Plutarch · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
On the excellence of women, Clea, I do not hold the same opinion as Thucydides. He declares that woman to be best about whom there is the least talk, whether of blame or of praise, among people outside her household—as though he thought that a good woman's body, and her name as well, ought to be kept shut in and never go abroad. To us Gorgias seems the more refined, when he bids that not a woman's appearance but her reputation be known to many. But best of all, I think, is the practice of the Romans, who, like men, give women too a public eulogy of the honors due them after death. That is why, when the excellent Leontis died, you and I straightaway had a long conversation, one not without the comfort that philosophy affords; and now, as you wished, I have set down for you in writing the rest of what was said then, in support of the claim that the virtue of a man and of a woman is one and the same. The essay is argumentative in its use of history, and it is not composed for the pleasure of the ear; yet if the delight natural to the examples themselves attends the process of persuasion, my argument does not shrink from accepting the Graces as helpers toward proof, nor is it ashamed to mingle the Graces with the Muses in that loveliest of unions, as Euripides calls it, drawing its credibility above all from the soul's love of beauty.
Consider: if, in maintaining that the art of painting is the same for men and for women, we were to produce such paintings of women as Apelles or Zeuxis or Nicomachus have left us, would anyone find fault with us for aiming more at charm and entertainment than at persuasion? I think not. What then? If, in turn, declaring that poetry or prophecy is not one thing for men and another for women but the very same thing, we were to set the songs of Sappho beside those of Anacreon, or the oracles of the Sibyl beside those of Bacis, would anyone be justified in faulting the proof on the ground that it brings the hearer to conviction by way of pleasure and delight? You could not say that either.
And indeed there is no better way to learn the likeness and the difference between the courage of women and that of men than by comparing lives with lives and deeds with deeds, as one sets side by side the works of a great art, and asking whether the greatness of Semiramis' achievements bears the same character and stamp as that of Sesostris, or the wisdom of Tanaquil the same as that of king Servius, or the high spirit of Porcia the same as that of Brutus, and that of Timocleia the same as that of Pelopidas—judging by the most essential common quality and power. For the virtues do indeed take on certain other differences, like distinctive colorings, from the natures that bear them, and they come to resemble the underlying customs, bodily temperaments, upbringings, and ways of life: Achilles was brave in one way, Ajax in another; the good sense of Odysseus was not like that of Nestor; Cato and Agesilaus were not just in the same fashion; Irene did not love her husband as Alcestis did, nor was Cornelia high-minded as Olympias was. But we ought not, on this account, to make courage and good sense and justice into many different things, so long as the particular differences in each case do not carry them away from the sense proper to the word itself.
The most celebrated deeds, then, and those histories which I think you already know well and with certainty from your reading, I shall pass over—except for any that may have escaped the notice of those who wrote before us on subjects common and widely known. Since many notable things have been done by women both collectively and individually, it will do no harm to give a brief preliminary account of some of the collective ones.
Of those who escaped from Troy at its capture, most encountered a storm, and, through inexperience of the voyage and ignorance of the sea, were carried off to Italy; and having with difficulty put in near the river Tiber, at anchorages and havens forced upon them by necessity, the men themselves wandered about the countryside in need of guides, while into the women's minds came the thought that any settlement on land whatsoever is better, for people faring well and happily, than all this wandering and seafaring, and that they must make a homeland for themselves, since they could not recover the one they had lost. Acting on this thought, they agreed together and burned the ships, one woman—Roma, as they say—having begun it. Having done this, they went to meet their men, who were hurrying to the shore in anger; and fearing their wrath, some clasping their husbands, others their kinsmen, and kissing them fervently, they softened them by this show of affection. That is why it has become, and still remains, a custom among Roman women to greet their male relatives with a kiss. For the Trojans, understanding, it seems, the necessity of the case, and at the same time finding the local people kindly and humane in receiving them, welcomed what the women had done and settled there together with the Latins.
The affair of the Phocians has not found a distinguished historian, yet it is inferior in courage to none of the deeds performed by women, and it is attested by great rites which the Phocians still perform to this day around Hyampolis, and by ancient decrees, of which the particulars concerning the men's action are recorded in the Life of Daiphantus; the women's part was as follows. There was an implacable war between the Thessalians and the Phocians: the latter had killed all the rulers and tyrants set over them in the Phocian cities in a single day, while the former had beaten to death two hundred and fifty of their hostages, and then invaded in full force through Locris, having passed a decree to spare none of military age, but to enslave the children and women. Daiphantus, son of Bathyllius, one of three chief magistrates, persuaded the Phocians that the men themselves should go out and meet the Thessalians in battle, while the women, together with the children, should be gathered from all Phocis into a single place, surrounded with a pile of wood, and left under guard, with orders that, if it were perceived that the men were being defeated, the wood should be kindled at once and the bodies burned. When the rest voted for this, one man stood up and said it was only just that the women too should be consulted about it; if they did not agree, they should be let alone and not compelled. When this proposal reached the women, they met together by themselves and voted the very same thing, and crowned Daiphantus for having counseled the best course for Phocis; and it is said that the children too, holding an assembly of their own, voted the same. When this had been done, the Phocians engaged the enemy near Cleonae in the territory of Hyampolis and won. The Greeks called this decree of the Phocians the Desperate Resolve, and to this day they celebrate the Elaphebolia, the greatest of all festivals, in honor of Artemis at Hyampolis for that victory.
The Chians colonized Leuconia for the following reason. A man of Chios who was thought to be of good family was marrying; and as the bride was being conveyed on a wagon, King Hippoclus, who was a friend of the bridegroom's and present like the rest, in the midst of the drinking and laughter, jumped up onto the wagon, meaning nothing outrageous but following common custom and playful jest; but the friends of the bridegroom killed him. When signs of divine wrath appeared to the Chians, and the god commanded that those who had killed the killers of Hippoclus should themselves be put to death, everyone claimed to have killed Hippoclus. The god then ordered all of them to leave the city, since all shared in the pollution. So they exiled to Leuconia those responsible for the murder and those who had taken part in it or in any way approved of it—no small number, and not weak men either. This was a place the Coroneans had earlier taken from others and settled together with the Erythraeans. Later, when a war broke out between them and the Erythraeans, then the most powerful of the Ionians, and the Erythraeans marched against Leuconia, the Chians there, unable to hold out, agreed to leave under truce, each man permitted only a single cloak and one other garment, and nothing more. The women reviled them for this, saying that it was shameful to give up their arms and go out naked through the enemy; and when the men said they were bound by oath, the women told them not to leave behind their weapons, but to say to the enemy that the spear was their cloak, and the shield their tunic, for a man of spirit. The Chians, persuaded by this, spoke boldly to the Erythraeans and displayed their weapons; and the Erythraeans, fearing their daring, sent no one against them and raised no hindrance, but were glad to see them depart. These men, then, taught to be bold by their women, were saved in this way.
An achievement no less than this in courage, though occurring many years later, was performed by the women of Chios, when Philip, son of Demetrius, besieging their city, issued a barbarous and arrogant proclamation, inviting the household slaves to desert to him on promise of freedom and marriage to their mistresses, as though he would settle them together with the wives of their masters. At this the women, seized with a terrible and fierce anger, together with the household slaves themselves—who shared their indignation and stood by them—rushed to mount the walls, bringing up stones and missiles, cheering on and clinging close to the fighters, and finally, defending themselves and hurling weapons at the enemy, they drove Philip back, not a single slave having deserted to him at all.
