A Boy of the Agoge

by Helena P. Schrader

  By the time Leonidas was taken down to the sandpits by the banks of the Eurotas where the public floggings took place, he was at the end of his twelve-year-old strength in more ways than one. First, he was half-starved from six days in the wilderness with not one proper meal. Second, he was miserably disappointed that he had failed to feed himself by legitimate means. Third, he was frustrated that he had been so inept at thieving. And fourth, he felt guilty for dragging poor Alkander into the whole mess with him. He was famished, exhausted, and feeling utterly worthless when they made him strip off his chiton and, naked in the chill of an autumn morning, he turned to face the Eurotas. He stood barefoot in dew-cooled sand and gripped a bar of poplar, which was laid at right angles to two six-foot high stakes as if for high jumping. Alkander was beside him, facing the same punishment.

  As the crowds and the officials gathered, cutting canes from the reeds and preparing for the flogging, Leonidas’s terror grew to immeasurable proportions. If it weren’t for the fact that he had had very little to drink in the last 24 hours, he would have wet himself right there in front of everyone. The sound of the Paidonomos’ assistants testing the canes they would use made his insides cramp up, and he thought he was going to be sick. The only consoling fact was that at least his mother was already dead and Brotus was not around to ridicule him—and then Cleomenes arrived with his bride.

  Leondidas had never really hated Cleomenes until this moment; but the realisation that he had come to watch Leonidas’ humiliation turned his dull, second-hand dislike of the “usurping bastard” into personal hatred. After all, both his full brothers had stood here themselves, but Cleomenes had been exempt.

  To make matters even worse, Cleomenes’ bride was at least eight months pregnant by now. She stood about with her distended belly prominently displayed, apparently very proud of herself for already being on the way towards providing the Agiads with their next king.

  “I don’t think I can stand this!” Leonidas whispered to Alkander beside him, through gritted teeth.

  “You have to!” Alkander answered in like fashion.

  The mastigophoroi, the young men who were to carry out the punishment, took up their positions with their canes. An unbearable stillness fell over the crowd. Leonidas could hear the cane whistle through the air, and then it cracked on his naked back, and the sting of it made his whole body leap in outrage. He clung grimly to the wooden bar, biting down to keep from emitting any sort of cry. The next blow followed. And the next. And the next. Gradually, Leonidas’ body lost the strength to leap and start each time the cane struck at him. Soon he only wanted to sink down into the soft sand, just down and away. Escape. Surrender.

  He could stop the ordeal at any moment just by letting go of the bar and sinking into the sand. It would be so simple, but it would be a disgrace. His mother wasn’t even here, and yet he felt her ice-cold eyes boring into his raw back and making it cold, even as the welts turned red and hot. She hated him just for wanting to quit. But she hated him anyway. She had always said he was a useless whelp. He should have been killed at birth. He was no use to anyone. Completely superfluous.

  “Leonidas!” Alkander hissed his name through his gritted teeth. “Leonidas!”

  “What?!” Leonidas hissed back.

  “Stand up!”

  “Why?!”

  “You’re an Agiad.”

  “So what!” Leonidas replied, but he had stiffened his knees again already.

  “You have to let me go down first!” Alkander insisted next.

  “Why?!”

  “It’s what they expect. I’m a worthless mothake.” Alkander referred to himself by the somewhat derogatory term reserved for the youths who, like himself, were to poor to pay their fees and were sponsored by someone wealthier. “If you go down first, you will never live it down.”

  Leonidas wanted to scream at Alkander to drop, surrender, to spare them both any further agony, but Alkander was (as Leonidas was learning) incredibly tenacious. There were many skills he simply did not have, but enduring pain was not a function of physical strength, dexterity or skill—it was sheer willpower. Alkander had more than enough of that when he wanted.

  By now Leonidas could feel moisture running off his back. He did not know if it was sweat or blood, but the sense of simply not being able to endure any more was mounting. “Alkander! I can’t take any more.”

