A Heroic King

by Helena P. Schrader

  Leonidas looked at his friend gratefully. Alkander was right: it was that simple. If he had already betrothed Agiatis to another Spartiate, Brotus would have no control over her marriage. “And Gorgo?” he asked next.

  “More difficult,” Alkander conceded. “I don’t believe a husband can make disposition of his widow before―or after, for that matter―he’s dead. On the other hand, Spartan law gives widows considerable freedom. Gorgo certainly won’t be poor, and she cannot be forced to remarry. I think Brotus, assuming he survives any longer than you do, would have a hard time trying to make Gorgo do anything she doesn’t want to. Nor should you underestimate her―or Agiatis’―influence on Pleistarchos. If you should die, Pleistarchos wouldn’t be totally under Brotus’ or Pausanias’ influence, no matter what his legal status.”

  “And Sparta?” Leonidas asked next. “Talthybiades is now a councilman, and Alcidas has never stopped scheming to take over the agoge again. Orthryades and Lysimachos and Bulis and his friends―they’re all lurking in the wings, waiting for a chance to feast upon my carrion.” Leonidas’ fears echoed from the roof of the cave like a chorus of alarm.

  Alkander shared his fears, but he recognized that his duty was to comfort his friend, who clearly believed he was destined to die soon. “Leo,” he said calmly, “you’ve been in power ten years, and the impact of your policies is increasingly tangible. Lacedaemon has a small but respected fleet that already deters attacks on our merchantmen. Trade has increased noticeably, while all across Lacedaemon ambitious helots are opening new shops and cottage industries. Every perioikoi town nowadays is enlivened with carpenters, smiths, lamp-makers, and every other kind of craftsman necessary to produce our daily needs. Because Lacedaemon is broad and patterns of settlement dispersed, our craftsmen aren’t concentrated in the metropolis as they are in Athens, where they compete with one another until half of them starve. The result may be more pedestrian products, but also wealth that is more equally distributed.”

  “Thank you,” Leonidas answered this long speech, unsure how much had been said just to comfort him and how much was real.

  “Leo,” Alkander read his thoughts, “you don’t have to take my word for it. Look at the response of the perioikoi when we told them we were sending troops to Tempe. Did they haggle or protest? Whine or drag their feet? Not for a moment. You asked for two thousand troops, and you had them three days later―first-rate troops, too, I might add. And do we have any shortage of volunteers for our triremes? You know we don’t. That is thanks to you, Leo.”

  “And when I’m dead?”

  “Men who have known greater freedom and prosperity will not accept new restrictions on either. I don’t think your successors will find it easy to revoke your reforms.”

  That, too, was a comforting thought. Leonidas felt some of the tension easing, but he still did not want to die―not even for the sake of immortality. In fact, immortality seemed worthless beside the beauty of a warm, sunny day. And what was the point of being immortal alone, without friends like Alkander, without Gorgo, without his children ….

  As if reading his thoughts, Alkander remarked, “We don’t know what lies beyond the grave, Leo. Just because our bodies go into the dankness of the sunless earth doesn’t mean our spirits do.”

  “When I first heard the oracle, I walked across Sparta in the noonday sun, and I saw little boys running around in their herds, and I thought: if just by dying, I can ensure that they won’t be castrated to become Persian eunuchs, then I will do it gladly. When I saw Simonidas with his unit on the drill fields, again I thought: if I can stop these youth from being chained together and driven underground, to die hacking gold and silver out of the earth to make Persia rich, just by sacrificing my own life, then I will do it smiling. When I saw Agiatis coming home from the agoge with a self-made garland of wildflowers in her hair, I knew that I would rather let them torture me than surrender her to be ravaged by men who think women less valuable than cattle. If my death can prevent all that….”

  “The oracle must be true―and you must be the king it refers to.”

  They swam back to their clothes and lay on the beach to dry off. When they could postpone it no longer, they dressed, put on their sandals, and toiled back up the trail toward the sporting complex.

