As he walked back around to the front of the youths, Brotus joined him, but Leonidas forestalled his brother, asking, “So, how many cheeses do you have?”
“Four, sir,” they replied in a ragged chorus.
Brotus snorted, and even Leonidas found the number paltry. He’d collected five in his time without being among the top contenders. He’d been in the temple snatching his sixth when he’d discovered his classmate Timon in a coma. In their distress for their comrade, he and his friends had forgotten all about the cheeses and rushed out to tell their elders―only to discover that no one had been interested in what they had to say. Meanwhile, Brotus had continued competing, had collected eight cheeses, and had been declared the winner. Timon died three days later without ever regaining consciousness. After that, Leonidas had never much liked this ritual.
Now he looked at Brotus and announced, “I don’t think any of them deserve to be declared a victor, do you?”
Brotus spluttered in indignation; Leonidas had just stolen his line. He had expected Leonidas to favor ending the competition―which would have given him the opportunity to heap insults on him.
“I think,” Leonidas continued, speaking to Brotus, but around them everyone was listening so intently that the crowd was gradually falling silent. “I think either they should agree to compete until one of them is the winner, or we declare this a year without a winner. What do you think?”
Brotus was cooking with anger, but he could hardly disagree. “I agree,” he croaked out.
Leonidas turned back to the three youths with an expression of inquiry. They looked at the seventeen-year-olds, who were standing about uncertainly in front of the temple, and then at the agoge officials. Someone in the crowd called out: “What are you waiting for? Go for it!”
After that, many people started giving the same advice, some calling to the youths by name. With an exchanged look, the three contenders made a ragged dash for the temple, catching the defenders off guard. Ten minutes later a victor was finally declared with seven cheeses.
The moment had come when traditionally the Eurypontid king crowned the victor. Brotus got to his feet with a belligerent look toward Leonidas, warning him to stay out of the way, but he had not reckoned with Gorgo. Before anyone grasped what was happening, she snatched the prepared wreath of yew from the cushion it had been waiting on between the thrones and handed it to Leonidas. While Brotus choked on his indignation, Leonidas stepped forward and crowned the youth; then he stepped back and struck up the paean to Apollo.
“I’ll kill you!” Brotus threatened in Leonidas’ ear, his words drowned out by the singing crowd. “I’ll kill you and your son!”
“You can try,” Leonidas answered.
As the paean ended the crowd started to disperse, with everyone talking at once. Leonidas was certain there would be repercussions. There was no way of predicting what the majority would think of the shabby performance Brotus and he had put on today, but he also knew there was now no retreat. He immediately turned upon the Council before they could get away, and announced in a loud voice that carried far: “I want an inquiry into why a boy with a severe fever was participating. I want a full inquiry.”
“You have no right to demand anything, Leonidas son of Anaxandridas!” one of the oldest Council members told him in a breathy voice, trying to dismiss him with a wave of his gnarled hand.
“I have as much right as any citizen.”
“If anything was amiss, let the boy’s father—”
“The boy’s father is dead―and aren’t we all supposed to be fathers to our youths? I want an inquiry—”
“I’m sure the Paidonomos just didn’t know—” Eukomos, another elderly councilman, started.
“He knew, and I have three witnesses who can testify that he knew.” As he spoke, Leonidas focused his eyes on Epidydes. He had approached him after the incident with Simonidas, but Epidydes had been reluctant to believe what Leonidas told him and insisted he would conduct his own discreet inquiries. Leonidas was relieved to see Epidydes nod slowly and finally speak up in a low voice: “I think we should at least ask Alcidas to explain himself.”
Alcidas was already there. “Leonidas is quite correct,” he announced in his precise voice. “I was informed that the youth had a fever. I found it highly suspicious―not to say convenient―that he had developed a fever the very night before this important test of his courage, and I pointed out that he was perfectly free to seek out the safe zones if he didn’t feel up to competing.”
Several of the Council members reacted indignantly, but others nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable.
