Over the centuries, the boys facing this ordeal had devised many different strategies for survival. There were some who had whole networks of “helpers” (nannies and married sisters, grandmothers and aunts), who promised to provide a veritable feast of “emergency rations” at various points. Others had hidden bows away in secret places and planned to hunt their way through the 40 days. There were boys who planned to live primarily by scrounging, and others who bragged that they had become adept at theft. Leonidas hoped to survive primarily by trapping and scavenging.
Although the boys were not supposed to keep together and would in fact be left by their eirenes at different spots all across Laconia, Leonidas, Prokles, and Alkander (like many of their fellows) had agreed on a place to meet in three days’ time. No matter where they were left, they were confident that they could find their way to this particular glen partway up into the Taygetos. They had often camped out there during summer hunting trips with Philippos, who now promised to leave burning embers under the ash in the pit there every few days. Leonidas liked to think that he would get along without either the food or the fire, but it was a comfort to know that they would be there for him if necessary.
Leonidas also made sacrifices to several of the Gods on the evening before the full moon when the “fox time” started. It was always a good idea, he thought, to sacrifice to Zeus and Athena; but the main sacrifice he saved for the Dioskouroi, Kastor and Polydeukes. Being a twin himself, Leonidas felt a strong affinity to the Divine Twins, and particularly to Kastor, “breaker of horses”. The fact that Polydeukes, like his own twin Brotus, was a boxer, tended to make him identify even more strongly with Kastor, and it was to him that he brought a wooden horse that he had spent most of the summer carving.
When the day came for the 13-year-olds to set off on their “fox time”, Leonidas’ unit was marched to the southeast, the exact opposite direction from Prokles’ kleros. Alkander was dropped off, then another two-hour march beyond him Leonidas was left on his own, and Prokles continued with the rest of the unit, now winding up into the Parnon range.
Leonidas found himself not far from the kleros on which his mother was buried; and thanking the Twins for their protection, decided to take advantage of this unexpected good fortune. Not only did he know his way very well around this particular kleros, including knowing the location in the cellars where meat was cured and dried fruits packed, he also knew the helots. He did not think they would turn him in if they caught him.
He was right. The old man who came roaring down into the cellar was tamed instantly with a simple, “It’s just me, Polypeites.”
The old man held up a torch, growling, “Who’s ‘me’?!”
“Leonidas, son of Anaxan—”
“Is it really you, Master Leo? What are you doing snooping around in the cellar like a thief! Why didn’t you come call on us proper?! We haven’t seen you in such a long time. Come up to the hearth and have a nice chat with me and my wife.”
“I really can’t risk that, Polypeites. I’m not supposed to talk to anyone—much less enjoy a cozy fire.”
“Why’s that?” The old man sounded completely baffled.
“Well, it’s the Phouxir—”
“What?! Are you that old already? I could have sworn you weren’t a day over ten. Thirteen?” He held up the torch higher, coming nearer. “Well, you have grown. Getting almost as big as Brotus now, aren’t you? We never see anything of him, either.”
“We don’t have a lot of free time in the agoge,” Leonidas tried to explain, for the first time in his life feeling guilty for neglecting the helots here. It had truly never occurred to him that they might miss him.
“No, I know. It’s a harsh life they put you through,” the old man agreed, shaking his head in sympathy. “But you should come see us now and again. My wife often talks of how nice it was when you and your brother used to come here for holidays.”
Leonidas promised to come again during a holiday—provided he survived the fox time—and the old man took the hint and provided him with a hearty package of hard sausage, dried figs, and fresh bread. Leonidas then set out under cover of darkness, making for the rendezvous with Alkander and Prokles.
Two days later, he found Alkander waiting for him in the designated glen. He shared what was left of his provisions, and they talked about their adventures until they fell asleep. Woken when the shadows reached them, they discovered that Prokles had still not joined them, but they did not worry. After all, he had clearly been taken farther away and would need more time to get back. Meanwhile, they were hungry and it was time to set up traps. Since they knew this area quite well from hunting here, they were already pretty much in agreement on where they wanted to set up their traps. Working together, they laid six traps, and then Alkander volunteered to go down and see what Prokles’ mother had left for them in the hollow tree, while Leonidas collected mushrooms and nuts. Alkander came back with a hard cheese and fresh apples, which they devoured at once before settling in for the day.
When after five more days there was still no sign of Prokles, Leonidas and Alkander started to worry. They were certain that he would be able to find the glen, since he had chosen it himself as the meeting place. They would have liked to go out looking for him, but had no idea where he had been left, and so in which direction they ought to look. After much debate, they agreed that the only thing they could do was continue waiting for him here.
Meanwhile they were coping quite well. Their traps were yielding at a rate of one small animal every other day or so, and their mushroom and chestnut staples kept them going between times—that or another cheese from Prokles’ mother. They had even managed to light a fire on two occasions from the embers Philippos left them. Eating the meat cooked was a wonderful luxury, and they were soon spending more time and energy on collecting firewood and keeping a fire going than in actually trapping or collecting nuts, berries, and mushrooms. By the time the moon was waxing again, they had convinced themselves that it was just a matter of sitting it out; and despite a certain nagging worry about the absent Prokles, they were quite content.
