Polymedes called for order. The paean was sung, the sacrifice made, a priest read the entrails and declared all was in order: the Assembly could proceed.
Polymedes cleared his throat. “King Cleomenes died without a direct male heir. Since women cannot inherit, the Agiad throne passes by right to Cleomenes’ closest male relative, his eldest half-brother on his father’s side―”
A cheer went up from Brotus’ faction, dissolving into a chant of “Brotus!”
Brotus, with a look of triumph in Leonidas’ direction, started forward to join the Council.
Polymedes raised his hand and shouted: “Wait!”
Although Polymedes could hardly be heard above the enthusiastic cheers of Brotus’ friends, his gesture was unmistakable. Meanwhile, from the back of the Assembly, a counterchant of “Vote! Vote! We demand a vote!” went up.
Brotus turned to his followers and gestured for them to calm down. “We will, of course, await the vote of this sacred Assembly. According to the law, the Assembly has the final say!” He said this pointedly to Leonidas.
“Of course,” Leonidas agreed, speaking to be heard even on the outer fringes of the large crowd. “The Assembly’s vote is final―which is why the proposal needs to be debated. The Council has ruled that no woman can be king of Sparta and that my brother Cleomenes should be followed by his closest male relative. The question is who that is.”
“The Council ruled that it is his eldest half brother,” Brotus corrected him smugly.
“But who is that?” Alkander asked, looking―to Leonidas’ bafflement―no less smug that Brotus.
“Everyone knows I am the elder twin!” Brotus snapped back, with a dismissive gesture to Alkander.
“I demand to hear the testimony of the wet nurse!” Euryleon shouted.
“Wet nurse?” Brotus looked around, bewildered.
“Your wet nurse.” Euryleon faced Brotus, looking him straight in the eye, confronting him defiantly with obvious pleasure.
“If you’ve dredged up Dido out of a slum someplace to lie on Leo’s behalf, don’t think it will work!” Brotus flung his remark at Leo to show his utter contempt for Euryleon. To the rest of the Assembly he announced, “Dido was Leonidas’ wet nurse. Of course she’ll lie for him. Her word is worthless.”
“And Polyxo’s?” Euryleon asked with obvious amusement.
“She nursed me. She knows the truth!”
Euryleon turned and beckoned to Aristodemos and Eurytus. The two meleirenes had been standing in the doorway to the Temple of Athena of Counsel as if on guard duty. Now, however, they disappeared inside the temple to re-emerge on either side of a fat, frightened helot woman. Leonidas would not have recognized her as Brotus’ old nurse. Her round face was flabby, her white hair thin. Her eyes, half lost in the folds of skin around them, darted nervously without fixing on anything, while her shallow, gasping breath was audible. Not a terribly credible witness, Leonidas noted, wondering why Euryleon had insisted on her testimony and what Aristodemos and Eurytus, who had helped save Pleistarchos, had to do with it.
The woman was brought to the front of the Canopy, while the men at the back craned their necks to get a look at her and asked one another what was going on. Polymedes asked her name, her patronymic, her profession, and then if she had anything to say that was relevant to the debate. “I―I―” she started, in a breathy voice no one could hear. Polymedes ordered her to speak up.
“I was there―at the birth of the twins!” she squealed in a high-pitched voice that now reached even the back of the crowd.
“Tell us what happened,” Polymedes urged.
“I was standing beside the midwife. The queen was having a terrible time and the first baby, when it came, seemed lifeless. The midwife cut the cord in haste and handed it to me because she could see the second baby was already on the way. I thought the first baby was dead, so I handed it off to my cousin Dido in order to help with the second baby. The second baby was much bigger and stronger than the first, and he screamed lustily when we cut the cord. I put him to my breast at once and cherished him like he was my own little boy.” Tears were by now streaming down her face. Although her account was by no means audible at the back, it was very audible to the Council, the ephors, and those in the first rows, including Brotus and Leonidas.
Brotus leaped forward as if he would strike the old woman, roaring out: “Traitor! Liar! Filthy helot slut!”
