A Heroic King

by Helena P. Schrader

  Leonidas didn’t have an answer to this. He could tell that Gorgo was very close to breaking down herself, and he knew that he couldn’t bear it if she did. He needed her to be strong now.

  Gorgo sensed what Leonidas was thinking, and she backed away from the abyss one more time. She took a deep breath. “Leo, please try to forgive Agiatis. Accept that what she said and how she said it was really only a tribute to how deep her feelings for you are.”

  Leonidas nodded slowly. He wanted to believe his wife, but his own nerves were raw. If his daughter truly loved him, surely she would have understood that he was doing his best for her under extremely difficult circumstances? Surely, she would have trusted him and shown him more respect?

  A shout from outside indicated that already the next visitor had arrived. A glance out the window revealed Phormio, clambering awkwardly down from a heavy chariot. Leonidas sighed. “I must see him, Gorgo. The perioikoi have responded with more alacrity―more loyally―than my peers and alleged subjects. I am still ashamed that the perioikoi are sending their best young men―they offered the full two thousand men of their active units―while the Gerousia begrudged me even three hundred!”

  “But those three hundred are the very best that Sparta has to offer,” Gorgo reminded him, adding, “Besides, you’ll have the entire Spartan army, with a full, fifteen-year call-up, just six days after the end of the Karneia. If Xerxes continues to move as slowly as he has in the past, you may have the entire army―five thousand three hundred Spartiates―before you even engage.”

  “Assuming the Council submits the proposal to the Assembly as promised, and assuming the Assembly votes for it.”

  “I understand your bitterness, Leo, but you aren’t being fair. The Council has summoned the Assembly for dawn on the day after the Karneia. They ordered the lochagoi to be prepared to march out the same day. Every able-bodied man in Sparta is preparing to fight. They will be there―all of them. All you need do with the advance guard is hold Thermopylae for ten days―”

  Phormio was knocking at the door. Leonidas pulled Gorgo to him and kissed her hastily on the forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I needed that reminder.”

  She nodded and withdrew as Meander opened the front door and let Phormio in. She slipped out the back and through the orchard, following the direction in which Agiatis had disappeared. She reached the river without seeing her daughter and stood bewildered, looking for some sign of the girl. Agiatis was nowhere to be seen―not among the trees, not at the paddock fence or in the walled kitchen garden.

  Gorgo noticed a rickety wooden pier that Pelopidas had built years ago to enable his children to fish and swim in the deeper part of the Eurotas without wading through the snake- and rat-infested mud of the shallows. It was almost obscured by tall river reeds that towered twelve feet high. A little uncertainly, because she feared the wood was rotten and might give way under her, Gorgo stepped on to the pier and moved hesitantly forward. The wood creaked and the supports shifted slightly under her weight, making her pause. Then the sound of sobbing penetrated to her ears, and she pressed forward.

  Agiatis was sitting at the end of the pier, clutching her knees and holding her face down on top of them. Gorgo eased herself down beside her daughter and pulled Agiatis into her arms.

  “Why?” Agiatis burst out instantly, coming up for air, then burying her face again, this time in her mother’s lap to wail like a little child.

  Gorgo held her close. Agiatis’ sobbing shook her whole body and her tears soaked through Gorgo’s skirts. Gorgo started to rock back and forth in an age-old gesture of motherly love. “Hush, sweetheart, hush.”

  “But why does he have to do it? Doesn’t he love us even a little? Why does Sparta always have to come first? Why?”

  “Oh, sweetheart! Do you really not see?” Gorgo was genuinely surprised by her daughter’s misunderstanding. “This isn’t about Sparta at all―it is about us.”

  “Then let Leotychidas die! No one would even miss him!”

  “Of course not, but no one would follow him, either,” Gorgo reminded her daughter.

  “The army has to!” Agiatis spat back furiously. “He’s a king, too!” “Many of our citizens think he’s not. They think Demaratus is the rightful king. And even if they obeyed Leotychidas out of respect for our laws, the Confederation would not―and so everyone would fight alone and would be defeated alone, and then the Persians would keep coming, unstoppable, to destroy us.”

