A Boy of the Agoge

by Helena P. Schrader

  When they got back to Lysandridas’ kleros, Prokles was most concerned with the ugly sores on Penny’s withers, and he talked long and fast to explain them to his frowning grandfather; but Leonidas was still upset about Alkander.

  “His mother lives in a mud-floored helot cottage and now she can’t afford to pay his agoge fees any more, so he won’t be coming back to school. How is that possible, father? I thought our Laws and the Land Reform were supposed to ensure that every citizen has enough land to support himself and his family. How could Alkander’s family have become so poor?”

  Lysandridas looked up from the injured mare and considered Leonidas seriously. After a moment, he replied, “Good questions, Leonidas.” Then he turned to his grandson and gave him orders to fetch and apply an ointment to the raw places on the mare’s withers. At last he turned his attention back to Leonidas. “So you want to know why we no longer live by Lycurgus’ Laws?”

  “But I thought we did!” Leonidas protested.

  Lysandridas shrugged. “We say we do. Maybe even most of us pretend we do most of the time. We have preserved many of the Laws, but—as you have so vividly witnessed—we have circumvented others.”

  “But when, father? And why?”

  “Why? Because of two fundamental aspects of human nature that no one—not even Lycurgus or Chilon—can legislate away: greed and love. Greed for wealth and love of all our children, whether they be girls or boys, firstborn or last born. Lycurgus hoped to make new men with his new laws, but only the Gods can make new men.” He sounded tired, and Leonidas remembered that he was now over sixty. “As for when we started bending the Laws—” He shrugged again and sank down on to a bale of hay to gaze at Leonidas solemnly. “I would say it has been a creeping process, so slow and steady that we hardly even noticed it. Your family is hardly typical, so let me take my family as an example.

  “At the time of the Land Reform in the reign of your forefather Polydorus, this kleros was carved out of a great estate. It was the same size as other kleroi, but it had no house, no well, no barley fields, no vineyards or orchards. It was just pasture land. And while the land was equally redistributed, the livestock was not. That was why Lycurgus’ laws said that any Peer could ‘borrow’ the ox, the horse, the hunting dogs, or the bull of a fellow Peer. This was to enable New Citizens without hunting dogs or horses or oxen to borrow these beasts long enough to hunt and plough or get their heifers serviced.

  “And at first the system worked. The New Citizens, like my forebear—Agesandros, son of Medon—had terraces made to plant barley and planted the orchards amidst the barley. The kleros—like the others that had been newly created—became self-sufficient and even prosperous. But it took good management, and not all men have wives equally skilled in agriculture and accounting. Some men found it hard to make their kleros yield enough, but by then we had won the Second Messenian War and there were vast new lands to be distributed.

  “And here is where the Laws certainly were consciously circumvented. Instead of dividing up Messenia into equal plots and giving every Peer a second kleros, the lands in Messenia were treated as spoils of war. I hate to say this to you, Leonidas, but the problem started with the kings. They wanted a ‘royal portion’. But the Assembly felt that the men who had won the war in Messenia had a better right to reward—including, incidentally, my own great-grandfather, Agesandros. So in addition to the kings, who got their ‘royal portions’, the officers and the Guard and other men who had distinguished themselves in the war for whatever reason got rather larger estates than the ordinary citizen. Still, every citizen profited so much from the newly acquired and extraordinarily fertile lands in Messenia that nobody seemed to notice—and certainly didn’t care—that Lycurgus’ principles had been violated.

  “And then we violated them further by allowing these acquired lands to be given away or settled upon daughters. Only the original Laconian kleroi are strictly held by the Lacedaemonian government and allotted to citizens as they come of age. All the other lands can be deeded as their owners wish. And the Laconian kleroi can only be redistributed after a widow dies with no heirs. So some estates were held out of circulation, while new citizens came of age with no place to go.

