Book Title: The Immigrant Queen
Author: Peter Taylor-Gooby
Publication Date: 28th October 2024
Publisher: Troubador
Pages: 312
Genre: Historical Fiction
Hated as a foreigner, despised as a woman, she became First Lady of Athens.
Aspasia falls passionately in love with Pericles, the leading statesman of Fifth Century Athens. Artists, writers and thinkers flock to her salon. She hides her past as a sex-worker, trafficked to the city, and becomes Pericles’ lover.
Her writings attract the attention of Socrates, and she becomes the only woman to join his circle. She is known throughout the city for her beauty and wit and strives to become recognised as an intellectual alongside men.
Pericles’ enemies attack him through Aspasia and charge her with blasphemy. As a foreigner she faces execution, but her
impassioned address to the jury shames the city and saves her. Pericles is spellbound, they marry, and she becomes First Lady of Athens.
Sparta besieges the city; plague breaks out and Pericles is once again in danger.
THE IMMIGRANT QUEEN tells the true story of how Aspasia rose to become the First Lady of Athens and triumphed against all the odds.
The Immigrant Queen: Extract
Aspasia defends herself against the unjust charge of blasphemy – which carries the death penalty.
The young man in front of Niandros rose to his feet. The white scar on his sword-arm gleamed in the sunlight. One of the Scythians nudged the other.
‘That’s Lacedaemonius, Cimon’s son,’ he muttered. ‘He don’t mince words.’
The young man shouted with the voice of a general:
‘I accuse Aspasia, outlander, whore of Pericles, with blasphemy against our Great Goddess,’ he raised his fist to his forehead and bowed, ‘and with corrupting our Commander.’
An outcry burst from the benches below him:
‘Hang the whore!’
‘Pericles is a traitor!’
‘Att-i-ca!’
A chill ran down my back. The Archon signed to a subordinate:
‘Bring forth the accused.’
Two Scythians, both older men, spare and sinewy, led Aspasia to her place before the crowd. Her face was white under the rouge on her cheeks. She stood erect and gazed out over the citizens of Athens, to the goddess.
‘I am innocent.’
Her voice lacked the firmness of her usual tones, as if she were uncertain, and the sun beat down on all of us.
‘Silence,’ the Archon snapped. ‘You will speak later. Lord Lacedaemonius, the charge?’
The young man glanced over the court and addressed himself solely to the Archon.
‘My lord, I speak as a patriot. I cannot remain silent when I see an outlander seek to bring my fatherland low. This,’ he pointed, ‘woman, this Aspasia, comes from the land of our enemies, the Persians, against whom my father and my grandfather fought. We gave her refuge. She repays us by seducing our leader and by insulting great Athene.’
He bowed towards the temple, paused and then pointed at Aspasia.
‘Outlander, my charge is that you desecrated the statue of our great goddess intended for the Acropolis. You smashed a hammer into the sacred face of the goddess. This crime is scarcely credible to a true Athenian. You cannot deny that Athene means nothing to you, that in your heart you remain loyal to strange gods, the gods of an alien race. That you are not fit to marry an Athenian, that you are not fit to live.’
He bowed to the goddess.
‘Lord Pericles apparently wishes to marry you, despite your crime. No-one can now believe that he possesses the judgement required of those who hold high office.
‘The blasphemer used her foreign tricks to steal his heart and hold it in her hand. He has forgotten his sons, young warriors a true Athenian would be proud of. Can we trust our chief general, our Commander, if he becomes the plaything of an outlander? And can we forgive the woman who makes him her fool?’
He sat amid an outburst of applause. Those around him sprang to their feet and crowded round to congratulate him. A young noble in a red cloak shook him by the hand. The lady stood as still as the statue of the goddess. Pericles sat with his head between his hands.
‘Order! Order!’ bellowed the Archon. ‘Aspasia, how say you?’
The lady surveyed the faces turned up to her.
‘Citizens of Athens! I thank you for allowing me, a woman, who would be happier at home pounding beans in a mortar, to address you. Yes, I destroyed a carven image, a statue, but I did so because I believed it was an insult to our great goddess, Athene.’
She bowed low to the Acropolis.
‘Athene is noble, powerful and above all, wise. Is that not so? I smashed the image because it was no more than a body, a woman’s body, exposed to the public gaze. It did not inspire reverence, it was fashioned to incite the basest of passions. The statue was the blasphemy, not my action.’
She bowed her head.
‘I acted in an anger that I felt was righteous. I beg that you forgive me. I have prayed to the goddess and made rich offerings, as the priestesses of great Athene can testify.’
She paused.
