him when he lectures us, ‘that the mighty one day may be laid low the next.’ In what other way may free people hear this than as a veiled threat? Yes, Isidas, Fortune has a way of shifting allegiance, but she favors us today, not you! It is our boot that presses the neck of your men on the island. For this reason, by the gods, you will treat with us now, and spare us your bullying!”
He paused to invite the Assembly to cheer. A large proportion did, as they typically did for self-gratifying bluster.
“Equally as telling, recall when he said that ‘with Athens and Lacedaemon in accord, what state in Greece may stand against us?’ That he happened to speak correctly in that instance is immaterial-skilled liars know how to bend the occasional truth to their purposes. What should concern us all, rather, is the ambition it implies, that the Spartans clearly wish to dominate Greece and, incidentally, that Athens might figure as junior partner in their plans. Is this not the kind of arrogance we would expect from these Lacedaemonians who, alone among the Greeks, offend the gods by enslaving other Greeks? We might well ask the good men of Messenia how the fetters of Spartan hegemony feel on their wrists…!”
Cleon had begun now to use his trademark theatrics-screeching, raising both arms in supplication, grasping the tufts of hair that remained on his head. The crowd watched for the appearance of these like the return of long- lost friends.
“… We might ask the Laconian helots, who have been slaves so long they have forgotten to aspire to freedom! Are men such as Isidas in any position to advise the people of Athens, who sprung from this ground as free men and forsake it only when they return to it as dust, what the wisdom of free men should lead us to do!”- Cleon flailed his thigh-“What does a hungry cur stalking the barrens know of the heart of a noble eagle?”-Cleon stalked jackal-like across the rostrum, then ripped open his tunic to bare his freedom-loving breast-“Nothing, I say! And again, I tell you, nothing! And a third time, I deny them the right to speak for me!” With escalating force, Cleon pounded his chest with his fist.
He had by now titillated the Assembly into a state of precarious complacence. Like a crowd filing past an overturned carriage on the road or someone else’s botched blood sacrifice, it felt both superior to the danger and direly sensitive to its sting. The question of what to do with this paradoxical tension could only be answered by what Cleon would say next.
“If we understand all this, what need have we of Isidas’ estimate of what Fortune has in store? Little, if anything, I say! The Lacedaemonians, of all people, who have offended the gods so thoroughly, have no right to expect a reversal of Fortune anytime soon. Be humble, Athenians, they say-don’t dare reach for something more. How easy it is for them to dispense advice, with their homes intact, their fields and orchards unburned! Before we avail ourselves of their sagacity, let us seek counsel with the Decelean children, the widows of Thriasia, the piteous Acharnians…!”
The response from the right made it impossible for Cleon to be heard. As he waited for the Acharnians to subside, he stood with head slightly bent, glowering from under his eyebrows.
“Grasp for something more? I say, why not? For just as we will bear any price to prevail, we will never stint on securing the best for our children. For their blood on the field, for their suffering from plague, for their freedom, the Athenians should accept the following terms and nothing less…”
Someone in the front row handed him a scroll. He unrolled it, but his eyes never looked down as he recited the terms he had so evidently memorized.
“First demand: the warships released by the Lacedaemonians for the period of the current truce will belong forthwith to Athens. Second demand: the entire garrison on the island of Sphacteria must surrender themselves into our custody. These will be held as hostages for the third stipulation, which is the return of certain territories, including the cities of Pegae, Nisaea, Troezen, and the treaty lands in Achaea. Finally, the enemy will then agree to embark on good-faith negotiations over a permanent settlement, which must in any case leave intact our hegemony in the Aegean. Only at that point, when the treaty is in effect and all Peloponnesian forces have withdrawn from the vicinity of Pylos, will the Athenians relinquish their position there and return the captives.
“It may seem to some that this is a lengthy set of conditions for peace. To those people I say-what is the alternative? Shall we give away all advantage at the outset, before we have gained anything from the considerable expense we have already incurred? Is that any way to negotiate? I have been in contact by letter with our general in Pylos, Demosthenes, who assures me that our position there is strong. Let us therefore dare to be worthy of our soldiers’ audacity! Let us have the courage to allow freedom to triumph! On such faith, the gods cannot fail to look with favor.”
4.
For the conclusion of his speech Cleon had gradually moderated his volume, bringing the Assembly down from frenzy to merely a heightened state of apprehension. A motion was put forth to approve Cleon’s demands for presentation to the envoys. It passed by acclamation, with massive support from the right and the middle, and sullen acquiescence on the left.
The envoys were escorted back to hear the terms of the Athenians. These were read by the herald in the same order that Cleon proposed them. Isidas, impassive, looked at neither Cleon nor Nicias, and didn’t take the wreath when the herald offered it. Instead, a parade of irate speakers took the rostrum, demanding that the Lacedaemonians not withdraw to confer, but make their reply right away. The clamor rose steadily, until Isidas looked at his colleagues with resignation: though the terms were impossible, they would have to say something or risk failure by their silence.
