A Heroic King

by Helena P. Schrader

  Leonidas could not turn his head because Meander was working on his hair, but his eyes shifted. “They were the lowest common denominator―the only way to stop Brotus from getting his candidates elected.”

  “I understand,” Gorgo agreed. “I just think … maybe you should wear my father’s armor again.”

  “My father’s armor,” Leonidas corrected.

  It was both: it had been Leonidas’ father’s armor before it had been Gorgo’s father’s armor. Gorgo laughed, but she repeated, “Wear it, Leo.”

  “You have no idea how uncomfortable it is!” he protested with a frown.

  “Not as uncomfortable as Brotus’ rule would be,” she answered.

  While Meander hitched up the horses to the light chariot, Leonidas peered across the river toward Taygetos for some sign of how far the procession had progressed on its way down the mountainside. By now, he thought, it ought to be swelling with families, the matrons with their cheeses, men in armor, and helots and perioikoi in their festival finery, not to mention the children frolicking in excitement. Apparently, however, there were too many trees blocking his view, because he saw nothing.

  Once they joined the main road, they were in traffic. Many other citizens with kleros this side of the Eurotas were riding or driving with their families to the temple of Artemis Orthia. By the time they reached the city, the streets were congested. They caught up with the end of the crowd in Lycurgus Square and could see the torches of the escort several blocks ahead, giving off more smoke than light as dawn broke. They turned down the next alley, following the progress of the procession by ear. The singing sounded clearly through the morning air. People joining the procession took up the song the maidens were singing, so the chorus was constantly increasing. At the divisional barracks they turned the horses over to a helot groom, and Meander went in search of his brother Aristodemos.

  Leonidas and Gorgo followed after the crowd on foot. Although the procession was a good half-mile ahead of them, they were confident of overtaking it because the procession moved slowly.

  Suddenly, Alkander joined them. “I was waiting for you on the porch of the barracks, but you didn’t see me.”

  “Alkander! Aren’t you supposed to be at the temple with the rest of the agoge officials?”

  “Leo …” he started, glanced briefly at Gorgo, and then took a deep breath and announced, “I couldn’t take it any longer. I quit.”

  Leonidas stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face his friend. Alkander looked down, ashamed.

  “Why?” Leonidas demanded.

  “Alcidas has won.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s broken me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Leo, last night one of the eirenes came to me and said one of the sixteen-year-olds was too ill with fever to take part in the ritual today. He begged me to go to Alcidas and explain the situation, to get the youth excused―”

  “Why hadn’t he gone himself?”

  Alkander shook his head. “Leo, listen to me! The boy’s eirene had gone to Alcidas, but the answer had been no. So the boy’s brother, also an eirene, came to me for help. And I turned him down. I refused to go to Alcidas on behalf of a sick sixteen-year-old youth. I had a lot of excuses. I said that since the boy’s eirene had already tried and failed, I didn’t have a chance of success. I said, bitterly, that taking the side of the youth would only turn Alcidas against him even more. I said―it doesn’t matter what I said. It was all sewage! The fact is: I was too scared to face him. Scared, Leo. So, you see, I’ve become the trembler everyone always accused me of being.”

  The sound of singing was growing fainter, while the sun brightened the sky behind the Parnon range, and birds were singing jubilantly at the promise of a warm, sunny day. It was as if they were utterly alone in an abandoned city.

  Leonidas stared at his friend. Alkander looked as if he had not gone to bed, certainly as if he had not slept. The skin of his face hung upon the fine bones that had made him such a classically handsome youth. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, underlined by dark circles. His chiton looked as if he’d slept in it, and over it he wore leather training armor rather than the bronze the rest of the city was wearing today in honor of Artemis.

  Leonidas had a thousand questions and didn’t know where to start. He decided on, “What are you afraid of?”

  “He reduced me to stuttering the other day,” Alkander admitted, looking away, not meeting Leonidas’ eyes. “In front of everyone.”

  Leonidas felt himself returned to his childhood, when Alkander had been incompetent at everything, a time when he had stuttered whenever he opened his mouth in front of others, causing them to mock and belittle him. It had taken years for him to overcome that handicap, but it was now two decades since he had stopped stuttering.