  At the point where the trail crested the cliff, reality hit them. Four Spartan guardsmen were drawn up across the trail to prevent men from descending the path. Although he could not see beyond his bodyguard, Leonidas heard men arguing loudly. One of the guardsmen was insisting firmly, “King Leonidas is not to be disturbed! Tell us where he can find you, and he will come to you when he is ready.”

  “It’s all right, Lakrates,” Leonidas told the guardsman as he topped the incline. The guardsmen made way for him, and he found himself facing five men: the representatives from Mycenae, Tiryns, Aegina, Troizen, and Thespiae. The sight of Demophilus drew a smile from Leonidas. “Demophilus! When did you get here?” He embraced the Thespian before acknowledging the rest.

  Demophilus held Leonidas’ arm and looked him hard in the eye. “I came as fast as I could. We heard about your oracle.’”

  “‘Yes, and what of your own?”

  “Send your children and your wives to the halls of Fair Helen, for the Muses have fled before the horns of Hektor’s avengers and the harvest of Helicon will soothe the wounds of Perseus’ sons, even as the lions of Thespiae live forever beside the Divine Twins .”

  “Your wives and children are welcome. Spartiate families will each host a family of Thespians, and your children will play with ours on the banks of the Eurotas. We, my brother, will pit our strength against the bulls of Persia with the courage of lions.”

  “And what of us?” the Aeginan asked indignantly. “Will you abandon us?”

  “Of course not! Why would we?” Leonidas asked back. “Our position at Thermopylae and Artemisium provides as much protection to Aegina, Mycenae, and Tiryns as to Thespiae.”

  “The position, yes, but not the command!” the Aeginan retorted hotly. “We will not fight under the Athenians. Athens, with their brand-new fleet manned by amateurs, has no right to command the rest of us. Indeed, they do not even have enough men to man their fleet. They have asked Chalcis to provide oarsmen for twenty of their triremes, and have requested the poor of Plataea to bring up to strength the crews of the rest of their fleet. Put an Athenian in command of the fleet, and you don’t know where it will end up―maybe plundering Aegina before continuing on to take Kythera, or simply running away to Sicily like the oracle told them to do!”

  Leonidas was shocked by two facts: the bitterness of Aegina’s opposition to Athenian leadership, and the fact that his casual assurance to Themistocles about Sparta not claiming naval command was already known. “And what does Corinth say?” he asked, starting back toward the theater and forcing the others to accompany him in an agitated group, trailed by his guardsmen.

  “Corinth is as outraged as we are!” the Aeginan assured Leonidas.

  This sounded too self-serving to be accepted at face value―except that the other men were nodding, including Demophilus.

  “Megara is outraged, too,” the Mycenaean added. “They have threatened to withdraw from the coalition altogether if Athens is given command of the naval forces.”

  “And Troizen agrees,” the Troizen representative asserted emphatically.

  “How many ships do these cities represent?” Alkander asked.

  “Megara and Aegina have twenty triremes each, and Troizen five; Corinth has forty. Together it’s nearly a hundred.”

  “Would Aegina accept Corinthian command?” Leonidas asked the Aeginan.

  “Adeimantus? No. He’s a tile-maker, not an admiral. Put him in command and the whole fleet will soon be cowering behind the Isthmus.”

  That had been Leonidas’ impression, too, but it was one opinion he would have preferred not to have confirmed. Why couldn’t the Corinthians have given their command to the experienced and unshakable Erx
ander? How could they let internal rivalries get in the way of sound military decisions? As it was, the second-largest contingent of ships was commanded by a man who was only partially committed to the fight. A stand at Thermopylae would be totally pointless unless the Greek fleet held the Persian ships at Artemisium. If the fleet failed, the Persians would simply bypass Thermopylae and land their troops somewhere south of the Hot Gates.

  “Who, then?” Leonidas asked the Aeginan. They were rapidly approaching the theater, where a lively debate was evidently in progress―at least, there were a large number of catcalls, boos, and hisses being hurled at the speaker.

  “Sparta, of course,” the Aeginan answered without hesitation.

  “Sparta’s fleet is also young―and much smaller than Athens’.”

  “Not as young as Athens’, and you did not build it with the declared intention of crushing us!” the Aeginan reminded Leonidas.

