Crius crossed the bridge across the Eurotas, still at an easy lope. Although he breathed audibly and glistened with sweat, he was in his stride and could run like this for hours. Beyond the bridge, the city started with an imposing temple to Poseidon Earth-Holder. According to legend, it had been built during the Great Troubles after a particularly destructive earthquake, which had destroyed most of the temples of the time. It was very solid, with squat Doric columns that had once been painted red but were now naked stone. This temple was not as popular as the newer temple to the Horse-Breeding Poseidon, Crius thought, because no one alive today could remember an earthquake. Horse breeding, on the other hand, was increasingly popular.
In addition to the temple there were a variety of civic buildings, including the barracks, warehouses, and stables of the Limnate Lochos near the bridge. Then came one of several gymnasiums, a couple of monuments to long-dead heroes, and a stoa often used for practice by the choruses. Beyond this, the city started to spread away from the road. In the side streets were the workshops, stalls, and apartments of craftsmen serving the city’s daily needs. Houses hid behind high walls that enclosed courtyards, and fountain houses on small squares broke up the maze of alleys.
By continuing down the broad main road, flanked by leafy plane trees, Crius would pass the Canopy, and beyond that reach the main city square on which the Council House and Ephorate faced each other. At this time of day on a holiday, however, the square would be deserted, because everyone would be over at the racecourse to watch the youths and maidens competing for the festival prizes. Crius turned into one of the side streets to cut across the city.
Crius knew the back streets of Sparta well, and he ran surely, his naked feet all but soundless on the paving stones, until he came around a corner and almost collided with a body of men. Crius drew up sharply, initially registering only that the men were Spartiates in standard-issue red himations. A moment later, however, he realized that three men were brutally beating up a fourth. The victim was already on his knees, vomiting from the blows and kicks to his stomach, while his assailants hissed insults along with their abuse: “Helot lover!” “Traitor!” “Blood putrefier!”
Crius wanted to turn around and run in the other direction, but just beyond the three men beating up their fellow citizen, a fourth man held Crius’ sister Chryse. The man had her so firmly in his grasp that she could not break free, although she was struggling, and he had a hand over her mouth so she could not cry out.
Crius understood instantly. Chryse had a Spartiate lover, Temenos. Of course, a lot of helot girls had boyfriends among the youth of the agoge, but once the youths became citizens they were supposed to turn their attention to Spartiate maidens and think about marriage. Chryse’s lover hadn’t done that. Instead he remained single, recognized the two sons he had sired on Chryse, and visited her and the boys whenever he could. He was more devoted and considerate of her wishes than most helot husbands, so Crius’ parents had accepted the situation. Even Leonidas had given up trying to end the relationship, although he disapproved.
Whatever Leonidas thought of the relationship, Crius was certain he would not approve of what these young men were doing to Temenos. Crius took a step back, on the brink of turning and continuing his run to Leonidas with a second, urgent message about what was happening here, but then he saw the way the man holding his sister was mishandling her. What would these brutes, who did not shrink from attacking one of their own, do to Chryse when they had finished off Temenos? Crius imagined them raping her, one after another. Crius couldn’t just leave her here in their hands.
But he couldn’t attack four Spartans, either. They were Spartiates and he was a helot. They were trained soldiers in bronze armor, and he had crippled hands, weak arms, and was wearing nothing but a short chiton. He could do nothing alone. He had to get help.
He spun about and headed for the next major street, looking desperately for a Spartiate, any Spartiate. The first people he ran into, however, were two youths of the agoge. Crius’ desperation was such that he addressed them. “Sirs! Please, help me! Around the corner! Please!”
The youngsters looked at each other.
“Please! My sister!” Crius begged.
Again they looked at each other, then shrugged and followed Crius.
By now Temenos was trying to crawl to safety, while his assailants kicked and spat at him.
Crius heard one of the youths behind him gasp, “That’s Temenos!” Then the youth raised his voice and called out: “Stop!” But his voice quavered as he spoke. He was just eighteen and the assailants were citizens. He had no right to give them orders.
