What was worse: he had to find the right way of handling them before they lost respect for him and turned on him like a pack of ravenous rats. Leonidas knew that because he knew what his own unit had done to a weak eirene; they had ignored him so completely that the agoge administration had to step in and replace him. Looking back on it, Leonidas cringed, knowing how unmercifully cruel they had been in the delight at discovering their own power.
The next day when he stood before the 14 youths of his unit, he felt as nervous as he could ever remember feeling. They were watching him like hungry hawks, and he could feel them searching for the slightest sign of weakness. He had indeed spent most of the previous night polishing his armour and hoplon. He’d been to the baths and even had one of the bath slaves trim and file his fingernails and toenails. He’d dispensed with the sandals, however, because he couldn’t walk in them without limping, on account of the blisters between the toes and at the instep that had developed in the first day of wear. He was infinitely grateful that he was no longer short. He stood several inches taller than all but one of his charges, and his deep voice was an asset as well. When he called for order, they actually obeyed.
In the weeks that followed, Leonidas nearly killed himself to be a paragon of perfection while he tried to take the measure of his unit. The bulk of the youths appeared to be herd animals, content to follow a lead and most happy when working together as a team. They were willing enough to follow orders and easy enough to motivate with competition against other units or if divided into teams against each other. There were two troublemakers, however, who clearly thought of themselves as something special and were always trying to get away with little breaches of the rules. They were the last to get up, the last to fall in, and they laughed and winked at each other and made jokes behind his back. So far, they hadn’t taken things far enough that he would have been justified in cracking down on them, but their entire attitude nevertheless tended to undermine his authority. Leonidas did everything he could to set a perfect example (Lysandridas’ words about a “peerless Peer” constantly in his inner ear), but aside from exhausting himself, he didn’t seem to have much impact on the two troublemakers. So he lived in a kind of fear that a clash was coming and he was going to lose.
His fears were not eased by hearing, at one of the daily eirene briefings, that Brotus had been tied up by his charges and beaten rather brutally. It had been in the dark of night. He had just drifted off to sleep. Suddenly he was rudely awakened by someone clamping a himation over his face as if to suffocate him. Instead it was tied around his neck, blinding him, before he was dragged out to the latrines behind the agoge and beaten until he vomited. No bones had been broken, no irreparable damage done, but a message had been delivered: Brotus’ youths weren’t prepared to accept his rule, which had been too dependent on his all-too-effective fists.
Although Brotus had his suspicions about which of the youths had instigated his humiliation, because his eyes had been covered and they had not exchanged a single word among themselves, he could not bring charges. He had been furious, sputtering abuse and demanding retribution “against all of them” at the briefing. He kept demanding that the whole unit be flogged “till they whimpered like kittens being drowned”. Leonidas had been shocked to see his brother so unnerved that he was still trembling by the time he addressed the briefing.
“The question is, rather, whether you should be relieved of your position,” Technarchos countered dryly. “I’ve never heard of an eirene who aroused so much hatred among his charges that they turned on him like this. None of your unit’s previous eirenes had trouble with them.”
Brotus blustered like a stuck boar, but he had never been the most eloquent of speakers, and there was a deafening silence from his colleagues. Leonidas was not about to defend him, and apparently nor were the other seven youths. Brotus had friends, of course, but none of them were in this group of eirenes, all having been assigned younger age-cohorts. With the exception of Leonidas, none of the other eirenes in this group even knew Brotus very well—and he was not making a very good impression on them.
Technarchos decided to suspend Brotus from duty and take over his unit himself until the Paidonomos had had a chance to consider the case. Leonidas returned to his own unit, only to notice the smug smirks on the faces of the troublemakers and overhear half-whispered jokes about the Agiads.
About a week later, he ran into Alkander on the street. Leonidas paused, letting his own youths continue towards the drill fields, and Alkander stopped, too. It was morning, and Alkander’s charges were off on their own. “What’s this I hear about Brotus?” Alkander asked at once.
Leonidas sighed. Being a twin could very tiresome. “He was using his fists to maintain discipline, and the 18-year-olds decided to teach him the limits of his methodology.”
“And how are you doing?”
Leonidas just sighed. “I don’t know. And you?”
“I love it. They are all competing for my favour at the moment. I’m sure it won’t last, but it is wonderful while it does. I really can’t even think about what I might want without one of them jumping up to get it for me—a mug of water, a himation, a place to sit. I’ve never had it so good.”
“And Prokles? Have you seen him? How are things going for him?”
“Even better than me. I saw them over at the palaestra recently, and the youths flocked around him like he was a demigod. They worship him so much they were even starting to imitate him. You know, the way we did with Erastosthenes.”
Leonidas did remember. Erastosthenes had undoubtedly been one of their better eirenes, and they had quite consciously taken to using his expressions and gestures and gait.
