“Go ahead and give him what he wants,” Leonidas decided. What he saw was that estates in Messenia would be almost impossible to visit, much less control, for as long as he was on active service and hence required to live in barracks in Sparta. Although some holidays were long enough for trips to Messenia, these allowed for only occasional, short visits—not nearly enough time to properly manage even one of all the estates shown. Shares, in contrast, would bring income without requiring personal attention in the same way. The perioikoi majority-owners of such enterprises had an even greater interest in turning a profit than he did—and certainly more than Messenian helots, who were widely known to be lazy, resentful, and untrustworthy.
The steward gazed at Leonidas for a moment, glanced at Brotus, and then took a deep breath and noted the changes on the map, remarking, “So be it, then. I will have the changes recorded and inform the respective estate managers of your official status as owner—once you gain citizen status, of course.” The steward looked among his papers until he found a roll, which he opened. He very carefully scratched out several items and noted others at the bottom of the roll before handing it to Brotus. “Here is the complete list for your records.”
Brotus nodded, still frowning, mumbled something that could have been a comment or a complaint or a farewell, and was gone. The steward gazed after him for a moment and shook his head. Leonidas just waited. Then the steward turned his attention to a second roll, where he recorded the corresponding changes and then handed it to Leonidas. As he did so their eyes met, and Leonidas noted that the steward was smiling slightly. “You are not only taller than your twin, young sir; you are head and shoulders above him in brains. With the exception of the quarries, which have not been performing well lately, the value of the shares far exceeds the properties you just deeded to your brother. The lumber mill, particularly, is benefiting from the ever-increasing demand for shipping, while the iron foundry has a lucrative government contract that cannot be cancelled.”
Leonidas was somewhat uncomfortable with the compliment. He had been motivated more by convenience than recognition of relative value. “I’m going to need the income. I’ve been warned my state kleros is in deplorable condition and I’ll have to invest money into repairing it.”
“Yes, sir. Nikostratos mentioned that; but, you see, it is located right here.” The steward leaned over the map and with his manicured index finger indicated a longish property backed up on the east bank of the Eurotas, almost directly opposite the Temple of Artemis Orthia. “It is a very fertile piece of land, young sir. Suitable for barley or even wheat, and it has a beautiful stand of olives here and a small apple orchard here. You can easily walk the distance to barracks or syssitia—or with a horse, be in the city in less than 20 minutes.”
Leonidas liked the sound of this very much, and tried to imagine it all from the neat square on the survey map. He couldn’t. “Could I have a copy of the map, sir? Or someone who can show me around the various properties?”
The man now smiled outright. “It would be my pleasure to show you around myself, sir. As soon as you have your shield and some spare time, let me know and we can ride to all of the nearby properties. Your Messenian properties will have to wait until the spring. If you want recommendations for a good steward, I would be happy to give you some names as well.”
“What did you say your name was?” Leonidas asked, embarrassed that he had not noted it at the beginning of the interview.
“Eukomos, sir.”
Leonidas held out his hand.
The perioikoi was taken aback for a second, and then extended his own with a smile. “I will look forward to showing you your properties, young sir.”
The only property Leonidas had noted mentally was the kleros that was going to be his. Most young men were assigned kleros that had been in their own family in one way or another. Often they had lived on their kleros, if their father had since died, or had at least visited their future kleros when they visited grandparents or aunts and uncles. Hence most of Leonidas’ age-cohorts knew exactly where their future kleros lay, what it looked like, and what sort of accommodation it offered. Leonidas was anxious to visit the kleros selected for him. He thought it would enable him to dispel the sense of homelessness that the abrupt banishment from Prokles’ home had induced. And so it was with considerable youthful enthusiasm that he set off at once to visit this kleros, since his unit had been warned he might not be back until dinner.
It was a clear, crisp day, quite typical of this time of year, when the sun could be hot and the shadows freezing. As he walked at an easy marching pace south from the drill fields, Leonidas was full of plans for “restoring” this kleros, and feeling rather pleased with himself for being so clever in trading income for land with Brotus. The income from other sources could now clearly be funnelled into the repairs needed on his state kleros, which was within an easy ride of his barracks and syssitia. He was feeling as if a benevolent god (Castor, perhaps?) had planned things out for him.... And then he came to his kleros.