Alcidas was continuing, “Of course, once I saw that Alpheus was really ill, I was about to intercede, but the Agiad forestalled me.” He smiled at Leonidas with his lips, while his eyes wished him a shameful death and an unmarked grave.
Around him most of the Council members were docilely nodding their heads, but Epidydes was frowning. The former Paidonomos asked his successor, “Why didn’t you send the agoge surgeon to at least check on the youth last night?”
“It seemed such an obvious excuse,” Alcidas dismissed the suggestion. “I would have treated my own son no differently.”
Leonidas found this a facile answer, since Alcidas had no son, but the moment for discussion was past. Several of the councilmen started saying this wasn’t the time or place for a discussion. It was a holiday, and time for everyone to go home. After all, everything had turned out all right in the end ….
Leonidas was left with a bitter taste in his mouth as the sanctuary grounds emptied around him. He looked for Alkander, but could not find him.
“He will have gone on ahead,” Gorgo read his thoughts. “We can talk at his kleros.” The two families always spent the afternoon following Artemis Orthia together. Leonidas’ chief helot tenant, Pelopidas, and his family had been told to take the children to Alkander’s kleros by cart while the Spartiates were at the temple.
“You can start walking, and I’ll go fetch the chariot,” Leonidas offered.
Gorgo did not protest. It was a pleasant, warm spring day.
As Leonidas passed through the line of poplars that marked the edge of the sanctuary, a form separated itself from the trees. It was an eirene, who came to stand respectfully before Leonidas with his eyes down and his hands at his sides.
“Maron,” said Leonidas, recognizing him.
“Yes, sir. You said we would talk later, sir.”
“Yes. Walk with me back to the city, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Leonidas glanced sideways at the youth. He was exceptionally tall, with a broad, flat face and straight black hair. He was not a handsome youth. His features were too rough for that, his lips too thick. The words ‘gentle giant’ came to mind, prompted by Alkander’s report of wanting to put him in charge of seven-year-olds.
“Tell me about yourself, Maron.”
“Sir?”
“What age boys do you have charge of?”
“Thirteen-year-olds, sir.”
“That’s a challenge. You need to prepare them for the Phouxir.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leonidas stopped and looked at the youth again. He just stood with his eyes down.
“Are you afraid of me, Maron?”
That got a response. He glanced up, flushing. “No, sir!”
“Then talk to me.”
The youth swallowed visibly. “I―want to thank you, sir. For interceding on behalf of my little brother.”
Leonidas noted that when Maron said “little brother,” it was not derogatory, not like when his elder brothers had used the term to describe him: it was simply protective.
“He’s not a coward, sir. He wanted to compete as much as any of his fellows—”
“Which was notably not very much!” Leonidas pointed out, starting forward again. “I’ve never seen such a disgraceful performance by an entire age cohort.” The eirene looked down, ashamed, as if he were at faul
t. But he wasn’t; they hadn’t been his boys. “Why do you think that was?” Leonidas persisted.
Maron swallowed again. “Alpheus said …”
“Yes?”
“Alpheus said that none of them cared about winning.”
“Didn’t you care? When you were sixteen?”
“Yes, sir! But …”
“But what?”
“Things have changed.”
“What do you mean?”
The youth shrugged.
Leonidas stopped. “That was an order, eirene. Tell me what has changed in the agoge.”
“We just want to get it over with, sir. The other eirenes and I. We just want to get it over with. We count the days, even the hours.”
Leonidas thought back. Of course he had wanted to get it over with. They all did. They wanted to come of age, become citizens, be part of society and the army, to have rights, a mess, and a kleros. They wanted to start doing great deeds, and be free to marry. But obviously this was different.
“Being an eirene is the most rewarding job you will ever have. I say that as a lochagos, which is usually considered a prize position. But the satisfaction of command in the army is less than the satisfaction of being a good eirene. As an eirene you have a chance to impact young lives in a dramatic way. You can make a huge difference to the development and character of a dozen boys. At a minimum, you have the pleasure of watching your charges learn to trust you, and then start to protect you. At a maximum, you may have the privilege to help a boy be better than before, to grow beyond his own expectations. It’s a rare and wonderful opportunity.”
