The man escorting Leonidas addressed this eirene: “Gitiades, here’s another one for you: Leonidas, son of Anaxandridas.”
“King Anaxandridas?”
“That’s right.”
That made the other boys look over and stare. The older man was gone, and Gitiades addressed Leonidas. “You’re nothing special here. Remember that. Just one of the herd. And you can get out of those fancy clothes—all of you!” he ordered his charges collectively. “Put them in that bin over there.” He pointed. Shyly the seven-year-olds took off the chitons and himations lovingly made by mothers, aunts, and sisters, and put them into the indicated basket. The room was unheated and it was cold standing around naked, but Gitiades seemed unconcerned. “Line up over there.” The boys did as they were told, while yet another couple of boys arrived and were ordered to strip as well.
Gitiades arranged the boys in order of height. Leonidas was second from the last. “Remember your place! Whenever I ask you to line up, do it in this order. Later, your position in rank and file will be based on which of you deserves praise and which of you deserves humiliation. That!” he pointed—“the outer right-hand wing—is the place of honour. It is the position of officers, because the man who stands there has only his own sword to protect him. That—the outer left-hand wing—is the place of disgrace. The man there is sheltered behind the shield of all his comrades; it is therefore the coward’s or bungler’s post.”
Leonidas thought that simplified things somewhat. Everyone knew that the enemy might come from any direction. In an instant the army might have to about face, and suddenly the man on the outer right found himself on the outer left and vice versa. But Gitiades was obviously not going to accept any objections, certainly not from the boy second from the left-hand post of “disgrace”.
Gitiades next handed each boy a couple of unbleached chitons from a stack on a nearby shelf. Leonidas had never felt such rough wool in his life. It felt as if it were half hemp. The boys were told to put one of these on, which they gladly did because of the cold. Only the cloth scratched the skin so that Leonidas wasn’t sure it was an improvement. Gitiades next handed out himations of dirty brown, natural wool, just one a piece this time. The weave of these garments was so loose that the cold seemed to come right through them. Leonidas sighed inwardly, knowing that these were to be his only clothes for a full year – only to be replaced next year by a new set of identical clothes. Not until he graduated from “little boy” to youth at age 14 would he get a better chiton and a black cloak, along with his first set of leather training armour. At 17, after enduring the test of Artemis Orthia, he would at last be given real weapons and armour, and the clothes that went with them. At 19, as a meleirene, he would be issued real hoplite clothes and equipment, only in black rather than scarlet, and rather than attending classes would serve the army as messenger, watch-keeper and the like. At 20 he would become an eirene like Gitiades, and finally be allowed shoes again. Only when he attained his citizenship at age 21 and went on active duty with the army would he at last be given Spartan scarlet for his battle chiton and himation and be free to wear whatever he liked off duty. Fourteen years seemed an interminable period to Leonidas: it was twice as long as he had lived already.
The next thing that happened was even more unpleasant. One after another, the boys had their hair shaved off. Long hair was the mark and privilege of full citizens, the men over 31. That was the age at which men at last went off active duty and into the reserves, and therefore also became eligible for public office. The men on active service were allowed to grow their hair only as long as the back of their helmet. The boys of the agoge went shaved, while the eirenes—in accordance with their transitional status—were in the process of growing out their hair after 14 years of going about shaved.
By now there were eleven of them in the little group. Gitiades had them line up again, and assigned them each a bunk. The taller boys got the upper bunks, and Leonidas had a lower bunk near the back door that, by the smell of things, led to the latrines. Clearly this was another post of relative disgrace. They were informed that at the next new moon from this day they would be allowed to elect their own “herd leader”, after which they would be given the mornings from breakfast to lunch free to fend for themselves “productively” (whatever that meant). Until then, Gitiades announced, he was going to introduce them to their new environment, from the sports and running fields, to the classrooms and the syssitia, where they would serve as mess-boys.
