“No, sir.”
“I like that.” Cleomenes answered with a smile that was anything but friendly. “At least you won’t have any populist delusions like your elder brother.”
Leonidas wasn’t sure what he was talking about and held his tongue. Cleomenes’ eyes narrowed. “I must say one thing for you, however. You don’t look as dumb as your brothers.” He paused as if expecting Leonidas to protest, but Leonidas had no intention of making that mistake. So Cleomenes continued with a mixture of provocation and satisfaction. “You’re not so dumb, are you, little Leonidas?”
Although this too seemed rhetorical, Leonidas did not want to risk another rebuke and answered dutifully, “I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“If you are half as clever as you look, you’ll remember one thing: you are the product of incest, the product of a boneheaded sire crossbred with a dim-witted dam. I, in contrast, am descended through my mother from Chilon the Wise, honoured throughout the civilized world for his intelligence. You won’t outwit me, little Leonidas.”
Leonidas shook his head dutifully, noting that the “feeble-unruly-deceitful-impious-cowardly bastard” clearly had a lot of unpleasant titles for his half-brothers as well.
But by far the worst consequence of not getting elected herd leader was his reception at home on the first holiday thereafter. Except on those festivals where the age-cohorts of the agoge were involved directly in rituals (the Hyacinthia, the Gymnopaedia, Artemis Orthia, and the like), the children of the agoge were sent home during the holidays. Although Leonidas had come to enjoy the agoge more than he had expected, still he looked forward to going home that first holiday. He looked forward to as much food as he could eat, to honey and raisin cakes, to sleeping as late as he wanted, to taking a proper bath in the heated palace bathhouse, and most of all, to telling all his adventures to Dido.
It did not surprise him that his arrival aroused little attention. Dorieus was already home and with the king and queen. The king was ill, and both Brotus and Leonidas were told they would be sent for when he wanted to see them. (He never did.) Brotus went straight to the kitchens, while Leonidas went in search of Dido. He couldn’t find her. Finally he asked someone.
“Dido?” they answered as if they had never heard of her.
“My nurse,” Leonidas insisted, frowning with frustration.
“But she was sent home as soon as you went into the agoge,” the astonished servant answered.
“Home?”
“Back to her family.”
“But where is that?”
“Good heavens, how should I know? I think she came from Boiai, or was it Kotyrta? I really don’t know.”
Boiai and Kotyrta were perioikoi towns out on the Malea peninsula—farther than Leonidas could ever get on his own.
Without Dido, the palace was empty. More than that: it was hostile. Because of his father’s illness, everyone tiptoed about and talked in whispers. Leonidas had the feeling that whenever he tried to do anything, someone hissed at him to be quiet. His mother and Dorieus were almost always closeted together, apparently in earnest discussions about something. Brotus, fortunately, considered it beneath his dignity to harass Leonidas, and generally ran off and joined his friends. Leonidas hardly knew what to do with himself and hung about listless and bored, wishing for the holiday to end.
And end it did, but not before he had attracted the attention of his mother. Coming upon him sailing twig-and-leaf triremes in the central fountain of the “diplomatic” peristyle, she paused just long enough to remark to Dorieus: “It’s no wonder really that that boy was not elected herd-leader like Brotus. Brotus is a natural leader – big and vigorous and strong-willied. But Leonidas has always been weak and backward. Sometimes, I wonder that the Elders let him live at all, don’t you? He’s completely superfluous.”
CHAPTER 2
Ages 8 and 9
AS SEVEN-YEAR-OLDS, THE BOYS OF THE agoge had been eased into the routine of the agoge. They had been taught the rules and restrictions on the use of public facilities, from the baths and gymnasiums to the sports fields and running tracks. They had learned to form ranks and files and to stand at attention. They had been taught how to greet and respond to their elders. They had been tested in basic literacy, and those who were behind the others had been taught their letters. Likewise, all the boys were required to swim, and those who could not were taught how. They had also been taught by the cooks of the various syssitia how to set tables and clear them away, how to serve wine and water, and they had been taught the rules of conversation in preparation for serving as mess-boys. They had been given free run inside the city during the morning, and taken on hikes to the surrounding countryside in the afternoon. But real lessons did not start until the next year, when the boys turned eight.