Or rather, he walked past it. When he came to a deeply rutted cross-road used by timber wagons headed for the lumber yards on the Eurotas, he knew from the steward’s map that he must have gone too far. So he retraced his steps, increasingly suspicious that the field now to his left, which he had blissfully dismissed as a fallow pasture, must in fact form the core of the neglected property. The problem was that he could not see any house on the land at all—unless there was something lurking amidst the man-high reeds and stunted trees along the banks of the river?
It was with growing trepidation that he struck off through the tall weeds towards the grove of trees. The weeds, dry and grey and brittle at this time of year, came up to his waist and crackled under his sandals. Little patches of ice had formed on the muddy puddles that dotted the field. Field mice by the dozens scuttled for cover.
As he got closer, Leonidas could see that there were charred tree stumps amidst the weeds, and over to his left, vineyards had run wild. Gradually the ruins of what had once been a house became visible. Or rather, he could see a high wall, torn open at one end to reveal a courtyard surrounded by gutted chambers into which blackened beams had collapsed. All were roofless and filled with debris. One of the ruined buildings had evidently been two stories high, and a blakkened chimney reared up from it into the sky from a naked hearth. The very sight of that shattered symbol of warmth and comfort sent a chill through him.
By the time Leonidas stepped through the collapsed gateway into the courtyard, he was cursing himself for a fool. What had he been expecting? They had told him there had been a fire. But somehow he had not pictured anything as ruined and overgrown as this. Directly in front of him three steps led up to what had once been a fine portico, but the blackened pillars stretched out like rotting corpses into the courtyard, and the tile roof was now a carpet of tile fragments amidst the weeds. Behind these, a passageway in the blackened wall led to what appeared to be a second courtyard.
Leonidas hesitated, but then mounted the uneven steps, walked cautiously across the uneven flooring of broken tiles, and started into the passage. Just when he reached the darkness, the sound of something behind him made him spin about in alarm. A stray dog was standing at the entrance to the passage, wagging its tail tentatively. Annoyed at his own alarm, Leonidas continued quickly into what he expected to be the inner atrium. Instead he emerged in a second courtyard enclosed only on three sides. Two-storey buildings formed an “L”, and the building ahead of him had an outside stairway leading up to what had once been a wooden gallery. This had burned in the fire and lay like a blackened corpse along the foot of the wall. The shutters on the upper stories had burned, and the windows loomed black and empty like the eye sockets of a skull. But the open side of the courtyard, if you looked beyond the thicket of river reeds encroaching on the patio, offered a splendid view of the Taygetos in all its majesty. Even at this time of year, the view was breathtaking.
Turning away from it, Leonidas cautiously mad
e his way around the edge of the courtyard, looking into the downstairs chambers. These were vacant but untouched by the fire, which had apparently gutted the upper storey only. A large loom, encased in cobwebs, stood in one long hall. There was what had once been a pretty little bath chamber (now filled with decades of dirt and debris), backed by a laundry. And beyond the right-hand wing there was a walled orchard in which almond and lemon trees embraced one another in an almost grotesque fashion above the layers of unharvested, rotting fruits. They all but obscured a little temple at the far side of the garden, and Leonidas realized it was these trees that had hidden the house from view when he was on the road.
Leonidas couldn’t imagine where one would start to repair this mess. He turned his back on the orchard and returned to the courtyard. The stray dog was waiting for him, ears half cocked and tail wagging slowly in cautious hope.
“You’re out of luck,” Leonidas told the bitch, speaking as much for himself as for the stray.
The dog, however, interpreted the words as friendly, and her ears lifted a little more as she took a couple of steps closer. Her big eyes were focused intently on Leonidas’ face. “You must be an unreformed optimist,” Leonidas concluded as, feeling overwhelmed by what he’d found, he sank down on to a rickety bench backed against the wall and gazed at the view of the Taygetos.