No less renowned than these collective achievements of women is the struggle against Cleomenes for Argos, which the women fought, urged on by Telesilla the poetess. It is said that she, though of a distinguished family, was sickly in body, and sent to the god concerning her health; and the oracle given her was to cultivate the Muses. Obeying the god, and applying herself to song and music, she was quickly freed of her ailment and came to be admired by the women for her poetic skill. When Cleomenes, the king of the Spartans, having killed many men—though not, as some fabulously relate, seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven—was advancing on the city, an extraordinary impulse and daring came upon the women in the prime of life, to defend their fatherland against the enemy. With Telesilla leading them, they took up arms, and standing at the battlements, ringed the walls all about, so that the enemy marveled. Cleomenes they repulsed, with many of his men falling; and the other king, Demaratus, as Socrates says, who had gotten inside and seized the Pamphyliacum, they drove out; and the city being thus saved, they buried the women who had fallen in the battle along the Argive road, and gave to the survivors, as a memorial of their valor, the privilege of setting up a statue of Enyalius. The battle, some say, took place on the seventh of the month then rising, others on the new moon of the month now called the fourth, but anciently the month of Hermes among the Argives, on which day to this present they celebrate the Hybristica, dressing the women in men's tunics and cloaks, and the men in women's robes and veils. And to remedy the shortage of men, they did not, as Herodotus relates, give the women to their slaves, but made citizens of the best of the perioeci and married the women to them; and these men, it seems, the women thought slighted and looked down upon in the marriage bed as inferior to themselves. Hence they made a law requiring married women, when they lay down with their husbands, to wear a false beard.
When Cyrus led the Persians in revolt from Astyages, king of the Medes, he was defeated in battle, and as the Persians fled into the city, with the enemy close behind about to burst in with them, the women came out before the city and, lifting their garments from below, said, "Where are you fleeing to, basest of all men? You cannot sink down here and hide, back to the place you came from." Shamed at once by this sight and by these words, the Persians reproached themselves, turned back, and, joining battle anew, routed the enemy. From this arose the custom, established by law of Cyrus, that whenever the king rode into the city, each woman received a gold piece. Ochus, they say, who besides his other faults was the most avaricious of kings, always rode around the city and never entered it, so as to deprive the women of the gift; but Alexander entered it twice, and to women who were pregnant gave a double portion.
Among the Celts, before they crossed the Alps and settled in that part of Italy which they now occupy, a terrible and hard-to-quell civil strife broke out and grew into civil war. The women, placing themselves in the midst of the armed men, took up the quarrels and arbitrated and judged them so blamelessly that a wonderful friendship arose among all, both between cities and between households. From that time on, the Celts continued to take counsel with the women about war and peace, and to refer through them any disputed matters with their allies. Indeed, in their treaty with Hannibal they wrote it down that, if the Celts had a grievance against the Carthaginians, the governors and generals of the Carthaginians in Spain should be the judges; but if the Carthaginians had a grievance against the Celts, the judges should be the women of the Celts.
The Melians, wanting land in abundance, made Nymphaeus, a young man outstanding in beauty, the leader of their colony. The god commanded them to sail and settle wherever they should lose their conveyances; and it happened that, putting in at Caria and disembarking, their ships were destroyed by a storm. Of the Carians, those who dwelt at Cryassus, either pitying their difficulty or fearing their boldness, invited them to settle among them and gave them a share of the land. But then, seeing them growing greatly in a short time, they plotted to destroy them, preparing a certain feast and banquet. Now it happened that a maiden of Caria, named Caphene, was in love with Nymphaeus, without the others knowing it. When these plans were being carried out, unable to bear seeing Nymphaeus destroyed, she disclosed to him the citizens' intention. So when the men of Cryassus came to invite them, Nymphaeus said it was not the custom of the Greeks to go to dinner without their women; and the Carians, hearing this, told them to bring the women too. Having thus reported what had happened, he directed the Melians to go themselves unarmed, in their cloaks, but each of the women was to carry a sword hidden in her bosom and to sit beside her own man. When, in the middle of the dinner, the signal was given to the Carians and the Greeks perceived the moment, all the women at once opened their bosoms, and the men, seizing the swords, fell upon the barbarians and destroyed them all together. Having thus gained possession of the land, and razing that city, they founded another, which they called New Cryassus. Caphene, married to Nymphaeus, received honor and gratitude fitting for her services. It is worth admiring, then, both the silence and the courage of the women, and the fact that not one of so many, even against her will, turned coward through fear.
As for the Tyrrhenians who held Lemnos and Imbros, they carried off the Athenian women from Brauron, and children were born of them, whom the Athenians drove out from the islands as being of mixed barbarian blood. These, putting in at Taenarum, made themselves useful to the Spartans in the war against the helots, and for this were granted citizenship and marriages; but, not being thought worthy of magistracies or of a place in the council, they came under suspicion of gathering together with a view to revolution and of plotting to overturn the established order. The Lacedaemonians accordingly arrested them...
confined them and kept close guard over them, seeking to convict them on clear and certain evidence. But the wives of the imprisoned men came to the prison and, after many entreaties and supplications, were allowed by the guards to go in far enough to embrace and speak to their husbands. Once inside, they told the men to change clothes with them quickly, to leave their own garments behind for the women, and to put on the women's clothes and go out with their heads covered.
