A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  He’d had more than enough sexual energy then, and he resented that it had been largely wasted. Certainly he had never felt satisfied with casual affairs—or even, except for a short period before she became pregnant with the twins, with Eirana herself. He resented the empty nursery now, and his own empty bed.

  But it was his own fault. He had chosen Eirana, and even after her death gave him a new chance, he had done nothing with it. Why? Why was he so reluctant to look at the girls Hilaira wanted him to meet?

  He went back to his own room, stripped, and lay down on the bed. It was chilly enough for him to need the linen sheet and the wool blanket. He turned on his side facing the blank wall and, listening to the rain, eventually fell asleep.

  Laodice woke him. “Master!” She was speaking right into his ear, her hand on his shoulder. She had her himation up over her head and clutched around her shoulders. It was wet with rain and her hair was loose, as if she had come from her own bed. “It’s Beggar. She’s having convulsions. I think the rain today was too much for her. I think she’s dying.”

  Leonidas flung the covers off and ran down stairs and across the courtyard to the helot kitchen through the rain. Beggar was lying by the fire, as they had left her after bringing her in out of the rain, but her legs had gone completely rigid and were twitching erratically. The hound was making sounds as well, yelps of pain it seemed, although her eyes were rolled back in her head and she did not appear to be conscious.

  Leonidas went down on his knees beside her and tried to massage her rigid muscles. He spoke to her unconsciously, telling her she’d be fine, saying she shouldn’t have been out in the rain, asking if he’d failed to dry her properly. But she was beyond him. In a few minutes it was over. She went still and silent, the struggle with death finished. Leonidas drew back, staring at the corpse of his dearest companion, and he felt the intense cold of the rainy night in the dark, silent farmhouse.

  The following day Leonidas went to visit his stepmother. It was still raining, although not so hard as the night before, and she ushered him into the hearth room, anxious for him to get out of the cold and wet. “You spent the whole morning out in this, and that’s enough,” she told him firmly.

  He had, of course. The Spartan army drilled regardless of the weather, just as it was expected to fight in any weather. Being wet and cold and muddy was not an unfamiliar condition to any Spartiate. But it was still pleasant to be taken into a warm room and offered steaming water flavored with a squeeze of lemon and mint and a snack of cashew nuts with raisins.

  “So, what brings you here on such a dreadful day?” Chilonis asked as she settled down opposite her stepson.

  “Everyone in the whole city has tried to push me into this marriage with Gorgo—except you. I started to wonder why.”

  “Aha,” Chilonis remarked. She stood, and started fussing with the hearth fire.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me?” Leonidas pressed her.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  Leonidas waited impatiently while Chilonis poked and played with the logs, causing parts of them to disintegrate into embers. At last she turned and looked straight at Leonidas. “Have you forgotten who I am? Or rather, how I came to be your stepmother?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Hmm.” Chilonis looked skeptical, and she sat down again. “Let me put it another way. You grew up knowing how much your mother hated me and my son—”

  “Actually, she hated the ephors most. You were just the instrument, not the source of her misery.”

  “Very well put.” Chilonis bowed slightly to Leonidas. “The ephors wanted an Agiad heir, and they selected me as the vessel in which it was to be produced. I had no more say in the matter than a cooking pot. Your father, to his credit, protested vigorously at first, but he eventually gave in to pressure and took me to wife—for political reasons. He was, to be fair, always a gentleman. He showed me respect and consideration. He was kind and he was gentle. He never once treated me like anything less than his queen. But he did not claim or pretend to love me or even fancy me in any way. Intimacies ended with the confirmation of pregnancy. If I had been delivered of a daughter—or had Cleomenes died young, before the birth of Dorieus—they might have resumed. But with the birth of Dorieus at the latest, my utility was ended. My marriage, such as it was, ended, too. Your father visited his firstborn son regularly. He was courteous to his son’s mother. But he never again treated me as his wife.