By the end of his first month in the agoge, Leonidas knew that he was going to survive. Unlike some of the other boys, he had not been terribly spoilt at home. Dido had lavished as much love on him as she could, but her authority had been very circumscribed. Furthermore, Brotus had always cast a large shadow, filling each day with uncertainty. At the agoge, Leonidas faced no similar bully.
The elected herd leader, Ephorus, was a bit of a show-off, faster than the rest of them and confident of his superiority. He took a certain pride in pointing out to Leonidas that he was faster and stronger than a “son of Herakles”, but he didn’t actually hurt Leonidas as Brotus frequently had done. At worst, he gave him a shove or shouted something like, “Eat my dust, son of Herakles!” Leonidas shrugged it off.
As for the other boys, they were mostly just as unsure of themselves as he was. The bulk of them followed Ephorus’ lead and tried to win Gitiades’ approval by fawning on him a bit. One of the boys, Prokles, seemed a bit stand-offish and almost rebellious, refusing to pander to Gitiades’ every whim and sometimes challenging Ephorus. Timon, the only boy shorter than Leonidas, distinguished himself by being rather sullen and aggressive, apparently determined to get out of his position of “disgrace”. But he really didn’t have much to worry about, because it soon became evident that Alkander was destined to be the herd dunce.
Alkander was taller than Leonidas, but he seemed strangely uncoordinated. He tripped frequently and knocked things over. He even had a slight stutter, which the others mercilessly mocked. This had the effect of making him speak less and less often—and when he did speak, the stutter was worse than ever. Initially, Leonidas was glad that there was someone worse than he, who consistently landed in the position of “disgrace”, but after a while he found himself just feeling sorry for Alkander.
By then, of course, his brothers had found out that he, unlike Brotus, had not been elected herd leader. When Brotus saw Leonidas following around behind another boy, he’d charged over and throttled him for “disgracing the Agiads”. As this was pretty much what Leonidas had expected from Brotus, he wasn’t terribly upset by it. What came as a complete surprise was that his entire herd took this as an insult to them. Ephorus roared to the attack, knocking Brotus down, and soon it was a full-scale free-for-all between the two herds. The brawling seven-year-olds attracted a crowd, with older age-cohorts from the agoge and even citizens standing about shouting encouragement. It ended pretty much in a draw, with every one of them bleeding someplace or other and their chitons very much the worse for the “engagement”. But there wasn’t one who didn’t feel very proud of himself. Leonidas had never felt so happy in his life. He was no longer alone in the world; he had comrades.
Dorieus took a different tack, and it was far more humiliating. Leonidas had seen little of Dorieus over the years. Although Dorieus always returned to the palace during the frequent holidays, he was so much a favourite with their mother Taygete that she never wanted her younger boys around when Dorieus was there. As a result, Leonidas had seen his oldest brother only at a distance, or for brief encounters of no substance in the corridors or courtyards of the palace. It came as a horrible shock to have Dorieus stop him in the middle of the agora in full view of citizens, matrons, and even perioikoi and helots.
Leonidas and his herd had been lurking around the stalls of the agora, hoping for handouts to supplement the boring diet of the agoge. Meals at school were, in Leonidas’ opinion, dismal, and the portions skimpy. At the agora there were almost alwa
ys some helots with kindly hearts who weren’t above giving boys bruised fruit, burnt crusts, or other less marketable wares. Leonidas had his eye on a meat pasty that had fallen off the counter of a pastry stall and been pecked at by some sparrows. He was sure the vendor wouldn’t sell it to a real customer, and if he could just—
“Leonidas, son of Anaxandridas, is that you?” Dorieus called out in loud voice that turned everyone’s head.
