Leonidas, son of Anaxandridas, king of the Spartans, Panhellenic leader, hails King Leotychidas, the honourable ephors and venerable elders.
When you read these words I will be no longer among the living, nor shall the valorous sons of Sparta here with me, who have met the dreadful force of the barbarians head-on. It is only right that he who pays with his own blood make his voice heard. I have desired, in this my final act, to save from destruction a great family of valorous men, and to prevent them from being unjustly sacrificed. These men are Brithos and Kleidemos, sons of Aristarkhos, Kleomenid – the first would be destined to die here, in violation of the laws of his city, while the other lives as a servant, having escaped the death that the laws of his city had prescribed for him. They are the living image of the condition of Sparta: among these very rocks, the Helots will spill their blood as surely as the warriors. These two sons of Sparta come from the same stock, and it is my desire that a new order be founded so that the two races who live on this same land and who equally give their blood for her, may live in peace in the future under the same laws. I ask you that the memory of my brother Cleomenes, your king, be redeemed, as he was pushed into the darkness of folly and death by no divine hand, I believe, but by human will. If all this does not come about in the city for which I am about to give my life, the gods will one day curse her, for all of those who have suffered her injustice and abuse without reason, if it is true that the deities send truthful premonitions to those who are about to die.
Kleidemos let the scroll fall to the ground and went into his parents’ bed chamber. He opened the great cypress coffer, took out the armour and the shields of the Kleomenids, and dragged them to the tomb of Ismene. On the stone slab he placed the storied cuirass, the splendidly embossed shin plates, the helmet with the three black crests and the shield of the dragon. He knelt and leaned his head on the icy stone. Then, one last time, he touched the shield he had slept in as an infant and which had held the bones of his brother. One last time. And he took off at a run towards Mount Taygetus, vanishing in the fog.
A bellow erupted then from the bowels of the mountain and the earth shuddered and shook, down to the abyss of the Underworld. The powerful walls of the Kleomenid house swayed, the cornerstones broke asunder and the ancient home collapsed from its very foundations with an immense roar.
22
ITHOME
KLEIDEMOS PASSED THE CLEARING of the great holm oak, entered the bush and reached the base of the mound. Karas was sitting there, enveloped in his cape near a little fire of twigs. He sat as still as a boulder.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Come, let’s go in.’
Kleidemos moved aside the stones that blocked the entrance to the mound, on which a soft blanket of moss and ferns had grown. No one had touched those stones since he had visited that place with Kritolaos, that rainy night long ago.
Karas picked up a stick wrapped in tow and lit it in the campfire; he entered the cave first, followed by Kleidemos. He hung the torch on the wall of the inner chamber, and opened the great chest. The fantastic armour glittered in the dim light and Kleidemos stood staring without blinking. Karas took out the cuirass with its three large connected plates, then the bronze shield decorated with a wolf’s head in sparkling electrum and the helmet crowned with wolf fangs. As he stretched his hand out towards the sword, Kleidemos was shaken by a sudden tremor. Karas detached the torch from the wall and brought it close to the blade. The grease which had covered it caught fire and the sword burst into flame. When the brief blaze had extinguished itself, the tempered blade was a dazzling blue.
Karas lowered his head and recited in a low voice, ‘He will be strong and innocent, and moved by such a strong love for his people that he will sacrifice the voice of his own blood.’
‘I heard these words from Kritolaos,’ said Kleidemos.
‘They are the words of an ancient prophecy which has come true in this moment. You, who sacrifice your Spartan blood for the love of your people, you are the last Wolf of Messenia, Talos, son of Sparta and son of your people . . . The moment has come for you to grasp the sword of Aristodemus, king of the Messenians, heir of Nestor, shepherd of peoples. The ancient curse . . . shall be undone.’ Karas’ eye shone under his powerful brow, perhaps with tears. But his voice was firm. He pressed the tip of the sword against the chest of Kleidemos, who did not move. Blood spurted out, and Karas lifted the sword high with both hands. The red drop trickled slowly along the central groove until it touched the amber hilt. Karas then plunged the sword into the ground and knelt before it, his sweat-beaded brow against the hilt. With a quivering voice, he pronounced words which Kleidemos could not understand, and yet which burned into his mind, one after another.