  “Don’t misunderstand me!” Chilonis reached out to lay her hand gently on Leonidas’ arm. “I am not complaining for myself. I did not love your father any more than he me, and so I did not particularly miss or lament his absence. I actually quite liked having my own household, and control of my affairs and my son, without either spousal interference or financial concerns. It was a life of most exceptional independence, such as few women enjoy. But as someone who has lived through a political marriage, I have a very acute understanding of them. I didn’t come to you to press a marriage with Gorgo because I love Gorgo far too much to want to see her pushed into a political marriage—whether it is to a Persian prince or to you.”

  “As her father’s only child, she will be forced into a political marriage,” Leonidas pointed out. “Whether you want it or not. Gorgo is the first to recognize that.”

  “Quite right. But that is the political reality. In my biased grandmother’s eyes, she is a wonderful, even a remarkable, young woman. She is a very unique and special person, and—”

  “Surely you know that I agree with you on that,” Leonidas interrupted, taken aback by Chilonis’ earnestness.

  Chilonis frowned and shook her head. “Not really. You see her as a precocious child, perhaps; but you don’t love her with all her imperfections and weaknesses as I do. I love Gorgo as only a grandmother can love. I love her more than I ever loved my son, and more than I loved her brother. I want her to be happy with all my heart.”

  “And you think marriage to me would ruin her happiness,” Leonidas concluded sourly. It was not the explanation he had expected.

  “Under the circumstances, yes.”

  “What do you mean by ‘under the circumstances’?”

  “Well, as a political expedient into which you have been pressured and harassed just like your father was. That is the whole point.”

  “But you just explained to me how happy you were in your political marriage.”

  “You weren’t listening to me, young man!” Chilonis retorted sharply. “I said that after the marriage ended in all but name, I enjoyed independence and was content, but I was never in love with your father. Gorgo’s marriage to you would be an unthinkable nightmare because she is so intensely in love with you. It’s not some passing fancy or momentary crush, or even an adolescent sexual attraction. Gorgo loves you with a depth that is very rare in maidens her age. Your indifference to her, possibly even your hostility born of the political pressure brought to bear on you, would lacerate her to the quick. She would be tortured in ways she cannot imagine and does not deserve. What she deserves is to be married for herself—and not for reasons of state.”

  Chapter 19

  Artemis of the Goats

  Her grandmother had told her that her uncle wanted to speak to her, but warned her not to get her hopes up. “He only wants to explain to you why he won’t marry you.”

  But how could Gorgo not get her hopes up? She had not spoken to her uncle Leonidas since she had confronted the ephors almost a month ago with her father’s plans for her marriage, and time was running out on them both. The ephors had already started to make alternative suggestions to her, and it was rumored Leonidas had been given a deadline of the spring equinox to marry or face the consequences. Gorgo felt she had nothing to lose by pleading her case with him face to face.

  Much more difficult was deciding what to wear for such an important confrontation. Leonidas had stipulated that she meet him at the Temple of Artemis of the Goats on the precipitous hill just west of the ci
ty. It was an ancient and increasingly neglected sanctuary at the top of a very rugged and strenuous path—which was undoubtedly why Leonidas had chosen the location. It would almost certainly be empty during the afternoon watch, the time designated for their meeting, because most of the patrons of this Artemis were goatherds and travelers, who were more likely to make their sacrifices at the start or end of the day.

  Gorgo could not exactly dress in something “courtly” if she were going to climb up that long, winding path, very likely in a drizzle. She had to wear practical shoes, and even so she was likely to arrive with skirts muddy to the knee—unless she rode. If she rode, however, she could not wear court dress, either. Whatever she did, her outer garment was going to get wet and muddy, and if she rode, the garment underneath was going to get crushed. Her hair posed yet another problem: if she wore it free, it would get tangled and messy, but she felt she looked adolescent when she braided it. She didn’t want to look like a little girl—but rather, an attractive young woman. She certainly didn’t want to look like “something the cat dragged in.”