He noticed now that the walkway around the courtyard was paved in marble mosaics of white and black in a simple but attractive pattern. Once upon a time, this had been a lovely house. He also noticed that the second storey of the right-hand wing appeared to be intact after all. So he got to his feet again, and carefully mounted the outside stairs to enter the end room.
He found a series of three small rooms, all with shuttered windows and doors, each of which opened on to a balcony overlooking the walled section of the orchard. Although the rooms were dusty, the shutters were in ill-repair, and cobwebs clogged the ceiling beams, they were inhabitable. In fact, Leonidas could almost picture them being a wonderful refuge from the crowded barracks.
He descended back to the courtyard and at once the stray reappeared, wagging her tail and looking up at him expectantly. Leondias pulled his knapsack off his back and reached inside. From well-trained habit, he was carrying water, bread, and sausage. He took his knife and cut off a chunk of sausage, which he tossed to the young bitch. She caught the offering in mid-air, gulped it down, and took a step nearer. Her tail was wagging with decided enthusiasm now.
Leonidas cut a second piece of sausage for himself, and the bitch moved closer still. She fixed her eyes on him as if he alone could save her from starvation. Leonidas considered her. She was clearly a dog of excellent breeding. The so-called Castorian hounds bred in Lacedaemon were valued throughout the world, and there were not a few citizens who maintained large kennels. Leonidas judged this bitch was the product of an unplanned coupling when a bitch escaped while in heat, or a puppy discarded for some imperfection such as the white patch that half covered her face. Pure-coloured dogs were more prized and brought higher prices.
Leonidas cut another piece of sausage. The bitch tensed in order to be ready to catch, while wagging her tail furiously in anticipation or pleading. Leonidas held the piece out to her in his fingers. She reached out her neck as far as she could, but would not move a step closer. Instead, she drew back and looked up at him reproachfully. He let the piece of sausage fall and she snapped it up gratefully.
“We’re both just a couple of strays, really,” Leonidas told her. She lifted her ears expectantly and wagged her tail more furiously. Leonidas laughed and cut her another piece of sausage. She only had to lift her nose and stretch her neck to snap it out of the air. “But we’re both still here, aren’t we?” Leonidas concluded, and looked at the house again. It was growing on him. It was smaller, much smaller, than the house his mother had inhabited and which Brotus had claimed, not to mention being smaller than the royal palace. It was even smaller than Prokles’ house. But from the broken shards, Leonidas knew that once upon a time, potted plants had graced each step of the staircase, and the charred trunks of palms told him that once their lacy leaves had framed the view of the snow-capped Taygetos. If he cleared away the reeds, he would have a view of the river, too.
Leonidas reshouldered his knapsack and made his way cautiously back to the south portico and the gutted outbuildings. Here he stood for a moment, surveying the damage again. The bitch had come to stand right beside him, and he cautiously reached out his hand—empty—and let her sniff it. After a moment she licked it and then looked up at him. He petted her, and she closed her eyes in contentment at each stroke. When he stopped and straightened up, she pawed him for more. She was craving attention more than food, he concluded, but turned his attention back to the house. He would have to consult with Nikostratos. The experienced financier would know what it would cost to repair this house and how to go about it. This thought formed, Leonidas turned and left the courtyard, heading back for the city. It was getting close to dinner time, and he dare not be away from his unit any longer.
As was to be expected, the bitch followed him, trotting about three paces behind him. As he got closer to the city, however, she lagged more and more, and he expected she would soon give up and return to her familiar territory. Instead, just as he reached the bridge, she sat down on her haunches and howled.
Leonidas turned around and called to her. “Go on back to the wild, girl. This city enslaves all her inhabitants.” Then he resolutely turned his back on her and continued on is way.
The bitch let out another long, wailing howl. This time Leonidas went back and down on to his heels, to pat her and explain. “Out here you have your freedom, girl. If you come with me, I will expect you to serve me. I’ll get you cleaned up and get rid of those ticks and see that you have plenty to eat, but you’ll have to come and go at my bidding and share the fruits of your hunting with me. You’ll never be your own mistress again. Are you sure you want that?”
