A Boy of the Agoge

by Helena P. Schrader

  “But of course, ma’am. We are all looking for the army to return.”

  “Do you approve of the price, then? Using innocent young children as bargaining chips? And what if Hippias calls our bluff? What if he says: ‘Keep my children! I can get new sons.’?” She stopped and looked up at him (for Leonidas was now several inches taller than she, although she was a tall woman.)

  “But who would say such a thing, ma’am?” Leonidas countered vigorously, unable to imagine it.

  She shrugged. “Tyrants are men who have trampled the laws of their cities and the rights of their fellow citizens. How can we know to what lengths they are prepared to go to retain power? I do not like using children as pawns in politics.”

  “But what would you have your son do, ma’am? He is at war with Hippias. He could kill the children or keep them as slaves. Surely to use them as bargaining chips is the lesser evil?”

  Chilonis considered him seriously. “You think like a man already, I see. But that is only natural. And, of course, you are right. Children are always victims in wars—whichever side loses drags its children down into the depths of hell. Indeed, one could even argue that Hippias’ children have earned a harsher fate than most children of a lost war. Hippias certainly chose tyranny and war. The children of other cities are often the victims of nothing more reprehensible than unpreparedness, poor leadership, or weakness. When I think of the children of the cities of Ionia, exposed to the whims of a Persian despot merely because their father’s resistance was crushed by a vastly superior foe, I sometimes despair. Forgive me.” She looked up at him again with an apologetic smile. “I am boring you with my old woman’s woe. I just couldn’t stand to listen to my daughter-in-law’s inane chatter any longer. She thinks of no one but herself.”

  Leonidas said nothing, knowing that he had no business to have heard this. Instead he remarked, “Your granddaughter is anxious to hear news of her father, ma’am. Maybe you could go to her?”

  “Gorgo? She’s supposed to be in bed. Did you run into her?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She was excited to think her father would be coming home soon.”

  Chilonis sighed, but noted indulgently, “She adores him. He spoils her. He spoils both of them. All right, I’ll see to her.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, ma’am.”

  “Any time,” she assured him, and gave him her hand.

  The army was back in just five days. Hippias had agreed to leave Attica forever in exchange for the release of his children, and so Athens was again a democracy. Cleomenes was clearly very pleased with himself and quick to point out to everyone that those who now held sway in Athens owed their position “to Spartan spears”. The cynics warned that he should not expect the Athenians to be grateful, but Cleomenes clearly thought he had greatly expanded Spartan influence.

  Demaratus returned in a far less sanguine mood. There were rumours that returned with the army that the two kings had quarrelled frequently and all too publicly. Certainly Demaratus resented the fact that the Athenians treated Cleomenes as the “real” commander of the army and their special friend, while they all but ignored him. He resented no less the fact that Cleomenes was taking all the credit for their ultimate success—although the unit that captured the children of Hippias was no more under Cleomenes’ command than Demaratus’. Demaratus was a year older than Cleomenes; but because his father had lived longer than Anaxandridas, Cleomenes had come to the throne sooner, giving him a “unwarranted” sense of precedence, in Demaratus’ eyes. Furthermore, because Cleomenes had been a ruling king he had been free to marry even before turning 21, while Demaratus had lived in barracks with the other men of his age-cohort, and was not yet married. But he was now 32. If he had been an ordinary citizen, he would have been subject to ridicule and sanctions for failing to marry. As king, he had a double duty to marry and produce offspring. It was therefore not surprising that he was visibly displeased when almost the same day that the army returned, the Agiad queen gave birth to yet another son. Leonidas knew all this just from being an alert and observant meleirene, but nothing prepared him for receiving a summons to the Eurypontid palace late that night.

  “Where?” he asked the helot shaking him awake in disbelief, while his comrades groaned and cursed about the misfortune of sharing a barracks with an Agiad prince.

  “King Demaratus has sent for you,” the helot insisted.

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearing midnight, sir. Please, come quickly. My lord was very angry.”

  “What the hell have you done now, Leonidas?” Ephorus asked in a sleepy voice.

  “I haven’t done anything,” Leonidas protested, trying to find a chiton and himation in the dark.