  Leonidas understood, but Gorgo didn’t share those memories. She was a mother of a boy who would one day have to go through the agoge. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What about your sons?”

  “If I thought there was anything I could do to protect my boys, I would.” Alkander’s eyes burned almost feverishly at Gorgo as he said this. “But I can’t. I can’t help any of them. If I even try, it will do them more harm than good.”

  “What happened last night exactly?” Leonidas asked.

  “One of the eirenes, Maron, came to me and said his younger brother, Alpheus, had a fever and stomach cramps and could hardly stand up. I asked why he was coming to me, and he said because his brother’s eirene had already reported the situation to the Paidonomos, but Alcidas’ answer was that if Alpheus wasn’t fit to compete, he could just sit in the safe zones all day.”

  “That’s absurd!” Leonidas protested. “He’d be utterly disgraced for the rest of his life.”

  “But the eirene, not unnaturally, felt he’d done his duty, and told Alpheus what the Paidonomos had said, but he also told his fellow eirene, Maron. Do you know him? Orsiphantus’ son?”

  “Wasn’t Orsiphantus the man who died in the fires the year I lost Eirana and the twins?”

  “Yes, exactly. His barn caught fire with the bull inside. He went in to free it, but the roof collapsed and he was trapped under the main beam, pinned down but not dead. Maron saw it happen, and the helots had to drag him away screaming. I have no idea if he was hurt in some way during the incident, but since I’ve known him he has been―well, not really slow-witted, but not the brightest. Still, he’s very conscientious and kind. I wanted to give him a class of seven-year-olds because I thought he’d be protective of them and ease them into the agoge, but of course, because I suggested it, Alcidas overrode me—”

  “You say, ‘of course.’ Does he always override your suggestions?”

  “Leo, haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said in the past year?”

  Leonidas took a deep breath and started walking in the direction of the temple of Artemis Orthia, his thoughts so focused that he lengthened his stride and Gorgo had a hard time keeping up with him.

  Alkander fell in beside them. He did not know what Leonidas was thinking, and he would have liked to. He almost wished Leonidas were asking all those cruel questions he’d been asking himself throughout the night; if he’d been forced to defend himself out loud, maybe he would have convinced himself instead of simply hating himself.

  They reached the temple precinct around the shrine of Artemis Orthia. As usual the crowd was large, spilling out of the actual precinct, and to Leonidas’ astonishment they were already singing the initial paean. Since the sun had not yet cleared Parnon and latecomers were still trickling in, the ceremony appeared to have started prematurely. Then again, he supposed, the ephors were not used to managing these things.

  As lochagos, Leonidas was entitled to a position near the front of the crowd, so with Gorgo clinging to his elbow and Alkander trailing, he started to worm his way through the crowd. As he neared the front he got a glimpse of the two thrones set up opposite the entrance to the
temple. They should have been empty. Instead, Brotus was occupying the Agiad throne. Leonidas cursed himself under his breath, and glanced back at his wife.

  Brotus stood to make the offerings to the Gods with a great deal of unnecessary theatrical show (as far as Leonidas was concerned). He was wearing his flashy armor over a red chiton with a gold border that glinted as the sun burst over the peaks of Parnon on the other side of the valley. He had also stiffened the crest of his helmet with gold wires, and these too caught the sunlight. Someone was giving Brotus good advice, Leonidas noted with inner fury, and he looked fleetingly for Sperchias with a twinge of guilt. Sperchias had been warning him about this for months ….

  The sacrifice done, Brotus turned demonstratively to the defending youths, waiting eagerly with their canes cut and ready in their hands, and signaled for them to take up their positions flanking the entrance to the temple. He then waved to the sixteen-year-olds to start stripping down and oiling in preparation for the ritual attack.

  Leonidas pulled Alkander closer and asked urgently under his breath, “Which one is Alpheus?”

  Alkander pointed out the youth. He looked flushed, but several of the youths were flushed from sheer excitement, and the oil made them all shine. Leonidas nodded. “Stay here,” he ordered Alkander, while taking Gorgo’s elbow again. He pushed the rest of the way through the crowd toward his brother.