When this had been done, the wives themselves remained there, facing whatever terrors might come, while the guards, deceived, let the men pass out as women. After this the men seized Mount Taygetus, stirred the helots to revolt, and welcomed them to their side; the Spartans, thrown into great fear, sent heralds and came to terms, on condition that the men should recover their wives, and that they themselves should take money and ships,
embark, and, on obtaining land and a city elsewhere, be reckoned as colonists and kinsmen of the Lacedaemonians. This the Pelasgians did, taking as leaders Pollis, Delphus, and Crataidas, all Lacedaemonians; part of them settled on Melos, but the majority, under Pollis, sailed to Crete to test an oracle. For it had been prophesied to them that when they lost the goddess and the anchor,
they should cease their wandering and found a city there. So when they had anchored off the place called Chersonesus, panic uproars fell upon them by night, and in their terror they leapt into the ships in disorder, leaving behind on the shore a wooden image of Artemis, an ancestral possession which had been brought to them from Brauron to Lemnos, and had been carried about with them everywhere from Lemnos onward. When the uproar had subsided and they longed for it again on the voyage, at the same time
Pollis noticed that the anchor's fluke was missing — for, it seems, it had been torn off unnoticed while being hauled up by force in a rocky spot — and, declaring that the oracle from Pytho was now fulfilled, he gave the signal to turn back, and took possession of the land. After prevailing in many battles against those who opposed him, he settled Lyctus and brought other cities under his power. For this reason they consider themselves related by descent to the Athenians through their mothers,
and to be colonists of the Spartans. What is said to have happened in Lycia is legendary, yet it carries a certain report that lends it some corroboration. For Amisodarus — whom the Lycians call Isaras — came, they say, from the Lycian colony near Zeleia, bringing pirate ships under the command of Chimarrus, a warlike man but savage and beastlike. He sailed in a ship bearing a lion as figurehead at the prow,
and a serpent at the stern, and did the Lycians much harm; it was impossible to sail the sea or even to live in the cities near the coast. Bellerophon killed him after pursuing him in his flight on Pegasus, and also drove out the Amazons, yet received none of the justice due him — indeed Iobates treated him with the utmost injustice. So Bellerophon went down to the sea and prayed against Iobates to
Poseidon that the land might become barren and unprofitable. Then he went away after uttering this curse, and a wave rose and flooded the land; it was a terrible sight, as the sea followed after him, lifted high, and hid the plain from view. When the men begged Bellerophon to stop and could not persuade him at all, the women pulled up their tunics and went to meet him; and then, as he withdrew backward in shame, the
wave is said to have withdrawn along with him. Some, softening the mythical element of this story, say that he did not drive back the sea by curses, but that the richest part of the plain lay lower than the sea, and that Bellerophon breached a ridge of shore that had held the sea back; and as the sea came on with force and flooded the plain, the men, though they begged him, accomplished nothing, but the
women poured around him in a body and won his reverence and made him cease his anger. Others say quite simply that the so-called Chimaera was a mountain facing the sun, which in summer produced harsh, fiery reflections that scattered over the plain and withered the crops, and that Bellerophon, understanding this, cut through the smoothest part of the cliff, the part that most sent back the reflections; but when
he received no thanks for it, he turned in anger to take vengeance on the Lycians, and was persuaded to relent by the women. The cause that Nymphis, in the fourth book of his work On Heraclea, gives is the least mythical of all: he says that Bellerophon killed a wild boar that was ravaging the animals and crops in the territory of the Xanthians, and received no reward for it; and when the Xanthians called down a curse on him to Poseidon, the whole
plain broke out in a salty efflorescence and was utterly ruined, the soil having turned bitter — until, moved to reverence for the women who begged him, he prayed to Poseidon to release his anger. For this reason it was the custom among the Xanthians to be named not after their fathers but after their mothers. As for Hannibal, son of Barca, before he campaigned against the Romans, while he was attacking the great city of Salmantica in Spain, at first those under siege were afraid and
agreed to do what was commanded, giving Hannibal three hundred talents of silver and three hundred hostages. But when he relaxed the siege, they changed their minds and did none of what they had promised. So when he turned back against them again and ordered his soldiers to attack the city for plunder, the barbarians, utterly terrified, agreed to let the free citizens go out wearing only a single garment, leaving behind their weapons, money, slaves, and the city
itself. But the women, thinking that the enemy would search each man as he came out but would not touch them, took swords, hid them, and rushed out along with the men. When all had come out, Hannibal stationed a guard of Masaesylians in the suburb to hold them there, while the rest fell upon the city in disorder and plundered it. As many were being carried off, the Masaesylians could not bear to watch,
nor did they keep their minds on guard duty, but grew indignant and drew back, wishing to share in the plunder themselves. Meanwhile the women, crying out to their men, handed over the swords; some even attacked the guards themselves; one woman, snatching a spear from Banon the interpreter, struck him with it, but he happened to be wearing a breastplate. Of the rest, some they struck down, others
they put to flight, and they broke through together with the women, all in a body. When Hannibal learned of it and gave chase, he captured those who had been left behind; but those who reached the mountains escaped for the moment, and later, sending a supplication to the city, were restored by him, receiving safety and kind treatment. Once a terrible and strange affliction seized the young unmarried women of Miletus, from some unclear cause; it was conjectured most of all
that the air had taken on some ecstatic and poisonous quality, and produced in them a disturbance and derangement of the mind. For suddenly a desire for death and a mad impulse toward the noose fell upon them all, and many hanged themselves secretly; the words and tears of their parents and the consolations of their friends accomplished nothing, but the girls outdid every device and cunning of those who watched over them, and did away with themselves. The affliction seemed to be something divine
and beyond human help, until, on the judgment of a sensible man, a decree was written that women who hanged themselves should be carried out naked through the marketplace for burial. Once ratified, this not only checked the practice but stopped it completely, by shaming the young women even in death. It is indeed a great proof of natural excellence and virtue that this concern for disgrace, and the fearlessness they showed toward the most terrible of things, death and pain,
meant that they could not bear even the mere image of shame, nor endure a disgrace that would come after death. Among the girls of Ceos it was customary to go together to the public shrines and spend the whole day there with one another, while their suitors watched them playing and dancing; in the evening they would go in turn to each other's houses and wait upon one another's parents and brothers, even to the point of washing their feet. Often several men loved the same girl, and their love was so orderly
and lawful that, once the girl was betrothed to one of them, the others immediately ceased their courtship. The chief proof of the good order of these women is that in seven hundred years no case of adultery or seduction of an unmarried girl is remembered as having occurred among them. When the tyrants of Phocis had seized Delphi, and the Thebans were waging against them the war called the Sacred War, the women devoted to Dionysus, whom they call the Thyiads, fell into a frenzy and
wandered about at night until, without realizing it, they found themselves in Amphissa. Utterly exhausted, and not yet in possession of their senses, they gave themselves up to sleep, lying scattered about in the marketplace. The women of Amphissa, fearing that because their city was allied to the Phocians and many soldiers of the tyrants were present, the Thyiads might be treated with cruelty, ran out into the marketplace, all of them together, and stood around them in a circle,
in silence — they did not approach those who were still sleeping, but when the Thyiads rose, different women attended to different ones, tending them and bringing them food; and finally, having persuaded their own husbands, they escorted the Thyiads safely all the way to the borders. Tarquinius Superbus, seventh king of the Romans after Romulus, was driven out because of the outrage and the virtue of Lucretia, a woman married to a distinguished man who was himself related by birth to the kings. For she was violated by one
of Tarquin's sons, who had been received as a guest in her house; and after telling her friends and family what had happened, she at once stabbed herself to death. Having lost his throne, Tarquin fought many other wars in his attempt to recover his rule; and finally he persuaded Porsenna, the ruler of the Etruscans, to march against Rome with a great force. As the war went on, and famine also assailed the Romans, learning that
Porsenna was not only a warlike man but also a just and decent one, they wished to make him arbitrator against Tarquin. But when Tarquin obstinately refused, and Porsenna declared that unless Tarquin remained a firm ally he could not be a fair judge either, Porsenna abandoned him and set about arranging to depart as a friend of the Romans, recovering the land the Etruscans had been cut off from and the captives. On these terms,
hostages were given to him — ten boys and ten girls, among whom was Valeria, daughter of the consul Publicola — and he at once relaxed all his preparations for war, although the agreement was not yet fully completed. The girls went down to the river, as if to bathe, a little way from the camp; and when one of them, named Cloelia, urged them on, they bound their tunics up around
