The Treasure

A small reception party waited to greet us: two priests and two priestesses wearing chitons of bright material that reached to their feet and covered their arms. It wasn’t the sort of garb anyone would willingly don on a hot summer day, despite which all four smiled at our arrival. Beside them stood a man who was dressed in faded robes of gray, and with a hood pulled over his head. He carried a long staff, which he did not lean upon, but held like a badge of office. He looked out of place beside the others.

At the head of this group was another man, dressed as colorfully as the priests but older, balding, and with an air of command about him. He smiled broadly as I helped Diotima onto dry land. His smile faltered as Diotima began to walk, or rather waddle, down the pier. The smile fell a little further with every step she took.

“My name is Anaxinos,” he said, when we stopped before him. He spoke politely. “It is my honor to serve as High Priest of the Delian Apollo, and therefore Archon of the Sacred Isle.” He paused, then asked, “Are you the priestess sent by Athens?”

“I am,” Diotima said in a clear voice with a lift of her chin. “My name is Diotima.”

Anaxinos glanced down at her maternal state.

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, young lady, but please tell me you won’t be staying with us for long.” He said it kindly, but the message couldn’t be clearer.

“I am somewhat aware of the problem,” Diotima said drily. “I’ve been assured that the dedication of the offerings is a matter of days.”

“That is true,” the High Priest agreed.

“Then there is little chance of . . . er . . . an accident while I am here, and in any case I was chosen by the Goddess.”

Anaxinos raised an eyebrow at that. “Your High Priestess in Athens agreed?”

“She did.”

Diotima described how her name had been drawn from the jar, in the traditional process of casting the lots to select the priestess to accompany the gifts.

“They thought it must be some error, when the lot was drawn with my name upon it,” Diotima admitted. “They threw my name back in. The High Priestess herself shook the jar, very thoroughly, and drew again. When my name emerged a second time, it was decided that such a message from Artemis was impossible to ignore.”

Diotima had told the truth, while neatly glossing over just how controversial her appointment had been. This assignment to accompany the offerings to Delos was a prestigious one. When her name was read the first time there had been gasps from the other priestesses. The women could see the bump beneath Diotima’s clothing and knew what it meant, and they knew better than anyone that it was strictly forbidden for life to begin or end upon the sacred isle. The muttering had been so intense that the result was checked, but there was no doubt about it. For whatever reason, this year the Goddess had chosen Diotima to represent her.

“Your name came out twice?” Anaxinos said. “How very apposite for the divine twins, and as you say, impossible to ignore. Well, we shall make your stay with us as comfortable as possible.” The High Priest turned to me. “You are the lady’s husband?”

It was an easy guess, because it was inconceivable that a woman as respectable as Diotima should travel without her husband.

“I am Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus,” I said, by way of introduction.

“Just so,” he said, polite but uninterested. “You are welcome.”

The smiles of the priests and priestesses had not faltered during this conversation, but the gray man with the staff stared at Diotima with an odd expression. I guessed he did not like what he saw.

Behind us, the men had begun to unload the sacred offerings. They were particularly rich this year. Golden vessels, cast as household items too good for any house but that of the gods; the finest black figure pottery, which only Athens knows how to make; silver jewelry set in cases crafted by the most skillful artisans; a large portrait of Apollo and Artemis set upon solid board, by the famous painter Stephanos of Vitale; life-size statues of the divine twins, cast in bronze and painted for the utmost realism. For the priests and priestesses who dedicated their lives to honoring Apollo and Artemis, we had brought the finest food that Athens could provide. Amphora after amphora was stacked upon the pier, until I thought the decking must break under the weight: there was the best wine; and olives, for which Athens was famous, grown from the ancient vine that had been planted by Athena herself; fruits and vegetables in preservative; lambs on a tether, and enough of the always popular garos fish sauce to feed a small army.

The smile of Anaxinos returned when he saw these things.

Diotima spoke the formal words that she had been taught back in Athens. “I present to you, priests and priestesses of the Holy Isle, these small symbols of Athenian piety.”

“You are doubly welcome for the gifts you bring,” Anaxinos said.

“And especially for the food,” muttered one of the priests in the background.

The other men and women, even the gray man, nodded in appreciation. It seemed that all was good in the eyes of the holy people.

“My colleagues will escort you to the sanctuary,” Anaxinos said. “The sacred offerings will be installed in one of the treasury rooms, to await their dedication. Rest assured there is no more secure location in all of Hellas; the treasury of the Delian League is kept in the same place. The ceremony is scheduled for the day after tomorrow, to give you time to rest after the journey. We have a guest house prepared for you at the village.”