  “That’s mine!” Prokles snatched his himation back.

  “Would you shut up! Some of us need our sleep!”

  It was bitter cold in the streets, and Leonidas woke up quickly as he followed the helot along the frosted way in his bare feet. Just nine more months, he told himself, and he’d be an eirene and could wear sandals.

  The Eurypontid palace was located near the Temple to the Bronze Athena, and he knew it only from the outside. The meleirenes on watch looked astonished as he passed them, but all he could do was shrug and shake his head to indicate he didn’t know what this was about. He was led through what seemed like a maze of corridors, and at last ended in a bedchamber with a roaring fire in which the Eurypontid king was pacing about angrily. He stopped as the door opened and greeted Leonidas with: “There you are! What took you so long? I’ve been waiting at least an hour.” The helot bowed and withdrew rapidly without a word.

  Demaratus stared at Leonidas. “Weren’t you called ‘the runt’ once?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir,” Leonidas replied evenly, wondering where this was going, while feeling his hatred of the Eurypontids rekindle.

  “Hmphf! Well, you were, but I can see you’ve been growing. Look, let’s get this over with quickly. I’ve been kept waiting long enough. I want to marry Percalus, and I expect a respectable dowry. Anything else would look ludicrous after what Cleomenes got his hands on.”

  Leonidas was reeling from the unexpectedness of the blow. Percalus had successfully resisted all other suitors until Alkander had at last agreed to let her marry Leotychidas last summer. But Leotychidas, like Demaratus, had deployed with the army, delaying the wedding. Leotychidas, furthermore, was still with the army, having been assigned to the rearguard that had been left in Athens to ensure that Hippias complied with the terms of the treaty. Suddenly, Leonidas smelled a rat. “Did you order Leotychidas to remain in Athens, sir?”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Demaratus snapped back.

  “Well, Leotychidas has also asked for Percalus. And he doesn’t care about a dowry.”

  “Don’t try to bargain with me, boy! You can afford a dowry for the girl.”

  “She’s not my sister. Alkander can’t afford a dowry.”

  “You sponsored Alkander. You’re responsible for the girl as well.”

  “No, sir.”

  “They warned me you were a stubborn smart-ass!”

  That did not require an answer, and so Leonidas said nothing. He was in the right, and both Demaratus and he knew it. After a long pause, Demaratus said simply, “If I ask Alkander for the girl, he can’t refuse me.”

  “That’s up to Alkander, sir.”

  “Get out of here.”

  Leonidas didn’t wait to be asked twice. He was grateful that the helot was waiting just outside the door to lead him back out of the unfamiliar palace.

  When Leotychidas returned to the city just five days later, it was too late. Percalus had already been removed “by force” from Cleitagora’s kleros to the Eurypontid palace and introduced to the city as their new Eurypontid queen. Leotychidas was furious, and he blamed Leonidas. “You planned this all along!” he fumed. “You kept me at arm’s length because you knew Demaratus would eventually get hot enough to take her withou
t a dowry. I should have taken her without your consent! I won’t forgive you for this, you arrogant whelp! You or your conniving little friend! You’ll live to regret playing with me like this!”

  “What do you think he can do to us?” Alkander asked anxiously, when Leonidas reported the confrontation.

  Leonidas shrugged. He didn’t like having an enemy in Leotychidas, but the fact was, he was less dangerous than a reigning king like Demaratus. They really hadn’t had any choice once the king accepted the “no dowry” stipulation. Furthermore, the marriage had distinct advantages for Alkander, starting with the fact that his mother moved into the Eurypontid palace and he now stood a good chance of being assigned a viable kleros on coming of age.

  The fact that he was the brother-in-law of the Eurypontid king also increased his value in the marriage market. Suddenly girls (and their mothers) who had stopped showing interest in Alkander after the girls left the agoge and had to be careful about their reputation, took an interest again. Leonidas found it rather amusing, but Alkander was less pleased.

