“Dismissed,” Alkander ordered, and the eirene shooed the boys back out into the hall.
Alkander turned to Lychos and opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You see the limits of our discipline.”
“I see that you demand understanding as well as obedience.”
“That is the objective, but those boys learned contempt for helots from their parents―evidence that my predecessors failed to impress upon earlier generations our interdependence and respect for each man, free or unfree.”
Lychos raised his eyebrows at that. “Would you teach the boys respect for slaves?”
Alkander tilted his head. “Why not? A man’s status has little to do with his character. After all, a slave can be set free, or a freeman can be captured. There is a young man here, a Chian, who was born free but taken captive by the Persians when he was still a boy. The Persians cut off his genitals so brutally that he was lamed. Yet he freed himself by running away. Didn’t he show his greatest courage when―as a slave―he ran away?”
Lychos bowed his head in concession. Alkander continued, “I try to teach the boys that a man’s character―not his status, his clothes, or his looks―is what makes him valuable. I try to point out that a helot who is hard-working and honest is better than even a king who is deceitful, corrupt, or profligate.”
“Using, I presume, Leotychidas and not Leonidas as your example of a profligate king,” Lychos quipped.
Alkander laughed briefly, but then grew serious. “The Spartan agoge teaches paradigms for living rather than facts.”
“And what is the most important paradigm of all?” Lychos asked.
“Consciousness of our mortality.”
Lychos started, but then nodded knowingly, “Yes, of course. You want to prepare the boys to die for Sparta.”
“No, not at all!” Alkander countered emphatically. “We make our sons confront death when trapping, hunting, and sacrificing so that they learn to appreciate the sheer beauty of life.” He paused and then tried to explain. “Look at it this way: A Spartan youth does not need a fancy new himation to make him feel good; just being warm will satisfy him. Nor does he need exotic fish rushed into the city on ice and doused in spicy sauces in order to feel well fed; just filling his belly will do that. Just as deprivation makes a man satisfied with very little, consciousness of his mortality makes a man treasure each and every day. At its best, consciousness of the shortness of life makes a man use each day the way a miser spends gold. Does this make sense to you?” Alkander stopped himself to ask the Corinthian.
Lychos nodded slowly. “I think for the first time I am beginning to understand Leonidas.”
Demophilus, like so many other strangers, had come to Sparta for the Gymnopaedia. Thespiae honored the Muses more than any other city in Greece, and Demophilus, as one of Thespiae’s wealthiest citizens, had sponsored a young composer in the traditional composers’ competition. Unfortunately, the Thespian had lost to a refugee from Potidaea, who (Demophilus thought) had captured the favor of the jury more with his story than with his music. The Potidaean refugee had written a ballad describing Darius’ murder of Cyrus’ rightful heir and his massacre of the Magi to clear his way to the throne. Not surprisingly, the Persian king had ordered the presumptuous tongue of the Potidaean poet torn out of his mouth for “lying.” The poet had escaped the Persian authorities by the skin of his teeth, literally flinging himself into the sea when they cornered him. He managed to swim to an outbound Corinthian vessel before the Persians could launch a boat to pursue him. Such a story had captured the imagination of the Spartan judges, and the Potidaean poet had been crowned with a laurel wreath and given a stipend for a full year in order to train the choruses for next year’s Gymnopaedia.
The selection of next year’s composer was the final event of this year’s holiday, however, and many visitors hadn’t bothered to stay for it. The roads out of Sparta were thus already crowded with departing guests, some on carts or horses but most striding along under broad-brimmed sun hats, their walking sticks in their hands. The other Thespians were preparing to return, too, disappointed by the defeat of their countryman and discouraged by a growing sense of divine disfavor.
Other peoples might not take an artistic defeat so seriously, but Thespiae wasn’t like other cities. Furthermore, the disfavor of the Gods had been plaguing them for a long time. It was with a sense of desperation that Demophilus resolved to seek assistance from King Leonidas.