Still, his call caused the attackers to pause in their assault long enough to look over. Then the leader made a dismissive gesture. “Keep out of this, boy! Or I’ll report you to the Paidonomos.”
“And I will tell him what I saw!” the youth countered with surprising courage. His companion, however, hissed: “We’d better keep out of this!”
The first youth shook his head doggedly and started forward, dragging his obviously reluctant companion in his wake. Crius couldn’t let them go alone. If the three of them distracted the Spartiates, maybe Chryse could get away.
Simonidas was eight. He had been in the agoge more than a year now, and he was not happy. He did not like having to be with a dozen other boys all the time. It wasn’t that he was in any way inferior to them. He was fleet, agile, literate, and had a lovely singing voice, but he liked being on his own and free to follow his own whims. As soon as his herd joined the large crowd around the ball field to watch a match between two teams of eirenes including their own, Simonidas slipped away. They wouldn’t notice he was gone for a long time, he figured, and then they would just think he had gotten lost in the crowd.
As he ducked down one of the side alleys heading for the river, hoping to get clear out of town to be by himself for a bit, he collided with a horrible brawl. It looked to him like two youths of the agoge were being set upon by a whole pack of citizens. Simonidas turned to run.
“Simonidas!” A voice pierced the air and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He continued running, but the voice followed him. “Fetch Leonidas!”
Simonidas didn’t stop, but his destination had changed. He recognized the voice of Crius, and Crius served his father’s best friend. Crius often came to his kleros with messages from Leonidas or Gorgo. Furthermore, Simonidas knew exactly where Leonidas was, because he’d seen him talking to the ex-king Demaratus on a corner.
Leonidas had not actually witnessed the incident that had occurred in the theater on the first night of the Chalkioika, because he’d been with the rest of his chorus preparing to perform. However, he had heard about it from various reliable witnesses, including his good friends Sperchias and Euryleon. Both friends had claimed that the ex-king had done nothing to provoke the new king’s insult. Demaratus, they conceded, might have been a little slow to get to his feet as Leotychidas took his seat on the Eurypontid throne, but he had stood. It was understandable, they said, that a man who had been king all his adult life found it difficult to treat his hated rival with the respect due a king, but Demaratus had done nothing to provoke Leotychidas.
“It was vindictive!” Sperchias insisted. “Purely vindictive. Leotychidas sneered at Demaratus in a tone that wasn’t fit for a grown man, much less a former king. He was trying to provoke Demaratus into some truly disrespectful act. Just as he did during the Gymnopaedia.”
Leonidas could well believe that. Leotychidas had been insufferable ever since the Delphic oracle declared Demaratus was not Ariston’s son and the Council and ephors had set him aside. Leonidas had never liked Leotychidas, but even he had been surprised by the extravagance of the new king’s household and his arrogance in dealing with citizens and perioikoi alike.
Demaratus, meanwhile, had been elected magistrate, and the majority of the citizens were sympathetic to his awkward position. After all, he had been raised to believe he was the rightful
king. No one (except Leotychidas himself ) accused Demaratus of knowingly usurping the throne. Yet during the Gymnopaedia, which had occurred shortly after Demaratus’ deposition, Leotychidas had actually sent a man to ask “how it felt to be a mere magistrate after having been king.” Demaratus had responded cleverly by saying that he at least knew what it was to be in both positions―a pointed reminder that Leotychidas had never been elected to any office. Then, with great dignity, Demaratus had pulled his himation up over his head and walked away in silence. In the more recent incident, Leonidas’ friends reported, Demaratus had not answered at all, just repeated the gesture of covering his head.
That was what the public saw, but Leonidas knew that within hours of both incidents Demaratus’ wife had been on her brother’s doorstep pouring out her woe. She claimed Demaratus had returned home fuming and vowing to leave Sparta forever. She claimed he was threatening to go to the Persian court, presumably to request that the Persians restore him to his throne by force.
