“Crius tells me that you work in the kitchens,” Leonidas addressed Laodice directly; but she looked down, embarrassed, and her husband answered for her.
“She is the best cook on the entire estate!” Pelopidas declared emphatically. “Go ahead and taste this porridge, master. And she can bake pastry as fine and flaky as the fancy things they sell at Methone.”
Leonidas dipped into the porridge and nodded, satisfied. It was as good as any he had tasted, given the simple ingredients. Indeed, she had added something that improved the red-cabbage base significantly. He made up his mind. “How would you feel about running an estate on your own?”
Pelopidas stared at him, and Laodice dropped the spoon into the pan.
“But we couldn’t displace—”
“I don’t mean here. I have a vacant kleros in Laconia. There was a house fire five Olympiads ago and the helot family was killed. No one has had the money to rebuild, and no one has been settled on it. I am looking for a family to settle there and take it over.”
“You mean as the principal family?”
“As the only family. It’s a state kleros. It’s about a fifth the size of this estate, and it is not a stud farm. You would have to help rebuild everything. There is a lot of work to be done—especially for a carpenter.” He addressed this to a wide-eyed Pantes. “But you would be entitled to 50 per cent of the harvest. And your sons would inherit it.” He looked at Polychares as he said this.
The sons turned sharply to look at their father and then their mother, but Pelopidas was frowning. “Leave here altogether and go to live permanently in Laconia?” He asked this as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Yes,” Leonidas answered, watching the faces of the others. Crius looked as if he were holding his breath while he awaited his father’s decision, and the middle boy looked even more eager, while Polychares said outright, “That would be wonderful. A place of our own!” He looked to his mother for support. She looked at Leonidas as if searching for something.
Leonidas pushed back the bench and got to his feet. “I will leave you to discuss it among yourselves. You can give me your decision tomorrow. Thank you for the porridge.” As he ducked out of the door again, Crius remembered that he was supposed to be waiting on the master. He called, “Wait for me!” as he tried to get out of the seat he’d taken between his brothers.
Leonidas turned and put his head back inside the cottage. “Finish your breakfast. I’m going to the stables.”
For almost five seconds no one moved, and then they were all talking at once. “Dad, this is fantastic! This is what you and Mom have talked about—”
Laodice cut off her eldest son, looking hard at Crius. “Did he touch you? Like that other man? Did he?”
“No! He’s not like that! I broke a vial and he told the master it was his fault, and last night he let me sleep on his bed while he slept on the floor—”
“Why would he do that? I don’t understand. He’s not just Spartiate, he’s an Agiad prince!” Pelopidas retorted, frowning, because he thought his son was lying.
“Mantiklos says it’s different in Laconia,” Polychares chimed in. He was only a year younger than Mantiklos, and they had been friends before Mantiklos went away. “He says none of the helots there grovel before their masters. He says they joke together and the Spartiates treat them like real men. He says in the army they are allowed weapons and eat the same food, and the helots are treated by the surgeons, too. On the estates they live like masters—like Melampus does here! We could have all that!”
“Not so fast,” his father warned. “We’ve never been to Laconia. Are you going to believe everything that windbag Mantiklos tells you just to puff himself up? Helots are helots. And this estate Leonidas talked about, the house burned down and everyone was killed. I don’t like the sound of that. The shades may still haunt it and resent us coming. Besides, how can we rebuild a whole house—”
“I can do it, Dad,” Pantes spoke up eagerly. “If you and Polychares help, I’m sure we can—”
“Don’t interrupt! There’s more to building a house than carpentry! At least we know what we’ve got here—”
Laodice interrupted her husband, her eyes flashing with fury. “Indeed—and it can hardly get worse than this!” She turned again to Crius. “Swear by all the Gods, Crius, you are telling me the truth! He did not touch you?”
“I swear, Mom! And he sent the girls away, too! Melampus was upset with them and slapped them around for not looking “willing” enough. He said they had disgraced him. And he asked about my hands. He guessed right away that I wasn’t just clumsy. He asked if they hurt.”
Laodice looked at her youngest son for a long moment. She remembered the state he’d been in just six months ago when the other guest had abused him. He had nearly drowned himself in a frenzy to get clean again, and when she had coaxed out of him what had happened, he had admitted he was sure he was going to die because it had been so unnatural. He had vomited with revulsion over and over. She did not think he could now have turned into a docile whore. Thus, even though she could not understand why an Agiad prince would single them out for such a favor, she turned to her husband and said firmly, “We must take this chance, Pelopidas. The Gods are not generous to the likes of us very often, and they will be very angry if we turn away their gift. I don’t care how hard it is, and I don’t care if we freeze this first winter, and I will deal with the shades of the dead helots when they come; but I will not let that man do to our little girls what he did to—others.”
It was only three days before the end of his leave when Leonidas finally returned to Sparta. He had enjoyed the trip more than he had expected, but it was good to be coming home, too. He looked forward to telling Alkander all the things he’d seen and learned. He wanted to consult with Nikostratos and Phormio; and most of all, he wanted to give Eirana the mare he’d found for her.
She was just thirteen hands tall at the withers, black with a white star and one white sock. She was six years old and as sweet-tempered as a lamb. Leonidas had bought her very cheaply because her small size was considered a defect; but all he could think of was Eirana’s complaint about her father’s horses being too tall. Leonidas had not ridden her himself because of her small size, but she was very docile to lead and did not shy even when the other horses did. She submitted to having her hooves picked without the slightest fidgeting, and she rapidly learned (as Beggar had) that Leonidas was generous with edibles if she nuzzled him. He was certain that Eirana would love her.