Demophilus had duly reported to the Agiad royal palace to request an interview, and had been surprised to hear that the king had already left the city and gone to his “kleros.” The palace officials had, however, encouraged him to follow the king, and had provided him with instructions. So, just beyond the Temple to the Twins, he turned up a cypress-lined drive leading to a simple two-story house. Here Demophilus dismounted, confused by both the simplicity of the structure and the stillness around him. Here were no bustling slaves, no bodyguards, no supplicants or court officials. Horses grazed peacefully in the sunny paddock, swatting lazily at flies with their long, well-combed tails. A calico cat was licking herself on the steps up to the house. Birds called, and from somewhere came the high-pitched voices of children.
A young man emerged around the side of the house. He was muscular, tanned, and barefoot, and wore his chiton pinned on only one shoulder: evidently one of Sparta’s state slaves, a helot. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked politely.
“I’m here to see King Leonidas. Where might I find him?”
“The master? I think he’s in the orchard.” The young man pointed to the far side of the house.
Demophilus set off in this direction, feeling disoriented by the lack of ceremony. Up to now he had seen Leonidas only from a distance, and the king seemed a very regal figure, always flanked by four impressive guardsmen in gleaming bronze. Leonidas, unlike his co-monarch, had cut a magnificent figure: tall, straight, and attractive, his chiton and himation pristine and trimmed with gold, while the massive signet ring and the heavy bracelets on his forearms had evoked images from the Age of Heroes.
As he rounded the end of the house, Demophilus was distracted by two children jumping up and down excitedly on either side of a man with the broad shoulders and powerful thighs of a hoplite. He was dressed in a short white chiton with a broad blue border, and the wind fluttered the skirts and sleeves as he raised his arms to throw a rope over the limb of a mighty plane tree. A moment later the second rope went up; Demophilus realized that a wooden plank between the ropes formed a swing. A little girl was crying shrilly, “Me first! Me first! I’m the eldest!” The man, presumably her father, lifted her onto the seat of the swing, and at once she started pumping so vigorously that her father warned, “Not so hard or you’ll break the branch!”
“No, I won’t!” the little girl answered defiantly, with a toss of her fair curls, and pumped even harder.
Her younger brother clung to his father’s hand as he watched his sister, his whole head swinging from side to side.
At last the man realized he was being watched, and turned to look over his shoulder. When his eyes rested on Demophilus, he smiled and turned around to offer the stranger an outstretched hand, although his son clung to the other one. “Welcome, stranger. What can I do for you?”
Demophilus felt an absolute fool. He wasn’t at all sure that this gentle-looking man with the rich brown beard and alert hazel eyes was the same man he had seen performing the sacrifices and leading the ceremonies, the man for whom everyone sprang to their feet, parted, and fell silent. He was suddenly afraid he was in the wrong place. “Forgive me for intruding, sir. I am looking for King Leonidas.”
“And you can’t imagine him making a swing for his daughter?” Leonidas asked with a smile. “But, you see, when I am here I am not King Leonidas, just the father of my children and husband to my wife. So you will either have to wait for me to return to the palace to meet the king, or take me as I am here. The choice is yours.” He let this sin
k in only a fraction of a second and then offered, “While you think about it, why don’t you join me for some light refreshment?” Leonidas indicated the back terrace of his house.
Demophilus recovered from his amazement and thanked the Spartan king. “Yes, thank you, of course.”
“Come.” Leonidas led him around the nearest wing of the house, pausing to plunge his hands into the basin of a small fountain and splash water onto his face. He dried his face on the back of his arm like a soldier and continued to the back terrace, indicating that Demophilus should sit on one of the benches beside a large wooden table, while he continued to the low tract of buildings. He spoke to someone inside, saying something about “visitors,” before returning to sit opposite Demophilus, pulling his son into his lap.
“So who are you, stranger, and why do you want to speak with a Spartan king?”