‘You say I am an outlander from Persia, our most hated enemy, the nation that fought Athens at Marathon and Salamis. That is a lie. My mother, they say, was a great Queen in Halicarnassus, a Greek city conquered by Persia. Your fathers will remember how she fought nobly for Athens at Salamis.
‘At root the charge is that I am an outlander and a woman. Where would Athens be without its outlanders? People come here from the entire world. They come because Athens is powerful and wealthy. They make our proud city greater and richer. Do you wish outlanders like me to take our skills, our trade and our ideas elsewhere?
‘And I do not ask you how you would fare without the comfort of your women. My accuser is a stern warrior, but I believe that even he enjoys the society of women on occasion.’
A ripple of laughter ran round the court. Pericles clapped and squirmed in his seat. Those around him took up the applause, until his own group and a number of the common citizens clapped with him. The plump assistant with his leather satchel and his scroll cheered, but no-one echoed his cry. The sun pressed on us and my tunic hung damp across my shoulders.
The Archon rose to his feet.
‘Who else wishes to speak?’
Pericles raised his hand.
‘Ah, Lord Pericles, Commander of the Armed Forces of the City.’
My lord stood staring out over the crowd, over the city, out beyond all of them. He did not speak for a full minute. The aide nudged his elbow.
‘Citizens of the Greatest City of all time! I have the honour, the privilege and the duty to serve as your Commander. I come before you with a request. You, the citizens of Athens, lead all of Greece in intelligence, education and understanding. I ask you to avoid the passion which may conquer wisdom in lesser cities.’
He raised his arm and pointed at my mistress.
‘Consider Lady Aspasia. She made an error for which she has apologised. You have heard her speak and her words match those of any statesmen. She inspires our sculptors and our dramatists. She has brought wealth and employment to this city.
‘Remember she is a woman and an outlander. She is not sophisticated as you are. On this one occasion she allowed her woman’s passions to overrule her wisdom and she profoundly regrets her actions. I promise you, she honours our goddess Athene with all her being. ‘
He paused and scanned the grim faces of his audience.
‘I will ensure she removes herself from public life. She will take her place in the kitchen and you will not hear of her again. I beg you, forgive her woman’s weakness.’ He faltered, then spoke in a rush: ‘Treat her with mercy. She is the love of my heart.’
He paused and wiped his hand across his eyes. When he looked up the expression on his face was without hope. He shook with sobs and the tears streamed down his cheeks. He sat and hid his face behind a cloth. Again Pericles’ party applauded. The others sat with their arms folded, silent and grim.
I leant back against the wall of the cell. These people would destroy Lady Aspasia, and for what? For a playground squabble, for power. I hated them, but my mind was also filled with sadness.
Other nobles and commoners spoke. She stood there in the noonday sun at the time without shadows staring before her. Pericles was unable to remain still. He took a gulp from a flask that his aide handed him. My throat tightened. I thought of how the Athenians hated Aspasia and how arrogant they were.
The Archon stared at Aspasia.
‘Outlander, have you anything further to say?’
My mistress looked round her and slipped off her cape. A current ran through the crowd.
‘Only this: citizens, to you women are mere bodies, for your pleasure and to bear your children. If that is so, see my worth!’
She put her hand to the silver brooch on her shoulder, the fastening of her gown. A sigh like a gust of wind in a grove of saplings ran through the audience.
The Archon bellowed:
‘Woman! Be governed! You stand before all Athens!’
‘Consider. You wish to judge me, judge me as I am.’
All eyes were fixed on her. The court was silent as the noonday. She stood with her hand on the brooch.
‘I am of value to your city, am I not? I am truly sorry for the errors I have made. I believed that I was defending our great goddess from insult. Let me be what I am to the city, an emblem of the womanhood you most desire. Judge me as a woman.’
She unloosed the brooch and let the gown fall. Just as it revealed her slender waist, she snatched it up and refastened it.
‘No. I am a woman of modesty as befits a noble city.’
A gale of applause swept up from the court. The commoners laughed and shouted and pounded their feet on the ground. The nobles stood and applauded as if they were at the theatre. Only Pericles himself remained silent, his face still covered by his hands. I did not know how to respond. I gasped and the blood throbbed in my body. I clapped with the rest of them until my hands hurt.
The Archon, his face red as the stripe on his tunic, spluttered:
‘Take her away.’
She led the Scythians to the ward-chamber. I held the door open for her to enter.
Peter Taylor-Gooby is an academic who believes that you can only truly understand the issues that matter through your feelings, your imagination and your compassion. That’s why he writes novels as well as research monographs. He worked in India as a teacher, in a Newcastle social security office and as an antique dealer.
Now he’s professor of social policy at the University of Kent, a Fellow of the British Academy, loves playing with his grandchildren and writes novels in what time is spare.
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