  “Of course you can. I can.”

  “Why?!”

  “To prove them all wrong!”

  “I have to suffer so you can prove them wrong?!” Leonidas demanded.

  “Just a little longer!”

  “I can’t!”

  “Yes, you can!”

  “I can’t!”

  “Please!”

  Leonidas was unconsciously writhing, his body desperately trying to evade further abuse, while his mind kept his hands clasped to the bar and his feet in place. Someone called for him to “stand firm or surrender”.

  “I’m going down!” Leonidas hissed at Alkander.

  “No! Just a few more!”

  “Why?!”

  “To prove them wrong!”

  Again Leonidas forced himself to endure a little longer. But it really was getting unbearable. For Alkander, too. Later they would fight over who finally gasped out: “Now.”

  They dropped face first into the cool, soft sand, the ordeal over at last.

  The pain didn’t stop, really. It was so bad, Leonidas could still feel it; but then there were people standing around him, and their bodies shielded him from the bitter wind off the Eurotas. Someone solicitously lifted Leonidas’ head from the sand and offered him water, wonderful, sweet water. Someone else was gently enfolding him in a himation. “Well done, Leonidas,” he heard them say. “Very credible.” Someone else was on his other side. “I’m going to put an ointment on your back now,” the voice announced. “It will cool the wounds and prevent infection. Just lie still and try to relax.”

  Alkander was receiving the same treatment.

  They had passed this test with honour and together. It was the final seal on their friendship.

  CHAPTER 5

  Age 13

  THE 13-YEAR-OLD AGE-COHORT WAS THE LAST in which the boys were classed as “little boys.” It was the last during which they served as mess-boys in the syssitia, and the last in which they had their mornings free to roam about under their elected leaders. Starting at 14, they became “youths” and, just as the sons of tradesmen generally entered their apprenticeship with a master at that age, the sons of Spartiates began trade-training as well. From 14 onwards, the skills and arts of war became the predominant focus of their education.

  This in turn meant that by the time the boys crossed the threshold to “youth”, they were supposed to already have the general education required of future citizens. At the end of their 13th year the boys were not only expected to be able to read and write, but also to have a firm grasp of the essence of precise and sparing speech, to have a foundation in the laws of their city, to know the fundamentals of botany and biology (as these pertained to their needs for survival in the world around them), to be familiar with all major works of song and poetry of importance to the city, as well as to be versed in the history and geography of the known world. In addition, they were supposed to have learned how to trap, track, and hunt, as well as have started training in all major sports. Most importantly, the boys were supposed to have developed a high degree of self-confidence that would enable them to become proud, independent, and free citizens at maturity.

  In the following seven years they would be taught to bend their own will to that of the collective, to merge their individual strength with that of their fellow citizens, and to create strength and power greater than the sum of the parts. But in this last year of their semi-freedom, the most important lesson that the authorities wanted the boys to take with them into the next stage of training was a sense of individual self-sufficiency. This was why the survival training of the “fox time”
fell in the 13th year and why the boys were encouraged to do a great deal on their own, without supervision.

  It was in this spirit that Prokles, Leonidas, and Alkander borrowed horses from Lysandridas and set off for the port of Gytheon during the long holiday following the feast of the Gymnopaedia. None of the boys had ever seen the sea, and this was the ostensible purpose of the great adventure. By now Leonidas was almost as good a rider as Prokles, and both boys could be entrusted with fine horses; while Alkander, although not yet an adept rider, was good enough to be trusted with an ageing mare of sensible temperament.

  The boys packed into knapsacks rations of fresh bread, oil, cheese, and fresh fruits from the kleros. They also loaded carrots and oats for the horses, along with grooming and eating utensils for themselves and their horses. They threw in various other things that might come in handy, from rope and fish hooks to coins. Philippos, Prokles’ father, also provided them with the addresses of two perioikoi merchants in Gytheon and the address of a reputable livery stable there.