“My name is Demophilus, son of Diadromes, of Thespiae, my lord―”
“Thespiae?” Leonidas interrupted, leaning forward with interest. “I have never been to your city, but I have met two of your compatriots―and both impressed me with their intelligence, common sense, and skill. Not to mention that your poet this year was the best, even if he didn’t win. You aren’t here to complain about that, are you? I must disappoint you if you are. A Spartan king cannot override the decision of the artistic committee.”
“No, we respect that. I’m here about something much more important ….” Demophilus broke off. All his prepared speeches had been designed for an aloof, purple-robed king on a throne or a hard-nosed Spartan general in bronze, not for a man sitting astride a wooden bench with his young son on his knee. Demophilus threw his prepared speeches to the winds, took a deep breath, and asked instead, “My lord―sir―do you know what is happening to Thespiae?”
“Not a clue. It is beyond Sparta’s sphere of influence.”
That was not a good start. “Please hear me out.”
Leonidas smiled and gestured to the peaceful scene around them―the bees collecting pollen from the blooming oleander, the screeching of the crickets in the pine trees beyond the stables, the calico cat nursing three kittens in the shade of a potted palm. “Take as long as you want―but first, let me introduce my wife.” Leonidas had caught sight of Gorgo coming from the helot quarters, flanked by two young Kastorian hounds.
Demophilus got awkwardly to his feet. Even after a fortnight in Sparta, he was still embarrassed by the way Spartan women walked around unveiled in public. In Thespiae, respectable women rarely left their homes at all, and then only furtively. But he had seen Leonidas’ queen at all the major events of the Gymnopaedia―always standing at his shoulder, her head upright and her himation at best lightly laid over the back of her head, so you could still see her whole face and neck.
“Am I interrupting?” Gorgo asked, a smile flirting with her lips.
“No,” Leonidas answered untruthfully (Demophilus thought) before continuing, “Demophilus, son of Diadromes of Thespiae, was just about to explain his purpose. You’ll join us?”
Demophilus opened his mouth to protest. The story he had to tell was not for a lady’s ears, but something in the way Leonidas gestured for Gorgo to sit beside him made him bite his tongue. Gorgo did not hesitate, and at once her son changed from his father’s lap to hers without a word. Gorgo put an arm around him and adjusted her seating to make them both comfortable, but her eyes and attention remained fixed on Demophilus.
Demophilus took a deep breath. “Thespiae is a small but ancient city. And we are a peaceful city. We revere no God greater than the God of Love. We have never sought to expand, nor have we practiced the art of war. On the contrary, in addition to our cult to Eros and Aphrodite, we revere Asclepius and Hygieia above the other Gods. They passed through Thespiae after learning their craft from Chiron, you see, and Asclepius planted the arbutus trees on Mount Helicon in thanks for the kindness our ancestors showed him when he was burned by Hades’ lightning bolt. These trees have great healing power, so great that even the water in which their leaves are boiled can cure fever, and a poultice from the leaves will draw the poison from the bite of any viper.
“It was because of the healing power of these trees that Pieros of Macedon came to Thespiae and brought us the Muses. There are nine Muses, not just three as some people think, and they inhabit the valley below Mount Helicon. Many scholars and artists come to the Valley of the Muses to pay tribute to them in a little grove near a spring. Our maidens show their respect for the Muses by making sacrifices to them, particularly before a wedding. A bride-to-be, accompanied by her female relatives, goes there to sacrifice her dolls, and the women sing and dance together.” Demophilus risked a short glance at the Spartan queen. She was listening very intently and he said a short prayer to Aphrodite, realizing that although awkward and unusual, her presence might be a blessing after all.
He focused again on Leonidas and spoke with greater intensity. “We have lived in peace for so long, following our customs without intending or enduring harm, that we were utterly unprepared when one day word came that hundreds of Thebans were on the slopes of Mount Helicon, hacking down the sacred trees.
“Outraged, my father grabbed his armor and called on the fighting men of Thespiae―such as they are―to follow him. Although just seventeen, I grabbed a sword and swung myself onto my fastest horse.