This news alarmed Leonidas enough for him to feel he must speak to Demaratus alone, but it wasn’t until today that he had found an opportunity. During the games marking the Chalkioika, Leonidas noticed that the ex-king turned his back on the ball field the moment he spotted Leotychidas approaching. Leonidas had extricated himself from the crowd to follow him, catching up with him halfway to the agora.
“Demaratus!” Leonidas called out to stop him.
“Well, if it isn’t Little Leo!” Demaratus sneered, turning to face Leonidas.
Leonidas drew a deep breath to curb his own anger. “I understand your bitterness.”
“Good, then I hope you also understand your own cowardice! You could have prevented this!”
“How could I have prevented this?” Despite his best intentions not to get into a discussion on this point, Leonidas found himself unable to ignore such an absurd accusation.
“Don’t play dumb with me!” Demaratus snapped back. “You may lack backbone and ambition, but you’re not stupid. This oracle is no more genuine than any of the others your brother has bought in the last five Olympiads! It was forged by that weasel Asteropus! If you had taken up my offer to work together, we would both be kings, and Sparta would be in good hands instead of having the choice between a madman and a usurper to command her army.”
“And because you are not king, you would betray Lacedaemon to the Persians?” Leonidas wanted to know.
“Where did you hear that?” Demaratus snapped―much too defensively for Leonidas’ comfort. Then before he could answer, Demaratus added, “If you’ve been listening to that foolish woman you and your friend Alkander foisted upon me, you can forget it. She has the brains of a hare―if that. Percalus can go to Hades! She’s brought me no heirs, just endless cares. I will divorce her. Tell your bosom friend, the stutterer, that!”
Leonidas held his tongue for fear that if he opened his mouth he would not be able to control his anger. Percalus had never been accused of being bright, and she was barren, but Demaratus had wanted her for her beauty and he had forced the marriage on Alkander, insisting on taking her despite her official betrothal to Leotychidas and her lack of dowry. Still, what really made Leonidas furious was the slur to Alkander. Alkander had indeed stuttered as a boy, and people had insulted him and imputed cowardice to him because of it. Leonidas had learned at a very young age, however, that Alkander was no coward and that what he had to say made sense. Few things angered Leonidas so much as blind prejudice.
Demaratus turned on his heel and walked away. Leonidas could only gaze after him, angry and concerned that Demaratus might indeed intend to go to Darius to request Persian troops to invade Lacedaemon and put him back on the throne.
Before Leonidas could resolve what he should do, however, a small, soft hand clasped his. “Father!” Simonidas whispered, using the form of address required of boys for all full citizens. “Father! Come quick!” Simonidas tugged at his hand as he had often done in the past, before he was sent to the agoge and taught his manners. “Crius is in trouble!”
Leonidas felt as if he’d been hit by lightning. Gorgo’s water had broken in the night, and the women had collected to help her through this birth, while the men were banished from the house except for Nikostratos and Crius. The latter had remained with the sole purpose of bringing him news of the birth. Simonidas’ words, that Crius was in trouble, made no sense to Leonidas, who instantly concluded that something terrible had happened to Gorgo. The fear made Leonidas lengthen his stride until Simonidas had to run.
As they rounded the corner, the fight was almost over. One youth was still on his feet, but he was bleeding from his nose and mouth as he faced one of the citizens. The other youth was curled up in a ball, trying to protect his head from the fists of one of the citizens. A third citizen held Crius against the wall with his knee as he punched him with both fists. Temenos had collapsed against the side of a building in a pool of blood, while Chryse was still held by the fourth youth. Her face was swollen, her hair hung in disarray, and her peplos was half off; it looked as if she had been briefly engaged in the fight.
“Let go of my helots!” Leonidas bellowed.
Startled, the four assailants turned to stare. For the first time, they were at a disadvantage. All young men were on active service and so subject to Leonidas’ authority as a regimental commander. Hesitantly at first, but then more rapidly as the full extent of the potential danger dawned on them, they ceased their violence.
“Fall in!” Leonidas ordered, and the four men fell into line.