Leonidas only stared at the woman, stunned. Then he looked from Alkander to Euryleon and back at Polyxo. The old woman was blubbering, holding out her hands to Brotus, and calling him baby names. “My little puppy! My baby bull! I loved you! I loved you!” she wailed.
“I’ll kill you!” Brotus screamed, and had to be held back by his own supporters.
Polymedes was calling for order, while the gist of Polyxo’s message was relayed to the back of the Assembly by those in front. When the citizens at the back realized what Polyxo had said, the commotion in the Canopy grew louder and louder. Leonidas couldn’t hear what was being said by everyone, but the exclamations sounded more amazed than outraged. Here and there someone whooped as if in triumph. That would be one of the young men, most likely one of last year’s eirenes; they had become his staunchest admirers.
Orthryades had a grip on Brotus. He was not just holding him back from attacking Polyxo, but facing him down. He was saying something straight into Brotus’ face from just inches away. Leonidas couldn’t hear him, but his stance was unmistakable. Meanwhile, the smooth Talthybiades was asking for the floor.
Polymedes demanded order, and eventually an uneasy, anticipatory silence spread across the floor of the Canopy. He nodded to Talthybiades.
“The testimony of this woman, who claims to be Cleombrotus’ wet nurse, is very dramatic. My compliments to my fellow citizens,” Talthybiades bowed to Alkander and Euryleon with a supercilious smile on his thin lips, “for dredging her up and for―shall we say?―persuading her to tell such a―how should I word it?―plausible but transparently partisan tale.”
There were grunts and nods of assent from Brotus’ faction, but farther away a young man shouted: “Just because it doesn’t suit you, Talthybiades, doesn’t make it false!” This remark also won an audible share of approving comments.
Talthybiades ignored them and continued in his precise magistrate’s voice, “Has Leonidas no credible witness to bring forward? Does no one other than a Kytheran whore and a blubbering helot woman speak on his behalf?”
“Do you consider me a credible witness, Talthybiades?” The question came from Epidydes, the youngest councilman and former headmaster.
Talthybiades was genuinely astonished by the question. He agreed instantly, “No one can doubt your credibility and integrity, Epidydes―but with all due respect, you were not in the birthing chamber when the Agiad twins were born.”
“No, but I was present when King Anaxandridas brought his twin sons to the agoge for enrollment.” Epidydes got to his feet and moved front and center. Polymedes instantly and instinctively took a step back to make way for him.
Epidydes raised his voice and his eyes swept the crowd. He had been headmaster of the agoge for more than thirty years, and in that time most of the citizens now assembled had passed through his upbringing. Some, like Leonidas and Brotus, had known no other headmaster and would never be entirely free of their awe of him. The elder men, in contrast, respected him precisely because they had known his infamous predecessor, while the youngest citizens had suffered under his successor and remembered Epidydes with nostalgia. There could be no question that if one man had influence in this Assembly, it was Epidydes.
The silence that gripped the Assembly was correspondingly profound. The sound of some helot workman hammering in the distance could be heard distinctly. A light breeze from the invisible Eurotas was a breath of sweetness among the sweating men. No one dared move or even breathe as they waited for Epidydes to continue.
“King Anaxandridas came to me, flanked by his boys
,” Epidydes continued. “Brotus was noticeably bigger and stronger, making him look a year or more older than Leonidas.” Leonidas remembered that, too, and Brotus was grinning again―or rather, leering at Leonidas with malicious satisfaction. But the old headmaster wasn’t finished. He added, “Leonidas was on the king’s right.”
The Assembly erupted. Brotus was shouting again, first “Liar!” and then, after Orthryades rebuked him, “It was just chance. Chance! It meant nothing!” Meanwhile, from the back, other men started cheering, calling, and chanting: “Leonidas! Leonidas! Leonidas!”
For the second time this morning, Leonidas was stunned. He could picture the scene from more than thirty years ago as if it were yesterday: his own anxiety, the way the instructors had fawned over Brotus because he was so big and strong, and then the way Epidydes came around his desk to approach him, saying, “Then you must be Leonidas.” But because, at the time, he did not know the significance of standing on the right, he had taken no notice of the fact―until now.