their heads and ventured into a strong current with deep eddies, swimming and crossing while holding on to one another, with great toil and difficulty. Some say that Cloelia had the good fortune to find a horse, mounted it, and rode calmly across, while guiding and encouraging the others as they swam and helping them along. What evidence is used for this we shall say shortly. When the Romans saw that they were safe, they
admired their courage and daring, but were not pleased with their return, and would not consent to appear less trustworthy than a single man in keeping faith. So they ordered the girls to go back again, and sent escorts with them; but as they were crossing the river, Tarquin set an ambush for them, and came very close to capturing the girls. Valeria, the consul Publicola's daughter, escaped ahead of the rest with three servants
to Porsenna's camp, but the rest were rescued from the enemy by Arruns, Porsenna's son, who quickly came to their aid. When they were brought to him, Porsenna, on seeing them, ordered them to say which of them had been the one who urged the plan and began it. The others, out of fear for Cloelia, kept silent, but when Cloelia herself said it was she, Porsenna, filled with admiration, ordered that a horse
be brought, splendidly adorned, and, having given it to Cloelia as a gift, sent all of them home with kindness and goodwill. Most people take this as evidence that Cloelia rode a horse across the river; but others deny it, saying instead that Porsenna, admiring her strength and daring as surpassing what was fitting for a woman, judged her worthy of a gift suited to a warrior. At any rate, an equestrian statue of a woman stood on the road called the Sacred Way,
which some say represents Cloelia, others Valeria. Aristotimus, who rose up as tyrant over the Eleans, held power through the support of King Antigonus, but used his power for nothing decent or moderate — for he himself was by nature savage, and, enslaved by fear to the mixed barbarians who guarded his rule and his person, he allowed his citizens to suffer many outrageous and brutal things
at their hands. Such was the suffering of Philodemus. He had a beautiful daughter named Micca, and one of the tyrant's mercenary captains, named Leucius, attempted to have her, out of insolence rather than love; he sent for the girl and summoned her. Her parents, seeing the necessity, told her to go; but the girl, being noble and high-minded, begged
her father, clinging to him and entreating him, that he would rather look upon her dead than see her maidenhood taken from her shamefully and unlawfully. While this delay went on, Leucius, swelling with lust and drunkenness, rose up in anger in the midst of his drinking, and, finding Micca with her head in her father's lap, ordered her to come with him; and when she refused, he tore off her tunic and whipped her naked, while she
bore the pain in silence and endurance; but her father and mother, when their entreaties and tears accomplished nothing, turned to calling upon gods and men, as people suffering terrible and lawless things. The barbarian, utterly maddened by rage and drunkenness, cut the girl's throat as she lay, as it happened, with her face in her father's lap. But not even by this was the tyrant
moved to relent; he put many to death and drove many more into exile. Eight hundred, at any rate, are said to have fled as suppliants to the Aetolians, begging that their wives and infant children be recovered for them from the tyrant. A little later he himself proclaimed that any women who wished might go to their husbands, taking with them as much of their own property as they wished. When he perceived that all of them had received the proclamation with joy — for there were
more than six hundred of them in all — he ordered them to set out together on an appointed day, promising that he himself would provide for their safety. When the day arrived, they gathered at the gates with their belongings packed, some carrying their children in their arms, others having them on the wagons, and they waited for one another; but suddenly many of the tyrant's men bore down on them, shouting from far off for them to stay
where they were. As they drew near, they ordered the women to move back, and, turning the teams and wagons around, drove them into the crowd and pressed ruthlessly through the middle of them, allowing them neither to follow nor to stay nor to help their infants as they perished — for some fell from the wagons and others were trampled underfoot and killed — while the mercenaries, with shouting and whips, like sheep, drove on the overturned
...at one another's hands, until they threw them all into the prison, and the money was carried off to Aristotimus. The Eleans took this hard, and the sacred women of Dionysus, whom they call the Sixteen, taking up suppliant branches and the wreaths belonging to the god, went to meet Aristotimus in the marketplace; and when his spearmen, out of respect, drew apart, the women at first stood in reverent silence, holding out their suppliant branches.
But when it became plain that they were begging and pleading with him to relent from his anger against the women, he flew into a rage at the spearmen, shouting that they had let the women approach him, and had them driven out of the marketplace, some shoved and some struck, and fined each of them two talents. After this had happened, Hellanicus organized a conspiracy against the tyrant within the city—a man whom, because of his age and the death of his two sons, Aristotimus paid no attention to, thinking he could accomplish nothing. Meanwhile the exiles, crossing over from Aetolia, seized Amymone, a stronghold in the countryside well suited for making war, and were receiving many citizens who fled there from Elis. Frightened by this, Aristotimus went in to the women, and thinking he could achieve his purpose through fear rather than through goodwill,
ordered them to send letters to their husbands telling them to leave the country; otherwise, he threatened, he would torture and slaughter them all, after first killing their children. Now the rest of the women, though he stood over them a long time commanding them to say whether they would do any of this, made no answer to him at all, but only looked at one another in silence and nodded, agreeing among themselves not to show fear nor to be terrified by the threat.
But Megisto, the wife of Timoleon, who by virtue of her husband and her own excellence held a position of leadership, did not think it fit to rise, nor did she let the others rise; but remaining seated she answered him: "If you were a sensible man, you would not be discussing husbands with their wives, but would have sent to those men themselves, as our lords, having found better arguments than the ones by which you deceived us; but if, having given up hope of persuading them yourself, you are trying to trick them through us, do not expect to deceive us again, nor let them be so foolish as to sacrifice their country's freedom out of concern for their little children and their wives. For it would not be so great an evil for them to lose us, even though we are all they have left, as it would be a good thing for the citizens to be rescued from your cruelty and insolence." While Megisto was saying this, Aristotimus,
unable to bear it any longer, ordered that her child be brought before her eyes, so that he might kill it. While the attendants were searching for the boy, who was mixed in among the other children at play and wrestling, his mother called him by name and said, "Come here, child; before you become aware and understand, be freed from this bitter tyranny; for it is harder for me to watch you living in slavery unworthy of you than to watch you die." And when Aristotimus drew his sword
against her and rushed at her in fury, one of his intimates, a man named Cylon, who was thought to be loyal but in fact hated him and shared in the conspiracy with Hellanicus's party, stood in his way and turned him back, begging him and saying it was base and womanish, unworthy of a leader who had learned to conduct affairs of state, to do such a deed—so that Aristotimus, barely coming to his senses, withdrew. And a great sign was given to him:
for it was midday, and he was resting with his wife while the servants were preparing dinner, when an eagle was seen circling high above the house, and then, as if by design and calculation, let fall a great stone onto exactly that part of the roof under which lay the chamber in which Aristotimus happened to be reclining. At once, along with the great crash from above and
the outcry from those outside who had seen the bird, he was thrown into a panic, and when he learned what had happened, he sent for the seer whom he regularly consulted in the marketplace, and, deeply disturbed, questioned him closely about the sign. The seer urged him to take heart, telling him that Zeus was rousing and aiding him, but to those citizens whom he trusted he declared that justice, hanging over the tyrant's head, would fall upon him at any moment. For this reason
Hellanicus's party decided not to delay, but to strike the next day. That night Hellanicus dreamed that the younger of his dead sons stood beside him and said, "Why do you sleep, father? Tomorrow you must lead the city." Made confident by this vision, he called his companions together; and Aristotimus, upon learning
that Craterus was coming to help him and was encamping at Olympia with a large force, grew so bold that he went out into the marketplace without his bodyguard, accompanied only by Cylon. When Hellanicus saw his opportunity, he did not give the signal that had been agreed upon with those preparing to make the attack, but cried out in a loud voice, stretching out both his hands, "Why do you hesitate, good men? Here is a fine
arena in the very heart of our country in which to contend." Cylon was the first to draw his sword and strike down one of those accompanying Aristotimus; and as Thrasybulus and Lampis rushed at him from the front, Aristotimus managed to flee first into the temple of Zeus, but there they killed him, and, casting his body out into the marketplace, called upon the citizens to rise up for their freedom.
They were not much ahead of the women, however: for the women at once ran out with joy and shouts of triumph, and, surrounding the men, bound wreaths on them and crowned them. Then, when the crowd streamed toward the tyrant's house, his wife shut herself in her chamber and hanged herself. He had two daughters, still virgins but very beautiful, already of an age for marriage; these the crowd seized
and dragged outside, resolved certainly to kill them, but first to abuse and violate them. But Megisto came to meet them with the other women and cried out that it was a dreadful thing for them to do, if a people who claimed to be free dared to commit such outrages, acting like tyrants themselves. Many were moved to respect by the woman's dignity as she spoke out boldly and wept, and it was decided to remove the outrage and simply let the girls die by their own hands.
