Helicaon nodded sadly as if addressing a young soldier who said something so inane, it had to be a misunderstanding.
“Have you ever heard, Sparta doesn’t have walls?” Helicaon asked. “Because, Spartan soldiers are her walls?”
“No. But, oh I see,” said Alerio as the realization dawned on him. “Sparta doesn’t have defensive walls. What did you do?”
“I had a choice. As a veteran, I could have taken command of a section. Surrounded myself with inexperienced, but eager young men, and orchestrated their deaths,” Helicaon explained. “Or, I could help with the city’s defenses and leave myself free to fight where I was needed. Less glory, but what does an old man need with glory. A blanket on a cold night, a few scraps of food at midday, and the occasional mug of wine are all I require.”
Alerio glanced around the neat and orderly compound. Helicaon was playing the stoic Spartan. Yet, his life as a hermit was as regimented as a Legion garrison.
“I choose to help with the defenses. There I was, an experienced Spartan warrior with a shovel and a spade, surrounded not by blood thirsty barbarians, but by women and old men,” Helicaon said with a gleam in his eyes. “At first I didn’t know how to act. Women; I’ve never been around them. Soldiers, teenagers, boys sure, I know how to handle them. But women?”
“I kept to myself as I dug and I noticed the women maintained a distance from me,” Helicaon admitted. “But, some of them seemed to be in shock. Their homes and lives were threatened. A hoard of warriors was camped a bow’s shot from where we worked. We could hear the elephants snorting and calling out as the afternoon wore on. Suddenly, I got angry. In a Spartan unit, heroics were just as contagious as fear. And I had fifty-two years’ experience with motivating troops.”
“You didn’t whip them, did you?” asked Alerio.
“No Lance Corporal Sisera. That’s the Legion style of getting results, from what I’ve been told,” Helicaon said. “No, I called the women together and told them Spartan women were now the walls. I challenged them to come home with their shovels or on them. I used every rousing speech I could think of and then I placed them on line.”
“Isn’t it with your shield or on it?” asked Alerio. “A Centurion told me the women of Sparta say that to their men before the army marches off to war.”
Helicaon smiled and shrugged but didn’t reply to the Legionary.
“We started at the edge of our city. The front line dug a level and moved forward. Behind them another line dug another level and you know what I found out?” asked Helicaon.
“No, Spartan. What did you learn?” said Alerio.
“Women are easier to motivate than men,” he said. “Not only that, they don’t have to be coached on how to work together. No matter, at what age you start boys, the toughest part is to get them to act as a single unit. Women understand strength in numbers and they dug all night in unison. By morning, we had a defensive trench in front of King Pyrrhus’ army.”
“Soldiers can jump trenches,” ventured Alerio to Helicaon’s delight.
The old Spartan held up a finger while gripping his side. His laughter was infectious and Alerio joined him in the mirth.
“Did I say something funny,” asked Alerio when he managed to catch his breathe.
“The trench those women and old men dug ended up being eight hundred feet long. It was six feet deep and nine feet wide,” bragged the Spartan. “Not only couldn’t Pyrrhus’ army jump the trench. Neither could his elephants.”
“But, they could attack around it,” Alerio suggested.
“We had dug almost to hades. For Pyrrhus’ troops, who went down into that trench and faced our young fighters on the rim of the other side, it was hades. While we dug the trench, other veterans dug shallower trenches on the flanks and buried wagons,” reported Helicaon. “In one night, a city without walls sprouted defenses that halted an army.”
“So, you stopped King Pyrrhus and his troops?” asked Alerio.
“Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy,” Helicaon said. “While the main body attempted to attack across the trench, a man on a big horse led two thousand warriors in a flank attack. They roped two wagons and managed to drag them out of the dirt. Then, they poured through the breach and attacked the city. I belted on my sword, collected my shield and spear, and started for the center of the city. But a young veteran named Acrotatus stopped me. He had collected around three hundred Spartans. If you know history, three hundred is a rather special number to us.”