With a sense of amazement, he realized he had indeed been on his father’s right. And no Spartan king was unaware of the significance of such a position: his father had given him the place of honor.
Leonidas looked around for Polyxo. Could her story also be true? Not merely a fabrication forced upon her by his friends? Had he really been born first, but half dead? Dido had always claimed she’d saved his life; he’d assumed she meant afterwards, through a dozen childhood illnesses, accidents, and fights with Brotus. Now he wondered if she had, in fact, forced the first breath from an infant dismissed as dead, superfluous, while the others focused on Brotus.
Polymedes moved for a vote. Brotus was furiously protesting, denying that Leonidas was the firstborn, but the roar of “ayes” for the motion was deafening, and the “nays” came out like embarrassed whimpers from men too tied to Brotus to risk abandoning him despite the evidence.
PART II
KING LEONIDAS
CHAPTER 11
I, LEONIDAS
FOR TWO YEARS LEONIDAS HAD PLANNED what he would do if he became regent for Pleistarchos, but he was not prepared to become king. Suddenly he found himself seated beside Leotychidas as Polymedes adjourned the Assembly, and when he stood, still distracted by the turn of events, the men around him hastened to get to their feet―even the ancient Councilmen Polypeithes and Hetoimokles, his mentor Nikostratos, and Epidydes, the man to whom he owed his sudden elevation. Leonidas paused, thinking how Demaratus had preferred exile in a foreign land to showing this simple courtesy to a lesser man.
Leonidas looked at Leotychidas, but his co-monarch avoided his eye.
“You must go to the Agiad palace, Leonidas,” Nikostratos urged. “Everything has been in limbo for weeks.”
Leonidas looked at him blankly.
“For a start, you need to appoint a bodyguard of one hundred men, and also two Pythians to Delphi―remember Sperchias when you do that. It is also customary to forgive all debts, and there are various other matters you need to know: for example, the number and age of heiresses in your care, whether any adoptions are pending, the status of public road projects…. I can’t remember everything, but Eukomos, the Agiad steward, will have drawn up a list. I am going home to get some needed sleep, but I will see you at dinner. Remember you are now chairman of the syssitia and must open and close all meals.”
Leonidas nodded absently.
Kyranios was beside him, leaning heavily on his cane, his twisted face gray with exhaustion. “I’m going to bed, too, but I’d advise you to immediately appoint Dienekes and his one hundred men as your bodyguard. You can select another bodyguard later, if you like, but for now Dienekes will ensure you have the ceremonial protection prescribed. You must also send royal messengers out to every perioikoi town declaring yourself king. They will probably hear of it before the messengers arrive, but it’s better to make an official statement.”
Leonidas nodded again, glancing toward Gorgo and his friends waiting for him in the street. His friends were jubilant and looked it, while around them an ever larger crowd of well-wishers was collecting. Among these Leonidas recognized many of the young men who had been eirenes last year, as well as the officers of his lochos and all four of his fellow lochagoi, but some of the men gathering were virtual strangers. Were they men seeking advantage already, or simply the men who had elected him? Men who had been neutral in the past, yet cast their vote for him today at the critical juncture? Leonidas believed that his reputation and popularity, as much as the technicalities of his birth, had played a role in the final vote.
As he reached the little crowd, men surrounded him―grinning, congratulating, even clapping him on the back. Leonidas thanked them absently, his eyes on Gorgo. She looked more relieved than radiant, even a little dazed. “Is it permitted to kiss a king in public?” she teased as he reached her.
“Under the circumstances, it is mandatory.”
She went on tiptoe and touched her lips to his, but it was a fleeting kiss, too conscious of the audience.
Leonidas took her hand and announced that they must go to the royal palace. They started walking together, the little crowd opening for them but then keeping pace with them as they moved along the street. The crowd grew as they advanced deeper into the city.