She panted happily as long as he was petting her. But as soon as he turned his back on her and started for the city again, she howled as if he’d stabbed her. This time Leonidas ignored her and kept walking. A few moments later something cold and wet touched his calf, and he looked down to see the bitch at his heels. She gazed up at him desperately. He shook his head at her. “It’s your choice, girl,” he told her and kept walking. She clung to him, almost tripping him in her determination to stay beside him and to be protected by him. Leonidas resigned himself to his fate. She had adopted him, and short of killing her, it was obvious he was not going to be rid of her.
His attendant also found him, rather than the other way around. Less than a week before the official ceremony that would mark his transition to adulthood and citizenship, Leonidas still lacked a body servant. Most young men received the services of an attendant who had been trained by their fathers for several years. Others, like Alkander, were told about suitable squires by brothers or brothers-in-law. (The Eurypontid king had recommended the brother of his own trusted squire.) Most young men recruited from the helots working on their family estates. Leonidas, however, had not dared recruit from Agiad royal properties, and had not known what his private estate would be until his talk with Eukomos. He had then requested that Eukomos spread the word on his properties that he was looking for an attendant; but contrary to expectations, there had been no eager flood of applicants.
The problem, as Nikostratos explained, was that Leonidas’ private estates were too prosperous. As long as they provided a high standard of living for the helots working them, there was no incentive for the young men to take up a life of army discipline and hardship. The situation was aggravated, according to Eukomos, by the fact that in the decade since his father’s death, the helots on Leonidas’ estates had been doing things pretty much the way they wanted, and this included building up cottage industries from tanning and leather making to oil and wine pressing on a commercial scale. Such industries added to his wealth, but they also kept the y
ounger sons employed on the estates. A helot working and living on an estate could have a wife and family. One with the army could not.
With his transfer from the agoge to the army just a fortnight away, Leonidas had resigned himself to the need to go up to the slave market in Tegea to look for a likely candidate. He’d even gotten permission from the Paidonomos for two days’ leave; but shortly before he was scheduled to depart, the old helot concierge at the gymnasium stopped him as he tried to enter. “There was a young man here asking for you,” he told Leonidas, “but I didn’t like the look of him, so I told him to wait at the Golden Fleece.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“No. Shifty character and rude for such a young man. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.” The porter lowered his voice before adding, “Messenian, if you ask me. Keep a lookout!”
Leonidas looked at Alkander, who shrugged. “Best find out what he wants,” his friend advised, adding, “I’ll start warming up,” and went inside, leaving Leonidas to go to the Golden Fleece, his bitch at his heels. The Golden Fleece was a run-down tavern frequented mostly by off-duty helots who worked directly for the army or for individual hoplites. At this time of day, when a hot meal was offered, it was also populated by rural helots who had brought goods to market or were in town on errands. It was neither clean enough nor its food and wine good enough to attract better-class clientele; and the arrival of a Spartiate, even if only an eirene, raised everyone’s head.
Leonidas stepped inside and announced: “I’m Leonidas, son of Anaxandridas. Someone was asking for me?”
A young man who had been sitting crouched in a corner on a bench at once got to his feet. He had evidently not ordered anything, since the table before him was empty. While he squeezed his way around the tables and past the other customers, Leonidas had a moment to assess the stranger. He appeared to be roughly Leonidas’ own age, and like Leonidas he was tall and broad-shouldered. He was dark-skinned with almost black hair and eyes, which gave him a decidedly “foreign” appearance. He was wearing no less than two shabby himations over a short chiton, and carried a large but very worn and frayed knapsack, which hung off his shoulder as if very heavy. Although he wore old, dirty sandals, his feet looked as if they had gone unprotected most of their life. Furthermore, although the man was clean, even clipped and shaved as if he had just come from the baths, his hair was shoulder length and unbound—a style that looked very unkempt in a society where the boys were shaved, the young men had to keep their hair shorter than the edge of their helmet, and even grown men, who were allowed to wear their hair long, wore it neatly braided. Altogether the stranger conveyed an impression of poverty and general neglect, combined with an expression and pose of almost belligerent self-confidence.
A Boy of the Agoge Page 26