Karas raised his face towards Kleidemos, who seemed to have turned to stone. He said, ‘Take it, now.’
Kleidemos stretched his hand out to the amber hilt. He gripped it, pulled it from the ground, and held it to his chest. Karas stood. ‘Kritolaos was the last Keeper of the Sword. I am the Keeper of the Word – words passed down for one hundred and eighty-four years. Now you possess the Sword and you know the Word. You are the Wolf.’
*
All the able-bodied men of the mountain had gathered in the big clearing at the high spring. They had been waiting, armed and drawn up into tribes. They watched the forest as if waiting. One of them suddenly pointed towards a thicket of oak trees. ‘Here they come!’
Karas’ imposing figure was first, the spear in his right hand, a leather shield in his left. Behind him was a warrior, armed to the teeth, his head covered by a helmet crowned with wolf fangs and a huge horn bow over his shoulder. From the belt which crossed his chest hung the amber-hilted sword. At the sight of him, the elders fell to their knees, raising their hands in the air while Karas lifted his spear and shouted, ‘The Wolf has returned. Render him honour!’ The men tightened their ranks and began to beat sword on shield. A powerful, confused roar arose, becoming ever stronger and more rhythmical, an incredible din that echoed over all the surrounding mountain peaks.
An old man with a long white beard advanced with an unsteady step until he stood before the warrior. He raised tear-filled eyes and said in a broken voice, ‘We have been waiting for so long, my lord, for this day. May the gods be with you and give you the strength to guide this people.’ He took his hand and kissed it.
Kleidemos removed his helmet and held up his hand in a request for silence. ‘People of the mountain!’ he shouted. ‘Listen! Many signs from the gods, and the fulfilment of many presages have convinced me to don this armour and to take up the sword of Aristodemus. I have been away for a long time, so that I could learn the truth about my life and about the world that surrounds us. I have suffered greatly and undergone much pain, because the gods have reserved a difficult fate for me. But now my Spartan roots have dried up and my road is marked out before me. I will lead you, men, with the help of Karas, the Keeper of the Word, whom my grandfather Kritolaos singled out as my companion so many years ago.
‘I witnessed your battle, two days ago on the plain, and I’ve seen what Sparta has in store for you. You are no longer accustomed to fighting; you’ve never fought against such perfectly equipped and trained troops. Believe me, there are still many able warriors in the city, led by two young and courageous kings. And I know for certain that the city is seeking aid and reinforcements from its allies, including the Athenians, the lords of the seas.
‘What I believe we must do is return to the original land of our people, Messenia, and reoccupy Ithome!’ Murmurs ran through the lines of warriors. ‘The Spartans will be long occupied with rebuilding their devastated city and reorganizing their forces. We’ll have all the time we need to reach Ithome and raise its walls. Ithome’s location is excellent; its position will make it easy to defend the city without having to face the Peloponnesian phalanx on open ground. We will repair the wells and cisterns and fortify the bastions. The herds of cows and sheep that
you have always put to pasture for your masters will sustain us. Call your families, your women and children, and have them make preparations. Tomorrow we begin our march.’
A shout was raised from one thousand mouths, all the warriors lifting their spears. Karas began immediately to assign duties. He had sentries posted on all the paths and at all the points of surveillance. He divided the sound men into groups and chose the best as their commanders. He had them gather all the pack animals and all the available carts with the oxen to pull them, ordering each family to bring their own household goods to the big clearing, so they could load them up along with their provisions.
Kleidemos spent the night in the cottage of Kritolaos, with the woman who had been his mother for so many years. The animal pens were still there and everything was in perfect order inside, as though it had never been abandoned. There was Kritolaos’ stool, where he would sit on long winter nights and tell his marvellous stories as he wove baskets with thin twigs of broom. And there was the bed where he had slept as a child, dreaming half awake and half asleep in the early morning as he listened to the song of the skylarks fluttering up from the bushes towards the disc of the sun, or to the twittering of the courting blackbirds.