A seven-year-old Spartan boy is at the very bottom rung in the long ladder that ended with the men over sixty. They are required to show “respect” for every other Spartiate, male or female, who is older than they. (Children under the age of seven were still “infants” and not expected to know their manners yet, so they were exempt from duty and discipline.) What this meant, among other things, was that the younger boys had to give way to their elders in the streets, to stand up for their elders if they were sitting, and to give up their seats to them if requested. They were also strictly admonished to hold their tongue in the presence of their elders unless directly spoken to. In the latter case, however, they were required to address adult females with “ma’am” and adult males of active-service age with “sir,” and all men old enough for the reserves with “father.” Unfortunately, since anyone of an older age-cohort and especially the eirenes or citizens had a “responsibility” for training the boys and youth in the agoge, they also had a right to stop and question any boy.
At the sound of his name, Leonidas jumped guiltily and turned around to face his older brother.
Dorieus was beautiful. In fact, he seemed to embody manly beauty in the abstract, as if he were a direct throwback to Herakles himself. He was tall for his age. His shoulders were as broad as a grown man’s. His arms and legs were a melody of entwined muscle. His belly was flat and hard as if it were made of bronze. He was now an awesome 18 years of age, and so Leonidas had to stand with his hands at his sides and his eyes at his feet and call him “sir”. “Yes, sir,” he said dutifully.
Dorieus came to stand directly before him. His head was shaved, too, of course, but he was wearing training armour, carried a shield slung on his back, and a real sword hung from his baldric—something Leonidas couldn’t even dream about for another ten years.
“Is it true what I hear? That you were not elected herd leader?” Dorieus had been herd leader of his unit ever since he had been enrolled in the agoge. He had won the contest of Artemis Orthia at 16. He had innumerable prizes for running, wrestling, javelin, and discus. Dorieus was quite simply the most splendid of all the young men still in the agoge—not excepting even those youths in the age-cohorts ahead of him.
“Yes, sir,” Leonidas answered the question.
“And why not?”
“Ask the others, sir. They were the ones who voted.” Even as he answered, Leonidas stiffened his stomach muscles and braced for the blow Brotus would have given him for such an impudent retort.
Dorieus was made of different stuff. “That was a very facile answer, boy, and you know it. Try again.”
“Ephorus is faster and stronger than I am, sir.”
“Then why aren’t you in the gymnasium improving your strength rather than loitering around the agora looking for handouts like a mongrel dog?”
Everyone in the whole agora (it seemed like the whole city to Leonidas) was listening to them.
“Because, sir, if I get that meat pasty over there, I will have far more strength than if I try to exercise in the gym when I’m half starved to death.”
The pastry vendor laughed outright, but Dorieus was unimpressed. “You are either a fool or you are trying to provoke me. The leanest dogs run fastest, and the hungriest lion makes the kill.”
“How do you know that the hungriest lion makes the kill, sir? Have you talked to one?”
“Now I know you are just trying to provoke me, little brother, but I won’t play your silly game. You disgrace our house and our mother, just as Brotus told me you did.” Dorieus turned on his heel and departed, everyone in the agora making way for him as if before a reigning king. Leonidas stood in his wake, feeling very small and silly and worthless.
Someone jostled his arm. He looked over alarmed, but it was only the pasty vendor. “Here you go, lad.” He offered him one of the good pasties—not the one picked at by the birds. “Eat up and enjoy it. Don’t let that pompous ass get you down.”
The vendor was a helot, of course. Leonidas knew that his brother would be appalled if he turned around and saw what Leonidas did next, but he didn’t care. He took the pastry and smiled up at the vendor. “Thank you! I won’t forget this. When I grow up and have money, I’ll buy only from you!”
The vendor laughed. His front teeth were missing. “Is that a promise, little Leonidas? Will you make me a purveyor of the Agiad royal house one day?”
“Well, I can’t do that,” Leonidas admitted with evident regret. “I’m never going to be king. But I’ll buy all my own pasties from you,” Leonidas assured him solemnly. He was serious, even though the helot seemed to think this was all an enormous joke.