  Although Leonidas personally believed that crushing Aegina had only been a pretext to convince the Athenian Assembly to build the fleet, he could not deny that Themistocles had argued his case by promising the humiliation of Aegina.

  “We will not accept Athenian command!” the Aeginan reiterated emphatically, seconded by his colleague, who declared, “Nor will Troizen.”

  Leonidas nodded and stopped. He could see into the theater and noted that the speaker was from Kos, an island bringing just two triremes and two penteconters to the coalition. The speaker had clearly tried the patience of his audience with his long-winded defense of Athens’ claim to naval command.

  Leonidas turned to the Aeginan. “Sparta will provide an admiral, if that is the wish of the majority of the coalition members that have naval assets, but we will not actively claim command at sea.” Turning to Alkander, he requested of his friend, “Please go in and tell Sperchias that. Bring me word of the decision, when there is one.”

  Leonidas returned to the simple but solid guesthouse built to house athletes and trainers during the Isthmian Games. During the games, as many as forty men slept here in two rooms, but the entire Spartan delegation numbered just twenty-six, including the two men returned from Sicily. The ephors were apparently attending the debate along with Sperchias, while the attendants had gone in search of food.

  Ever since the second oracle challenging him to lay down his life for Sparta, Leonidas had slept fitfully. Each time he lay down, his thoughts and feelings had plagued him like the Furies themselves. He had conducted full-scale debates within his head about what he must or must not do. His fears for Gorgo, Agiatis, Pleistarchos, and Sparta had fought with one another in his head. The less he slept, the more exhausted he became, and his very exhaustion made him nervous and tense.

  But the swim and the talk with Alkander had done him good. He could feel a pleasant sleepiness, totally different from the raw exhaustion of yesterday, flooding his veins and weighing on his eyes. He lay down on the stone bench, on which Meander had spread out a thin straw mattress and a woven linen covering, without taking time to remove his sandals. He noted fleetingly that his hair was still damp; then with a sigh, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell into a deep sleep.

  They had to shake him awake. It was Alkander, and he could see flames and smell pitch and smoke. For an instant he was transported back to the Great Fire, and to the nightmarish reality in which Alkander had brought him word that Eirana and his twins had been incinerated in the flames. He reared up from his sleep and the memory. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s all right, Leo,” Alkander calmed him. “There has been a vote. The ephors cast Sparta’s vote. You have been named sole commander of the combined land and sea forces of all freedom-loving cities of Greece. Furthermore, the decision was taken to hold Thermopylae and Artemisium with maximum force at the earliest opportunity.”

  Leonidas’ first reaction was to exclaim, “Truly? At last?” But then he realized, “I can’t be two places at once. I’m not a naval commander.”

  “No, so you will appoint as your deputy whoever you think best―as long as he’s Spartan.”

  “Eurybiades,” Leonidas answered without hesitation. Eurybiades might not be the most senior trierarch in Lacedaemon’s fledgling navy, but he was the most audacious, and as a former mercenary for Aegina, he would be the most suited to keeping Aegina loyal. Leonidas’ brain moved on. “Then all that remains is for us to go home and ask the Assembly to vote for a full call-up and immediate deployment.”

  “Leo, by the time we return, it will be impossible to call an extraordinary Assembly before the Karneia, and once the Karneia starts, we won’t be able to march for ten days.”

  Leonidas stared at Alkander, stunned. How could he have forgotten the Karneia? It was Marathon all over again. Sparta was going to respond too late! Only this time there was no Athenian army ten thousand strong to halt the Persians in their tracks. The Confederation had excused Athens from providing a single hoplite for Thermopylae, because Athens was providing two hundred triremes for the combined naval forces. With the Persian army ten times what it was at Marathon, and no Athenian army, Sparta’s delay could prove fatal to all of Greece―including Lacedaemon.

  Memories of the Great Fire that had devoured his first wife and his twins merged with images of the Farm of Horrors on Kythera. What if the oracle was right, but he wasn’t given a chance to make his sacrifice because Sparta’s Council and Assembly were too busy “honoring the Gods” while the rest of the allies attended the Olympic Games?