At age eight the boys of the agoge started to learn the duties of citizenship. This meant that, first and foremost, they started to learn by heart the laws and constitution of Lacedaemon. The laws and constitution were viewed as the most fundamental part of Spartan education and society. The boys of the agoge not only learned to recite the laws, but were expected to discuss their purpose, virtue, and effectiveness.
Almost of equal importance, at age eight the boys were formed into a chorus and started to learn the songs of Sparta’s famous poets, particularly Terpander, Tyrtaios, and Alkman. The entire age-cohort was brought together into one chorus for this purpose and for once, one’s position was not determined by overall prowess, but purely by musical ability. The singing masters were very strict, however. They carried canes, and they were quick to use them if the boys were inattentive or sang off key. Although Leonidas’ voice was at best average, he was lucky to have a good ear for a melody. He found singing easy and pleasurable—and it rather pleased him that Brotus was absolutely useless at it. Brotus just couldn’t hear the differences in pitch, and almost always sang flat. While Leonidas secretly rejoiced in this fact, he felt badly that poor Alkander also proved inept at singing, in this case due to his stutter. It seemed so unfair that he could not excel even at this skill that required no physical strength or agility. Alkander usually left chorus with welts on the back of his shaved head from the chorus-master’s cane.
Another subject that Leonidas loved was botany. Now when they took their hikes outside of the city, they were taught to identify the plants they saw. They were taught which plants were poisonous; which could be used to ease pain or bleeding, to close or loosen the bowels, to help sleep or keep sleep at bay; and much, much more. At the same time they were introduced to the fundamentals of tracking. Trapping was on the agenda for the next year, and they would start hunting when they were ten. But this was the beginning.
At sports, wrestling and javelin was added to the programme along with the running, jumping, swimming and rope climbing they had had the previous year. They would not be given bows until they were nine, discus the year after, and would start boxing at ten. But Leonidas soon excelled in wrestling; after all, he’d been doing it with Brotus for as long as he could remember. He rapidly demonstrated to his trainers that he could master larger and heavier opponents, and it was clear that with proper training he would be a very good wrestler indeed. For the first time in his life, Leonidas found himself the object of widespread praise and applause, and his status in his unit improved correspondingly.
Not that he was elected leader. Ephorus still held that honour, and with right. Quite aside from still being the fastest of them and excellent at javelin, he was a quick learner, had a beautiful voice, and everyone young and old liked him. Leonidas remained inwardly indebted to him for taking his side in his fight with Brotus.
However, the best thing about turning eight, as far as Leonidas was concerned, was that the boys were now allowed out of the kitchen and into the dining room of the syssitia. Throughout the previous year they had worked in the hot, steamy kitchens just making up the tables, clearing them, and washing up; now at last they were allowed to actually serve the Peers at dinner. This
was the first opportunity they had to learn at first hand about this fundamental institution of Spartan citizenship.
Lycurgus’ laws required that all citizens belong to a syssitia, or dining club. Each citizen chose the syssitia to which he wished to apply, but all the existing members had to agree by secret ballot before an applicant was accepted. Each citizen was then required to eat dinner at the syssitia into which he was accepted every evening for the rest of his life—unless he was excused in advance or out hunting. A citizen who was absent from his syssitia without a valid reason was fined. Each member was furthermore required to contribute a set quantity of barley, cheese, figs, oil, and wine, and either share from the game taken while hunting or contribute money to buy fish.