Maron looked down, and Leonidas noticed his knee was jerking spasmodically. “The boys are good, sir. I know that. I want to help them survive the Phouxir, if there’s any way I can, but …”
“What?”
“I don’t know how, sir.”
That seemed a bald confession, and Leonidas thought it was better not to probe too deeply at the moment. Instead he asked, “What about the others? Why do the others just ‘want it to be over’?”
Maron looked down and was silent. Leonidas sighed and started walking again. The eirenes were the most important link in the entire chain. The eirenes made the agoge work―or not. If the eirenes were demoralized, the system wouldn’t work. One bad eirene could be punished―as Brotus had been. One or another timid eirene could be encouraged, mediocre eirenes assisted, but the bulk of the eirenes had to be trying their damnedest―or the whole system broke down.
Leonidas suspected that this was exactly what had happened, but suspicions were not going to be enough to get Alcidas removed. Epidydes had immediately cast doubt on Alkander’s testimony, suggesting that he identified too strongly with weak and incompetent youth. What Leonidas needed, if he was going to talk Epidydes into spearheading a motion to remove Alcidas, was irrefutable evidence.
“Leo! Leo!”
The call came from behind them and it was Hilaira, driving one of her father’s chariots. Leonidas waited for her. She had both her sons in the chariot with her. “We’ve been looking all over for you,” she explained as she drew up. “Alkander was sure you’d know where we always tie up the chariot, but when you didn’t come he went on ahead to see if you’d started walking, and sent me to see if you were fetching your own chariot. Do you want to come with us, or should I give you a lift back into the city?”
Leonidas didn’t answer, but turned to Maron instead. “Where are you spending the holiday?”
“In barracks, sir―especially now that Alpheus is in the infirmary.”
“I think I could persuade Hilaira to invite you to dinner today, if you want. Your brother won’t be in much shape to see you until tomorrow―even if the surgeon lets you see him, which he won’t.”
Hilaira smiled at the eirene. “It’s a family tradition to welcome youth with nowhere else to go.” Her father had welcomed Leonidas and Alkander when they had been growing orphans. “Would you like to join us?”
Maron looked from her to Leonidas and then at Simonidas and Thersander. “You’re sure you don’t mind, ma’am?”
Hilaira just moved over to make room. At a gesture from Leonidas, Maron stepped on to the chariot cart and Leonidas followed him. Hilaira turned the team around, and they started back past the temple of Artemis, heading beyond Amyclae toward Alkander’s kleros.
“Maron’s got thirteen-year-olds, and he was just telling me he wanted to help them survive but didn’t know how; isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir,” Maron mumbled, full of shame.
“Hilaira, tell him about your brother.”
Hilaira cast Leonidas a questioning look, but he nodded and she laughed. “My brother stashed stuff away in a cave he found―food, water, firewood, even wine. He built himself a bed from reeds and had blankets to make it comfortable. I wonder how he managed to steal all that stuff from my mother without her ever noticing. Then again, she was probably helping him,” she reflected with a laugh.
“Do you know where the cave is?” Thersander asked eagerly. He was thirteen this year and would soon―in just five months―be facing the fox time himself.
Hilaira glanced at Leonidas.
He shook his head. “I’ve forgotten.” Although he knew roughly where it was, he was not certain he could find the entrance after a quarter-century. It was better not to give Thersander false expectations. “How did you survive, Maron?” Leonidas asked next, taking the eirene by surprise.
Maron swallowed hard, looked down, and then admitted, “I―I―almost died, sir. In fact, I collapsed from hunger. I would have died, but a shepherd found me and took me in. He kept me hidden in his hut, and fed me on his gruel for almost a week. He managed to get me strong enough to walk back to Sparta just in time for muster. I almost died, sir. If that helot hadn’t been willing to risk his neck for me …”
There was an awkward silence as the others sympathized with Maron. Then Leonidas announced simply, “We can talk about this later.”
