Prokles frowned, but Leonidas smiled up at Lysandridas. “Thank you for coming after us.”
The remark seemed to catch the old man completely off guard. Leonidas saw him catch his breath, and tears sprang into his grey eyes. He grabbed Leonidas to him and held him in a fierce hug. “Boy, don’t you know? I would have searched for you to the ends of the earth. Have you forgotten? I’ve been there. I would not have rested until I had you home.”
When he went to the pits for the promised flogging, Leonidas was not afraid as he had been two years earlier. He was proud to be there, because this was not an effort to demean or break him, but his just punishment for foolishness. The alternative was a lifetime of degradation, and Leonidas had never before been so aware of the privileges of citizenship. There were, he was certain, few other cities in the world that would have launched two crack warships just to save two 14-year-old boys from their own foolishness.
CHAPTER 7
Age 15
NEXT TO FIGHTING WELL, SUCCESS IN war depended on marching well; so the youths of the agoge were taken on increasingly long marches as their training in the arts of war intensified with each year. By the time they went on active service, they were expected to be able to cover 35 miles a day for three days at a stretch, 80 miles for two days back to back, and 50 miles in one 24-hour period.1 They had to be able to cover those distances across the rugged terrain of the Peloponnese—which meant up over mountains and back down them again. The boys of the agoge started to develop their marching skills by taking on “simple” tasks like crossing the Parnon range to the important perioikoi town of Epidauros Limera on the Gulf of Argolis, or marching across the Taygetos to Kardamyle.
The later expedition, traditionally made by 15-year-olds in the late summer or early autumn, was particularly important. For many of them, Leonidas and his friends included, it was their first trip into the Spartan colony of Messenia. Many of the boys came from families that owned estates in Messenia. Most of these estates, however, were managed by hired overseers because the Spartiate owners were required to live near enough to Sparta to attend their syssitia daily and take part in Assembly or respond to a call-up. The overseers of the Messenian estates were usually Laconian perioikoi, because the Spartiates mistrusted all Messenians profoundly.
And the boys knew why. They had been taught, usually from their mother’s knee, about the treachery of the Messenians. Leonidas had been taught along with his fellows that after the First Messenian War the Messenians had been well treated. But only a generation later, they had risen up in revolt. They had killed without provocation and they had violated sanctuaries, in one incident carrying off the virgin priestesses at the Temple of Artemis of the Goats and ravaging them all.
At the agoge, the story most frequently told was how once a band of Messenians, under the ruthless rebel leader Aristomenos, had crept into the agoge in the dark of night and slaughtered the children in their beds. There were many scars on the walls attributed to the weapons of the Messenians. These were carefully pointed out to the children attending the agoge: “Here a boy was skewered to the wall by a Messenian spear,” “There a little girl’s head was cut off by an axe,” and “In that window two youths were cut to pieces as they tried to crawl out into the street.” There was also a small monument just outside the main entrance to the agoge, dedicated to the entire class of eirenes who had been butchered in the massacre. Every single 20-year-old at the time of the incident had died trying to defend his charges with whatever weapons they could grab in the darkness. The obvious moral of the story was that the Messenians knew no honour and would not spare even a defenceless child if they got the upper hand.
The Second Messenian War taught the Spartans not only that the Messenians could not be trusted, but also that the only language they understood was force. Since their good treatment after the First War had resulted only in revolt, the Spartans decided after their victory in the Second Messenian War that the Messenians could not be treated like the loyal perioikoi. They must be reduced to helots, tied to a specific plot of land, and carefully watched by overseers.
The children of Sparta were raised to believe, furthermore, that these Messenian helots were not like the peaceful and reliable helots of Laconia. Laconian helots could be trusted as squires and as cooks and messengers for the army; they could be employed without hesitation as servants in homes and as nannies to young children, as Leonidas’ own Dido had been. They could be trusted even to run the kleroi of the Spartiates without excessive oversight. But the Messenian helots were different. They remained fundamentally “enemies”—which was why the ephors ritually declared war on the Messenian helots once a year. Before crossing into Messenia, the boys were reminded that the Messenians were sly, insolent, untrustworthy, and lazy. They were warned not to trust any of them.
At first light the next day, five units of 15-year-olds departed together on their first foray into legendary Messenia. Although the distance to Kardamyle was “only” 40 miles, the Taygetos range that stood between Sparta and Kardamyle was a steep range rising to over 8,000 feet at the peak, and the youths found the going rough. The sun burned on their backs as they climbed, so that they were soon drenched in sweat. This being the main highway into Messenia from Sparta, the road was well maintained by details of captives and criminals that worked in chain gangs to shore up any weaknesses and remove obstacles. It also climbed at a relatively steady rate, switchbakking its way up the face of the mountain.
They made good progress at first and soon left the quarries, where the finest marble in all Lacedaemon was won, behind and below them. The vast majority of Sparta’s temples and public buildings were built with marble from these quarries. As younger boys they had all visited the quarries more than once, but this was the first time they had ever been able to look down from above on the great swath of white cut into the green of the forest by the vast quarries. A light cloud of dust hung over the quarries in the stagnant air.