There was much controversy over why Lycurgus had included these dining clubs in his laws. Some people said it was to weaken the family and increase the bonds between men. Others said it was to build up ties across age groups, because so much of the rest of Spartan life was organised by age-cohort. Still others insisted that it was a means of ensuring that each man ate no more and no less than his neighbour, thereby reinforcing the effects of the land reform and stressing the equality of all citizens. Others suggested that the purpose was to ensure that Sparta’s soldiers ate a healthy and well-balanced diet designed to maintain their physical prowess even into old age, rather than being spoilt by doting wives or hired cooks. All agreed that the syssitia ensured that men drank wine only in moderate quantities and well-mixed with water, because the mess-boys were strictly prohibited form serving neat wine even if it was called for, besides which the members all had to get home (or back to barracks) in the darkened streets after dinner.
Whatever its objective at initiation, it had become a deeply entrenched feature of Spartan society. The mess halls lined the road from Sparta all the way to Amyclae, and each reputedly had a distinctive character, albeit one that changed over time as members died and new young men joined. Within the clubs, men were supposed to be able to speak their minds openly about any topic without fear that their opinions would be carried outside the walls.
The reason Leonidas was so curious about the syssitia was quite simply that he had never experienced the company of men before. His ancient and ailing father had had little to do with him, and in the agoge he was with boys his own age and his eirene. The syssitia was thus his first exposure to grown men. He was anxious to learn what he could from them, and a little nervous that he would attract negative attention.
While working in the kitchen as a seven-year-old, he had noticed that some of the older boys working in the messes occasionally returned to the kitchen flushed and agitated. Once he had seen a boy reduced to tears. It wasn’t the actual serving that was difficult, but the fact that the members of the mess had the right to ask the boys any question they wanted. Although technically the boys had the right to refuse to answer, that was obviously not an option that would win them respect. On the other hand, Leonidas had often heard peals of laughter coming from the messes, and boys had frequently returned to the kitchens still grinning. Joking and banter was very much encouraged, and the trick was to be part of it rather than the butt of it.
There were always two boys assigned to a mess at any one time. Whether by design or chance, Leonidas and Alkander were assigned to serve together. Alkander was very nervous, so much so that he started dropping and knocking things over while they were still in the kitchen getting the tables set up. At first Leonidas was annoyed because he had to clean up after Alkander, but he felt sorry for him, too. “Th-th-they’re g-g-going to make f-f-fun of me,” Alkander predicted miserably. As this seemed more than likely, Leonidas didn’t answer. In fact, part of him was rather glad that Alkander would probably work as a kind of lightning rod deflecting any unkind ridicule away from him.
They made their appearance in the mess, dutifully reporting to the eldest member, or chairman, first. This was a venerable old man who had lost an eye in the battle against Tegea ten Olympiads earlier. Alkander got his name out without stuttering, and attention turned to Leonidas.
“Ah ha. The youngest Agiad,” the old man declared, his one eye focusing hard on Leonidas. “Well, all right. You know what to do?” They nodded. “Then get on with it.”
They brought water and towels to all the members as they arrived, and were introduced to each by the chairman. They also got the first course of black broth out to everyone without incident, but during the second course someone decided to ask Leonidas what he thought the qualities of a good Spartan king were.
“Courage, father,” Leonidas replied without hesitation. It was a safe bet; no one in Sparta could ever suggest that there was ever a time when courage wasn’t a virtue.
“That is a quality required of every citizen,” the man scoffed. “We are talking of our kings. What do they need besides what every citizen must have?”
Leonidas thought for a moment and decided: “Good judgement, father.”
“Certainly. And what more?”
Lacking further inspiration, Leonidas tried to remember all the things his mother said Cleomenes lacked. “Prowess at sports and arms, father.”
“Well enough. What more?”
“Dignity, father.”
“I suppose, yes. And?”
“Ah, self-discipline, father.”
“Not bad. What else?”
“Piety, father.”
“Oh, very good. I’ll bet you heard that one from your mother, didn’t you, boy?”