  Agiatis sat upright, revealing her puffy, red face. She wiped her running nose on the back of her arm―as if she were four rather than fourteen―and argued, “But if Leotychidas were killed fighting up north, then Dad could lead the defense here successfully, because the prophecy would already be fulfilled.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, why do you think Leotychidas would die just because he went north? He is far more likely to accept a Persian bribe or just run away. And if he’s not Sparta’s rightful king, then even his death would not appease Zeus. Either way, your father would be left to rally what is left of our forces in a hopeless situation, and his life would still be forfeit―or we would be destroyed. Maybe both. Surely you see that he needs to make his sacrifice militarily meaningful to ensure his death brings us safety and freedom?”

  Agiatis stared at her mother stubbornly, unwilling to admit that she could see her mother’s point.

  Gorgo understood her silence, and pulled her daughter back into her arms to hold her. They clung to each other for a few moments in silence; then Gorgo loosed her hold a little to stroke her daughter’s soft, slender arms and comb her tangled, tear-wet hair out of her face. “Agiatis, you have to apologize to your father.”

  Agiatis didn’t answer, but she squirmed defiantly in Gorgo’s arms and shook her head. She pressed her face into Gorgo’s lap again.

  “You have to,” Gorgo insisted gently but firmly, “not for his sake―he knows how much you love him, and he will forgive you whether you ask it of him or not. You have to go back and tell him how much you love him because if you don’t, you will hate yourself for the rest of your life.”

  Agiatis went dead still.

  “You do not want to live with the memory that the last words you said to your father before he died for you were, ‘I hate you.’”

  “My last words were, ‘I’ll never forgive you. Never,’” Agiatis corrected her mother.

  “Is that better? Is that what you want to remember as your last exchange with your father? Do you want your last memory of him to be his wounded face when you flung those words at him?”

  Agiatis sat up again and looked straight at her mother. Tears were brimming in her eyes. “Oh, Mom, it’s not fair!”

  That was too much for Gorgo. Her own throat was already cramping from trying to hold back tears, and suddenly she couldn’t anymore. She pulled Agiatis back into her arms and surrendered to her own emotions, sobbing almost as hard as her daughter had only a few moments earlier.

  Gorgo’s self-indulgence did not last long. After a little while she drew back, wiped the tears from her face, and turned Agiatis to face her. “We have to pull ourselves together and make sure that your father’s last memories of us are comforting ones―images to warm and cheer him not only as he marches into battle, but into the darkness of the underworld itself.”

  This time Agiatis nodded. In fact, she took a deep breath and announced, “You’re right, Mom. We will. We will be better than Andromache for Hektor, because there are two of us―and Dad’s going to win. Sparta isn’t going to fall like Troy. You will never be a foreign prince’s slave, and no Persian will rape me and make me serve him like a whore! And no one would dare mutilate Dad’s corpse, because the Guard will defend it and bring it home, and he will be buried right here on the banks of the Eurotas he loved. And we’ll put up a monument to him, like the one over Kastor’s grave, and we’ll visit him there, and talk to him, and tell him how happy we are. How good Lakrates is to me―he is a good man, isn’t he?”

  “
He’s a delightful young man,” Gorgo assured her. “With a wonderful sense of humor, as well as being a brilliant armed runner and javelin thrower.”

  Agiatis nodded, satisfied. “All right. Then we’d better go fix ourselves up so Dad can’t tell we’ve been crying.”

  “Exactly,” Gorgo agreed. They helped each other up and, hand in hand, walked down the pier and headed back for the house.

  Hilaira had made a feast, and the sound of voices from the terrace was more beautiful than the winning chorus at the Gymnopaedia. She was surrounded by everyone she loved, and to a woman of forty-five that was the most important thing in the world.