So when the men turned back and went inside and ordered the girls to die at once, the elder, Myro, loosened her girdle and made a noose; and embracing her sister, she urged her to pay attention and to do exactly as she saw her doing, "so that," she said, "we may not meet our end in a manner base or unworthy of ourselves." When the younger sister begged to be allowed to die first, and took hold of the girdle, Myro said, "I have never before
refused you anything you asked, not even once; take this favor too, then: I will endure and bear something heavier than death itself—the sight of you, dearest, dying before me." After this, she herself taught her sister how to place the noose about her neck, and when she perceived that she was dead, she took her down and covered her; and she then called upon Megisto to look after her own body, and not to let it be exposed indecently once she had died,
laid out in such a way that not one person present, however bitter or hostile to tyranny, failed to weep and pity the girls' nobility. Now of the deeds accomplished by women acting together, though there are countless examples, these are sufficient; but the virtues belonging to individual women I shall record as they occur to me, scattered without order, thinking that the history before us has no need of chronological arrangement. Among the Ionians who came to Miletus,
some, having fallen into factional strife with the sons of Neleus, withdrew to Myus and settled there, suffering many hardships at the hands of the Milesians, who made war on them because of their revolt. Yet the war was not one of complete estrangement and no contact at all; rather, at certain festivals the women used to come from Myus to Miletus. Among them was a prominent man named Pythes, who had an Iapygian wife, and a daughter
named Pieria. Now there was a festival of Artemis and a sacrifice among the Milesians, which they call the Neleid festival, and he sent his wife and daughter, who had asked to take part in the festival. The most powerful of the sons of Neleus, named Phrygius, fell in love with Pieria and wondered what he might do that would please her most. When she said, "If you would arrange for me to be able to come here often, and with many companions," Phrygius,
understanding that she was asking for friendship and peace for his fellow citizens, put an end to the war. So there arose in both cities honor and renown for Pieria, so much so that even now the Milesian women pray that their husbands may love them as Phrygius loved Pieria. War broke out between the Naxians and the Milesians over Neaera, the wife of Hypsicreon of Miletus. She
had fallen in love with Promedon of Naxos and sailed away with him; he was a guest-friend of Hypsicreon, but once Neaera had fallen in love with him he took her, and fearing her husband, brought her to Naxos and seated her as a suppliant at the shrine of Hestia. When the Naxians would not surrender her, for Promedon's sake, but made the suppliant claim a pretext instead, war broke out. On the Milesian side many others fought, and most eagerly among the Ionians
the Erythraeans, and the war dragged on and brought great disasters; but then it was ended by the virtue of a woman, just as it had begun through the wickedness of one. For Diognetus, the Erythraean general, who commanded and was entrusted with a stronghold well built and well provisioned against the city of the Naxians, drove off a great deal of plunder from the Naxians, and took free women and maidens captive, among whom he fell in love with one, Polycrite, and kept her
not as a captive but in the position of a wedded wife. When a festival came due for the Milesians in the camp, and all had turned to drinking and revelry, Polycrite asked Diognetus whether there was anything to prevent her from sending portions of cake to her brothers. When he consented and gave leave, she put a little lead tablet inside a cake, instructing the man who carried it to tell her brothers that they alone
should eat what she had sent. Her brothers, coming upon the lead tablet and reading Polycrite's message, which urged them to attack the enemy that night, since everyone would be careless due to drunkenness on account of the festival, reported it to their generals and urged them to go out with them. When the stronghold was captured and many of the enemy destroyed, Polycrite begged the citizens for Diognetus's life and saved him.
But when she herself, arriving at the gates, was met by the citizens, who received her with joy and garlands and admiration, she could not bear the intensity of her own joy, but died on the spot, falling beside the gate; there she is buried, and the place is called "the tomb of envy," since Polycrite, it is said, was begrudged by some envious fate the enjoyment of the honors paid to her. This is how the Naxian historians tell the story; but Aristotle says
that Polycrite was never taken captive at all, but that Diognetus, having seen her some other way, fell in love and was ready to give and do anything; and that she agreed to come to him, but on one condition only, concerning which, as the philosopher says, she required an oath from Diognetus; and when he had sworn it, she asked that Delium be given to her—for that was the name of the place—declaring that otherwise she would not
consent to come to him. And he, driven both by his desire and by his oath, gave way and handed the place over to Polycrite, and she in turn handed it over to the citizens. After this, the two sides, restored to equal footing, came to terms with the Milesians on conditions of their own choosing. From Phocaea, of the line of the Codridae, there were twin brothers, Phobus and Blepsus, of whom Phobus was the first to leap from the Leucadian rocks
into the sea, as Charon of Lampsacus has recorded. Having power and royal standing, he sailed along the coast to Parium on some business of his own, and, becoming a friend and guest-friend of Mandron, king of the Bebryces who are called the Pityoessenians, he came to their aid and fought alongside them when they were harassed by their neighbors. Mandron, in return, showed Phobus much kindness as he sailed away, and promised to give him a share of the
land and of the city, if he would bring Phocaean settlers to Pityoessa. So Phobus persuaded his fellow citizens and sent out his brother leading the settlers. And what Mandron had promised was made good to them, as they had expected; but as they took great profits and spoils and plunder from the neighboring barbarians, they became first objects of envy, then
objects of fear, to the Bebryces. Wishing therefore to be rid of them, they could not persuade Mandron, a good and just man toward the Greeks, to join them, but when he was away from home, they prepared to destroy the Phocaeans by treachery. But Mandron's daughter Lampsake, still a maiden, learned of the plot beforehand, and first tried to dissuade her friends and family, teaching them that what they were undertaking to do was a terrible and
impious act, killing men who were their benefactors and allies and now also their fellow citizens. When she could not persuade them, she secretly told the Greeks what was being done and urged them to be on guard. They prepared a sacrifice and a feast and invited the Pityoessenians out to the suburb; then, dividing themselves in two, some seized the walls while the others killed the men. Having thus
taken over the city, they sent for Mandron, inviting him to rule jointly with them; and Lampsake, who died of an illness, they buried in the city with great honor, and named the city Lampsacus after her. But when Mandron, avoiding suspicion of treachery, declined to live among them, but asked to receive back the children and wives of those who had died, they sent these away readily, without doing them any wrong;
and to Lampsake they at first rendered the honors of a heroine, but afterwards voted to offer sacrifice to her as to a god, and they sacrifice in that manner still. Aretaphila of Cyrene belongs not to antiquity but to the era of the Mithridatic wars, yet in courage and in deed she proved herself a match for the counsel of the heroines of old. She was the daughter of Aeglator and the wife of Phaedimus, men of standing; lovely to look upon, she was also held to be exceptional in understanding and by no means without a gift for affairs of state. But it was the common fortunes of her native city that brought her into the light. For Nicocrates, having made himself tyrant over the people of Cyrene, put many of the citizens to death, and after slaying with his own hand Melanippus, the priest of Apollo, he seized the priesthood; he also did away with Phaedimus, Aretaphila's husband, and took Aretaphila in marriage against her will. To his countless other outrages he added this: he posted guards at the gates who defiled the dead as they were borne out, pricking them with daggers and pressing hot irons against them, lest any citizen slip out unnoticed by being carried forth as a corpse. Her own household griefs, then, were hard enough for Aretaphila, even though the tyrant, out of love for her, yielded her the fullest enjoyment of his power; for he was overcome by her, and to her alone
he showed himself tame, though in everything else he was unyielding and beastly. But what pained her more was that her country was suffering pitifully, beyond what it deserved. For one citizen after another was being butchered, and no hope of vengeance could be expected from anyone; for even the exiles, utterly weak and thoroughly frightened, had scattered. So Aretaphila, setting herself alone as the only hope for the common good, and emulating the famous, celebrated exploits of the Theban woman of Pherae, since she lacked
trustworthy allies and kinsmen such as that woman's circumstances had provided her, being without support, undertook to destroy her husband by poison. But while she was preparing and procuring the poison and testing many of its potencies, she did not go unnoticed but was informed against; and when the proofs came to light, Calbia, the mother of Nicocrates, a woman naturally murderous and implacable, at once thought she should kill Aretaphila after torturing her. But
in Nicocrates, love produced hesitation and weakness toward his anger, and the fact that Aretaphila met the accusations vigorously and defended herself head-on gave his passion some pretext. But when she was caught out by the proofs and saw that the evidence of her preparation of the poison would not admit denial, she confessed — but said that what she had prepared was not a deadly poison: "No," she said, "husband, I am contending for great things — for your
goodwill toward me, and for the reputation and power which I enjoy because of you, being envied by many wicked women; fearing their potions and their plots, I was persuaded to counter-plot against them — foolishly perhaps, and in a woman's way, but not deserving of death, unless in your judgment it seems right to kill a woman for using love-charms and sorcery, when all she wanted was to be loved more than you wish to love her." As Aretaphila made her defense in this way, it seemed
good to Nicocrates to put her to torture; and with Calbia standing over her, unyielding and implacable, he examined her under torment. And she kept herself unconquered through the ordeal, until even Calbia grew weary of it against her will. Nicocrates was persuaded and let her go, and repented of having tortured her; and after not much time had passed, he came back to her again, carried away by his passion, and lived with her once more, restoring her favor with honors and displays of affection.