  “You must try to understand that when we first circumvented the Laws, we did so not out of venal self-interest but out of love; because, you see, younger sons were coming of age and found that there was no state kleros available or only ones of marginal fertility. Keep in mind that even a good state kleros is really only large enough to support one hoplite and his family. That means an adult man and maybe one or two boys in the agoge. But what happens when those sons grow up and have sons of their own? One kleros is not enough to support three or five adult men and their growing boys. Theoretically, of course, adults get new kleroi of their own, but that is only possible when the population is not growing. When Land Reform took place there were just 6,000 citizens. Now we are nearly 9,000. Good for the army, but where are those extra kleros supposed to come from?

  “I’ll tell you. Roughly five Olympiads ago, marginal land—not already claimed by families—was turned into 3,000 additional kleroi, but these were very poor from the start. Parents therefore tried to provide for their younger sons—and for their daughters and sons-in-law—from their acquired land.”

  “But how could Alkander’s family become so poor?” Leonidas insisted, still not understanding that his friend could be living like a helot despite being the son of a Spartiate Peer.

  Lysandridas drew a deep breath. “I don’t know exactly, but it could be that his grandfather was a younger son, for whom there was nothing extra from private lands and who was then given a marginal kleros. Or, maybe his forefathers were spendthrifts who sold off their private land for some other passion—like hunting dogs or to build a house. It is notable, incidentally, that the more inequitable the distribution of wealth has actually become, the more rigorous the laws enforcing the appearance of equality have become. When my greatgrandfather built this house after the Second Messenian war, there was no disapprobation attached to the use of tiled floors, marble facing, or even frescoes on the walls. My great-grandmother proudly wore fine jewellery, because the laws against hoarding were applied only to coinage, not decoration. Even in my own youth, people bought and displayed decorative pottery, bronze, and ivory work in their homes and on their persons.”

  The old man was getting distracted, and Leonidas had to bring him back to the topic. “But Alkander’s mother is living in a helot hut—with a dirt floor and open hearth and no water at all—much less fountains and latrines like here.”

  “Yes, you told me; but we don’t know that there wasn’t a house once. Maybe there was once a fine house that was lost in a fire, or sold off for short-term gain to pay for something else. Or maybe there were simply too many children, and the lands were divided up into smaller and smaller portions until none was large enough to support a family any more.”

  “But what about his kleros, which legally has to be large enough to support a citizen and his family?” Leonidas insisted.

  Lysandridas sighed and shook his head. “The reality, Leonidas, is that the good land has somehow become concentrated in the hands of families that have a talent for that kind of thing, and only the marginal estates are still at the disposal of the city. It is very rare for an old kleros of any agricultural value to become vacant. That is, for a citizen and his widow to die without a male heir who can take it over. Officially, the city still “assigns” the kleros to that male heir, but it is unthinkable that a fine kleros would be allotted to another man’s son as long as the former resident has citizen sons—or sons-in-law.

  “Consider this kleros. It is a very pretty piece with a lovely house, but it does not pay for my own and my son Philippos’ syssitia fees, much less Prokles’ agoge fees. We only manage all that because we annually sell off our best colts and fillies. But horse breeding is risky. If we have a few bad years and no winners come from our stables, we won’t be a
ble to command the prices necessary to support three citizens—much less Prokles’ younger brother.

  “I strongly suspect that your friend Alkander’s father was a younger son. That the kleros assigned him was marginal to start with, and that his wife—for whatever reason—mismanaged it to the point ruin.”

  “But it’s unfair that Alkander will lose his citizenship! The Laws were supposed to prevent that!”

  Lysandridas raised his hands helplessly. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Leonidas, but much in life isn’t fair.”

  “And there is nothing anyone can do to help him?” Leonidas persisted, angry that his city was not as fair and just as he had—until now—been led to believe.

  “I didn’t say that. It is becoming increasingly common for wealthy citizens to pay the agoge fees of poor relations. If Alkander has a wealthy grandfather or uncle or even cousin, he would be allowed to pay Alkander’s fees, at least for the agoge. Then at 21 he would be entitled to a kleros of his own, which need not be the run-down one his mother is living on—assuming she dies first and it has already been given away. Remember that the laws do not permit a widow to be expelled from her kleros; which is why they usually go to sons, sons-in-law, or grandsons, because most widows are happy to share with relatives.”