  Full of enthusiasm, the three 13-year-olds set off at the crack of dawn, skirting the city to avoid officious or over-curious citizens, and made off down the Eurotas valley for the sea. Leonidas and Prokles sometimes could not resist racing a bit ahead on their high-strung horses, but they always waited for Alkander in the shade a little ways down the road. Then the three would ride together at a leisurely pace, talking as they always did. They felt very grown up to be making a trip like this to another city, and they were also acutely conscious of the responsibility they had for the well-being of the horses.

  They had been given good instructions and warned of the dangers of losing their way. If they missed the turn-off for Gytheon at Athrochorion or again at Krokeai, they would end up on the passes over the Taygetos. These were dangerous for boys their age, as there were outlaws in the mountains, mostly runaway helots, who clothed themselves in patriotic pathos and called themselves “rebels”. And there were also bears, boar, and wildcats in the forests of the Taygetos—beasts that the 13-year-olds might dream of hunting, but for which their small, light javelins and bows were no match.

  Only once did they make a wrong turn, ending on a track that became steeper and rougher until it was obvious that they had lost the main road. They retraced their steps, found the correct fork, and continued. This, and perhaps a tendency to dally over snacks along the way, meant that it was getting dark when they finally crested the last hill and the gently curving coastland of the Laconian gulf unfolded before them. The haze blurred the horizon somewhat, and with the sun behind them, it was a moment before they understood what they were seeing. But when Leonidas noticed what could only be fishing boats dotting the expanse of shimmering silver, he shouted with excitement and led his friends in a last race down toward the broad, sandy beach.

  The horses, too, were excited by the unusual scents brought on the evening breeze. Although tired from the long day, they pricked up their ears and flared their nostrils in excitement. When asked by their young riders to leave the road, which now paralleled the coast leading to the walled city of Gytheon to the west, they hesitated only briefly before plunging excitedly down and across the sand. Their racing blood overcame them, and soon Leonidas and Prokles were tearing headlong down the beach while Alkander’s mare loped along behind, too lazy to race but unwilling to be left behind entirely. When the two lead horses encountered the frothing and hissing waves as they came ashore, however, they spun about on their haunches in abrupt alarm and ran back the way they’d come—leaving Leonidas and Prokles dumped in the damp sand.

  Uninjured on the soft sand, both boys shook themselves as they got back to their feet and then—overcome by the excitement of it all—they stripped off their clothes and plunged into the water. The water came as a bit of a shock to Leonidas, used as he was to the warmer waters of the Eurotas, but he had plunged in so completely that he soon adjusted to the cold. Meanwhile, Alkander had reached the water’s edge and jumped down to join his friends in the water. They swam out for a bit, shouting to each other in excitement as the first waves lifted them off the bottom.

  Shortly afterwards Leonidas noticed, far in the distance, a large square that caught the pink rays of the setting sun. After a few moments of wondering and guessing, the boys concluded it could only be the sail of a great ship, although—hard as they tried—they could not make out her hull in the fading light. They speculated excitedly on where it was from and where it was headed, and Leonidas won a first glimpse of the vast possibilities of sea travel. Whereas the mountains, rivers, and deserts defined the routes that man must travel overland, funnelling and directing their steps, making it impossible to go directly where one wished, the sea appeared absolutely free of obstruction. It would be several years before Leonidas learned about winds and tides and the difficulties sailors faced in setting a true course and holding it. At that moment, a 13-year-old boy looked out and saw a flat surface and a ship that could sail wherever it wished.

  When they started to get cold and tired, they went back ashore to find their discarded chitons. Meanwhile, the horses had collected on the banks of a little creek that emptied fresh water into the bay from the swampy wetlands. It was lined with tall, green grass and the horses were grazing contentedly. The boys joined them there, lying on their bellies to cup up the cool fresh water from the stream with their hands.

  After quenching their thirst, they had to decide where to spend the night. Leonidas, who found the sight, sound, and smell of the sea intoxicating, suggested they spend the night out here on the beach; but Prokles pointed out that in Gytheon they could put the horses up in a proper livery stable and then buy themselves a hot meal. He concluded his argument by saying, “...and then we can go down to the harbour. There might be all sorts of ships in it.”