By now the news had reached the boys of the agoge. More and more of them flooded the street and joined the back of the moving crowd, loud and excited. Here and there women came out on balconies and waved; some even called out congratulations to Leonidas or Gorgo by name.
In the agora, the helot vendors raised a loud cheer at the sight of Leonidas and his amorphous escort of well-wishers. Leonidas acknowledged the cheer with some embarrassment, telling himself it was impersonal and little more than good business, but three-quarters of the way across the agora an old man blocked his way. “Little Leo,” the old man addressed him, squinting up at the much taller man, his wizened face twisted into a half-toothless smile. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Leonidas tried to place him. By his dress he was a helot, but Leonidas did not recognize him. Two middle-aged men were beside the old man, frantically offering Leonidas their apologies and trying to drag their father out of his way. Suddenly Leonidas remembered: “You used to sell meat pies, and you gave me one for free after my brother Dorieus dressed me down as a seven-year-old.”
The man’s face split into a wider smile.
“And I promised to always buy from you,” Leonidas continued, more for the crowd than for the old vendor.
“I said you would one day make me a purveyor of the Agiad royal house, didn’t I?” the man insisted, to the mortification of his sons.
Leonidas laughed. “So be it.”
It was now the man’s grown sons who looked stunned.
At the palace itself, an enomotia of the Guard was on duty. They snapped to attention at the sight of Leonidas. As he started up the stairs, Alkander and Euryleon excused themselves, saying they would see him at dinner, while the others took leave with a last congratulation. By the time they reached the top of the steps, Leonidas and Gorgo were alone. The meleirenes saluted smartly and opened the massive brass-studded wings of the ten-foot door to let the king and queen inside.
In the shade of the entry hall the palace staff was drawn up. The chief steward had evidently marshaled them here, and this elegant perioikoi, usually so cool and emotionless, was actually smiling. Some of the staff were weeping, notably the cook Prothous, while several of the women tried to kiss Leonidas’ hand as he greeted them.
Eukomos suggested Leonidas accompany him to the library where the royal accounts were awaiting his inspection, and Gorgo agreed to follow Prothous to the kitchen to go over the household accounts and address pressing issues of the immediate household. “Sinope has been threatening us ever since your father died,” Leonidas heard one of the laundresses complain. “She said the days of sloth would end. Sloth! And she….”
Eukomos led Leonidas through one of the interior courtyard
s and up the outside stairs to the long, second-story library of the Agiads. They passed through one of the column-flanked doors into a room completely lined with shelves divided into sections like a honeycomb. These contained all the oracles ever delivered by Delphi to the Spartan kings, as well as discourses by Pythagoras, transcripts of the Iliad and the Odyssey, Aesop’s fables, the poems of Tyrtaios, Terpander, and Alkman, and various other works valued by the Spartans. The library had been off limits to Leonidas as a little boy, but forbidden fruit tastes sweetest. Leonidas remembered sneaking up here shortly before he went to the agoge. At the time, Brotus and he were learning to read. Brotus hated the tedious hours spent tracing letters on wax tablets and had often thrown his to the ground in frustration. Leonidas, in contrast, had been fascinated by the fact that letters lined up in different formations could tell whole stories. He had slipped in here, determined to get a look at a whole document, but his timing had been poor, and his father had been in the library.
As a boy, Leonidas had had almost no contact with his father. His father was “the king,” and he never came to the nursery or took any particular interest in his youngest sons, or so it seemed to Leonidas. When he realized his father was in the library, Leonidas had tried to run away, but the old man had seen him and called out, “Stop!” Leonidas did not dare disobey this awesome personage, and had frozen in his tracks. “What are you doing here, boy?” the old king asked.
“Want to see a page of writing,” Leonidas remembered mumbling in terror.
“Come here, boy,” said the old king, snapping his fingers at Leonidas, and Leonidas dutifully went to him, trembling internally.
King Anaxandridas had been sitting on a beautiful throne with bronze lion’s paws for feet, bronze griffins adorning the sides that enclosed the deep seat, and a back formed by bronze swans whose heads met in the middle. It was the very chair in which Eukomos now indicated Leonidas should sit.
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