In just two days he would be rejoined with Antinea and remain with her forever. He fell asleep, done in by long days of emotion and fatigue. Next to him waited the armour of the kings of Messenia, created long ago by an inspired craftsman in a splendid palace. The armour that had lain buried for entire generations in the mountain cavern. Not far away, Kritolaos slept at the edge of the oak wood under a simple mound. A pious hand had planted a young flowering ash alongside him; its buds were already swelling under the soft tepid sea breeze.
*
The long march began at dawn, when the sentries reported from their guard posts that the entire area was clear. Kleidemos arranged the armed men five abreast in two columns, one at the head of the group and the other at the back. In the middle were the carts, the pack animals, the women, the old people and the children, with their belongings. Groups of scouts on horseback covered their advance and others, riding at a distance, closed off the long train of men and animals, ready to give the alarm if they were attacked from behind.
But there were no surprises during the entire journey, which lasted for five days. The people of the mountain arrived within sight of the ruins of Ithome on the afternoon of the fifth day. Kleidemos had them set up camp at the base of the hill where they could draw water. A nearby forest offered an abundance of wood. Builders and carpenters immediately assembled their tools and in just a few days shelters were up. All of the able-bodied men and many women worked in shifts inside the city to repair the walls and close the breaches; they built roofs as well, and cleared away the debris from the streets. Even the youngest children did what they could to help.
Antinea and old Pelias had joined the migrating column when it passed over their land; Karas had them climb onto a cart and told them about everything that had happened. Kleidemos, at the head of the column, greeted her with a wave and a long look but did not abandon his position. There would be time to be with her and talk with her. The most important thing now was to lead all these people to safety before the Spartans decided to attack.
Strangely, the Spartans did not show up for a full three months. When the first small group of enemy scouts on horseback was spotted by the sentries at the entrance to the valley, Ithome had returned to life and was home to all the people of Mount Taygetus. There were three thousand eight hundred of them, of which eight hundred were able to bear arms.
Kleidemos trained them thoroughly in all the combat techniques he had learned in his years of serving Sparta. One night, as he was inspecting the walls along with Karas, he stopped on a tower to look out over the moonlit valley.
‘What are you thinking of?’ asked Karas.
‘Of when we’ll see the Spartan army heading in.’
‘Perhaps we won’t,’ answered Karas. ‘Perhaps they’ll leave us in peace.’
‘No,’ said Kleidemos, shaking his head. ‘You and I both know that they cannot tolerate an independent – and hostile – city at just five days’ march from their gates. I only hope that the ephors consider the possibility of a truce. We could recognize their formal sovereignty over this land in exchange for peace. We know nothing of what has been happening in the valley of the Eurotas, but I’m not nurturing false illusions.’
‘This city cannot die,’ said Karas after a long silence. ‘I’ve already heard the old men telling the children the story of the great march from Mount Taygetus, the story of Talos the Wolf. It will be sung as part of our history, like the endeavours of the ancient kings.’
‘I know what you’re saying,’ replied Kleidemos. ‘I chose with your help to bring our people here because I thought it was the only possible path to safety and freedom. But now I’m afraid.’
‘The Messenians have already accepted us; there’s no hostility on their part, none at all. The elders of the nearby towns and villages have told us that they consider us their kinsmen, descendants of the same fathers.’
‘It’s true. And this may become a great advantage for us should the Spartans attack, although I don’t think they will go so far as to take up arms for us. But it’s useless trying to predict the future. We must prepare for the worst. If destiny should prove favourable, all the better for us. Just watching this city rise from the dead has been marvellous. Kritolaos’ dream! If only he could see this.’
‘Kritolaos was the Keeper of the Sword,’ said Karas. ‘His spirit will always be with his people.’
‘All this seems impossible. It’s as if I were dreaming sometimes. Finding you again, Antinea, my mother . . . and this people, ready to fight after such a long wait.’