But she was not about to be won over by kindness, having already mastered tortures and hardships; instead, since her love of honor was now joined by rivalry, she took hold of another scheme. For she had a daughter who was of marriageable age and attractive to look at; this daughter she offered as bait to the tyrant's brother, a youth easily susceptible to pleasures. There is much talk that Aretaphila, using sorcery and drugs on account of the girl, gained mastery
over the young man and corrupted his judgment; his name was Leander. When he had been captivated and, by entreating his brother, had obtained the marriage, the girl, for her part, coached by her mother, kept working on him and persuading him to free the city — arguing that not even he could live as a free man under a tyranny, nor be secure in keeping or having obtained his marriage while under another's power — while, for their part, his friends, currying favor with Aretaphila,
kept fabricating slanders and suspicions against him with his brother. When Leander perceived that Aretaphila too was planning and pursuing the same thing, he took up the deed himself, and, inciting a servant named Daphnis, had Nicocrates killed through him. But for the rest, he no longer paid heed to Aretaphila; instead he immediately showed by his actions that he had become a fratricide, not a tyrannicide — for he ruled recklessly and foolishly.
Nevertheless Aretaphila still had some honor and power with him, since she was neither hostile to him nor openly at war with him, but secretly arranged affairs. First she stirred up a Libyan war against him, persuading a certain chieftain named Anabus to overrun the country and march against the city; then she slandered his friends and generals to Leander, saying they were not eager to fight but rather wanted peace
and quiet — a peace which, she said, both the state of affairs and his own tyranny longed for too, since he wished to hold firm mastery over the citizens. She herself, she said, would arrange the settlement and bring Anabus into a conference with him, if he gave the order, before the war did irreparable damage. When Leander gave the order, she first went to speak with the Libyan herself, asking him to seize the tyrant, in return for great gifts and money,
when he came to the conference. The Libyan agreed; but Leander hesitated, though out of shame before Aretaphila, who declared she herself would be present, he went out unarmed and unguarded. But when he drew near and saw Anabus, he again grew uneasy and wanted to wait for his bodyguards; Aretaphila, who was present, partly encouraged him and partly reproached him for cowardice; and finally,
after some delay, she seized him boldly and confidently by the hand and led him up to the barbarian and handed him over. At once he was seized and bound, and was kept guarded by the Libyans until his friends, bringing the money to Aretaphila, arrived together with the rest of the citizens. For most of the people, on learning of it, ran out at her summons, and when they saw Aretaphila, they very nearly forgot
their anger at the tyrant, and regarded his punishment as a secondary matter; their first task and their chief enjoyment of freedom was to embrace her with joy and tears, falling before her as before a statue of a god. As people kept streaming in one after another, they only barely managed, by evening, to take Leander along and return to the city. When they had had their fill of honoring and praising Aretaphila, they then
turned against the tyrants: they burned Calbia alive, and sewed Leander into a leather sack and drowned him. They wished Aretaphila to share in the government and administer the state together with the best men. But she, as though she had acted out some intricate, many-scened drama down to the moment of receiving the victor's crown, once she saw the city free, at once withdrew into the women's quarters, and, having no further part in any public affairs,
spent the rest of her life quietly at the loom among her friends and household. In Galatia there were two of the most powerful tetrarchs, related to each other by kinship as well: Sinatus and Sinorix. Sinatus had for his wife a young woman named Camma, admired for her beauty and bloom of body, but admired still more for her virtue; for she was not only chaste and devoted to her husband,
but also intelligent, high-minded, and dearly loved by her people because of her kindness and goodness. What made her still more distinguished was that she was priestess of Artemis, whom the Galatians especially revere, and she was always to be seen magnificently adorned at processions and sacrifices. Sinorix fell in love with her, and being unable, while her husband lived, either to persuade or to force her, he did a terrible
deed: he killed Sinatus by treachery, and not long afterward began to court Camma, who was spending her time in the temple, bearing her grief not pitifully or abjectly but with a spirit that kept its wits about it and waited for the right moment to punish Sinorix's crime. He was persistent in his entreaties, and seemed not entirely without arguments that had a certain plausibility — that in other respects
he had shown himself better than Sinatus, and that he had killed him out of love for Camma, not from any other wickedness. At first the woman's refusals were not too harsh; then little by little she seemed to soften, for her relatives and friends too pressed her, courting the favor and goodwill of Sinorix, who had very great power, persuading and pressuring her; finally she gave in and sent for him to come to her,
since the agreement and pledge of trust were to be made in the presence of the goddess. When he came, she received him warmly, led him to the altar, and poured a libation from a cup; part of it she drank herself, and part she bade him drink — it was honeyed milk mixed with poison. When she saw that he had drunk it, she cried out loud in triumph and, bowing before the goddess, said, "I call you to witness, most honored deity, that I have lived on for the sake of this day
since the murder of Sinatus, gaining no good from my life all this time except the hope of justice, which I now carry with me as I go down to my husband. As for you, most impious of all men, let your kinsmen prepare you a tomb instead of a bridal chamber and a wedding." When the Galatian heard this, and, as the poison was already taking effect and beginning to convulse his body, he perceived what had happened, he got into a carriage
thinking he would find relief from the jolting and shaking of the ride, but he collapsed at once, and, being moved into a litter, died by evening. Camma, having endured the night and learning that he was dead, died herself cheerfully and gladly. Galatia also produced Stratonike, wife of Deiotarus, and Chiomara, wife of Ortiagon, women worthy of remembrance. Stratonike, knowing that her husband needed
legitimate children to succeed to the kingdom, and since she herself bore none, persuaded him to father a child by another woman and allow it to be substituted as her own. When Deiotarus admired her resolve and left the whole matter in her hands, she procured a comely young captive woman named Electra and brought her together with Deiotarus, and she raised the children born of that union as her own, with tender affection and in royal style. As for Chiomara, wife of Ortiagon, it happened that
she was taken captive along with the other women, when the Romans under Gnaeus defeated the Galatians in Asia in battle. The centurion who took her charge of her used his good fortune in soldierly fashion and violated her; he turned out to be, as it happened, an ignorant and intemperate man where pleasure and money were concerned. He was overcome all the same by love of money, and once a large sum of gold had been agreed upon for the woman, he brought her to be ransomed,
a river running between them and dividing the two parties. When the Galatians had crossed and given him the gold and were taking Chiomara in charge, she, by a nod, ordered one of them to strike down the Roman as he was embracing her and bidding her a friendly farewell; and when he had done so and cut off the man's head, she took it up, wrapped it in the folds of her garment, and rode off. When she came to her husband and threw the head before him,