“Ah, yes, father,” Leonidas admitted.
For some reason, everyone in the room burst out laughing. Although Leonidas didn’t get the joke, he was relieved to note that the atmosphere was far from hostile.
Another man took up the interrogation in a distinctly friendly, even paternal, tone. “Tell us this then, son of the Heraklid: why are Spartan men the only Hellenes who wear their hair long?”
Leonidas didn’t have a clue. He thought for a second and then tried: “Ah, so the boys of the agoge will know who to address as father rather than just ‘sir’, father?”
To Leonidas’ amazement and relief they all burst out laughing again, this time more heartily than before; and when the guffaws had faded into chuckles, they turned their attention to Alkander.
“Tell us, Alkander, son of Demarmenus, what is Sparta’s worst enemy?”
“Argos, sir,” Alkander got out without stuttering. (He rarely had trouble with vowels.)
“Argos? Argos? That ridiculous mud-heap filled with braggarts and ass-lickers? Argos is not an enemy, boy; it is a training field. The only reason we haven’t razed Argos to the ground is so you boys will still have someone to practise your weapons on before you face a real enemy. Try again: What is Sparta’s worst enemy?”
Leonidas was very glad he was not on the spot. He hadn’t any idea what the man wanted.
Alkander tried again, “Athens, sir.”
“Athens? A bunch of shopkeepers and whoremongers! They’re more interested in a good play than a good fight. Not worth the mention. Come on; use your brains, boy. What is our worst enemy?”
Alkander swallowed hard, and Leonidas could see he was sweating miserably. His throat was working, too, as he tried to suppress his stutter. “Persia, sir?”
“He has a point there,” one of the younger members of the syssitia suggested; but the questioner was not satisfied.
He frowned and retorted to his peer rather than to Alkander, “What do we care who rules Asia? As long as they don’t try to set foot in the Peloponnese, they can carry on painting themselves like women and castrating little boys. It only denies them men they may one day need.” He turned again on Alkander. “You are barking up the wrong tree, boy. Let me ask the question a different way: Is there any army in the world that Sparta needs fear?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s better. So what should we fear?”
“I d-d-d-don’t know, sir,” Alkander was forced to admit, and Leonidas wanted to groan in sympathy. The stutter had
come.
“What was that?” the Peer asked sharply, cocking his ear toward Alkander.
“I d-d-d-don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know.”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know, son of Anaxandridas?” The man turned on Leonidas.
“No, sir.”
“I see. Two equally ignorant whelps.”
“Why don’t you enlighten them, Phormion, so we can get on with the meal? Some of us are hungry.”
“Hungry? You’re not hungry. You’re in a hurry to get home to your wife.”
“If you had my wife, you’d be in a hurry to get home to her, too.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Get the next course, boys,” the syssitia elder ordered, and Leonidas and Alkander dashed gratefully back to the kitchen. From the dining room waves of laughter came in quick succession. The boys filled up the next tables and dutifully rolled these out. The conversation around them faded, and again the attention focused on them. “Leonidas, where does Lacedaemon end?”
“In which direction, sir?”
“Any direction.”
“Well, to the south it ends at the Gulf of Laconia, and—”
“Really? What about Kythera?”
“Oh.”
“Come now. Think harder. Where would we be if the Sons of Herakles had accepted that all they owned was the plot of earth they were born on?”
Leonidas considered that for a second, and then asked cautiously, “You mean, sir, that our borders are what we make them?”
“Well done! Or as we prefer to word it: as far as the reach of our spears.”
Leonidas liked that.
“Now let’s try the other question again, you two. What does Sparta most have to fear?”
Leonidas and Alkander looked at one another. Leonidas still didn’t know what the man was looking for, but Alkander had evidently been thinking about it and very cautiously suggested: “D-d-d-disobedience to our l-l-laws.”
A Boy of the Agoge Page 4