They had reached the drive of Alkander’s kleros, and Hilaira quickly noted that more than her husband had gotten here before her. “Who are all those people?” she asked uncomfortably. “One orphaned eirene is one thing, but that looks like the entire age cohort!”
She was not entirely wrong. There were a least a score of eirenes collected in front of the house―and as they got closer, Leonidas noted two of Alkander’s fellow deputy headmasters. In addition there were Oliantus, Sperchias, Euryleon, Kyranios, Nikostratos, and Chilonis.
“I don’t think this is about a holiday meal,” Leonidas concluded, and Hilaira looked at him tensely.
When Hilaira stopped the chariot, Leonidas stepped down. Suddenly the collected men fell silent. He found himself facing Nikostratos and Kyranios. Nikostratos was leaning heavily on his walking stick, and Kyranios was accompanied by the helot youth who looked after him since his stroke.
“That was well done, Leo,” Nikostratos opened, nodding with satisfaction. “Especially since Alkander tells us you didn’t know about Alpheus until this morning.”
“That’s correct.” Leonidas found Alkander in the crowd and met his eyes; Alkander was looking much better. Although he still looked exhausted and unkempt, the defeated look was gone.
“These young men,” Kyranios announced, “have been filling our ears with their complaints, and they want you to take the case to the Council.”
“Is that correct?” Leonidas looked around at the twenty-year-olds.
“Yes, sir,” they said almost in unison, nodding.
Leonidas turned to look at Maron. Maron nodded vigorously.
“Sir,” one of the other eirenes spoke up. “You can’t imagine what he’s like to us.” Suddenly they were all talking at once. “We can’t do anything right, sir.” “He humiliates us in front of our charges.” “He corrects everything we do.” “He has favorites.” “No matter what we do, it’s wrong.”
Leonidas held up his hands for silence, and they were instantly still.
Ephorus should have been the man the eirenes turned to, and Ephorus should have taken the lead in protesting Alcidas’ mismanagement, but all he managed was a weak, “Oh, yes, of course.”
“Then why didn’t you protest what is going on, Ephorus?”
Ephorus shrugged. “Because it’s pointless. He won’t listen to reason, and if we resign he’ll just appoint worse men.”
Leonidas smiled cynically to himself, thinking how everything had always been so easy for Ephorus. Ephorus was an only son of wealthy parents, gifted with speed and strength and intelligence. Ephorus had been elected herd leader year after year, and had won an Olympic crown at twenty-four. Ephorus had never had to fight for anything―not like Alkander, Maron, Meander, Temenos …. Leonidas nodded understanding. He looked at Euryleon, Sperchias, and Oliantus. “And why are you here?”
“In case you need us for something,” Oliantus answered for all of them.
“Why should I need you on a holiday? Go home to your wives and families.” He paused and then added to the eirenes, “All of you. Just be sure you stop by my kleros when the holiday is over and give me specific examples of Alcidas’ behavior.”
“Yes, sir,” they said again in a ragged chorus, and then took their leave of him, nodding and sometimes grinning, and once or twice adding a remark from “Thanks!” to a more intense, “Next year we can vote―and we’ll be with you!”
Kyranios left, but Nikostratos stayed behind with his wife Chilonis, Cleomenes’ mother. Having come this far, he was happy to stay the rest of the day, and he settled himself down on a bench in the sun with his walking stick between his knees, looking contentedly at Leonidas. “You did me proud today, young man. Particularly the way you stole Brotus’ thunder by making the contestants continue. You’re as much a fox as a lion, when you have to be.” He nodded approvingly, adding with a special smile for Gorgo, “And you, my dear, were quick-witted as ever. I wanted to chortle with delight when you snatched the yew wreath before Brotus could lay a hand on it.”
A Heroic King Page 12