Leonidas felt as if he’d just been thrown out of his home a second time. This time it hurt more than the first time, because it had been the only home he consciously loved—his refuge for the better part of his life. He was only months away from turning 21, and he felt as if he had no one at all in the world that he could turn to for comfort, advice, or support—except Alkander. And Alkander had a maiden. Leonidas distanced himself a little and turned his back so they could kiss and whisper together “in private” for a few minutes. Then Alkander joined him.
They walked in silence through the star-studded darkness, both burdened by what had just transpired. It had been Alkander’s home, too, after all, and he now had to fear that his suit for Hilaira would be rejected.
The judgment came shortly afterwards: the other two eirenes were sentenced to be flogged and then degraded to meleirene. They would be held back not just one year but two, because they were told they would not graduate with the others at the solstice but remain meleirenes for a full year afterwards. Then a decision would be made about citizenship. Another “command”, however, was ruled out.
Prokles was condemned to 20 years’ exile.
Leonidas was stunned. He did not know what he had expected. At the darkest hour of the night, he had sometimes feared they would sentence Prokles to death: a life for a life. But exile was almost as bad. Leonidas could not imagine being sent away from Lacedaemon— cut off from family, friends, and the society that had nurtured and shaped them. Lysandridas had suggested that Prokles would benefit from seeing other cities and their customs, implying that the comparison would make Prokles appreciate Sparta more. But 20 years? It was a lifetime—literally as long as they had already lived. And how could he live outside of Lacedaemon with no property, no income, no trade, no profession? He had been trained intensively for almost 14 years for only one thing: to be a Spartan citizen. And they were denying him that. They might as well have killed him.
Yet when Leonidas waited at the door to the jail for Prokles’ release, he went with a different message. He wanted to assure Prokles that he and Alkander, who was with him, would welcome Prokles back. He would always have a home under Leonidas’ roof. But Prokles’ parents and Hilaira closed around the youth as he emerged from the jail, and Leonidas hardly got a glimpse of his friend. The glimpse he did get was terrible. Prokles looked as if he had not slept or washed in the entire month of his confinement. He looked aged and dazed and lethargic. There was not a spark of defiance left in him.
Philippos had brought him a fine young stallion and a pack mule, the latter laden with a full panoply of arms and armour and also baskets full of provisions. There were bags heavy with other provisions over the withers of the horse. More importantly, Prokles was given the names and addresses of contacts throughout the Greek world—horse traders and horse breeders, merchants of grain and shippers of livestock. Leonidas was thus reminded that Prokles’ family had friends in the wide world. He decided that things might not go so badly for Prokles after all.
In fact, as Prokles mounted and set out, Leonidas could almost envy him. He envied him for breaking free of all the rules and regulations and rigid expectations of self-righteous Spartan society. Prokles could go anywhere he liked in the whole world, be who he wanted to be, do what he wanted to do—while Leonidas had no choice whatever about his profession, his clothes, or even where he was to sleep at night; he was confined to barracks for the next ten years. When he thought about it like this, he was less free than the helots! But Prokles would soon see the whole world, and as he watched him ride away he wished he were going with him.
CHAPTER 12
Farewell to the Agoge
AS THE WINTER SOLSTICE APPROACHED AND the time came when the age-classes would move up a grade, the eirenes were faced with preparing for the most profound transition in their lives since entering the agoge: the transition from “youth” to “young man” and the award of citizenship. “Young men”, those citizens aged 21 to 30, were on active service and excluded from public office, but they were nevertheless required to belong to a syssitia and take part in the nightly mess, as well as being full members of a military unit. Because they had to contribute their portion to their syssitia, it was on becoming citizens that they were assigned a state kleros and inherited any other estates due them. Last but not least, since they were expected to report for duty in the army, ready for combat, the day after the festivities ended, they had to be in possession of the full panoply of armour and attended by a body servant or attendant.
Most young men had fathers and extended families who made sure the transition of status went smoothly in all respects, but Leonidas and Alkander had to fend for themselves. They decided that the first step was to find a syssitia that would accept both of them. Officially, every member of a syssitia had to approve a new member: a single veto meant that a youth was rejected. In reality, family and friends lobbied hard to ensure their sons were accepted—if not always to the syssitia of their first choice, certainly into one dominated by their clan. But despite the fact that both Leonidas and Alkander were now related to a ruling king, neither of them liked their royal relatives, and both were determined not to have to dine the rest of their lives with either king. They were equally determined to join the same syssitia, and had long since decided which of the syssitia they liked best. Still, it had accepted new members since they had served in it as boys, and they couldn’t be sure that no one would object to either of them. They therefore decided to seek out the chairman, a certain Nikostratos, and ask him “unofficially” if he thought their applications would be received with favour.
Nikostratos was a man in his mid-50s, distinguished less for his military career than for his remarkable ability with figures. He had been a student of Pythagoras in his youth and had travelled to Samos and Tarentum to meet with the philosopher on separate occasions. He had been elected treasurer of the city for the last ten years, and many unofficially sought his advice and assistance—even the architects working on new public works, because of his understanding of geometry.