And then the rains came.
Of course, rains were usual during the Phouxir, and they had thought they were ready for them. In fact, after the first drenching day that killed their fire, they realised that they were woefully unprepared. The forest around their glen offered shelter from the sun, soft bedding, and hiding from other people if needed, but not shelter from the rain. They had no change of clothes, and once they were drenched through, they were wet even in the intervals when it didn’t rain. After three days of this they were so miserable, they seriously talked of going down and seeking shelter in the salt-house of the kleros; but knowing that the kleroi of boys undergoing the fox time were frequently “visited” by officials of the agoge discouraged them. After all, it was no secret that Prokles’ mother had all but adopted Leonidas and Alkander. The authorities were certain to keep a close eye on her—particularly in weather like this. Instead, they took to sheltering in the mouth of a cave. This gave them some protection from the rain itself, but the cold, dank air that came out of the cave behind them gave them both colds.
And the rain kept coming. It came in what seemed like ever heavier clouds, and the earth could no longer absorb it. The little stream near the glen where they had collected their water broke its banks and ran ever faster. It was too dangerous to drink at it now, as the banks kept breaking away and it swept everything it could grasp along with it—saplings, soil, and rocks. The boys collected rainwater for drinking, and watched in horror as the little stream turned into a raging torrent.
Then just before sunset on the 29th day of their ordeal, a horrible thunderstorm, worse than anything they had ever experienced in their whole lives, burst over the Taygetos range and hurled hail and deluges of water upon them with unspeakable fury. The thunder cracked overhead, and the lightning came so incessantly it was impossible to count the interval between lightning and thunder. The light just
flickered brighter and duller while the thunder cracked and rumbled without pause. The hail that crashed through foliage tore away not only the leaves, but whole twigs, and flung birds and squirrels down to the earth, bludgeoned to death by the balls of ice. The wind was meanwhile tearing the branches off the trees, and then with horrible cracking and crunching, whole trees started to break under the fury of the storm.
Caught away from the cave entrance and afraid to move in the raging world around them, Leonidas and Alkander took shelter against a huge rock, sitting on the down slope of the rock with their backs against it. The rock had a slight overhang that offered them no real shelter from the rain, but kept the falling branches and trees from crashing directly on to their heads. They clung to each other, terrified of the storm that seemed to be tearing the whole world apart and afraid to admit it. Leonidas kept asking himself what they could possibly have done to offend Zeus this much. And for a while he thought the storm would never end, or could only end in absolute destruction—the opening of the earth and the swallowing of everything.
After an immeasurable time, however, Leonidas realised that not only had the hail stopped and the thunder and lightning moved farther east, but that the rain and wind were easing, too. And then he heard it: someone was calling for help.
“Alkander! Listen!”
Alkander had heard it, too. They lifted their heads and held their breath. “It’s from the stream!” Alkander was already struggling to his feet.
The ground around them was treacherous. Not only was it littered with branches torn from the trees, it was slippery, and they stumbled and slid frequently as they made their way toward the cries for help.
The voice calling was high-pitched and desperate, and although it was not identifiable, they both knew instinctively that it was one of them—one of the 13-year-olds out here in the wilderness on his own. By now it was completely dark. Any lingering dusk was obscured by the thick clouds still over the Taygetos; and the rain, which had eased to a steady pelting, further reduced visibility. The flashes of lightning came less frequently now and lit up a landscape already transformed from just a few hours ago. The rushing torrent of the little stream had torn away whole boulders and cut a new path down the face of the mountain. And there, in the middle of the new torrent, clinging desperately to a lone oak tree that stood on what had become an island in the deluge, was a naked boy.
It wasn’t Prokles. In fact, the boy wasn’t from their own unit at all, but that didn’t matter. He was clinging desperately to the trunk of the tree, and it seemed obvious to him and to Leonidas and Alkander that his strength could not last much longer. Leonidas and Alkander worked their way to the closest point on the new bank of the stream and called out to the other boy. “Climb higher! Get into the branches of the tree!”
“I can’t!” the boy screamed back. “I’ve tried! Help me!”
Alkander and Leonidas looked at one another in horror. It was impossible for either of them to step into the racing waters unless they were secured to the bank by a rope or some other means. If they stepped into the water on their own, they would only be flushed away to their death. “Should I run down to Prokles’ kleros?” Alkander asked.
“Help me!” the boy kept screaming. “Help! I’m losing my grip! Help!”
“That will take too long. Surely there’s a strong branch we could hold out to him,” Leonidas countered. They started to look around for a branch long and strong enough for them to hold it out across the stream. If the other boy could hold on to the far end, they thought, they could then drag him ashore.
To their amazement, they saw another boy coming towards them in the darkness. After a moment they recognised Prokles.
“Where did you come from?” Leonidas wanted to know.
“Later! We’ve got to save that other boy first!”