‘We’ve always been ready to fight,’ said Karas. ‘When the Greeks won at Plataea, that very night many of our men sacked great riches from the Persian camp and kept them ably hidden. They were used to buy weapons for our warriors. Arms with which they will defend their liberty, should it cost them their lives. These people will never go back to being slaves. Remember that: never. They’d rather die. All of them.’
That night Kleidemos lay next to Antinea and held her tightly.
‘My father is dying,’ said Antinea. ‘Serenely. He feels that life is abandoning him, but he regrets nothing. You have shown him the city of his ancestors, you have fulfilled his lifelong dream.’
Kleidemos held her even tighter. ‘Antinea,’ he said. ‘Oh, Antinea, I would like this dream to be never ending. But I’m afraid of what awaits us. Sparta is implacable.’
‘It doesn’t matter what awaits us if we’re slaves. Nor does living a long life. All of us are ready to fight and we are all happy that we’ve followed you here. My father is dying but in my womb a child is growing. This is a sign of life that continues, not life that ends.’
Kleidemos sought out her eyes in the darkness and he felt a knot tighten his throat. ‘A child,’ he whispered. ‘A child will be born in the dead city . . .’ He kissed her and caressed her smooth belly.
*
The first Spartan troops arrived at the beginning of the summer, but the contingent was quite small at first. The ephors had decided to keep an eye on the city of the Helots in order to prevent others who had remained in Laconia from joining up with the rebels. More time passed before the Spartans attempted to force entry into the valley, which had been fortified with a rampart. The people of Ithome had planted crops and wanted to harvest them before the winter came, and so the ramparts were kept under close surveillance day and night to prevent the enemy from passing. When the wheat had begun to turn golden, the Spartans sent a legation demanding the surrender of the city and the return of the Helots to Mount Taygetus. They were willing to forego any revenge or punishment as long as each one of them returned to their work on the fields and pastures.
Karas responded from high on the rampart. ‘These people have long suffered as slaves. Many of our men died in
battle, serving your warriors, but their blood was held of no account and reviled. And so we left Laconia to return to our ancient homeland and we rebuilt this city. There is not one of us who hasn’t suffered injustice or beatings or torture at your hands, but it is not our desire to exact revenge. We only wish to live freely and in peace. If you leave this land, you will have nothing to fear from us, but for nothing in the world will we accept to take your yoke back onto our shoulders. We would rather risk our lives defending our freedom, and we will never surrender. Never.’
‘Beware, Helots!’ shouted the Spartan. ‘Our ancestors destroyed this city once and we will do so again!’
‘Out of here!’ ordered Karas, furious.
The Spartan looked up derisively. ‘A one-eyed man and a cripple,’ he sneered, turning to the men accompanying him. ‘Fine leaders this ragged crew has chosen for themselves!’ But he had no time to say another word. Karas lifted up an enormous boulder, raised it above his head and hurled it with a roar. The Spartan realized the giant’s might too late and his bronze shield was lifted in vain. The boulder flattened him to the ground, crushing his chest and spraying his guts through the openings on his cuirass. The others, stunned, laid down their spears. They gathered the corpse onto a shield and crept off in silence.
The scouts that Karas sent off over the surrounding hills to estimate the strength of the enemy troops reported back that their number seemed quite small. In fact, the ephors had not dared strip Sparta of defences, fearful that the Arcadians and Messenians would rise up against them. They had requested aid from the Athenians and hoped that a large contingent would be sent from Attica, trusting mainly in the support of Cimon, who led the aristocratic party and had championed a strong alliance between the two most powerful forces in Greece. At that point they would unleash the decisive attack and annihilate the Helots entrenched behind the walls of Ithome. But by the time Cimon had overcome with great difficulty the strong opposition of the democrats, thanks solely to his personal prestige, and the assembly of Athens had agreed to send five battalions of hoplites to Messenia, the summer was ending. No one could hope to conquer the city before the rainy season. The bad weather would make it difficult, if not completely impossible, to maintain a siege.
Spartan Page 32