  Leonidas did not think Alkander had any rich relatives. In fact, thinking back on the few things Alkander had said about his family, it was clear in retrospect that he had long feared that exactly this would happen—but Leonidas had not taken any interest in his hints until now. “And can’t anyone else pay the fees? I mean someone not a relative?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think anyone has ever wanted to,” Lysandridas admitted.

  “I want to,” Leonidas announced. “If it’s true that I have lands of my own, than why can’t I sponsor Alkander?”

  Lysandridas considered Leonidas for a moment and then, putting his hands on his knees, pushed himself to his feet. “That would be a great responsibility, Leonidas. You would, I believe, be held responsible for him in every way, and have to pay any debts he incurred or make good any damages he caused. It would almost be like a temporary adoption until he came of age. Do you really want to take on that much responsibility at your age?”

  Leonidas thought about it for a minute, slightly intimidated. But he couldn’t imagine Alkander making debts or causing damages. He felt so guilty about not being nice to him in the past that he decided simply, “Yes. If it means Alkander can come back to school and become a citizen as the Laws of Lycurgus intended.”

  Lysandridas waited for another moment, giving Leonidas a chance to change his mind. When he didn’t, he said: “If you really want to do this, then I will put it to the ephors for you.”

  “Would you, father? At least ask if it is possible, because I want to help Alkander, but I don’t really know if I can afford it—”

  Lysandridas laughed a little bitterly. “You can afford it, Leonidas. Believe me, the Agiads can afford it.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Age 12

  LEONIDAS’ SPONSORSHIP OF ALKANDER ISOLATED HIM in his class somewhat. On the one hand, it reminded the other boys that Leonidas was indeed an Agiad prince, and at the same time it associated him with the class “dunce”. Leonidas felt on the one hand obliged to “protect” his protégé from unfair abuse and ridicule, and on the other embarrassed by his incompetence. This, in turn, induced Leonidas (and a somewhat reluctant but loyal Prokles) to try to help Alkander improve his performance.

  It soon became evident that Alkander’s greatest weakness was despair. Over the years he had become increasingly convinced that he would never make it through the agoge, and so he had inwardly given up really trying. With encouragement, he started to overcome many of his handicaps. His wrestling and running improved noticeably, and he never stuttered when the three boys were alone together. Javelin, discus, and particularly boxing (a sport Leonidas also hated) remained very difficult for him, and his stuttering returned whenever he was under pressure—which of course meant whenever the chorus masters, instructors, or other boys focused their unkind attention on him. Nevertheless, the bonds between the three boys increased steadily.

  The bonds were, of course, reinforced by the fact that neither Leonidas nor Alkander had homes they wanted to go home to. Leonidas was a full orphan, and his closest adult relative was a man whom he had sworn not to accept as his king, much less treat as his brother. Alkander’s father had been dead for as long as he could remember and, having once escaped the humiliation of his mother’s poverty, he had no strong desire to return to it. Fortunately, Prokles’ parents and grandparents were willing and able to “adopt” the other boys into their family circle. Thus Leonidas and Alkander spent holidays with Prokles’ family, learning to ride and watching Lysandridas and Philippos train the racehorses, helping out in the stables, and enjoying the superb cooking of Prokles’ mother and grandmother.

  But being “adopted” by Prokles’ family had its obligations, too—as the boys soon discovered when summer thunderstorms broke over Laconia with a vengeance. It was the worst thing that could have happened agriculturally, of course, because the rain ran off the parched countryside, tearing away the topsoil rather than soaking in deep. The torrents, gullies, and streams frothed with dirty, fast-moving water and swept many sheep and goats to their deaths. The barn and low-lying paddocks at Prokles’ kleros also flooded, and all three boys worked through the night to get the horses up to safety on high ground. It meant going AWOL from the agoge and they all risked a flogging for doing it, but the safety of the horses came first. They were almost disappointed when, reporting to duty the next morning, bedraggled and exhausted but very proud to have played their part, their eirene winked at them and ignored their absence entirely. But he was a nice, easy-going youth anyway, and he too loved horses.