  “I want them to want me for myself,” Alkander insisted irritably, after warding off yet another overattentive approach by a matron and her daughter in the agora. It was an early spring day, shortly after the sailing season had opened, and the agora was filled with the first imported goods of the year. Leonidas and Alkander had gone ostensibly to look at swords. As long as they were in the agoge, all their equipment was provided by the school, but on turning 21 they would have to have their own. The city provided each new citizen symbolically with a scarlet himation and a shield embossed with the lambda of Lacedaemon, but the city did not provide the other essentials of hoplite panoply: helmet, breastplate, baldric, sword, and greaves. Each hoplite had to provide this equipment himself.

  Swords could be and often were passed down over generations. Prokles had already been promised his grandfather’s sword, which was of excellent Tegean craftsmanship. But Alkander’s father’s sword appeared to have been lost or sold at some stage, and Leonidas’ father had naturally bestowed his own weapons on his eldest son, Cleomenes.

  There were several local armourers who had stands on the agora, and also merchants who sold imported wares. The imported swords tended to be fancier and more expensive, but they were also longer than the standard Spartan sword and so not permitted in the phalanx. They were, therefore, an expensive luxury, since you still had to have a Spartan sword for active duty. Leonidas knew that Dorieus had been very proud of the Thessalonian sword he carried about. It had two bronze rams locked in combat on the hilt and a sheath with scenes from the life of Herakles. Leonidas had admired it as a boy, but one look at the prices asked even for more simple swords sent him back to the local smiths.

  The perioikoi merchant smiled when he returned. “Not the kind for all that vainglorious show, are you, young Leonidas?”

  Leonidas shrugged in embarrassment, inwardly aware that he might have been tempted by the more artistic weapons if he knew he could afford them. Since he was still not of age, however, he had no control over his estates (whatever they might consist of) and still had to apply to the Agiad treasurer if he wanted money—something he had scrupulously avoided up to now. His own and Alkander’s agoge fees were paid directly, and until now he had never needed more money than he could earn from the sale of skins or meat from the animals he killed trapping and hunting.

  “Let me show you a sword I’ve been saving for a special customer,” the perioikoi salesman continued, bending down and removing a sword from under his counter. He held it out to Leonidas on the palms of both hands.

  Leonidas cautiously took the sword and drew it partway from its sheath. It gleamed magnificently. He ran his thumb expertly along the edge; it was incredibly sharp. With a glance at the merchant for silent consent, he slipped the baldric over his shoulder so the sword hung at his left hip. The merchant at once came around the table to help him adjust the buckles until it hung just perfectly. “There you go. A good fit,” the salesman insisted. Leonidas reached for the hilt again. The sword slipped out of the sheath as if it had been greased—there was no stickiness or friction at all. He slipped it back and drew it again. It made a satisfying but very soft hiss. Leonidas had never handled a sword of such quality before. The merchant laughed, reading his customer’s face.

  “Look at the balance,” the smith urged next, taking the sword from Leonidas and balancing it on his index finger from a point just an inch away from the hilt. He then gave it back to Leonidas, who tested it himself. It was a wonderful weapon.

  “What does it cost?”

  “Well, you can’t buy a weapon like this every day, much less from just anybody,” the merchant answered, looking away and fussing with his wares, as if calculating what he could ask of a covetous youth from the wealthiest family in Lacedaemon. “A tetradrachma,” he decided at last.

  Leonidas removed the sword and baldric and replaced it on the table. “I’m not of age. I don’t have money like that.”

  “You can pay me in instalments,” the merchant suggested.

  “No, thank you.” Leonidas turned away and looked in the crowds for Alkander. He should have known. Alkander was talking to Eirana and her mother. Eirana was the only Spartan maiden that Leonidas secretly fancied. He always had, but she had never paid the slightest attention to him. Even now, as he came up beside Alkander, she acknowledged him only with an absent-minded smile. Her mother was doing most of the talking. Eirana came from a very “good” family. Her father was one of the lochagoi, commanding one of Sparta’s five divisions, and he kept a good stable of horses. They were ostensibly discussing horses at the moment, although Alkander gave Leonidas a look that suggested he wanted to be rescued.