By the time the third of his brothers, Cleomenes, took notice of his failure to win election from the other seven-year-olds in his “herd”, Leonidas was rather tired of the whole thing. Besides, he had been raised to look down on this half-brother as something distinctly “inferior” and “distasteful”. Cleomenes was King Anaxandridas’ son by “that other woman”. Although the ephors had made a great show of setting aside Spartan marriage law and allowing King Anaxandridas to take a second wife, Leonidas had been raised in his mother’s household, and she insisted that the ephors (“nothing but a rude coterie of jumped-up royal servants”) had no such authority. How could five ordinary citizens (who were not even priests and without the sanction of Delphi!) simply set aside Spartan law? This question, when asked indignantly by the Agiad queen, was clearly rhetorical, and Leonidas had never heard anyone dare to answer her. Even his father, on the one occasion when Leonidas happened to hear her raise this beloved topic in his presence, had only shrugged. The ageing king had been too weary to fight with his queen over this bitter issue.
If the ephors had no right to set Spartan law aside, then “that other woman” was not King Anaxandridas’ wife, but his concubine. Ergo, the child this concubine bore was a bastard—pure and simple. Taygete never referred to Cleomenes by any other term than “that bastard” —although the adjectives used to describe “the bastard” varied over time.
At first, on the basis of helot rumours, Taygete had been led to believe that Cleomenes was “sickly” and so he had been “that feeble bastard.” Then it was rumoured that he was rather wild and self-willed, so she called him that “unruly bastard.” When as a little boy of about 10 it was reported in the City that he had been caught telling some minor lie or other, he became “that deceitful bastard.” And because, as the heir apparent to the Agiad throne, he was exempt from flogging, she called him “that cowardly bastard” – although obviously Cleomenes had no choice in the matter. Following an incident in which he allegedly showed disrespect for the Gods in one way or another, he became “that impious bastard”. So it was this “feeble, unruly, deceitful, cowardly and impious bastard” that confronted Leonidas just outside the monument to Lycurgus one fine early-summer morning of Leonidas’ first year in the agoge.
Leonidas like most of his fellow “little boys” did their best to avoid interrogations from their elders about what they had (or had not) learned so far by avoiding their elders altogether. At the sight of someone older, most boys tried to dart out of the way without being noticed. Leonidas was no exception. Unfortunately, just when he thought he’d made his escape, a mocking voice called after him: “Well if it isn’t my littlest brother Leonidas! Trying to run away like a coward too. Come here, boy!”
With an inward sigh, Leonidas stopped, turned around, and, when he stood a yard away from his tormentor, dutifully stopped and faced him. “Sir?”
Cleomenes was a year older than Dorieus and he
nce 19 years old and should have been a so-called meleirene. But Cleomenes, as the heir-apparent to the Agiad throne, was exempted from the agoge. He therefore did not wear his hair shaved, nor was he barefoot. He was dressed in a simple but fine chiton, probably of angora wool. Although Leonidas was supposed to keep his eyes down, he couldn’t resist one glance at the face of this feeble-unruly-deceitful-impious coward. To his embarrassment, he met his brother’s eyes, which were examining him with discomfiting intensity.
Cleomenes could not be called beautiful by any means. He did not have Dorieus’ even features or his broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs. He was tanned and by no means fat, but there was nevertheless a softness about him. Furthermore, his shoulders were narrow and his joints all seemed too large for his limbs, suggesting that his muscles were underdeveloped. His face, too, was somehow misshapen without being actually deformed. He had his father’s too-large nose, his teeth were too prominent, and his eyes set too close together.
But these eyes were very sharp, and they seemed to miss nothing as they drilled into Leonidas. “So you’re the runt of the family, are you?”
Leonidas viewed this as a rhetorical question and said nothing, but Cleomenes snapped his fingers. “I asked you a question, boy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what?”
“I’m the runt of the family, sir.”
“Couldn’t even get elected herd leader, I heard.”
A Boy of the Agoge Page 3