“Thespiae is a city of roughly twenty-four hundred citizens. About five hundred men can afford panoply, but we are not trained fighters―not like you Spartans. Our hoplites and cavalry are more for adorning our festivals than for fighting. When my father rushed to the defense of our sacred trees, he did so in indignation, confident that the Gods would be with us.
“The bulk of the Thebans hacking our sacred trees were slaves and workmen, sent to collect branches and carry them back to Thebes to fight a raging fever. My father and the other Thespian fighting men easily drove these workmen away from the trees, but the Thebans had sent a company of hoplites to escort the workmen. These attacked first with javelins that killed or wounded many of our horses, and frightened many more. Then they formed a phalanx and attacked the confused and partially injured men around my father. My horse had reared up and taken a javelin in his belly. It fell over backwards, pinning me to the earth. I could do nothing, even when the Thebans overwhelmed my father and killed him before my eyes.” Demophilus kept his eyes fixed firmly on Leonidas, embarrassed to look at the woman.
“You would like us to help avenge his death?” Leonidas surmised.
Demophilus shook his head. “No. I was not raised to seek blood for blood. Instead, we sent priests to Thebes asking reparation for the loss of twenty-eight men and the damage to the sacred trees, but the Thebans refused, saying that we had attacked them and that Mount Helicon belonged to them anyway. We then sent to Delphi for a judgment, and the oracle ordered Thebes to pay us one hundred head of cattle in reparation for the damage done. But they sent sick cattle that all died and infected our own herds, leaving us poorer than before. Meanwhile they closed their market to us, and when we send goods to Athens, they attack us on the road and steal our goods and slaves, leaving many honest tradesmen to die in their own blood.
“My countrymen have been slow to understand, but it is clear to me that the Thebans want to subjugate us. Just as they tried to dominate Plataea until Athens offered Plataea protection five Olympiads ago, they want to turn us into their subjects and slaves.
“We may be peace-loving men, more devoted to the Muses and Eros than to war, but we are lovers of freedom, too. More and more Thespians are willing, ready, and eager to fight. Especially since this most recent episode.” He paused dramatically and turned to Gorgo.
“I told you how our young maidens prepare for their weddings, how they go out into the Valley of the Muses to the sacred grove with their gifts of dolls and other childhood treasures. I am sure you, Madam, understand such things, as Sparta must have similar customs.”
Gorgo considered enlightening him, but decided agai
nst it because it was irrelevant. She smiled and nodded for him to go on.
“You will understand, too, that at such a time the women want no male relatives looking on. They go without men because this is when the married women tell a maiden what to expect on her wedding night. Men never take part in these rituals.”
Gorgo nodded again, less in agreement than in anticipation. She could sense what was coming.
“Then you will understand how devastating it was when a young bride and her female escort were surprised by a party of Theban youth. The Thebans stalked the women from hiding in the high grass, then burst out of hiding and took as many of the girls as they could, ravishing some right there and carrying two away.”
Demophilus was disappointed that Gorgo did not cry out in shock, but Leonidas made a sharp noise. Looking back toward the Spartan king, Demophilus found him frowning. “And what satisfaction has Thebes given you for this outrage?” Leonidas wanted to know.
“None,” Demophilus answered. “Absolutely none. They claim the assailants were not Theban, suggesting they were passing strangers. But how would strangers know our customs? How would they know where to lurk, as these youth did?”
“What do the two girls who were captured say?” Gorgo asked. “Surely they know where they were taken?”
“But they have not been recovered,” Demophilus told her solemnly. “We fear the worst: that they were killed or killed themselves in shame. One was the bride-to-be.”
“What do you want Sparta to do?” Leonidas asked bluntly.
“We want you to guarantee our safety―as Athens does Plataea’s.”
“A defensive alliance?”
“Yes, exactly!” Demophilus agreed enthusiastically, relieved that the Spartan king understood their need so quickly.
Leonidas shook his head. “It won’t pass the Council, much less the Assembly. Thespiae is even farther away than Plataea. Have you gone to Athens?”
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