  Simply by coming up beside Alkander, however, Leonidas had placed himself next to Eirana, and he liked that. She smelled of lavender, and her dark hair was silky and blowing in the light breeze. The breeze also pressed her soft peplos against her body, revealing a figure that was slender but curved in the right places. Leonidas’ pulse quickened, and he was so distracted by the sensations pulsing through his body that he couldn’t think.

  “We really must be going,” Alkander said, with a glance at Leonidas to back him up, but his friend remained mute.

  “But you will come around and take a look at the colt, won’t you?” Eirana’s mother insisted.

  “It’s too soon, ma’am; I won’t be able to own a horse for another year.”

  “He’s a yearling. We’d be happy to keep him for you, if you like him. He’ll be ready to back just about the same time you get your citizenship.”

  “I must see what kleros I get, ma’am.”

  She laughed. “Your brother-in-law will see you properly taken care of, I’m sure. There are a half-dozen vacant Eurypontid kleroi, my husband says.”

  “I’m not Eurypontid, ma’am.”

  “No need to split hairs. You’ll be uncle of the next Eurypontid king.”

  “If my sister is fortunate enough to have healthy sons, ma’am. At the moment, I am still a mothake.”

  The matron glanced at Leonidas, and Leonidas could feel her assessing him. She smiled faintly and patted Alkander on the arm. “Don’t feel any obligation to buy. Just come and take a look at the colt. I’m sure you’ll like him. Eirana.” The young woman smiled and nodded to Alkander and Leonidas in turn, and then followed her mother over to a waiting wagon.

  “That bitch is only interested in my connections!” Alkander swore as soon as they were out of hearing.

  “Her mother maybe, but Eirana has always liked you.”

  “When she was younger, maybe,” Alkander countered. “Now she won’t give me the time of day. She’s got her eyes set on a citizen. A certain Asteropus.”

  “Asteropus? Brotus’ eirene four years ago? Son of the seer, isn’t he?”

  “That’s right. Anyway, Eirana has been making cow’s eyes at him for the last six months at least.”

  Leonidas couldn’t imagine Eirana making cow�
�s eyes at anyone. She seemed so cool and self-possessed whenever he encountered her. She was certainly a first-rate rider and charioteer; not at all like Percalus. “It really is getting late,” he changed the subject. “If we want to get a swim in before—”

  “Alkander! Leonidas!” It was the rather high-pitched and breathy cries of Hilaira. She was pushing her way through the crowds towards them, harvesting looks of reprobation and irritation. She was now 15 and no longer in the agoge; in short, she had reached an age where she was expected to behave with more “decorum”. Certainly she was not supposed to pick up her skirts to her knees as she ran. “Thank God I caught sight of you!” she declared breathlessly as she reached them. “Grandfather’s not well! He’s got pains in his chest. Come quick! Where’s Prokles?”

  “Where’s your grandfather?” Leonidas countered.

  “Just over there!” She gestured vaguely to the far side of the agora. “At the Temple to the Twins. You’ve got to help me get him home. Where’s Prokles?”

  They ignored her question again because they did not intend to answer it (Prokles was with his latest girlfriend), and started toward the temple at a jog. Even before they reached it they could see the little crowd collected at the base of the steps. The crowd stepped back and made way for them as they arrived.

  Lysandridas was sitting on the bottom step up to the temple, hunched over, clutching his chest, and he was ashen. The youths went down on their knees on either side of him. “Father, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  “My chest,” he gasped out. “My heart. Get me home. Where’s Prokles?”

  “I’ll go for him,” Leonidas offered at once, but Alkander stopped him.

  “We need a chariot. You can borrow one from the Agiad stables. I’ll fetch Prokles.”

  Of course, any citizen had the right to borrow another’s horse, bull, or dog, but they weren’t citizens yet, and Leonidas accepted that he would have an easier time at the Agiad stables. Leaving Hilaira with her grandfather, they both set off. Leonidas sprinted to the back entrance of the Agiad palace and told the meleirenes on duty what he’d come for. They let him in right away and he went to the stables and talked to the head groom, a man who knew him well. At once several grooms started to back out one of the light chariots and hitch up the horses selected by the head groom. Someone must have been sent into the palace as well, however, because just when Leonidas was about to mount up, Chilonis appeared.