By now, however, the boys had no breath for talking. They kept going with sheer determination, their blood pounding in their ears. Their eirenes kept them moving with light mockery. “Come on, you can’t be tired already! We’ve barely started.” Because the eirenes walking beside them looked dry and relaxed, the boys could hardly protest. So they kept going miserably.
They next passed the Temple to Artemis of the Goats, but they were not allowed to stop and rest. It was from this temple that the Messenians had captured the virgin priestesses, all maidens of Spartiate families in their youth, and subjected them to barbaric degradation. The Messenian action was often compared negatively to a similar incident in the Tegean War. The Tegeans had also captured a number of Spartan maidens in a raid, but these had been held to ransom and returned to their families unharmed.
By noon the boys were reduced to a panting, sweating, dragging band. At last the eirenes allowed the boys to fall out to refresh themselves at a spring built directly into the side of the mountain, with seven spouts in the shape of lion’s heads. Instantly the boys fell upon the water in a loud and unruly horde, shoving each other aside, splashing and dunking one another. The eirenes watched it all with tolerant disdain, filling their own mugs with the water spewing from the bronze faucets and then cupping their hands to splash the sweat from their faces. After about a half-hour break, they called the boys to order. The boys had to form up in rank and file; the eirenes inspected them critically; and then at a signal provided by the piper, they set off again.
They did not stop for a light meal until they crossed through the pass, well after noon. Disappointingly, although the eirenes assured them they were now in Messenia, there was nothing that visibly distinguished it from Laconia. The slopes were still heavily forested with outcroppings of white limestone. Furthermore, although they had passed the highest point of the trip, the road at this point only dipped down into a valley and the next mountain was still ahead of them, cutting off the view.
By now all their muscles were aching, and one boy h
ad twisted his ankle and could only hobble along on a crutch. But with the peaks of the Taygetos behind them, they “enjoyed” the rays of the late afternoon sun. This meant that they were still bathed in sweat as they descended along the winding road past the lead mines toward the Gulf of Messenia.
The lead mines were extremely important to the Lacedaemonian economy, and the perioikoi industrialist who held the concession was allegedly one of the richest men in the Peloponnese. He ran the mines with hundreds of chattel slaves that he imported through the port of Pharai on the Messenian Gulf. The bulk of the slaves were barbarians, captured far to the north of the Black Sea or beyond the Pillars of Herakles or in Africa. The boys saw some of these poor creatures being herded along the road, apparently new arrivals just offloaded at the port and being escorted to the mines by a troop of hard-nosed marines. The marines were armed with whips and javelins. The officers rode on little donkeys, their sandals almost scraping the earth; but the agile little beasts moved up and down the edges of the road, enabling the marines to keep a sharp eye on their charges. The slaves themselves were chained at their ankles to one another and wore only loincloths. Their hair and beards were completely untrimmed and unkempt. Their ribs and even their vertebrae showed clearly through their filthy skin. Many had open sores—particularly on their ankles, where the shackles had rubbed the skin off completely, or from the lash. Leonidas found himself looking to see if there were any boys as young as he had been last year.
Some of his fellows were jeering the slaves and even throwing little rocks at them to make them dance. Leonidas was glad when they were called to order by one of the eirenes, who reminded them that they had no right to damage the property of another free man.
At last they reached the famous springs just north of Kardamyle—which, reputedly, never ran dry. These springs were sacred to Persephone, and there was an extensive fountain house built around them with a lovely colonnade. Here a number of merchant convoys travelling between the port of Pharai and other points east had stopped to water their horses and mules and to refresh themselves. The pack animals were watered at a trough lower down the slope, while people went up an elegant sweep of steps to the fountain house. The Spartan boys were told to make do at the animal trough by their eirenes, who were now in a hurry to make Kardamyle before nightfall—or maybe just didn’t want their unruly, stinking teenage charges to disturb the other travellers.
The sun had already set by the time they finally reached the town of Kardamyle, with its high acropolis and its little harbour. The sky above the Gulf was glowing pink, and the waters of the bay caught the reflection and turned a dark purple. A few remnants of cloud were silhouetted against the luminous sky, and the rhythmic whisper of the waves on the beach was like the beating of one’s heart: subtle and reassuring. Two large merchant ships rode at anchor in the harbour, and a cluster of fishing smacks had been drawn up on to the sand for the night.
Even though the sun had set, the air was still very warm and humid. The boys were allowed to strip and plunge into the bay to wash the sweat and dust of the day from their bodies. Their eirenes selected a place to camp on the beach beyond the harbour, and ordered the pipes to sound muster. The boys, more or less reluctantly, abandoned their swim and formed up. The eirenes made sure that all were present and then gave the order to set up camp, make fires, and cook their evening meal. Each unit made their own fire and their own meal. The eirenes sat a little apart around a fire of their own, and the boys of each unit brought their respective eirene his portion of the meal. A watch was also set and the sentries walked around the perimeter, making sure that none of the boys slipped away and no stranger entered.
