A Boy of the Agoge

by Helena P. Schrader

  The crowd broke into a wild chatter of disbelief. Prokles was a strong, well-built 18-year-old—not a little boy enduring the cane for the first time. He was obviously far from physically finished; he didn’t even pretend to be in pain. Quite to the contrary: in a voice that carried to the spectators, he impudently announced, “She was good, but she wasn’t that good.”

  The commentary of the crowd, which up to now had been baffled and uncomprehending, instantly turned indignant and angry. Women, particularly, were offended by such an attitude, and they starting calling out insults. The judges were so astonished that they hardly knew how to react, and they conferred together hastily. The law clearly stated that a youth condemned to flogging could stop it at will, but youths were supposed to be proud to show what they could endure, not turn it into a commentary on the seriousness of their crime.

  Leonidas looked at the angry people around them. He found himself torn between the sentiments of his friend and those of the crowd. He understood that Prokles was furious with his girlfriend for trying to manipulate him. He understood that he felt she had caused him enough unnecessary humiliation. His words were first and foremost an expression of contempt for her. But they were also a challenge to Spartan law and custom. Leonidas saw, with sudden and unsettling clarity, that if youth took advantage of their freedoms—not just by changing the text of their songs, but by challenging the very premises of the system of discipline—the whole foundation of Spartan society would start to crumble. He had only a vague and imprecise image at that moment, but it was a frightening one nevertheless.

  Alkander had him by the elbow. “We better get Prokles out of here,” he urged, “before they decide to lock him up again!” And so together they pushed their way through the indignant crowd and plucked Prokles out of the middle of it, pretending they had orders from their eirene. With his usual presence of mind, Alkander thought to say in a loud voice, “You’ve got to report at once, or you’re going to be cleaning the latrines all night!”

  As was to be expected given the mood of the crowd, several people shouted that this was just what he deserved, and others urged that he should be subjected to extra duties and drill for a month, et cetera. And while they all made their suggestions, Leonidas and Alkander got Prokles extricated from the crowd.

  CHAPTER 10

  Age 19

  AT 19 THE YOUTHS OF THE agoge became “meleirenes”—those on the brink of becoming eirenes. As with every other age-cohort in the agoge, this brought with it a unique curriculum and expectations. The most exciting aspect was that for the first time since entering the agoge, they were freed of the control of an eirene. It was recognised that the 20-year-olds just didn’t carry enough authority with youths only one year younger, so the meleirenes were placed under the direct authority of the Paidonomos and supervised by his assistants, all full citizens—when they weren’t at drill or on “duty”.

  “Duty” was a new responsibility that, like drill, was under the supervision of the army itself. In addition to standing by as runners for the ephors, Council, and magistrates, duty entailed providing the watch on all public buildings in the city, and patrolling the city at night. Ever since the disastrous raid on the agoge during the Second Messenian War, the city provided a 24-hour watch over its public buildings, including the agoge and the royal palaces, as well as roving patrols during the hours of darkness. Such duty being boring, tedious, and disruptive of normal activity, the army had soon delegated this responsibility down to the meleirenes, who were trained well enough at arms to look impressive to visiting strangers, discourage common crime during the hours of darkness—and raise the alarm if there was a serious threat to the city or her citizens. After all, the days were long since past when Sparta really had to fear an attack by an armed force so far inside Lacedaemon.

  Whether by accident or design, Leonidas frequently found himself posted to guard the Agiad royal palace. As there was nothing the least degrading about this duty (even if it was boring), he did not mind particularly—except that it meant he found himself being greeted by people going in and out, which was not entirely correct. The first time it happened, he had been confused as to what his response should be. Technically, of course, no sentry responds to any kind of comment or provocation—except to do his duty of barring entry to an unwanted visitor. But when the queen mother stopped and addressed him by name, Leonidas felt it would be rude not to reply.

  “Leonidas!” the “other woman” addressed him with a smile. “How are you doing these days?”

  “Well, ma’am.”

  “You look splendid!” she assured him as if she meant it. “You’ll be an eirene next year, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hmm.” She seemed to find this significant for some reason, and nodded to herself with apparent satisfaction before bidding him farewell and continuing on her way.

  After that, she always stopped to chat with him when she found him on duty. She was frequently accompanied by her two grandchildren, six-year-old Agis and four-year-old Gorgo. Agis was an overactive, self-willed boy who couldn’t seem to stand still or be quiet even for a second. Gorgo, in contrast, was a curious and observant child who took an open interest in adult conversation and doings. While Agis was impatiently throwing stones at crows or scratching with a stick between the paving stones or some such thing, oblivious to the adults, Gorgo always listened to what her grandmother said. Given the beauty of their mother, it rather surprised Leonidas that neither child was particularly pretty. Agis had his father’s large nose even at this age, and Gorgo was red-haired and freckled, which was not considered attractive in any society.

  No matter how often he had the duty at the Agiad palace, however, Leonidas only saw the queen herself once. She was heavy with child again, and it was rumoured that she was not well. Certainly her face was pinched and her eyes circled; she spoke in a tart, impatient voice to the women accompanying her, and held a hand to the small of her back as if in pain. She took no notice of Leonidas at all—as was perfectly correct—but Leonidas was left with the impression that she was not a happy bride any longer.