  This won over Leonidas instantly, and so they remounted and rode along the road to the town. This being a perioikoi town, it was walled and there were armed sentries at the gates. At the sight of three boys in the distinctive homespun, undyed chitons and shaved heads of the Spartan agoge, the sentries called out jovially, “Where away! What have we here? Not runaways, are you, boys?”

  “Of course, not! We’re on holiday,” Prokles told the impudent sentries angrily.

  “Sure you are!” the sentries laughed. “Well, just see that you keep out of trouble! Two triremes put in this afternoon with a half-dozen Spartiates aboard.”

  Prokles regally waved the advice aside and the boys continued into the city. They really were on holiday, and since they had the permission of Philippos to be here (and the other boys were orphans), they had nothing to fear from Spartiates. On the other hand, the news that two triremes were in port was exciting. This was the best they could have hoped for, and they were now in a hurry to find the livery stables recommended for the horses and get down to the port. Asking directions, they readily found the stables, turned over the horses to professional care, and plunged back out into this strange city as fast as they could.

  The perioikoi had no laws against night lighting as Sparta did. The boys found a city where lamps burned over doorways and inside litters, or torches were carried through the streets, thrilling and exotic. Furthermore, although they were used to the fact that perioikoi dressed more lavishly and gaudily than Spartiates, being in a perioikoi town meant that rather than the perioikoi providing a splash of colour among the dour Spartiates, they were themselves an insignificant drop of blandness in a city populated by lavishly dressed men.

  Soon the smells of the street-side kitchens and stands overpowered them. Many cookhouses opened their windows on to the street and sold to passers-by. The smell of warm bread, grilled goat and lamb, fried onions, coriander, rosemary, and cumin made their mouths water, and they could not resist stopping to eat. They had been given coins by Lysandridas (who could remember being young and had anticipated this eventuality), and they eagerly bought chunks of grilled lamb, onions, and cooked carrots all folded into a thin pocket of fresh bread. In their
inexperience, they paid three times the normal price without even haggling or batting an eye; but although they sniffed at the wine, they were afraid to try it. It smelled far too strong, and they had only a little water to mix with it.

  Instead they continued down to the harbour. This was easy. All they had to do was follow any street that sloped downwards. Here, collected behind a strong sea wall that extended out into the bay like a protective arm, were a collection of ships lying side by side. The bulk of the vessels were fishing boats and merchantmen with rounded bows and at most one bank of oars; but moored to the outer side of the sea wall were two giant, two-masted, sharp-nosed triremes. The boys were drawn to them like bees to honey.

  They lay bow to stern, their oars shipped and their sails stowed. Their springs and lines creaked as they rose and fell on the swells. In wonder, the boys wandered up and down the sea wall, admiring them. They were disappointed that there was no one aboard to whom they could put any questions, but they paced them off, determining that one was a good 20 feet longer than the other. They were just debating whether they could risk going aboard one and exploring it when they noticed that people were gathering on the quay in increasing numbers, and with a little gasp of surprise Leonidas realised that yet another trireme was making straight toward the harbour entrance.

  Even as he watched, the sails were being hauled up into their tackle, and yet there was no slackening of pace. Although the ship was close enough for one to hear the hiss of the more-than-a-hundred oars as they dipped into the water and the steady wail of the pipes from below deck. She was moving so fast that a bow wave curled back from the bronze-cloaked tip of the battering ram. Leonidas felt instinctive fear at the sight of the dangerous instrument pointed apparently straight at him. Then in the next instant it veered just enough to aim directly for the mouth of the harbour and—still travelling at high speed—plunged through the narrow gap in the sea wall. The awesome battering ram was pointed at the cluster of merchantmen tied to the quays, and Leonidas started running toward the end of the sea wall to get a better look of the inevitable crash.