The next day the boys were allowed to rest before the return journey. They were told they could go where they liked, but they had to report for muster at noon and at dusk—which meant they couldn’t get very far. Anyone who failed to report at either muster would be reported and would face a flogging on their return to Lacedaemon.
Only now did Alkander confide to his friends that he wanted to find his sister, who had been sent here years earlier. As the boys did everything together, there was no question of letting Alkander go off on his own. Alkander knew the name of the man in whose household his sister had been sent to work, and by asking residents they got directions to a house located on the edge of town. It was a very impressive house, with terraces and balconies facing the sea and a fine colonnade along the front. When the boys asked after Alkander’s sister, Percalus, they were directed to the back of the house.
The sound of children’s high-pitched screaming announced the nursery. A moment later they found themselves on one of the terraces, well protected by a wall and shaded by potted palms and dates. No less than four children of various ages were playing loudly on the terrace, while on the benches against the house one woman rocked a cradle while two others corded and spun. Alkander looked at the women uncertainly, and the woman beside the cradle leapt up with a little shriek. “Alkander! Where did you come from?” She rushed to him and her veil, which she had laid over her head loosely, fell off as she ran. She wrapped her arms around an embarrassed Alkander, who half tried to evade her exuberant kisses while his friends stared in wonder.
Alkander’s sister was a voluptuous young woman with bright blonde hair. Prokles’ mouth dropped, and then he threw Leonidas a look that betrayed jealousy and lust and confusion. This wasn’t what they were expecting.
Percalus was all over Alkander. “Oh, let me look at you! You’re so big! You must have grown a foot, and so brown! Oh, and you must be Leonidas!” she said to Prokles, who shook his head and pointed to Leonidas. She looked at Leonidas, the least attractive of the three boys, and was clearly disappointed. Princes were supposed to be exceptionally handsome, weren’t they? But she managed a smile for him. “I can’t tell you how grateful we all are to you. It means the world to Mother! And I’m so proud of Alkander!” She looked at her little brother again. She remembered her manners at last and took her brother’s hand. “Come, let me introduce you!”
She led the three youths over to the other women. The elder of the women was the mistress of the house and the other was a widowed sister who now lived with them. Percalus was very proud to introduce her brother and even prouder to introduce his friend, “Leonidas, son of King Anaxandridas.”
“Oh, you must be one of the twins,” the lady of the house recognised at once.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman, who was evidently a very wealthy perioikoi, studied Leonidas intently, and then nodded once. Turning to Percalus, she said, “You may take time off to visit with your brother, but be back for dinner. I can’t possibly manage the children without you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Percalus dipped her knee and head respectfully as she answered.
They left the house and the incessant noise of the children behind and walked down to the shore. Percalus did most of the talking. She had so much to tell Alkander. Leonidas and Prokles followed behind in silence. Percalus seemed happy enough, and clearly she was better off here than in her mother’s hovel, but Leonidas didn’t like the fact that she was serving a perioikoi woman. It would have been bad enough if she had been in a Spartiate household.
And then suddenly a young man emerged out of seemingly nowhere and stopped them. He was barefoot and tanned almost black by the sun of the Mediterranean, wearing only a chiton pinned at one shoulder. Longish black hair fell in his face, and black eyes were dark with wrath. “Percalus!” He stopped her roughly with a large hand. The smell of fish clung to him.
Percalus’s face seemed to light up—a most inappropriate reaction to his rude treatment of her. “Polybios!” she exclaimed with a big smile.
“What are you doing with these bald Spartiate cubs!?” the young fisherman demanded in an outraged tone.
Percalus’s face dropped. Fear came into her eyes. “They—they—Leonidas here is the owner of my mom’s kleros. He—he came to tell me about my mother and brother.”
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p; The young man’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to Leonidas, but he was clearly not convinced. He looked again at Alkander. The resemblance between brother and sister was pronounced. Also, Percalus had been talking too obviously to Alkander rather than Leonidas. “That’s not true, is it?” he demanded of Leonidas.
“Who the hell are you,” Prokles interceded, adding pointedly, “Messenian?”
“You’re damned right I’m Messenian, and proud of it! Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“We’re on an exercise,” Leonidas answered.
“An exercise? Is harassing helot girls part of training in Sparta?” he sneered.
“We aren’t harassing anyone.” Alkander pointed out.
“What do you mean, helot?” Leonidas asked.
“You lying bitch!” the young man flung at Percalus. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re a damned Spartiate bitch!” Percalus was already close to tears, and then the fisherman did something terrible: he spat at her.
The fisherman turned and managed to get a couple of strides away before the boys had recovered from their shock. Then they sprang after him like hounds of a pack. They brought the young fisherman down, and while Leonidas got him pinioned, the other two, mostly Prokles, kicked and punched. Percalus was screaming at them to stop, and the young fisherman was defending himself furiously. He was strong and increasingly angry, even frightened, but they were three to one, and they too were furious. Alkander kicked sand in the fisherman’s eyes and howled out insults. From farther up the beach other fishermen were running toward them, and from even farther away one of the eirenes had caught sight of the commotion and was sprinting over.
A Boy of the Agoge Page 15