and he, astonished, said, "Wife, loyalty is a fine thing," she replied, "Yes — but finer still that only one man who has known me should be left alive." Polybius says that he himself, conversing with her at Sardis, admired both her spirit and her intelligence in this matter. When Mithridates summoned sixty of the leading Galatians to Pergamum as friends, and seemed to treat them insolently and despotically, all of them were indignant,
and Poredorix — a man powerful in body and outstanding in spirit, tetrarch of the Tosiopes — undertook that when Mithridates was transacting business on the platform in the gymnasium, they would seize him and hurl him, together with themselves, down the ravine. But as chance would have it, on that day Mithridates did not go up to the gymnasium, but instead summoned the Galatians to his house; Poredorix urged them to keep their courage, saying that when they were together with him again
they would tear his body apart and destroy him, falling upon him from every side. This did not escape Mithridates' notice; information was given, and he began handing the Galatians over one by one to be slaughtered. Then, recalling a young man far surpassing the others of his age in beauty and grace, he pitied him and had a change of heart; he was clearly distressed, as if the young man were already lost among the first to die, but nonetheless he sent word that, if he were found alive, he should be released. The young man's
name was Bepolitanos. And a strange stroke of fortune befell him: he had been seized wearing fine and costly clothing, and the executioner, wishing to keep it unstained by blood and clean for himself, was slowly stripping the young man, when he saw the king's men running up and shouting the youth's name at the same time. So Bepolitanos, unexpectedly, was saved by the very love of money that had destroyed so many others. But
Poredorix, cut down, was cast out unburied, and none of his friends dared approach him; but a Pergamene woman, who had known him from the days of his youthful beauty when he was alive, risked burying and laying out the corpse. The guards noticed and, seizing her, brought her before the king. It is said that Mithridates himself was moved somewhat at the sight of her, since the girl appeared altogether young and innocent; and still
more, it seems, when he learned that her motive was love, he was touched, and allowed her to take up and bury the body, giving her clothing and adornment from Poredorix's own belongings for the purpose. Theagenes the Theban, who shared with Epaminondas and Pelopidas and the noblest men the same devotion to the cause of his city, met his end amid the common disaster of Greece at Chaeronea, while he was already winning and pursuing those
arrayed against him. It was he who, when someone shouted, "How far will you pursue?" answered, "As far as Macedonia." When he died, he left behind a sister who bore witness that he too had become a great and illustrious man by the virtue and nature of his family; but it fell to her alone to derive some good benefit from his virtue, so that she bore what befell her of the common disasters more lightly. For when
Alexander conquered the Thebans, and various soldiers, on entering, plundered various parts of the city, it happened that a man took possession of Timocleia's house — a man neither decent nor gentle, but violent and foolish; he commanded a Thracian squadron and shared the king's name, though he was nothing like him. For he showed no respect either for the woman's family or her manner of life; once he had filled himself with wine, after dinner he summoned her to share his bed. And
this was not the end of it, but he also demanded gold and silver, if any were hidden by her — partly meaning to take it, partly meaning to keep her, as it were, permanently in the position of his woman. She, seizing the opening he gave her, said, "I wish I had died before this night rather than live, so that I might at least have kept my body untouched by outrage, when everything else was being destroyed —
but since things have turned out this way, if I must consider you my guardian, master, and husband, I will not deprive you of what is yours, now that fortune has granted it, for I see myself become whatever you wish me to be. I had ornaments for my person, and silver in drinking cups, and some gold and coin as well. When the city was being captured, I ordered my maidservants to gather everything and I threw it — or rather
I deposited it — into a well that has no water and that few even know of; for a lid covers it, and around it dense woodland has grown up in a circle. Take these things and may you have good fortune with them; for me they will be witnesses and tokens, in your eyes, of the prosperity and splendor that once belonged to my household." When the Macedonian heard this, he did not wait for daylight, but set out at once for the place, with Timocleia
leading the way. He ordered the garden shut off so that no one would notice, and climbed down in his tunic. Hateful Clotho was leading him to his punishment, with Timocleia standing above. When she perceived by his voice that he had reached the bottom, she herself hurled down many of the stones, and the maidservants rolled down many more, large ones, until they had battered him to pieces and buried him. When the Macedonians learned of it and
they took up the corpse — for it had already been proclaimed that no Theban was to be killed — they seized her and led her before the king, and reported what she had dared to do. He, discerning in the set of her face and the deliberate pace of her walk something noble and dignified, first asked her who among women she was. And she, quite unterrified and with full confidence, said, "Theagenes was my brother, who as general fought against you at Chaeronea for the freedom of the Greeks, and fell there, so that we might suffer nothing of this kind. But since we have in fact suffered things unworthy of our lineage, we do not shrink from dying; nor indeed would it perhaps be better for me to live and risk enduring another such night, unless you prevent it."
At this the most decent of those present wept, but Alexander felt no impulse to pity the woman, since her spirit seemed too great for pity; rather, admiring her courage and her words, which had taken firm hold of him, he ordered his officers to be watchful and to see that no such outrage should again be done to a distinguished household. As for Timocleia, he released her, along with all who were found to be related to her by blood.
Arcesilaus, son of Battus surnamed the Fortunate, was in no way like his father in character. Even while his father was still alive, he was fined a talent by him for putting up battlements around his own house; and after his father's death, being by nature harsh — which was in fact the very reason for his nickname — and moreover keeping company with a wicked friend, Laarchus, he became a tyrant instead of a king.
Laarchus, plotting against the tyranny and driving out or murdering the best of the Cyrenaeans, turned the blame onto Arcesilaus; and finally, having thrown him into a wasting and severe illness by making him drink a sea-hare, he destroyed him, while he himself took over the rule, professing to be guarding it for Arcesilaus's son Battus. The boy was held in contempt both because of his lameness and because of his youth, but many attached themselves to his mother, for she was prudent and kind, and had many powerful relatives.
For this reason Laarchus, courting her favor, sought her in marriage, and asked that Battus be made his adopted son once he married her, and that he be declared partner in the rule. Eryxo — for that was the woman's name — after deliberating with her brothers, told Laarchus to negotiate with them, as though she herself were willing to accept the marriage. But when Laarchus approached the brothers, they deliberately put him off and kept postponing.