  Brotus turned and watched as Leonidas approached, with a smug expression on his face. Only at the last minute did he realize Leonidas’ goal, and by then it was too late. Leonidas laid his hand on the Eurypontid throne. Brotus looked about at the crowd with a gesture of outraged astonishment, as if asking them to protest. A ripple of undefined excitement spread through the crowd, but no one voiced a protest.

  Brotus set his jaw, then leaned over to mutter in Leonidas’ ear, “You’re superfluous, as always. You could have stayed home. I doubt anyone would have missed you.”

  “You miscalculated,” Leonidas retorted, seating himself on the Eurypontid throne with a degree of inner unease that he hoped was not visible. Although he did not feel comfortable occupying a throne that did not belong to him, he could not afford to leave Brotus unchallenged, and the looks Nikostratos, Kyranios, Sperchias, and, indeed, virtual strangers in the crowd cast him were more than approving―they were relieved. Gorgo, meanwhile, moved to stand between the two thrones, her head held high and a reassuring hand on her husband’s shoulder.

  Brotus’ eyes shifted resentfully to Leonidas’ armor, but any further exchange between the brothers was cut off by a shout signaling the start of the mock battle. Public attention was drawn away from the Agiad twins, both impersonating kings, to the sixteen-year-olds, who rushed forward to storm the little temple.

  As usual, the first assault swept virtually everyone inside without much trouble, but because the youths trickled out in ones and twos rather than collecting and charging out as a group, they gave the seventeen-year-olds good targets. Since the sixteen-year-olds were still fresh, little damage could be done at the speed they were moving. They turned over their cheeses to their eirenes at the tables in the shade of the plane trees by the river, and then, rather than collecting into a pack again, they turned to rush the temple in an even more disjointed, strung-out fashion. This gave the defenders all the advantages, and the spectators could hear some of the blows hitting home. Leonidas couldn’t remember seeing a class of youths perform so poorly. There seemed to be no cohesion, teamwork, or élan.

  Alpheus had made it in and out once, but he was trailing behind the others. The leaders were already emerging with their second cheeses when he turned to make his second attempt. Because Leonidas was watching him so closely, he saw the youth stagger a little, as if dizzy, but he couldn’t be sure. Alpheus went up the steps not at a run but at a walk, his arms crossed over his head to protect it from the blows of the defenders’ canes. Stoically, he accepted blows to his naked shoulders, arms, and back. He got inside the safety of the temple. The last of those who had gone before him ran out again, and the leaders were on their third assault―still strung out and competing individually against one another rather than working in teams.

  Alpheus emerged from the temple with his second cheese. He bent over, holding the cheese to his belly, and started down the stairs. He was not running, just taking one step at a time as if it were an effort. The seventeen-year-olds lashed out at him, but their attention was distracted by the youths coming the other way. Alpheus, however, missed his footing or his balance and suddenly fell headlong down the stairs. He dropped his cheese, and it rolled away to the edge of the crowd.

  The crowd let out a collective cry at the sight of Alpheus falling, but when he continued to lie there, apparently stunned, voices called out to him―some rude, some concerned―to get up. Leonidas, from his front-row seat, could see that Alpheus was still conscious. He moved. He got his hands under his chest and tried to push himself up, but by now some of the seventeen-year-olds had come off the steps of the temple and were all over him with their canes. As the blows rained down on him, Alpheus sank under them rather than trying to get up and away.

  It was when one of the seventeen-year-olds threw an alarmed look over at the Paidonomos, clearly longing for orders to desist, that Leonidas knew Alpheus was really sick. He sat up straighter and looked sharply at Alcidas.

  Alcidas took no notice of what was happening at the foot of the temple steps. He was watching the temple entrance intensely; then he looked toward the tables as if to get a count. There was some sort of scuffle going on among the eirenes. Two were obviously trying to hold a third back, who was flailing at them furiously. A third and fourth eirene jumped on the struggling youth, and the Paidonomos didn’t stop that either.