  Another kind of “family obligation” confronted them when the hot, sunny weather returned and the boys flocked to the Eurotas for a good swim, something they had been unable to enjoy during either the summer drought or the violent rains. The rules of the agoge did not prohibit the boys outright from using the baths, but the fact of the matter was that most citizens disliked being disturbed by hordes of rambunctious and noisy young boys and youths while taking their ease at the baths. In consequence, boys were made to feel unwelcome—if not by the citizens themselves, then by the bath slaves. They were encouraged instead to cleanse and refresh themselves after sports in the Eurotas itself. A long pier had been built out into the deepest part of the river as a platform for jumping and diving into the river. On a day like this it was crowded.

  Prokles, Leonidas, and Alkander had to squeeze their way past other boys—many of them older, bigger and stronger—to get out to the floating dock in the middle of the river. This was always a bit risky. Older boys weren’t supposed to take advantage of their strength and better-honed fighting skills to displace little boys; but on the other hand, “little boys” were supposed to show respect for their “elders”. It was a fine line. Prokles insisted that Leonidas should lead the way. He had an ingratiating smile, and people seemed more inclined to indulge him than either Prokles or Alkander. They had almost reached their objective, having talked their way past what seemed like hundreds of other boys, when suddenly a high-pitched voice started screaming: “Prokles! Prokles!”

  Startled, they stopped in their tracks and looked around, bewildered. The shouting was coming from the water, and looking toward the sound they saw a wet head with plastered-down, dark hair.

  “Oh, God!” Prokles groaned. “It’s Hilaira.” Hilaira, as Leonidas and Alkander knew well by now, was Prokles’ younger sister. She was now eight years old. “Just ignore her!” Prokles ordered, and the boys continued toward the float.

  But Hilaira was not so easily brushed off. She swam beside them and as soon as they reached the float, she swam straight up to it and took hold of the rope around the outside. She shook her wet hair out of her face as she surfaced. “Prokles!
Didn’t you hear me?!” she demanded.

  “What do you want now?” Prokles retorted, frowning.

  Hilaira answered by pulling herself up on to the float. This was not good. There was not really room for her on the float, and the youths around them were not at all pleased to have another wet body flop down among them. There were mutterings of disapproval, and had Hilaria been a boy she would have found herself shoved back into the river. As it was, when the boys registered it was just a girl, they resigned themselves to her presence, because it was beneath their dignity to push a girl back into the water. Instead, they cast angry—almost threatening—looks at Prokles, Leonidas, and Alkander.

  Prokles seriously considered pushing his sister off the float himself, but settled for asking irritably, “What do you want?”

  “I want you to promise to watch me race at Hyacinthia next month.”

  “Is that all?” Prokles groaned. “Why didn’t you just stop by the barracks?”

  “You forgot last year,” Hilaira pointed out.

  Prokles rolled his eyes. He hadn’t really forgotten; he’d just been more interested in other events than girls’ races. “OK. OK.” He brushed his sister off now. “We’ll be there.”

  “Promise?” Hilaira insisted, this time including both Leonidas and Alkander with her eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Prokles answered, and Leonidas and Alkander nodded concurrence dutifully.

  “I have witnesses,” Hilaria pointed out, grinning, spreading out her arms to indicate all the other youths and boys packed on the float.

  This got her a loud laugh, and several of the others hooted and agreed out loud. “She’s got you there, Prokles!” someone shouted.

  “What’s your name, nymph?” another called out.

  Hilaira just giggled and slipped back into the water to swim away.

  “You better watch that one, Prokles,” one of the older youths warned. “She’ll be turning the city on its head in a few years.”