  Of course, that might have to do with the fact that her husband had been absent since the previous summer. Indeed, he must have made her pregnant very shortly before he departed on his great expedition to free Athens from Hippias. The appeals of the Athenians, backed by a favourable decision from Delphi, had finally borne fruit. After a compromise proposal that entailed sending Sparta’s fledgling fleet had resulted in ignominious defeat, Cleomenes talked the Council into putting a proposal to take the army north to a vote in the Assembly. Here he made an eloquent appeal to restore democracy to Athens. By this time, the army was so bored and fed up with the dithering of the older citizens that Cleomenes won thunderous applause from the younger age-cohorts. Demaratus, sensing the mood of the younger citizens, threw in his lot with Cleomenes and agreed that they should take the active army north.

  The kings very scrupulously avoided a call-up of even one class of reserves, as support for the adventure declined sharply among the older cohorts, and many reservists had no desire to disrupt their settled lives. The active units, in contrast, were composed of men who were young and fit and confined to barracks anyway. They were raring for a fight. The youngest age-cohorts, those that had not campaigned at all yet, were particularly anxious to prove themselves.

  So the Spartan army had marched out shortly before the summer solstice, and the city expectantly awaited the news of a victory within a month. It didn’t come. To be sure, the Spartan army had taken Athens without a fight, but the tyrant Hippias himself had fled to the Acropolis with his most loyal followers, and they remained holed up there still. The Spartans did not dare abandon Athens without having seized or killed Hippias, since he would obviously just re-establish himself as soon as they were gone. But it was equally unthinkable that Spartan troops would assault the sacred temples of the Gods—even if they were harbouring the tyrant and his men. The result had thus bee
n a siege of the Athenian Acropolis that showed no sign of ending. Apparently Hippias either had vast stores of food hidden in the treasuries of the temples, or he was being supplied secretly by supporters who knew ways up to the Acropolis that the Spartans did not control.

  The situation was exactly the kind the Spartans hated. The army was bogged down in a “foreign adventure”, leaving Lacedaemon “naked” to her enemies (as the more dramatic opponents of the war liked to word it). Certainly the older men who had opposed the war from the start were unhappy about keeping up the garrison duties usually carried out by the active units. It kept them away from their hearths with winter drawing near, and from their own beds at night. It meant they were away from their kleros and their growing children. With the active age-cohorts in Athens and not at Assembly, the calls for the troops to come home and leave Athens to the Athenians grew and gained support from Assembly to Assembly. Leonidas couldn’t help thinking that if his brother Dorieus had only patiently bided his time rather than rushing off to make himself king in Sicily, this would have been his opportunity to turn the citizens against Cleomenes. But with Dorieus in Sicily and Demaratus with Cleomenes in Athens, there was no rallying point for opposition; and so the citizens raged futilely while the strange war dragged on into the winter.

  One dreary day, roughly three months after Leonidas had become a meleirene, an army runner came down the Tegean road while Leonidas’ unit was at drill on the muddy fields beyond the Eurotas. A shout went up, and it was only with difficulty that the officers could force the youths to keep their minds on their drill. As soon as the youths were dismissed they ran, still in their full panoply, over the bridge and back into the city to find out the news.

  A drizzle had started, and a gloomy darkness was sinking over the city early, but the streets were crowded. Women and helots, perioikoi, and the boys and youths of the agoge were on the streets asking each other what had happened. The dogs ran about, barking in a frenzy of vicarious excitement. The only thing anyone seemed to know for sure, however, was that the runner had reported to the Agiad royal palace and the five ephors had been summoned. A huge crowd had therefore gathered in front of the Ephorate, as this was where the ephors would make any official announcement. Leonidas’ friends and comrades, however, insisted that he seek admittance to the palace. “They won’t turn you away!” his friends pleaded. “They can’t! Ask to see the queen mother!”

  Leonidas had never done that before and he was not entirely comfortable with the idea, but he was no less anxious to learn the news than his comrades. Propelled forward by the others as much as by his own willpower, Leonidas found himself at the gates of the Agiad palace. The two unfortunate meleirenes on duty were clearly uncomfortable with the loud crowd gathered in front of them, and they responded by taking up a defensive position, shields at ready and spears crossed. Most people accepted that there would be no admittance and returned to the Ephorate to await the official announcement.

  By now it was getting close to dinner, and after the long afternoon of drill most of the youths were hungry. The immediate excitement of seeing the messenger was past. They noticed how heavy their armour was and how uncomfortable their soggy undergarments, and decided to go back to change and eat before besieging the Ephorate. And so they dispersed into the gathering gloom.

  Leonidas and his two friends lingered a bit. “You’re plotting something,” Alkander observed.

  “You know other ways into the palace,” Prokles guessed.