  This being the eve of the Karneia, the agoge was closed and the young men were released from barracks. That meant that both Thersander and Simonidas were home for the holidays. Thersander had brought the maiden he was courting, Gnathaena. She was a pretty, dark-eyed girl, shy in the presence of her future mother-in-law and family, but she seemed very fond of Thersander. Hilaira was a little disappointed in her not for any fault, but simply because she knew Leonidas had considered asking Thersander to marry Agiatis. He had backed off as soon as he learned Thersander already had a sweetheart; it wouldn’t work, he said, to make him marry Agiatis if his heart was engaged elsewhere. Hilaira was sorry about that. She liked Agiatis, though she could be a handful, and she liked the idea of having official ties with the Agiad house now that the protection of the Eurypontids was gone.

  She looked out the kitchen window and leaned over to get a glimpse of her sister-in-law, Percalus. The once-famed beauty was now fat, and her face was puffy. She drank too much strong wine, and her temper had not improved in the dozen years since her husband had abandoned her. At least with so many others at the table, it was easier to ignore her.

  Hilaira’s eyes fell next on Simonidas. He had recovered remarkably well from the fever, not just physically but psychologically. Even the scars no longer seemed to worry him. His self-confidence came in part from the fact that he was not the only Spartan to wear them, but also because as an eirene he’d been given charge of a class of fourteen-year-olds, which was better than he’d expected. Last but not least, it had been wise of Leonidas to take the youth with him to Corinth; many of his comrades envied him the trip abroad, and it had given him greater status among his peers as well as more self-confidence. The latter was reinforced by his enduring friendship with the Corinthian youth Kallias.

  The young Corinthian had come down with a delegation from his city to coordinate the coming campaign with Leonidas, and was staying here at the kleros for the holidays. Simonidas and Kallias were in a world of their own, exchanging news, remembering past adventures, and planning future ones. Simonidas kept saying, “If the war lasts just one more year, we can fight together!”

  Men! Hilaira thought in exasperation. She could not understand the appeal of fighting together. She most certainly hoped this war would be over before Simonidas came of age and received his cloak and shield. It was bad enough that Alkander and Prokles were both part of the advance guard and that Thersander would follow with the rest of the army at the end of the Karneia. The only men left in Sparta would be the youths twenty and younger and the old men, like her father.

  Hilaira’s eyes lingered on her father. He looked very fragile. Hilaira’s mother had passed away years ago, and her father had not been the same since. To Hilaira he seemed to be withdrawing more and more from the world. That made Hilaira sad, and she looked around the kitchen to find the candied lemons she had made especially for him; they were his favorite sweet and could still bring a smile to his face. But moving was increasingly difficult for him, and he visited Hilaira and Alkander at their estate only rarely.

  He was here today out of respect for the fact that Alkander and Prokles had both been selected for the advance guard, and that had already become a mark of coveted honor. Although the initial selection had been made by Alkander, Dienekes, and Oliantus, everyone knew that the men who marched north in the advance guard all met Leonidas’ personal approval. Just yesterday he had gone through the list one by one and made some discreet substitutions. The men who made up the advance guard represented the men Leonidas thought were Sparta’s absolute best from among the married men with sons. To be one of “Leonidas’ Three Hundred” already had the same prestige as membership in the Guard or the legendary Three Hundred that had fought the Argives at Thyrea.

  Of course, some men grumbled that Leonidas’ choice was colored by personal friendship―which was true. Some men, for example, had scoffed at Sperchias’ inclusion―until Bulis, hardly one of Leonidas’ supporters, acidly retorted to the critics: “I didn’t see you stand up to Xerxes!” Bulis’ defense of Sperchias had induced Leonidas to invite him to join the Three Hundred himself, an offer he accepted instantly.

  Even more men had objected to Temenos, saying that he was unmarried and had no legitimate sons, a standpoint Leonidas shared. Leonidas had, therefore, approached Temenos to notify him he was not qualified. Temenos had looked Leonidas straight in the eye and retorted, “You said living sons, not legitimate sons. You, who know my boys so well, cannot deny that they are splendid boys.”

  Leonidas had capitulated.

  And men criticized the selection of Prokles, too, saying that the former exile was not really Spartiate anymore. He’d spent too long abroad, outside the discipline of mess and barracks, living by different customs, wearing his hair short and drinking his wine neat. Leonidas had cut the criticism short by saying, “He has more battle experience than the rest put together. Why should I deny myself such a resource?”