Leonidas and Alkander sought him out in his office behind the Ephorate. A man with thinning grey hair and hunched shoulders from days spent behind a desk rather than out on the drill fields, he was not a stereotypical Spartan. But Leonidas and Alkander knew that the syssitia he headed offered some of the best conversation possible—and it had never once ridiculed or belittled Alkander for his stutter as a boy.
Nikostratos’ face lit up at the sight of the two eirenes lurking outside his door, the many creases around his eyes deepening as he gestured them in. “Come in, come in! What a sight for tired eyes you are! Leonidas, you’ve grown another two inches since the last time I saw you! Alkander, how do you keep the girls off you?”
“He doesn’t,” Leonidas answered, laughing to his friend’s discomfort.
“Sit down!” Nikostratos offered. “Just put those tablets on the floor. They won’t be the worse for it. You must be upset by what happened to your friend Prokles,” he surmised as the youths did as they were bid. “You will miss him, I know, but it is not such a bad thing to see something of the world.”
“I envied him that, sir,” Leonidas admitted, adding hastily, “I mean, if the circumstances had been different. How did you get permission to travel?”
“I didn’t—until I was off active service. Pythagoras was here, a guest of your father for several years, you know. That was how I got to know him, and he invited me to visit him after I was off active duty. Your stepmother’s mother was one of his most brilliant students, did you know? A truly remarkable woman, and a worthy daughter of Chilon himself. You don’t harbour fantasies about going after Prokles, do you?” He asked the last in a concerned tone.
“No, sir. Alkander and I don’t have the resources or the connections.”
Nikostratos raised his eyebrows at that, and then leaned forward and fixed his sharp grey eyes pointedly on Leonidas. “Have you spoken to the Agiad steward lately?”
“No, sir. Should I?”
“You’re due to come into your inheritance. It’s time you found out what it is.” Then, leaning back in his chair, he added in a lighter tone, “Have you decided on a syssitia, by the way?”
“That’s what we’re here about, sir. We—” Leonidas glanced at Alkander and got a slight nod—“we would both like to join your syssitia, sir, if you think there would be no strong objections—”
Nikostratos had broken into a wide smile long before he got that far. “I was hoping you’d say that! Nothing would please me more! Just last night we were discussing this year’s crop of eirenes, and your names came up top of the list. Of course there will be no objections! We’d be delighted.”
The eirenes were taken aback by the official’s enthusiasm. “Are you sure, sir? Not even from the newer members?”
“We choose our members very carefully. Besides, what have they to object to?”
“I’m a mothake, sir,” Alkander reminded him.
“With citizenship, that status ends. You’ll have a kleros of your own—and although I’m not supposed to reveal details, I can assure you, your brother-in-law has been most insistent that your lot not “disgrace” him. He doesn’t want an impoverished brother-in-law, nor the responsibility of paying your debts. Your kleros will be one of the best. Yours, in contrast,” he turned to Leonidas, “is one in a deplorable state of disrepair—ravaged by a fire about four Olympiads ago—that no one without independent means can afford to rebuild and replant. You’ll need to divert some of your private resources to restoring it.”
“Maybe I should just renounce it?” Leonidas answered, thinking he was going to have enough on his plate while on active service without a kleros he couldn’t look after without a wife.
“No. You can’t do that. It could be interpreted as a renunciation of citizenship itself,” Nikostratos warned. “It’s a first-class property right on the banks of the Eurotas not far from the Menelaion. Once you’ve got it fixed up, you will enjoy its proximity to the city and the view of the Taygetos.”
Leonidas caught his breath as he realised that someone must have been looking after his interests. “Do I have you to thank for that, sir?”
“Not just me, Leonidas. You have impressed the Paidonomos and others along the way. You may be an orphan, but you are not without mentors.”
“Or enemies.”
“If you mean your brothers and Alkander’s brother-in-law, you are right. Managing to get both reigning monarchs on your bad side is almost unique in the history of the agoge; but if anyone should be able to live with the consequences, it is you. What I—”
A citizen emerged in the doorway, and both eirenes dutifully sprang to their feet, hands at their sides and eyes down.
“Ainetos, come in!” Nikostratos addressed the citizen. “I’ve got everything ready for you.” Turning to the eirenes, he smiled and added, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk in the future!” This was clear reaffirmation of their place in his syssitia, and so they thanked him and departed, much relieved that this key hurdle to citizenship was now removed.
Only two days later, Leonidas was asked to attend upon the Agiad steward in the offices at the back of the Agiad palace. Because Leonidas suspected that Nikostratos was behind the summons, he was a little surprised to find Brotus already waiting.
The twins rarely spoke to one another anymore. From being rivals as children and indifferent to one another as youths, they had become hostile ever since Leonidas had been given command of Brotus’ unit less than a year earlier. Leonidas could not exactly follow his twin’s logic, but Brotus made it very clear that he viewed Leonidas as some kind of “traitor”.
Brotus was displeased to see Leonidas. “You, too?” he asked in obvious annoyance.
The Agiad estate steward, a fastidiously dressed perioikoi with a receding hairline and an aquiline nose, quickly reminded him, “Of course. I have summoned you both today to explain the dispositions your parents made for you and settle your estates on you.”