  But gazing into her mirror, she was not encouraged. She didn’t like what she saw, and there was so little she could do about it. She tried brushing her hair this way and that. She tried various pieces of jewelry. She tried rouge on her lips and cheeks. She even thought of going to her mother and asking for advice; but their relationship was so strained that in the end she put on her favorite green peplos and wrapped herself in a voluminous rust-colored himation that had been oiled to make it less porous, and collected her mare.

  The weather was actually clearing a bit, with weak rays of sun now and again breaking through the overcast. No one took any particular notice of Gorgo as she rode out of the city; she did it far too frequently. She passed the tombs of the Agiads with a little inner nod. Her ancestors, she reasoned, ought to be on her side. They should favor the marriage of two Agiads.

  Farther on, she came to the monument of Tainaros, and then the impressive and more popular sanctuary to the Horse-Breeding Poseidon. The increasing popularity of horse breeding had brought new wealth to this particular temple, and everything here looked newly renovated. Beyond the temple, however, the trail became very steep, and Gorgo was glad she’d chosen to ride. This track was running with water in places, and here and there the trail had been washed away. She would have arrived looking like a drowned rat, and frozen through, if she had walked.

  At the sanctuary itself, perched on the very top of the hill, she was relieved to find that Leonidas had not yet arrived. No other horses were tethered in front of the temple, and a couple who had been sacrificing at the altar hurried away at the sight of Gorgo. Gorgo tied her horse loosely to a large plane tree at the far edge of the large open terrace before the temple. She paused to gaze back on the valley below, largely lost in the mist and smoke rising from the hearth fires of the city, although the acropolis of Sparta was still discernible.

  Gorgo removed her himation, since the weather was improving, and carried it over her arm as she entered the temple. She placed her offering on the altar and made a short prayer for success. Then she stood hesitantly in the empty temple and didn’t know what to do with herself.

  She was very nervous now. She told herself that she should prepare herself for the worst, so that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself by crying or by begging. Then again, what did she have to lose by either? If Leonidas could not be moved by logic and reasons of state and just plain expediency, maybe a few tears would do the trick. What did she have to lose?

  She glanced at the Goddess, depicted by a wooden statue. Artemis stood with her bow over her shoulder, but flanked by two goats rather than the more common deer and hound. Artemis was a virgin Goddess—not exactly the ally one wanted most in her present situation—and the fact that Leonidas had chosen this temple for their rendezvous was an ominous portent. It would have been more propitious to meet in one of Aphrodite’s temples, Gorgo supposed; but then again, Gorgo hated that beautiful Goddess almost as much as she hated the beautiful Helen.

  “The sun’s come out; shall we sit on the porch?” Leonidas asked.

  Gorgo spun around. “Where did you come from?”

  “I’ve been here all along. You didn’t see me in the shadows.”

  “But there was no horse outside.”

  “I walked.”

  He started for the exit and Gorgo went with him. The clouds were indeed tearing apart and the sun was bright, making all the wet limestone glitter, and offering surprising warmth in the still air. Leonidas sat down on the top step of the temple at the base of one of the Doric columns, and Gorgo sat down beside him, hardly daring to breathe.

  Leonidas looked over at her, but she was looking down self-consciously at her hands. “Just when did you come up with this idea that I should marry you?”

  She shrugged a little awkwardly. “It just sort of evolved … You know, when girls reach a certain age, they start looking at boys and speculating about which ones might make good husbands. We’re expected and encouraged to do that. And, well, I looked just like the others did, but the boys all seemed so …” she shrugged and then admitted, “scrawny and silly and oversexed. I realized I wanted someone like you, so I looked at the older men. But most of them were already married, and there was none I liked as much as you. It dawned on me that I didn’t want someone like you, I wanted you.”

  Leonidas looked at her skeptically.