  Leonidas didn’t answer exactly, but after going around to the back of the palace, he passed the kitchen entrance and started up a side alley. Here he stopped abruptly. The clouds had dropped down on to the city and the streets were cloaked in mist. The mist glistened on the paving stones and straw that lay about. A cat trotted over, meowing, and rubbed herself against their legs. Leonidas looked up. The others followed his gaze. There was a window about three feet over their heads.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the loft of the stables. They load hay and straw through that window. The wagons stop here in the street and hand the hay up to the grooms in the loft. It avoids having to drive the cumbersome hay wagons in and out of the stableyard or lugging the bales up into the loft on the ladders. I used to watch them do it when I was little.”

  The three youths looked up at the window. “Well, what’s stopping you?” Prokles asked.

  “I don’t know that I want to sneak in like that. The queen mother has always been nice to me.”

  “Once you’re inside, you don’t have to tell her how you got there,” Prokles pointed out practically. “Come on, get out of your armour and climb on my back.” Leonidas hesitated just a little longer, and then turned his hoplon over to Alkander and removed his helmet, greaves, and breastplate. Still wearing the leather jack that was worn under the metal pieces, he scrambled on to Prokles’ back and from there got a hold on the ledge of the window. It took two attempts, but he managed to haul himself into the loft. He turned around and called back down to his friends, “Wait for me here!”

  “Of course. Hurry!”

  Leonidas nodded and slipped deeper into the loft. It smelled of hay and straw above the stable smell from below. He lay on his belly and looked down into the stable to see how many helots were there. Apparently the horses had just been fed. They were all munching contentedly in their stalls, and the helots had left them alone. They were probably getting their own meal, Leonidas calculated, and quickly descended the ladder. The horses were too interested in their feed to take any note of him. At the stable door he hesitated again, looking out into the stableyard, but again all was deserted. The mist was so thick that it all but obscured the buildings. The lamps hanging under the kitchen porch were just blurs of murky yellow. Stepping carefully to avoid the puddles in the yard, Leonidas made his way past the storerooms and work sheds towards the entrance to the kitchens.

  Even before he reached them, however, he could hear excited voices. The helots were clearly having their own meal, so he backed away quickly and sought instead the narrow passage that led straight to a stairway. This stairway accessed the rooms on the second floor where most of the helots slept. But beyond those chambers were the rooms occupied by the household officials, and beyond them, the private rooms of the family. Taking this route into the palace constituted a great invasion of privacy, and Leonidas dreaded the thought of running into anyone up there, but he hoped there would be no one in the nursery at this time of day. He hoped he would be able slip down the internal stairs before anyone saw him. Once he was in the main atrium, he would be able to walk into the hall as if he’d come through the main gate.

  The corridor in the helots’ quarters was darkened, and he heard no one as he advanced very cautiously. In the nursery corridor a single light burned, casting as much shadow as light. Just at the landing to the stairs back down, when he thought he was out of danger, he was taken by surprise. A figure was standing at the top of the stairs looking down, and at the sound of his footfall, it spun about guiltily. It was the child, Gorgo, again.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of him, but when he put his finger to his lips, she smiled and ran to him. “You won’t tell on me, Uncle Leonidas, will you?”

  He just gestured with his finger to his lips.

  “News from Papa!” she told him eagerly in a loud whisper.

  He nodded.

  “Is Papa coming home soon?”

  “Maybe,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” He pointed down the stairs.

  “Come tell me!” she demanded next.

  He nodded. Then, his finger to his lips, he started cautiously down the stairs.

  At last he was in the atrium that he would have passed through if he’d come by the back door. That was not so compromising, and he tried to act as if he had every right to be there as he mounted the steps toward the main hall.

  At once he encountered a servant carrying a tray laden with wine, water, bread, and cheese. The man started
rather violently, but he too was an old helot from the days when Leonidas’ mother had ruled here. He started stammering, “Master Leonidas. How did you get in?” but on second thought revised his greeting to: “What can I do for you, master?”

  “I understand a messenger has arrived from my brother?”

  “Yes, he is with the queen and the queen mother now.”

  “Would you announce me and ask if I may join them?”

  The old helot looked dubious, but he could hardly say “no”. He continued on his way and Leonidas waited. It seemed to take a long time before the helot returned without the tray. “Master Leonidas, you may come with me.”

  Leonidas was led to the representative hearth-room with its heavily painted walls, squat painted columns, and large square hearth in the centre. Leonidas had rarely seen the room used, and on a dark night like this it seemed particularly gloomy. The smoke hung in the air. It rose to the roof where there was a hole where it should have escaped, but the windless drizzle outside sent the smoke back down into the room.

  It was, of course, Chilonis who came to greet him.

  “Forgive me for intruding, ma’am, but the whole city—”

  “Of course,” Chilonis agreed. “I quite understand. You will forgive me if I am brief?”

  “Ma’am.”

  “My son has captured Hippias’ small children, as their servants were trying to smuggle them to safety outside of Athens. My son is now holding them hostage, and intends to release them only if Hippias and the rest of his family and supporters abandon the Acropolis and promise to leave Athens forever.”

  Even before Leonidas could express any pleasure at the news, Chilonis had hold of his arm and was escorting him back out of the hall again. “My daughter-in-law is naturally delighted,” Chilonis was saying. “She looks forward to her husband’s return, and longs for him to be at her side when she is brought to childbed again.”