The estate office was a room completely clothed in narrow, divided shelves designed for the storage of scrolls. It gave Leonidas the feeling of being inside a honeycomb. The steward had prepared well for this long-anticipated meeting. Survey charts were already spread upon the table, showing Laconia and Messenia, respectively. A variety of other documents were piled up under a chunk of marble, apparently the last will and testament of King Anaxandridas and Queen Taygete. On the survey charts, neatly drawn little squares were delineated all across the landscape in blue or green ink, like scattered mosaics. The steward invited his young guests to sit.
“First let me explain the terms of your parents’ testament,” he suggested.
Brotus and Leonidas nodded.
“Your father ordered that his personal estates—those not part of the royal estate that went to his heir Cleomenes—be divided equally among his three remaining sons in such a fashion that all three would possess property yielding as closely as possible the same revenues. He left the actual parcelling of his properties and the assignation of properties to the trustees of the estate. Your mother, in contrast, left the bulk of her estate to Dorieus and only designated one small estate for each of you. Dorieus, however, had to renounce all claims to property in Lacedaemon before setting out for Sicily. Since his departure, his estate—both that derived from his father and that from his mother—has also been held in trust and also divided equally between you.”
That sounded perfectly fair to Leonidas, but Brotus objected at once. “But Dorieus much preferred me! I can bring you a dozen witnesses who can attest to his contempt for little Leo!” He nodded his head contemptuously in Leonidas’ direction and pronounced “little Leo” with a sneer.
The steward appeared unimpressed. “I’m afraid that is immaterial.”
“My mother said Leo was ‘superfluous’ and should have been killed at birth.”
“Perhaps; but since he was not, he will become a Spartiate Peer and will be treated as such.” Leonidas kept a straight face, but he found himself rather enjoying the perioikoi’s utter indifference to Brotus’ (not entirely unjustified) objections.
“That isn’t what either my mother or Dorieus would have wanted!” Brotus insisted, getting agitated.
“Dorieus hasn’t been heard from for over a year, and his wishes are irrelevant,” the Perioikoi insisted. He had long, elegant fingers with rings on both ring and index fingers. He was undoubtedly a wealthy man in his own right, Leonidas noted mentally. The steward was continuing out loud to Brotus, “As you are generally said to be the firstborn twin, Brotus, the only concession I can offer is that you may select first, which of the two portions—carefully balanced to ensure the maximum comparability—you wish to assume.”
Frowning, Brotus leaned forward to see the charts. The steward pointed out the properties scattered across Laconia and then the even larger properties located in Messenia. “These symbols,” the conscientious steward tried to explain, “indicate shares in enterprises as opposed to actual landholdings. For example, this is a 12.5% share in the marble quarries. This here is a 7.75% share in a dye factory. This here is a 24% share in an iron foundry. And this here is a 50% share in a lumber mill.”
Leonidas wasn’t listening closely, because he was unsettled by the number of properties, many deep inside Messenia, and at the same time unable to really relate neat little squares on a survey chart with land. There was no topography on the chart—only roads, rivers, and boundaries. He could not tell if a piece of land was steep or flat, barren or fertile. He could not tell from the chart if the lands in question were barley fields or orchards, pasture or vineyards. As for buildings, although little squares indicated structures of some kind, from the chart there was no way of knowing if they were barns or fine houses.
Brotus was frowning, apparently having the same difficulty relating the squares on papyrus to rocks and soil and crops. At last he asked in an exasperated voice, “Where is the estate where my mother is bu
ried? I want it in my portion!”
The steward glanced at Leonidas; but when he made no objection, the steward replied evenly, “Very well. Then you have selected the blue share. All the properties outlined in blue are yours.”
“But I don’t want any of these silly shares of things!” Brotus protested, with a contemptuous gesture towards the symbol of the quarries. “Spartiates aren’t supposed to engage in trade! That is perioikoi business. I don’t know what my father or mother was doing with them in the first place!”
“The laws prohibit Spartiates from engaging in any trade other than that of arms; it does not prohibit holding shares in perioikoi businesses. I believe your ancestors at some point deeded the lands or provided the initial labour for the businesses involved in exchange for the shareholdings. As it is—” The steward would have been happy to explain more, but Brotus waved him silent.
“Well, I don’t care what they did. I want nothing to do with activities that would demean me! Give them to Leonidas. Everyone knows he is not likely to amount to much as a hoplite, and if he wants to spend his time with perioikoi, then let him! I want estates in Messenia instead!”
The steward looked over at Leonidas in alarm, as if expecting a violent—or at least angry—response. Leonidas just shrugged. “That’s fine with me. My only request is that I be granted at least one estate suitable for horse-breeding.”
“That would be this farm, here.” The steward pointed to a square on the peninsula south of Asine.
“If he gets to keep that, then I want these four estates in exchange for the shareholdings!” Brotus demanded.
“That’s not necessarily fair,” the conscientious steward warned, glancing towards Leonidas and twisting one of his larger rings with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. “We have to look at the actual yield of the individual—”
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