  “We leave for Sparta immediately!” Leonidas announced, striding out of the guesthouse to tack up his own horse. The others looked at one another in exhaustion before following him.

  CHAPTER 19

  FAREWELL, LACEDAEMON

  “I HATE YOU!” AGIATIS SCREAMED. “I hate you, and I’ll never forgive you! Never!” She grabbed her skirts to hike them above her knees and ran out of the house, raced across the terrace, and plunged into the orchard. In moments, the white figure of the girl was obscured by the foliage of trees in full leaf.

  Leonidas was left standing in the hall, his heart pounding in his chest, at a complete loss. Pain and incomprehension lamed him for several seconds before he managed to croak out, “What did I do wrong? I honestly think Lakrates is the best of the younger bachelors. I know the age difference is still significant, but it’s not a great as between you and me―”

  Gorgo put her fingers to his lips to silence him―and to touch him. She had the need to touch him as much as was seemly in these last hours they would be together. “My love, it wasn’t anything you said, and it has nothing to do with Lakrates.”

  “Does Agiatis fancy someone else?” Leonidas asked, frowning, as he tried to understand his daughter’s irrational and cruel outburst. For two days he had fought fiercely with the Spartan Council―first to call an extraordinary Assembly despite the approach of the Karneia; then, when that failed, to let him take the active army north. Finally, when they refused him that as well, he had to settle for taking an advance guard three hundred strong. Once that decision was made, he’d had the emotionally wrenching duty of selecting this advance guard, while calling up a perioikoi force and coordinating the march north with the allies of the Peloponnesian League and the Confederation. Yet despite these burdens, he had given much thought to which of the eligible bachelors would be best suited to Agiatis. He had looked for a man who would both do her credit and make her happy. When Lakrates came to mind, he had felt a sense of inspiration and relief, and when he talked obliquely with the young man about his daughter without hinting at his motives, Lakrates’ response had convinced him completely. And now this.

  “This has nothing to do with teenage fancies one way or another,” Gorgo gently tried to explain.

  “Then what is it about? Doesn’t she realize that if I don’t designate a bridegroom, Brotus will? Does she really think she’d prefer Brotus’ choice to mine?” The strain of the last few days, combined with the pain Agiatis had inflicted, was making Leonidas angry,
and Gorgo felt justified in putting her arm around him, reveling in the feel of his warmth, the hardness of his muscles, and the softness of his skin. How was she going to live without ever feeling this again? Maybe for decades and decades….

  “That’s not what upset her, Leo,” Gorgo explained softly.

  “What, then?”

  “I don’t think she understood―until you brought her news of her betrothal―that you were serious.”

  “What do you mean, ‘serious’? Does she think the Persian invasion is some sort of joke? A―”

  Gorgo again put her fingers to his lips to silence him, then took one of his hands in hers and kissed the back before putting it against her cheek. Leonidas watched her, moved by her gestures but still confused and unable to understand what she was trying to say. “She didn’t believe, until you announced her betrothal, that you would not be coming home.”

  “How could she not understand? She’s not a child anymore! Why, even Pleistarchos, at just twelve, understands! He spent all afternoon asking me how to be a good king.”

  Gorgo shook her head. “You’re wrong, Leo. This isn’t about understanding―they both do that in their heads. It is about believing―and being able to imagine what it will mean. Pleistarchos could spend the afternoon talking about being king, promising to carry out your Land Reform and the like, because he was focused on the superficial facts. He’s too young to appreciate what he is losing. He isn’t conscious of how much he depends on your advice, your approval, your support. To him it is as natural and as certain as the sunrise or the chirping of birds in the early morning. Who of us has ever stopped to think what it would mean if the sun did not rise or the birds were silent? So it is for Pleistarchos: he has been told he will be king, so he asks you what he should do―the most natural thing for him to do―without realizing that when he needs your advice most because he is king, you won’t be there to give it to him. He can’t think that far ahead. But understanding reached Agiatis this afternoon, because she knows how reluctant you are to see her wed. To bring her a bridegroom was like laying your corpse at her feet.”