“That is thoughtful,” Diotima said.

“The village is at the other end of the island, I’m afraid. There’s a rule against living within sight of the sanctuary. We didn’t anticipate a pregnant lady. I’ll order a donkey brought so you don’t have to walk.”

“Thank you.”

I was impressed. The High Priest had everything in hand, and a ready solution for an unexpected problem. This man was a good manager.

He said, “The village is also where the stores are located. I’ll ask your men to take the food and general goods straight there. One of the priests will show them the way.”

“You are well organized,” I commented.

“We do this every year,” he said. “For you, this is perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the most holy sanctuary in Hellas, the very birthplace of two gods. For us, this is our lifeline to civilization. The quality of what you bring defines our lives for the next year.”

That certainly was a good explanation for the avaricious way the priests and priestesses had inspected the food as it was unloaded.

“Then I hope we have not disappointed you,” I said.

“Athens has never disappointed us.”

I hoped that wasn’t about to change.

Anaxinos looked out to sea, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun, to where the fleet of triremes stood off from the shore. I could tell from the movement of his lips that he was counting.

“Tell me,” he asked, “Are you two young people of importance back in Athens, to have such an escort?”

Diotima looked at me, and I looked at her. Neither of us wanted to deliver the news.

“Uh, not exactly,” I said.

“Those ships are nothing to do with me or my sacred task,” Diotima said flatly.

Anaxinos didn’t seem to notice my wife’s tone. “This is the first time in many years that I have seen so many warships off our island. Not even for meetings of the League do we see so much power assembled. Is Athens at war with someone? Where are they headed?”

The Athenian fleet chose that moment to land. There was only one pier, but that didn’t matter; triremes are designed to be beached wherever the crew can find enough sand. The ships slid onto the beach as they are designed to do. Their crews jumped over the sides to secure the boats with long ropes. This continued all along the sandy coast.

“What in Hades do they think they’re doing?” Anaxinos said. He sounded more incredulous than worried.

One boat didn’t beach like the others. It glided up to the other side of the pier at which Paralos had docked. I happened to know the name of that trireme: Harpy. Paralos and Harpy faced those of us on land, side by side, with only the narrow wooden pier to separate them. Their battering ram prows pointed straight at us.

A man stepped off the new arrival. It was Pericles. He had carefully eschewed anything that smacked of the military. He wore no armor, but was dressed as formally as the High Priest, though the color of his clothing was more somber, the grays and reds of a man on a state mission. The chiton that Pericles wore covered him from ankles to wrists; across his shoulders he wore a himation of finest linen (his usual woolen one would have been far too hot in this weather); upon his head was a wide-brimmed hat that might have been for shade, but which I knew he wore to conceal his oddly elongated head. Pericles had always been sensitive about the shape of his head.

“Pericles?” Anaxinos said in astonishment.

Pericles took the High Priest’s hands in his own, clasped them warmly and said, “Anaxinos, High Priest of Delos, I greet you. You are looking well.”

Pericles’s voice was pleasant, and rich in timbre. Pericles’s voice was as famous as the man himself. There were those who said the secret of his success was his ability to enchant anyone who heard him speak.

It was apparent that these two already knew each other, which on reflection was no surprise. Pericles and Anaxinos must have sat together at meetings of the League.

“I rejoice to see you, Pericles, as always,” Anaxinos said, though his manner betrayed his confusion. “But what are you doing here?”

“A difficult situation has arisen, my friend,” Pericles said. Then he delivered the news that had shaken all of Athens, when word had arrived from the south not ten days before. “I regret to tell you that the Persians have retaken Egypt.”

“So we had heard, even here on isolated Delos,” Anaxinos said. “Do you go to fight the enemy?”

“They are too strong,” Pericles said. “So much so that we fear the opposite. The Persians could assemble a powerful fleet and attack the southern islands of the Delian League.”

“Which includes Delos itself,” Anaxinos said. He rubbed his chin in thought. “So you have come to protect the Holy Isle.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Pericles said smoothly. “In order to protect the members of the League we must have ships, and armaments for fighting men. We must have shield factories and shipyards.”

“Yes, of course,” said Anaxinos. “That is why we in the sanctuary maintain the treasury of the League, to pay for these things.”

“Yet here on Delos, the treasury is exposed. Think upon it, Anaxinos,” Pericles said. “The Persians could send a fleet to sack Delos and steal the treasury. The danger to your people is great, the danger to the funds even greater. So it is that we have come to remove the treasury of the Delian League,” Pericles said. “We’re taking it with us back to Athens.”