Leonidas would have liked to talk to Alkander longer, but as Technarchos had warned that first day, the eirenes of the senior units were required to drill with their units. He had to hurry to catch up with them now, before he got in trouble. Drilling with them had only one advantage: the eirenes were given the role of NCOs and so commanded the smaller units. It was good preparation for future command, for which the selected eirenes were clearly being groomed. Until two months earlier, Leonidas had assumed he was not destined for any future command in the army, and had been looking forward to a year without drill. In fact, he still had mixed feelings about this development. Command in the army would tie him to it even after he had become a full citizen at 31. While other men went into the reserves, moved out of barracks, and took up residence with their wives on their kleros, an officer was still on active duty and was expected to live in the city, if not in barracks. Leonidas didn’t like that idea particularly, but he supposed it didn’t hurt to have the opportunity open to him.
A couple of hours later, sweaty and tired, they returned from the drill fields to the agoge. Leonidas had only just stripped out of his soiled things when a boy burst in on them, saying that the Paidonomos wanted to speak to him.
Leonidas pulled on clean clothes and reported. The Paidonomos was seated and he looked surprisingly old. “I can remember the day your father brought you and your brother here,” he opened in a weary voice.
“Yes, sir. So can I.”
That brought a faint smile. “Everyone was so impressed with Brotus.”
“He was bigger than I, sir.”
“Did he beat you when you were a child?”
“All the time.”
“I’m surprised we had no trouble with him before.”
Leonidas shrugged. “His eirenes were always bigger than he was. He prefers to tackle those who are smaller.”
“But he’s an Olympic-class boxer!” the Paidonomos countered in outrage.
“That’s different—everyone is watching and there are strict rules.”
“But if he is the bully you suggest, why didn’t he terrorise the other boys in his unit?”
“He did. How do you think he got elected leader year after year?”
“You’re very cynical.”
Leonidas could only shrug. Part of hi
m wanted to mention the incident with Timon, too, but he had no evidence whatsoever. And it was now four years ago. People would want to know why he had been silent up to now.
“I have decided I cannot reassign him to the same unit. On the one hand, he is unwilling to admit he is to blame for what happened; and on the other, the youths say they will do it again if he tries to bully them. They claim, incidentally, that they all participated. Whether true or not, they are sticking to that story with admirable solidarity.”
Leonidas nodded unconsciously.
“So, I am going to put you in charge of them.”
“Sir?” Leonidas thought he had been inattentive. “Who are you putting in charge of them?”
“You. Brotus will take over your unit.”
“Sir—I—” What could he possibly say? “I don’t think that’s fair.”
“To whom?”
“To anyone, sir. My unit certainly doesn’t deserve Brotus. They haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Do you think your twin brother is incapable of learning?”
“Sir, you just said he refused to admit he had done anything wrong.”
“I think—I hope—that that is mere stubbornness. But if not, and he truly has learned nothing, than we will find out soon enough, and his citizenship will be at risk. Move your things into Room 17B and assume command immediately.”
They were waiting for him at attention. They stood in two files in front of their bunks; their armour shone, their chitons were fresh, their heads were freshly shaved, and even their toenails were clean. Leonidas had not been given time to wash and he was lugging his panoply, his change of clothes, and a handful of personal things over his back. He was certain his hair, just starting to grow after 14 years of keeping it shaved, was standing up in tufts on his head. He felt foolish. He stopped in the doorway, brought the heavy hoplon down to rest against his knee, and let the rest of his stuff fall to the floor with a clatter. He looked the ranks up and down; they did not even move their eyes.
“At ease.”
They moved their feet apart 18 inches and clasped their hands behind their backs. Eyes straight ahead. Leonidas wondered what on earth they were playing at. Then again, he supposed the last week must have been difficult for them. They had done something unprecedented (at least in living memory) by beating up their eirene, and even if they were not officially being reprimanded, Leonidas did not suppose that Technarchos had been particularly pleasant. On the contrary, Technarchos undoubtedly knew exactly how to make life miserable without opening the slightest flank for complaint or rebellion. Furthermore, Technarchos had taken over the unit with the obvious intention of “shaping it up”, and that meant bending them all to his will and squeezing the last drop of rebelliousness out of them.
Then another thought struck him as well. They probably didn’t know very much more about him than he knew about them. In the agoge the age-cohorts tended to stick together, with little interaction upwards or downwards. Brotus had attracted attention: he had been an Olympic victor, a victor at Artemis Orthia. He was a celebrity. Leonidas, by contrast, was just his twin brother: the paler, once-smaller, less successful double. They probably expected him to be an almost interchangeable—but less glamorous—version of Brotus.
“Look. I’m not my brother. I’m not going to act like him, and I don’t want to be treated like him.”
The first of the youths risked shifting his eyes enough to look at Leonidas sideways. He relaxed slightly. The others, sensing that move, also risked looking over and slowly, one after another, they did relax somewhat, but they stayed where they were.
“Where’s my bunk?”
“There, sir.” It was at the far end of the room under the window.