  “You carried me home on your shoulders when I was lost, remember? You let me ride your colts so I could win races. You put your arm around me and made me feel wanted when everyone else ignored me. And best of all, you never seemed to notice that I wasn’t pretty.” She looked down as she said this, ashamed to meet his eyes, because tears were forming.

  “Because you are pretty, Gorgo. You are one of the prettiest girls in Lacedaemon. Who told you otherwise?”

  “My mirror, for a start!” Gorgo told him sharply, looking up to see if he was mocking or pitying her. He met her gaze and she found herself adding practically, “No one ever picks me to welcome home returning heroes or Olympic victors!”

  “Weren’t you waiting for me when I came back from Corinth?”

  “I cheated and rode ahead of the official welcoming event. Surely you noticed?”

  Leonidas laughed and put his arm over her shoulder, drawing her to him. “At the time, I thought nothing of it. You were always a bit wild and self-willed.”

  “Is that very bad?”

  “No,” Leonidas told her simply. “When did you decide to force the issue by going to the ephors?”

  Gorgo looked up at him uncertainly. His arm felt wonderful around her, and he seemed anything but hostile, and yet he was hardly acting like a lover, either. Just like her favorite uncle. “Well, my father started teasing me about who he was going to marry me to. One day it would be one tyrant, and the next day another. It was just a game to him. He liked to see me get angry and indignant. He liked to frighten me.”

  “I had no idea.” Leonidas sounded upset—and that suggested a depth of sympathy Gorgo had not expected from any man.

  “Grandma says I provoked it. She says I shouldn’t have humiliated him in front of Aristagoras the way I did. Our relationship hasn’t been the same since. In the last few years we fought a lot, and I often accused him of being fickle and ineffective. He drives me crazy with his cynicism and plotting.”

  Leonidas snorted, because he agreed entirely.

  Gorgo continued, “But I suppose I shouldn’t tell him what I think of him as bluntly as I do. If I were him, I wouldn’t want me as a daughter, either,” she concluded honestly, making Leonidas laugh and hold her more firmly.

  She looked up at him uncertainly.

  “Go on. When did you decide to go to the ephors?”

  “After a particularly ugly scene with my father, when he said he had already sent word to Aristagoras offering me to him. Oh, Leo! If you knew the way that man looked at me! With hate in his eyes! He hated me ju
st for being a girl and for hearing him plead with my father and then for speaking out. The thought of being married to him was unbearable!

  “Of course,” Gorgo admitted in a calmer tone, “I should have known Aristagoras would never agree to the marriage, since he despised me; but at the time, I was so upset I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night, trying to think what I could do. I knew I had to tell someone who could stop my father. But who had that power? My father doesn’t listen to anyone anymore, not even Grandma or Nikostratos. Then I thought of the ephors, and I realized they were the only people in all Lacedaemon who had the power to prevent my father from doing anything. I thought if they could force your father to have two wives, surely they could stop mine from giving me away to a foreigner.

  “But I foresaw that they might ask who I wanted instead. And I thought, why not tell them the truth? Why not name you, since you were free to marry?

  “Uncle Leo! Don’t be angry with me anymore. Please! I know now that it was stupid of me. Grandma explained to me how stupid it was—how I put you in an impossible situation by naming you. But I didn’t mean to pressure you. Please don’t be angry.” She looked up at him and tears spilled out of her eyes, the emotional strain of the whole situation too much for her.

  Leonidas reached up his free hand and wiped her tears away. “How can I be angry at you for using your brains to serve your heart?” He paused to reflect on what he had just said, and then added, “As I said to Hilaira not so long ago, you are by far the cleverer of the two of us; and if you honestly think that being married to me would be a good thing, then who am I to disagree?”

  She swallowed and waited for the “but.”

  Instead, Leonidas continued, “So I’ve decided we should get married.”

  Gorgo started. “Just like that? But what do you want? I mean, why have you refused for the last month?”