The priests and priestesses who heard these words exclaimed in horror. Anaxinos turned white, despite the sun. For a moment I thought he would faint. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “You cannot!”

“I must insist,” Pericles said.

“Have you discussed this with the other member states?” Anaxinos demanded.

“The need is urgent. The time required to confer is too great,” Pericles said. “I’m sure you can see that. We must act.”

The other priests and priestesses were glancing at each other in dismay. The priest in gray shook his staff.

“Then we must resist you,” Anaxinos said.

“Resist?” Pericles said. He sounded surprised, and there was a shade of hurt in his voice. “My dear Anaxinos, this highly esteemed Sanctuary of Apollo has been an excellent custodian of the League funds, but a custodian only. The time has come for another to bear the burden.”

Anaxinos looked uncertain.

“It is the safety of Delos that concerns us,” Pericles said, pressing his advantage. “While the League treasury resides here, it is a temptation to any force strong enough to attack.”

Anaxinos reluctantly nodded at these true words. He opened his mouth to speak.

But now the man in the gray robe stepped forward. He flung back his hood to reveal a short, grizzled beard, bright, angry eyes, and a stern, disapproving mouth. He beat his staff upon the ground until he had everyone’s attention.

“I am Geros, the oldest priest, most versed in knowledge of the Gods, and the final authority on matters of temple doctrine, and I say that you cannot do this thing.”

“Why is that, sir?” Pericles asked. I knew Pericles had a poor opinion of self-proclaimed experts, but he made an effort to keep his voice polite.

“Because it is heresy!” The old priest shook his staff in anger. “There is no greater crime than to remove treasure from a sanctuary. This all men know.”

“And if the Persians attack you, as I fear?” Pericles asked.

“Then Divine Apollo shall protect us, as he always has,” Geros said.

Personally I had more faith in Pericles’s fifty triremes, but it would have been in bad taste to say so to the ancient priest.

Geros raised his staff and pointed it straight at Pericles. “Depart this place, before you do more harm.”

“What harm?” Pericles demanded.

“When you come with such thoughts, you pollute the sanctuary by your very presence. I say to you, depart.”

At these words several of the priests and priestesses shook their fists.

At that same moment, the sailors from Paralos walked past, carrying the sumptuous supply of food for the island.

“Shall we take with us the gifts and the food, too?” Pericles asked. “I remind you that for a century or more now, it is Athens that has supported Delos with our food and our gifts.”

“So now you threaten to starve us?” Geros accused.

“I never said any such thing!” Now Pericles was losing his temper.

“Gentlemen!” said Anaxinos. He held up his hands to stop the argument. “Let there be peace here. We are all men of good will.” He turned to the elder priest. “Geros, I am sure that Pericles has our welfare at heart.”

Geros looked like he doubted that very much. He said nothing but, “Hmmpf.”

Anaxinos then turned to Pericles. “Pericles, you must understand that what you propose is contrary to twenty-five years of custom, and that your actions are arbitrary and unexpected. But I have thought about it as you spoke, and there is a path forward. I shall announce a full meeting of the Delian League. Every member is to vote. If the member states agree, then you shall have the treasury.”

That seemed fair. The priests and priestesses nodded.

“And how long will that take?” Pericles objected. “There are one hundred and forty-eight member states!”

“A matter of mere days if they travel with all speed—as you know perfectly well—and when the other cities learn what you’re up to I’m sure they will make great haste to be here.”

“Days to arrive, perhaps,” Pericles said, “followed by months of endless wrangling. You know how these meetings go, Anaxinos. Men talk and talk, and in the end do nothing. What if the Persians attack in the meantime?”

“With your fifty triremes on station?” Anaxinos scoffed.

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Pericles said. He seemed to have regained his self-control. He sounded icy calm. “I point out that you are a village of priests. Whereas we are a fleet stronger than any other. I think that Delos must be sensible about this.”

Everyone present gasped. That was an open threat, laid bare for all to hear. Athens had the power to take this money, so Athens would take it.

This encounter hadn’t gone quite the way Pericles had promised me. Back in Athens, when he had told me of his plan, he had assured me that he would persuade the priests of Apollo.

“I will bring them to see reason. They are but priests, and I am the greatest orator in the world,” Pericles had said with a complete lack of modesty but a good deal of truth.

Anaxinos, however, had a ready answer to Pericles’s rhetoric. The High Priest, who had seemed such a nice man, punched Pericles in the face.