“I’ve heard the story of Thermopylae,” stated Alerio. “Three hundred Spartans held off thousands of Persians at a narrow pass.”
“Well, we didn’t have a narrow pass, but Acrotatus had a plan. Remember, I told you bravery and cowardice are contagious? Well, in most armies, the brave charge ahead while the fearful lag behind,” explained Helicaon. “Acrotatus led us down backstreets, through depressions, and we emerged behind the enemy force. We hit them in full throat with every fiber of our hearts, and every skill a Spartan can bring-to-bear. We hit their rear rank and true to form, the fear spread as we hacked and chopped into their weakness. Soon we were fighting for our lives as the enemy fought us while trying to escape the city.”
“And the siege ended?” asked Alerio.
“No. That was the first day. Once Pyrrhus called his army back to camp, we reset the wagons and prepared for day two,” Helicaon said. “On the morning of the second day, Pyrrhus ordered men to run forward and toss dirt into the trench. When our women proved to be experts with rocks, arrows and spears, he had to send units into the trench to attack. As they attacked, the dirt carriers ran forward; not only with earth, but with the bodies of their dead. Soon part of the trench was a partially filled graveyard. I stood on the bank all morning chopping and yelling encouragement to the young men on either side of me.”
“You didn’t come off the battle line at all?” asked Alerio.
“I stepped back to drink and eat, but once I was nourished, I stepped back into the fray,” the Spartan said. “You see, we veterans were few and most of our defensive line was made up of young men not old enough to join a mess. By the afternoon, Pyrrhus’ men had filled in a wide ramp and the fighting at that section became intense. It was off to my right in an area where our veterans had fallen.”
“Suddenly, the enemy charged that part of our line. With the pressure lifted at my location, I stepped back to have a drink. Then Pyrrhus himself forced his horse through his own ranks,” the Spartan recalled. “I tossed down the wineskin, grabbed my spear, and ran toward the fighting. As I jostled through my countrymen, the king led his troops through the gap. He charged into the city trailing ranks of his fighters. It looked bad for us. Without experienced units, our defenders were rushing around without discipline, and I couldn’t push my way to the invaders. Out of frustration, I drew my arm back and launched my spear.”
Helicaon’s mouth twisted to the side and, for a second, he seemed younger than his years. He shook his head in agreement with his unspoken thoughts and inhaled deeply.
“The spear arched into the sky. At best, I hoped to hit one of the enemy soldiers,” explained Helicaon. “The shaft tilted and the bronze tip angled downward. It struck perfectly and sank deeply into the flank of Pyrrhus’ horse. The king topped to the ground and his troops, seeing their leader fall, panicked. A group formed a protective wall around their king. Our archers and slingers, mostly women, rained rocks, arrows, and spears down on the King’s defenders. Many fell but they managed to fight their way through the gap taking their ranks and their King with them. We rallied and closed the gap.”
“Pyrrhus pulled back his army and sent an emissary forward,” Helicaon said. “He explained that seeing as how our ranks were decimated, and Sparta’s defenders couldn’t possibly hold out against another attack, we should surrender. He demanded that Sparta herself lay down her shield in defeat. I sometimes wonder why kings and war chiefs don’t bother to learn history. We sent the emissary back with the roar of ev
ery citizen in his ears, daring Pyrrhus to come, and try to take our city.”
The Spartan put away his comb and stretched his back. It cracked and he lowered his head. In almost a whisper, he continued.
“Early the next morning, I staggered, sore and weary, to my place at the ramp. Our lines were slim and the boys on the rim could barely stand let alone hold their shields. Across the trench, Pyrrhus and his army gathered in ranks. I could see the confidence in their swagger and in the casual way they stood around,” Helicaon explained before raising his head. He faced flushed and his shoulders straightened. “Then a horn sounded. From the river, at first a flash of scarlet, then another, and suddenly, two thousand Spartans, in perfect ranks marched toward the city. Units, disciplined and experienced, divided up the defensive sectors. Our brave, but outmatched youths were replaced by hardened veterans.”