  Leonidas looked back at Alpheus. Now several of the seventeen-year-olds were looking to the school officials for guidance, and their blows had become more perfunctory than serious. They wanted permission to stop. But the school officials were all studiously looking somewhere else. The crowd was shouting―some for the seventeen-year-olds to stop, others for them to ‘do their duty,’ some for Alpheus to get up, others for the Paidonomos to intervene.

  Leonidas stood up and walked over to Alpheus.

  At the sight of a citizen in bronze approaching, the seventeen-year-olds drew back, even before they recognized him. Once they realized a regimental commander and Agiad prince was approaching, they retreated even further. Leonidas heard Brotus screaming, “Come back here, Leo! You have no right to interfere! Come back!”

  Leonidas ignored his twin and the crowd. He wasn’t even sure what the crowd was screaming. He went down on his heels beside Alpheus. The youth was vomiting and drenched in sweat. He was much too big and heavy for Leonidas to pick him up as he had Simonidas, so he threw his cloak over him instead and shouted to the orderlies, “Stretcher!”

  The orderlies responded with alacrity. They had watched the spectacle, half-expecting the summons―although, as helots, they were never really sure when their Spartiate masters would ask for assistance.

  Meanwhile the rest of the boys, defenders and attackers alike, had fallen into confusion. The mock battle had ceased while everyone stared at Leonidas. The eirene who had been overpowered by his fellows took advantage of the stunned reaction of his assailants to break free and run up beside Leonidas. “He fell sick yesterday, sir! I tried to warn—”

  “You must be Maron.” Leonidas stopped his flood of words.

  “Yes, sir.” The eirene came automatically to attention.

  “We’ll talk later. Return to your post.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as the still-vomiting youth was lifted face down onto the stretcher, Leonidas started back to his throne and, with a wave of his hand, indicated that the ritual should continue. And it did. He found that remarkable. He had just walked out there, done what he had no right to do, and the entire city accepted it―except Brotus and his minions, of course. The latter were howling “unfair” and “coward” and
demanding that Brotus call his brother to order.

  “How dare you do that?” Brotus demanded. “You understand nothing of this ritual! I was the Victor of Artemis Orthia in our time!” He said this loudly, to remind as many people as possible.

  Leonidas leaned over and whispered in his brother’s ear, “Victor of Artemis Orthia? Do you think I don’t know you murdered your way to that title?”

  Brotus caught his breath and turned his head sharply. Their eyes met. Leonidas could see the alarm in Brotus’ eyes. He must have truly believed that he had gotten away with murder. He appeared genuinely amazed that his brother knew what he had done.

  Leonidas seated himself, and from behind him Gorgo whispered, “Well done!”

  Although the sixteen-year-olds were still competing, the attention of the crowd had disintegrated. Some people were watching the agoge surgeon, who had gone to meet the stretcher bearers and was now looking at Alpheus, checking his eyes, his pulse, and other vital signs. Others were watching the eirenes and the school officials, who appeared agitated. Others were focused on the kings and Council. Only a few were still watching the boys.

  Under the circumstances, the boys, not surprisingly, gave up. Most sought the shelter of the safe zones; all waited to see what would happen next.

  “You’ve ruined everything!” Brotus declared angrily. “This is a disgrace! Half the cheeses are still on the altar.”

  Leonidas looked over at the tables where the eirenes, school officials, and Paidonomos were together in a group. “Do we have a victor?” Leonidas called out.

  Alcidas looked back at him with open hatred in his eyes, but he had control of his voice. “No, there is a three-way tie.”

  “This is disgusting!” Brotus barked, turning on Leonidas to assert aggressively: “This is all your fault!”

  “Is it?” Leonidas asked back, then stood and approached the school officials while the crowd chattered excitedly in his wake. “Who are the three youths?”

  They were pointed out to him.

  He called them over to him. They formed a line in front of him. One had a bad welt across his upper left arm, the second had ugly scrapes on his knees, and the third was nursing a swelling lip. Leonidas walked around them to see their backs, which inevitably took the worst blows. He could see welts starting, but none of the youths looked like they were near the end of their strength.