Alkander found a suitable branch, and together they got it dislodged from the tangle of underbrush and with their little scythes, cut the last sinews that held it still to its trunk. The boy, clinging to the trunk of the oak tree, was still screaming hysterically, and they shouted to him to catch hold of the tip of the branch when they held it out to him. He was clearly reluctant to let go of the living oak tree to trust this branch; but by his own admission, he could not hold on to the tree much longer. He flung himself toward the offered branch, throwing himself on it more than taking hold of it, and none of the boys were prepared for what happened.
The force of the water was so great that the boy’s body was whipped around in circles as he clung desperately to the branch. The sudden twisting of the branch in their own hands wrenched it completely clean out of Alkander’s hands, and he fell over backwards. Leonidas and Prokles couldn’t hold it alone, and they were dragged forward. The earth gave way under Leonidas’ feet, and he plunged into the stream himself. He was barely rescued from being swept downstream by Prokles grabbing him, and then Prokles and Alkander together dragging him out of the water.
The shock and exertion left all three boys gasping for air, and Leonidas himself choking up water that he had swallowed in his short dousing. Yet despite the terror at their own near disaster, they could not lose track of the fact that the other boy was lost. His wail of despair filled the darkness and then ended abruptly.
“By all the Gods!” Leonidas cried out, trying to get to his feet. Prokles and Alkander just left him behind as they ran downstream along the banks, stumbling and tripping over stones, roots and branches, in the direction of the sudden silence.
Leonidas limped after them. He’d hurt his ankle when he was plunged into the stream.
Prokles screamed out of the darkness ahead of him. “I’ve found him! Here! Come quick.”
Alkander and Leonidas followed the voice of their friend. Prokles was lying flat on his belly in the cluttered muck beside the stream and reaching out toward a white thing that, as Leonidas came closer, resolved itself into the body of the other boy. He was draped over the root of a tree, his limbs entangled in other rubbish, and the water surged over his head. Leonidas was certain he was dead.
Together the three boys dragged the body ashore, and then—as they had been taught to do—they turned him on his stomach and pulled his arms behind him to try to expel the water from his lungs. With a cough that made Leonidas’ hair stand on end, the other boy gave a sign of life, and now Alkander took over, pumping rhythmically on the other boy’s shoulders until the coughing came again.
By the time they had brought him back to life, however, they had had time to see his other injuries. One leg was broken clean through, and his head was bleeding profusely from a horrible gash where he must have crashed against a rock before being snagged by the root. They had managed to restart his breathing, but he was groaning and vomiting now, obviously in terrible pain, and they were terrified.
“We’ve got to get help,” Leonidas decided.
The other two boys stared at him. To go to anyone for help was to break the rules, and they would not graduate.
“If we don’t, Koiris” (they had identified the victim by now) “will die,” Leonidas told them.
The other two boys looked at the victim, whimpering in only semi-conscious misery, and they could not doubt it. In fact, Prokles replied bluntly, “I think he’s going to die anyway.”
“We can’t assume that.”
“We can’t carry him all the way to Sparta, either.”
“No, we’ll have to take him to Paidaretos kleros.” Although the boys were close enough to Prokles’ kleros to go down to the hollow tree, it was not in fact the closest kleros to the glen or their present location. On the other hand, Paidaretos was a very unpleasant elderly Spartiate, whom the boys instinctively distrusted.
“He’s as like to slam the door in our faces as help!” Prokles protested.
“Well, then, we could try to go to Cleitagora’s,” Leonidas suggested. This was the widow who occupied the next nearest kleros, the one just before Prokles’.
“All right,” Prokles agreed. “
We better make a stretcher.”
Working in the dark and rain, the boys tore what was left of their himations into cords with which to bind branches together into a stretcher. When they went to move Koiris on to the stretcher, however, he screamed so shrilly that they lost courage and backed off. But they had to get him on the stretcher. They made a second attempt. He screamed again. They stopped, looked at one another, and then, gritting their teeth, they moved him on to the stretcher despite his screams and wails.
The trip down to Cleitagora’s kleros in the dark and rain was a different nightmare. The lightning and thunder were now far away, and only the drenching rain was left. Leonidas’ ankle was killing him and swelling up rapidly. The other two boys shouldered the stretcher and told him to lead the way. But the darkness was so impenetrable that they stumbled and tripped frequently. And each time they did, Koiris screamed or whimpered. They hated him a little by the time they finally staggered into the driveway of Cleitagora’s kleros, where they were greeted by the furious baying of her hounds sounding the alarm.
Lights emerged at once as shutters were thrown open both at the helot cottages and the main house. Then a door opened and a huge hunting hound came bounding toward them, barking viciously.
The boys set down the stretcher and froze. The great hound circled them, his teeth bared, while he emitted a low, ominous growl from his throat. One false move and they would be dead. “Who’s there?” an elderly woman called out.
As usual, his friends looked at Leonidas, and Leonidas spoke up. “Leonidas, son of Anaxandridas, ma’am. One of my age-cohort, Koiris, son of Polymedes, has been seriously injured, ma’am. He needs a doctor. Please can we bring him—”
A Boy of the Agoge Page 12