“I located my mess and fell in the ranks,” Helicaon explained. “They’d rowed all night from Crete and, although tired, they were ready for a fight. Pyrrhus obliged. Unlike the last two days, when his troops attacked and our defenders simply fought to hold on, they met two thousand angry Spartan veterans. Men who don’t just hold ground. They faced men who killed and took ground. It was only the twenty-thousand-man army that saved Pyrrhus. By afternoon, the king was moving his army away from Sparta. Even as they retreated, Spartan warriors killed his rearguard and marched after him.”
During the tale, Helicaon had jumped to his feet. He jabbed at the air with his spear almost as if he were still with his messmates defending Sparta.
“That was a good story,” admitted Alerio. “But I don’t see why you left Sparta.”
Helicaon sat down on the bench and smiled.
“Well, remember the women from the trench,” Helicaon said. “It seemed they liked being near a veteran who saved their lives and homes. Unfortunately for me, I was inexperienced and indiscriminate. I liked being near them, a lot of them, and some of them were married and all had fathers. So, I retired with beautiful memories, and fled Sparta.”
Alerio studied the old Spartan. After visualizing him thicker with muscle and seven years younger, he accepted the explanation. To change the subject the Legionary looking around the ledge compound for something else to talk about. His eyes settled on the training sand pit.
“The sand, I understand. It’s good for the legs,” Alerio commented. “But the horizontal log ends, their different heights and lengths, I can’t see the benefit.”
Chapter 42 – Secrets of Spartan Warfare
“How would you train against the logs?” asked Helicaon.
Alerio walked to the pit and stood in front of the butt ends of the logs. At first, he attempted to strike the logs with his hands. But the distance between the targets defeated his attempt at hand-to-hand combat.
Spying what he needed at the cooking area, Alerio strolled there and selected two thick sticks. Back at the training pit, he swung both striking the logs in turn. Soon he had a rough rhythm going as his sticks rapped against the logs.
“They are a little far apart for gladius training,” Alerio said as he lowered the sticks.
“Do you know why the Spartans are such feared fighters?” asked Helicaon.
“Because you train your whole life to be warriors,” replied Alerio.
“There is that, but being warriors is a requirement for our survival,” explained Helicaon. “You see, our slaves outnumber my people. In order to maintain control, we have to be feared. It’s also why Spartans don’t surrender. Where would we go if we are fighting on our own land.”
“It makes sense,” said Alerio. “And Spartans certainly have a history of holding a line and turning a battle.”
“Yes. Military discipline starts at seven years old,” said Helicaon. “But our reputation comes from more than Spartan training. We study war and we study our enemies. And most of all, we study our enemies’ weapons and tactics.”
Helicaon disappeared into his hut and emerged with a long pole.
“Your Legion javelins are about this long,” he said while placing a hand on a short section of the pole. Then he shifted his hand to the end of the pole and added, “The Athenians use a longer spear. Like this.”
After sliding his hands to a length somewhere between the javelin and the long spear, Helicaon began twirling the pole overhead as he stepped into the training pit.
“Each Legionary carries three javelins. Wastefully, you throw one or two before engaging in a skirmish,” Helicaon said as he slid his hands choking up on the pole. He began poking at the logs. As if he held a short javelin, the Spartan demonstrated the straight forward thrusts used by the Legions. Rapidly, he worked back and forth striking each of the log ends several times.
Then, he slid his hands to the rear of the pole and began efficiently poking at the log ends. “The Athenians and others, like the Syracusan, use long spears. Very effective for keeping the enemy off the shields of their phalanx.”
Even while holding the long, unwieldy spear, Helicaon managed to quickly tap each of the logs. He had effectively demonstrated skill with both the Legion javelin and the Athenian spear.
Abruptly, he stopped and moved his hand to a section between the long spear and the shorter javelin. Now, he moved the pole as if it were a long sword. Helicaon smashed the pole’s tip between the logs so fast that the end of the pole blurred.
“How do you think King Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans fought off thousands of Persians?” asked Helicaon. “By poking at them with long spears? Or throwing away javelins and jabbing at them with the remaining ones? No, Legionary. Spartans fight smart with no wasted movement.”