  That Prokles qualified to march with Leonidas was due to the fact that on his return to Lacedaemon three years earlier, he had immediately taken a bride, who produced a son within their first year of marriage and was now pregnant again. In fact, she was due any day, and sat proudly on the terrace with her hands resting contently on her swollen belly.

  Hilaira did not like the girl much. She thought she was lazy and self-satisfied. But Hilaira knew that Prokles, exile and self-made outcast that he was, would have had a hard time finding any bride at all if Leonidas had not, as king, had control over several heiresses. Hilaira leaned a little farther forward to try to get a better look at her sister-in-law.

  “If you lean out any farther, you’ll fall right out!” her brother observed, coming up behind her.

  “Prokles!” Hilaira admonished. “What are you doing sneaking up on a woman in her own kitchen?”

  “Just wanted to be sure you weren’t holding the best things back,” Prokles retorted, reaching out to snatch a fresh-baked raisin roll and sink his teeth into it before she could stop him.

  Hilaira made a face, and started to put the cooling rolls into a basket to bring them to the table. Prokles hemmed her in with an arm that blocked her into the corner between oven and counter. “I just wanted to tell you I’ll keep an eye on Alkander. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  “Alkander’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself!” Hilaira defended her husband instinctively. “He’s not a little boy that you need to look after anymore!”

  Prokles grunted. Hilaira might be right that he still saw Alkander through the lenses of their joint childhood, when Alkander had been the weakling―but Alkander, unlike Leonidas, was not a born soldier. “Yeah, well,” he answered his sister, “I won’t let his devotion to Leo mislead him into any unnecessary heroics. Leonidas might try to unduly expose himself to danger in order to ensure the oracle is fulfilled, but Dienekes and I have agreed not to let him get away with it. The oracle could damn well be a fake, and we aren’t going to take any chances with losing Leonidas to his own idealism just to be stuck with Leotychidas as our commander. That bastard couldn’t command a troop of goats!”

  Hilaira found this declaration comforting. Prokles spoke as if he were motivated purely by self-interest, but she knew better. Prokles didn’t really give a damn about Lacedaemon as a whole; he was fighting for Leo. As for Dienekes, his prioritie
s might be reversed, but he had long since decided that Leonidas was best for Lacedaemon, and he would do all he could to preserve Leonidas as long as possible. As for Alkander, he loved Leonidas―but, she thought, not more than he loved her and their sons. To her brother she said simply, “Thank you, Prokles. Now, let’s go back outside before your bride suspects me of seducing you.”

  Prokles threw his head back and laughed heartily, before remarking with a satisfied smile, “She does have a jealous streak, doesn’t she? But then,” he shrugged, “she’s got every reason to wonder who got the little kitchen maid pregnant.”

  “Oh, Prokles, you didn’t!” Hilaira exclaimed in shocked disapproval.

  Prokles shrugged, “She was so tempting―and not unwilling. What did you want me to do? Stay celibate until after the next delivery, or make love to a woman in Cassy’s condition?”

  “Other men wait!” Hilaira told him firmly.

  Prokles laughed. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you, I guess. Come on!” Snatching another roll from the basket, he turned and headed back outside, leaving Hilaira torn between anger and uncertainty. She mentally ran through the helot births on her own kleros. Could any of the helot children have been conceived when she was pregnant? And what if they had? That didn’t make Alkander the father. What was she thinking? How could a single remark make her doubt Alkander’s fidelity after all these years? Oh, Prokles! It was just as well he was going away again.

  But no sooner had she thought this than she felt guilty. She reached over, took a pinch of salt from the wooden bowl where it stood ready for kitchen use, and rubbed it between her fingers before scattering it on the floor. “Hades, I didn’t mean it. Don’t take him yet.”

  Pulling herself together, she took the basket of raisin rolls and went out onto the terrace to join the others. She took her seat beside Alkander and took his hand in hers. Mentally she was saying a second prayer, “But if you must take one of them, take Prokles, not my Alkander.”