So Eryxo sent a servant girl of her own to tell him that at present her brothers were objecting, but that once the meeting took place they would cease their opposition and consent; therefore he should, if he wished, come to her by night, for once the arrangement was made everything else concerning the rule would go well. This was entirely to Laarchus's liking, and, utterly enraptured by the woman's friendliness, he agreed to come whenever she should summon him.
Eryxo was carrying out this plan together with Polyarchus, the eldest of her brothers. When the time for the meeting had been fixed, Polyarchus was secretly brought into his sister's chamber, having with him two young men armed with swords, bent on avenging their father's murder, whom Laarchus had recently killed. When Eryxo sent for Laarchus, he came in without his bodyguards, and when the young men fell upon him, he died, struck through with their swords.
They threw the corpse over the wall, and, bringing Battus forward, proclaimed him king according to ancestral custom, and Polyarchus restored to the Cyrenaeans their original form of government. Now it happened that many soldiers of Amasis, king of Egypt, were present, whom Laarchus had used as his trusted men, and it was chiefly through them that he had been feared by the citizens.
These men sent envoys to Amasis to accuse Polyarchus and Eryxo. He was angered, and was intending to make war on the Cyrenaeans, when it happened that his mother died; and while he was conducting her funeral rites, messengers arrived from Amasis. Polyarchus therefore resolved to go and defend himself; and since Eryxo would not be left behind but wished to accompany him and share the danger, her mother Critola, though an old woman, was not left behind either.
She was a woman of the highest standing, being the sister of Battus the Fortunate. When they arrived in Egypt, the rest of the court marveled greatly at their action, and Amasis himself was not moderate in his admiration for the woman's prudence and courage; honoring them with gifts and royal hospitality, he sent Polyarchus and the women back to Cyrene.
One might no less admire Xenocrite of Cumae for what she accomplished against Aristodemus the tyrant, whom some suppose to have gotten the nickname Malacus ("the Soft") for a false reason, not knowing the truth. In fact he was called Malacus by the barbarians, a term meaning "still a boy," because while still a mere youth, among his coevals who still wore their hair long — men whom, it seems, they called "corontists" from their hair — he distinguished himself, brilliant in the wars against the barbarians, not only for daring and feats of the hand but for showing exceptional intelligence and foresight.
Hence he rose to the highest offices, admired by his fellow citizens, and was sent to bring aid to the Romans when they were being attacked by the Tyrrhenians, who were trying to restore Tarquinius Superbus to the throne. In the course of this long campaign, by yielding in every way to please the citizen-soldiers under his command, courting popular favor rather than commanding as a general should, he persuaded them to join him against the senate and to help him expel the best and most powerful men.
Having thus become tyrant, in his crimes against women and freeborn children he outdid even himself in wickedness. It is recorded that he trained the male children to wear their hair long and to deck themselves in gold, while he compelled the girls to have their hair cropped round and to wear the short cloaks and sleeveless tunics of youths.
Moreover, having fallen especially in love with Xenocrite, he kept her though her father was in exile, neither restoring him nor persuading him to return, but supposing in some fashion that the girl was content to live with him, since she was envied and counted blessed by the citizens for it. These things did not overawe her; rather, resentful of living with him, unwed and unbetrothed, she longed no less than those the tyrant hated for the freedom of her homeland.
Now it happened at that time that Aristodemus was having a trench dug all around the countryside — a task neither necessary nor useful, but meant simply to wear down and exhaust the citizens with labor and lack of leisure, since each man had been assigned a set quota of earth to bring out of the ground. And a certain woman, seeing Aristodemus approaching, turned aside and covered her face with her tunic.
When Aristodemus had passed by, some young men, mocking and joking, asked her why it was that only from Aristodemus, out of shame, she turned away, while toward others she felt nothing of the kind. She answered, with great earnestness, "Because," she said, "Aristodemus alone of the Cumaeans is a man."
This remark, once spoken, touched everyone, and spurred the noble-minded, out of shame, to lay hold of freedom. It is said too that Xenocrite, on hearing it, said that she herself would rather carry earth on behalf of her father, were he present, than share in Aristodemus's luxury and so great a power. This strengthened the resolve of those conspiring against Aristodemus, whose leader was Thymoteles;
and since Xenocrite's access to him gave them a safe entry and left Aristodemus unarmed and unguarded, they slipped in without difficulty and killed him. Thus the city of the Cumaeans was liberated through the virtue of two women — the one having instilled in the conspirators the idea and impetus for the deed, the other having lent her help toward its completion.
When great honors and gifts were offered to Xenocrite, she declined them all and asked for one thing only: to bury the body of Aristodemus. This, then, they granted her; and they also chose her as priestess of Demeter, believing that this honor would be no less pleasing to the goddess than it was fitting for her.
It is said also that the wife of Pythes, who lived in the time of Xerxes, was a wise and good woman. Pythes himself, it seems, having come upon gold mines and grown fond of the wealth from them, not moderately but insatiably and to excess, spent his own time occupied with this, and, dragging all the citizens down to it equally, forced them to dig or carry or refine the gold, doing and working at nothing else whatsoever.
As many perished and all cried out against it, the women came as suppliants and set up a supplication at the doors of Pythes's wife. She bade them go away and take heart; and she herself summoned the craftsmen most skilled in working gold, in whom she placed the greatest trust, and, shutting them up in private, ordered them to make loaves of gold, and cakes of every kind, and fruits — everything, in short, that she knew Pythes took the greatest pleasure in eating and enjoying.
When everything had been made, Pythes returned from abroad, for he happened to be traveling; and when he asked his wife for dinner, she set before him a golden table holding nothing edible at all, but everything made of gold. At first Pythes was delighted with the imitations, but once he had had his fill of looking at them, he asked to eat. She, whatever he desired, brought it to him in gold.
When he grew exasperated and cried out that he was hungry, she said, "But it is of these very things that you have provided us an abundance, and of nothing else; for all skill and all craft has vanished — no one farms any longer, but leaving behind what the earth sows, plants, and nourishes, we dig for useless things and search for them, wearing ourselves and the citizens out." This moved Pythes, and though he did not put an entire stop to the business of the mines, he ordered a fifth part of the citizens to work them in rotation, and turned the rest to farming and to their crafts.
When Xerxes was marching down against Greece, Pythes, having been most magnificent in his receptions and gifts, asked a favor of the king: since he had several sons, that one be allowed to remain behind from the campaign and be left to care for him in his old age. But Xerxes, in anger, slaughtered this one son alone — the very one he had asked for — cut him in two, and ordered the army to march between the pieces, while he took the rest of the sons with him; and all of them perished in the battles.
At this Pythes, losing heart, suffered what happens to many foolish and unhappy men: he feared death, yet was weary of life. Wishing not to live, yet unable to let go of living, since there was a great mound in the city with a river flowing through it, which they called the Pythopolites, he built a monument within the mound, and diverted the river's course so that it would flow through the mound, touching the tomb.
Once this had been accomplished, he himself went down into the monument, and, having handed over the rule and the entire city to his wife, ordered that no one approach him, but that his dinner be sent to him each day placed in a boat, until the boat should pass the tomb with the meal untouched — at which point they were to stop sending it, as a sign that he had died. He himself thus spent the rest of his life in this way, while his wife administered the rule well and brought about a change of fortunes for the people.