While Helicaon talked, his pole’s tip swung rhythmically between the log targets. If the Spartan were standing in a battle line, he would effectively be striking multiple members of an opposing force. Alerio visualized a line of Spartans with bronze-bladed spears slicing and killing many times their number.
“We study our enemy and we train so, in fact, one Spartan is equal to seven other warriors,” Helicaon said as he pulled the pole back and rested the butt end on the sand. “We know how our enemies move. We practice countering their maneuvers and drill against their weapons. It’s why Spartans are the best fighters in the world.”
“You haven’t faced a Legion,” said Alerio.
“Not yet. Then again, you haven’t expanded off your shores,” pointed out Helicaon. “Your Legions have been too busy consolidation the Republic’s territory. But you realize by now, Spartans are watching and studying your tactics.”
“Speaking of watching. I witnessed an Athenian phalanx chew through a hoard of Illyrian pirates last week,” said Alerio. “How do Spartans defeat a phalanx?”
“We match them shield for shield in our own phalanx,” replied Helicaon. “Unless there is a narrower battlefield nearby. Then, we lure them into tighter quarters. Hills and uneven ground are best. Barring that, we open a hole in our battle line and let them in. Then when the phalanx turns to attack one side of our broken line, we attack their rear. The problem is if they have elements behind the phalanx, you’ve opened a gap in your line for them.”
“So, you’d need reserve units to reestablish the line,” said Alerio.
“Now you’re thinking like a Spartan,” Helicaon said. “I believe you need to rest. I noticed you favoring your leg when you were showing off with the two gladii demonstration.”
“One thing the Spartans may not realize, yet,” said Alerio. “Legionaries don’t rest until their blades are sharp and their equipment is serviceable. I’m going to clean and sharpen my gladii before I rest.”
“If I were in Sparta, I’d pass that bit of knowledge along to my messmates,” said Helicaon. “But I’m not. They’ll have to learn it on their own. But, it’s a good idea, I’ll get out my sword and oil it.”
“Now you’re thinking like a Legionary,” said Alerio as he walked toward where he left his pack.
Chapter 43 – Mission Focused
Ale
rio rolled over and tossed back the hood of his cloak. A fire crackled softly in the cook area. On the far side of the flames, Helicaon sat combing his hair and beard. The old man looked so relaxed and uncaring, it was easy to forget the spear and sword propped up on the logs beside him.
Last night, the Legionary and the Spartan had compared their respective armies. Both militaries demanded tough training and cleanliness. However, where the Legion depended on a show of ordered shields to awe an enemy, the Spartans went the opposite direction. In the dawn before a battle, the enemy would first see the Spartans sitting around grooming themselves. To the enemy warriors, who strutted around trying to shore up their courage before attacking, the sight of Spartans silently combing their hair, trimming their toenails, or calmly brushing their scarlet cloaks, was confusing and intimidating.
Alerio commented that he should have marched into the Syracusan Raider camp and announced himself while combing his hair. They both laughed because Alerio’s hair was cropped closely to his scalp and he was clean shaven. And, because intimidation required more than just showing up, and posturing in an enemy’s camp.
“Bread?” asked the Spartan as he tore off a chunk and held it out.
Alerio shook the dew off his cloak and spread it out on a rock before reaching out and taking the bread. Above, stars were visible in the narrow patch of sky above the Spartan’s valley.
“You didn’t make this here,” ventured Alerio as he sat on a bench.
“No, I go to Passomasseria or Bovesia a couple of times a month,” Helicaon replied. “Although Bovesia is my favorite. Before buying my supplies, I stop at the Columnae Herculis for a meal. Hyllus’ lamb is the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’ve grown fond of Hyllus and Marija,” Alerio admitted. “And of Pholus’ beer.”
“Who is Pholus?” Helicaon asked.
“The beverage merchant on the first level,” explained Alerio. “In the small shop on the first plaza to the right of the stairs.”
Bloody Water (Clay Warrior Stories Book 3) Page 15