Chryse at once rushed to Temenos, pulling her torn peplos together modestly over her breasts, while the youth that was still standing went to his friend. Crius dropped to the ground and started vomiting into the gutter.
Leonidas was looking the four assailants in the face, one after the other. They kept their eyes straight ahead, focused over his left shoulder. He knew only one by name―Bulis son of Nicoles, a scion of one of Sparta’s richest families―and, like the others whose names he could not remember, a member of the Guard. They were also all protégés of his brother Brotus.
“If you think my brother can stop you from being thrown out of the Guard after what you’ve done today, you are mistaken,” he said slowly and deliberately.
That startled them. “But, sir, you haven’t heard our side of it. Your helot and these youths attacked us!”
“Only to save Temenos!” Chryse screeched hysterically. “They’ve killed him, master! They’ve killed him, just because he loved me!”
Leonidas glanced over at her. Tears were streaming down her face and her whole body was trembling. One of the youths staggered over to her and went down on his knees to place the flat of his hand on Temenos’ neck and feel for a pulse. Leonidas did not recognize the youth.
Leonidas turned back to the four guardsmen. “If he’s dead, you’ll not only lose your place in the Guard, you’ll be tried before the kings and Council for murder.” Leonidas was furious. How dare these brutal men call themselves Spartiates!
“He’s alive, sir,” the youth who had gone to Temenos declared, adding cautiously, “at least for the moment.”
“Then I suggest the four of you go to Asclepius’ temple and offer up urgent prayers for his life,” Leonidas suggested. “If he dies, I promise you, I will see you hang. Dismissed!”
“But, sir! Your helot and these youths attacked us!”
“If they did anything inappropriate, they will be suitably punished, but in your skin I would be more worried about my own. Get out of my sight!”
As soon as they had disappeared, Leonidas went down on his knee beside Temenos and checked for his pulse himself. Temenos was indeed still hanging on to life, but Leonidas shared the youth’s concern that it might not be for long. He turned to the youth. “Who are you and how did you come to the assistance of Temenos?”
The youth had to reach up with the back of his arm to wipe away the blood dripping down from his nose before he answered. “Don’t you rememb
er me, sir? I’m Eurytus, son of Lysimachos. You helped me during my Phouxir when Temenos would have turned me in for stealing from your pantry.”
“And you risked so much to help him now?” Leonidas asked, amazed.
“He was an eirene then, sir, and only doing his job. I know that.” Leonidas looked toward the other youth, who had staggered to his feet. It was Aristodemos, his attendant Meander’s younger brother. Meander had been forced to drop out of the agoge because his father was too poor to pay the agoge fees for two sons and had favored the younger boy. When, after their father hanged himself and Aristodemos too was on the brink of being thrown out of the agoge, Meander had come to Leonidas, offering to sell himself into slavery if Leonidas would pay his younger brother’s agoge fees. Leonidas had hired Meander as his attendant and duly paid Aristodemos’ agoge fees, but he felt strongly that Meander was the better of the two boys―even if Aristodemos would one day be a citizen. He was surprised to find the spoiled Aristodemos here. “And you, Aristodemos?” he asked simply.
Aristodemos shrugged and didn’t meet his eye. “It was four to one,” he mumbled unconvincingly.
Leonidas guessed that Eurytus had led him into this, but he had to give Aristodemos credit for following. “Well done,” he told the youth, and Aristodemos looked up, startled. He had waited a long time for Leonidas’ praise.
At last Leonidas turned to Crius. He guessed at once that Crius had several cracked ribs, just from the look of the bruises that were already spreading across his naked chest. There was no telling what injuries he had sustained to his internal organs, but he did not look like he was going to die. “We’ll get you fixed up,” he told the helot, and then asked the question that was burning on his lips. “You were bringing me word from my wife?”
“A boy, master. A healthy boy, and the mistress is fine.”
For a moment Leonidas could hardly believe it. After steeling himself for bad news, after pretending for two years that he didn’t mind having only a daughter, it was almost too good to be true. “Truly?”
A Heroic King Page 5