Leonidas reshouldered his shield and bent to collect his other things. He advanced between the rows of youths to his bunk. He hung his hoplon on the hook provided at the head of the bunk, and quickly put away the other items on the shelves or in the basket provided. Then he turned around again. They were all still in their places, but now looking at him expectantly. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough drill for today and I don’t intend to do any more, so why don’t we go for a swim and then have dinner down in Amyclae?”
They just stared at him, disbelieving or unwilling to trust him.
“There’s a tavern run by a perioikoi by the name of Medon, who serves excellent chicken in olive and goat’s cheese sauce. I have credit with him if any of you are short of cash.” That was stretching things a bit, but Leonidas felt certain he could get credit if he asked for it.
The youths exchanged glances. One finally ventured, “Are you serious, sir?”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve spent all morning on the drill fields. I stink. My hair is stiff with sweat. I need a bath, and I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”
It was not until after dinner, when they were walking back in the dark, that they finally ventured to trust him a little. By then they were all slightly inebriated. (The perioikoi tended to mix less water in the wine, no matter what the Spartiates told them.) The bolder of the youths fell in beside Leonidas and started trying to explain things to him.
“It’s not that we can’t take discipline, sir. Or even a little bullying.”
“I’m sure you can. You put up with Technarchos for a whole week.”
They laughed a little uncertainly. The experience was too fresh in their minds for true levity.
“But you have to understand, sir, that your brother wasn’t being fair. He was picking on Euryleon.”
Leonidas glanced over his shoulder to where this youth was among his comrades. Euryleon was clearly weaker than normal. He had been left short-sighted after an illness and suffered from shortness of breath as well. Perhaps because his illness had developed after he was in the agoge, his comrades had not shunned him as Leonidas’ unit had Alkander. On the other hand, Euryleon seemed to have earned the affection given him. He readily made jokes about himself, his blindness and incompetence—so much so that Leonidas thought he was a bit of a clown. But he wanted to reserve judgement until he knew him better. So Leonidas just nodded for now, and thanked his informant.
By the spring equinox, Leonidas was thoroughly enjoying life as an eirene. He reckoned that, more from gratitude at getting out from under Brotus and concern to show that they weren’t inherently troublemakers, the youths of his unit had decided to be loyal and dedicated to him. Not that they didn’t try to get away with things individually from time to time, but Leonidas found that he could rely on them not to take things too far—and above all, respect him when he drew the line. They knew, in turn, that he would turn a blind eye to certain things, no matter what official policy was, and that he would accept honest excuses—if he didn’t think he was being taken advantage of. In exchange, they covered for him when he wanted to stretch the rules for one reason or another.
One reason he often wanted to stretch the rules was any opportunity to “run into” Eirana. Not that she appeared the least bit interested in running into him; but Leonidas couldn’t help but hope she would change her mind about him if she got to know him better. After all, other people—from the Paidonomos to his colleagues—had changed their opinion of him over time. Exploiting the fact that Eirana was an accomplished horsewoman and her father had his own stables, Leonidas pretended an interest in purchasing a colt that he did not really want. To be sure, he intended to buy a least one horse, and possibly two, when he came of age, but he planned to buy them from Philippos; first of all, Prokles’ family needed the money, and secondly, Leonidas knew the entire stables well. He knew which of the young horses he really wanted to buy. But the feigned interest in Eirana’s father’s horses gave him an excuse to visit her kleros.
Leonidas was always warmly received by Eirana’s mother. She was gracious and welcoming and, although she understood perfectly well that Leonidas wasn’t primarily interested in livestock, she played along splendidly, often coming up with excuses for him to r
eturn. Leonidas was less certain how Eirana’s father, Kyranios, felt about him. Kyranios was a divisional commander and a man who appeared aloof, severe, and certainly unapproachable to mere eirenes. Leonidas generally tried to keep out of his way, timing his visits to the kleros when he did not expect Kyranios to be present.
It was late in the spring during an Assembly that Leonidas mistimed things badly. Kyranios galloped up straight from Assembly and caught Leonidas standing beside Eirana and his wife while leaning on the paddock fence watching the yearlings frolic about. The lochagos drew up sharply. “Shouldn’t you be in the palaestra with your charges, eirene?”
Caught red-handed like that, Leonidas was candidly honest. “Yes, sir.”
The commander considered him. “Well, don’t expect me to close my eyes just because you may turn out to be my future son-in-law. Duty is duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are you back so early, dear?” Eirana’s mother interceded, coming to take the lathered and winded horse from her husband.
He jumped down, pulling his helmet off as he did. “We’re mobilising again,” he announced. “Cleomenes has talked the Assembly into letting him return to Athens to drive out Kleisthenes.”
“But we helped put him into power less than two years ago,” Eirana protested with open alarm.
“Yes, and he never showed the slightest gratitude for what we did for him!” her father countered angrily. “Now he has whipped up the rabble and started a completely radical program. He has increased the tribes of Athens from four to ten—thereby swelling his own following—and with this false majority he is pursuing Athenian hegemony. He’s become a threat to us.”
A Boy of the Agoge Page 23