It was a crisp but sunny winter’s day when he and Mantiklos made it to Sparta. Mantiklos had shown up before he left the horse farm and had taken up his duties as if no words had passed between them. Leonidas, too, pretended they had not fought, but he knew now that he would never really trust Mantiklos—just as Sparta could not trust Messenia. Mantiklos was leading the mule, while Leonidas had Eirana’s little mare on the lead.
The market was open and crowded for a winter’s day. The sunny weather had attracted people, if only to stroll around and exchange gossip. Leonidas decided to detour around the agora area to reach his barracks. Then he planned to go to the baths and get his hair cut to make himself presentable for Eirana. Tomorrow, on the second to the last day of his leave, he would take the mare over to Kyranios’ estate and present her to Eirana. He would trim her mane, too, he thought, glancing back.
“Leo! Leo!” The woman’s voice took him by surprise and he looked around, confused, until he spotted Hilaira waving to him from a side street. She had a basket of eggs over her arm, and a cart that was offloading tiles into the second story of one of the houses blocked her way, but most noticeable was her short hair: that could only mean she was a married woman. He drew up and waited as she navigated around the obstacle, taking care with her precious cargo of eggs. As she reached him, he jumped down and was rewarded by a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you so much, Leo! It was the most romantic thing a girl could imagine! No nosy mothers-in-law or prying hel
ots. Just the two of us! Alkander had everything so beautifully fixed up, and though there were snow flurries that night, you wouldn’t believe how wonderfully cozy the corner room is! We left everything there for you—well, the bed and the blankets and the lamps, though there’s not much oil left,” she admitted, laughing.
Her happiness was infectious. Leonidas laughed with her. “What did your father say?”
“Oh, I think he was expecting it—maybe even waiting for it. My mother and grandmother have been nagging him for months, telling him he was being purposelessly obstinate. Everyone knows that you and Alkander were good influences on Prokles. My father just couldn’t swallow his pride. But once we just did it, he welcomed Alkander back and it’s like it was before—only better.” She giggled. “You have to come at the next holiday. My father told me to tell you that! He wants you to visit us.”
“Where are you living?”
“I’m back home for now, but we’re looking for a flat in the city so we can see each other more often. Alkander’s kleros is too far out of town to be practical when he’s on active duty.”
Leonidas nodded understandingly. “Look at this mare.” He drew attention to the little black mare on the lead.
Hilaira’s father raised horses, too, and Hilaira had a good eye for them. She nodded approvingly at once. “Oh, she’s very pretty, but isn’t she too small? How old is she?”
“She’s six. I bought her for Eirana because she said her father’s horses are too tall for her. She should be perfect, don’t you think? And she’s very sweet tempered.” He looked across at Hilaira, smiling, and saw that her smile had melted away. “What’s the matter?”
“You haven’t heard.”
“What?”
“Eirana married Asteropus.”
“Married?”
Hilaira nodded.
He just stood there, feeling the joy drain out of him and the warmth fade from the day.
“I’m sorry, Leo.”
“What does she see in him? What does he have that I don’t?”
Hilaira swallowed. If she hadn’t loved Alkander, she would have loved Leonidas. She did not understand how Eirana could reject him in favor of the long-faced, dreary priest. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Leonidas looked so hurt that she wanted to reach out to him, but already he had turned away from her and announced that he had to report back to barracks.
He sprang onto his own horse and was gone. She was left with her basket of eggs, staring after him as he rode away. What a fool Eirana was!
Leonidas was glad that he had to report to his syssitia for dinner. He knew if he’d been on his own all evening, he would have spent it trying to figure out why Eirana had rejected him. Instead, at his syssitia he was distracted by the curiosity of the others about his travels and by their news.
They were nineteen altogether, from the chairman, Nikostratos, to the two youngest members, Alkander and himself. Tradition required young men to apply for membership to a syssitia on attaining their citizenship at age twenty-one, and each syssitia had to vote unanimously to accept new candidates. Leonidas and Alkander had decided as boys that they would join the same syssitia and had, after serving as mess-boys in one after another as custom demanded, selected this one—mostly because the chairman, Nikostratos, was wise and well educated, and had been kind to the ridiculed Alkander.
Nikostratos was now fifty-eight and had been elected city treasurer for many years running. He had thinning gray hair and his eyesight was going, too, particularly in the dark, so he used a walking stick, but his wits were still as sharp as ever. Leonidas found himself relying on Nikostratos’ advice more and more.
But the first person to greet him at the syssitia was Alkander. His friend, no less than Hilaira, greeted him with exuberant thanks for his reluctant help, and reinforced all his wife had already said—their wedding had gone well and Hilaira’s father had forgiven them any alleged misdeeds.
One by one the others arrived, hung their himations on the hooks by the door, and slipped out of their sandals to recline on the benches, glad of the braziers burning in the center of the room. They welcomed Leonidas back warmly, and quickly brought him up to date on Cleomenes’ renewed agitation to campaign against Athens and on rumors of Argive infringements along their common border.
“It’s because of this disaster with our allies!” one of the members of the mess insisted. “The Argives don’t believe our allies will support us if we are attacked. They think they can strike with impunity.”
“They are eager to test us. We will have to respond sharply, or they will only become bolder.”
“They are using hit-and-run tactics. They go ashore, plunder an isolated farm, burn down the buildings, and then return to their ships and disappear again. By the time the fire is seen and troops arrive, they are already gone. We can’t be everywhere at once.”
“The perioikoi say we need a stronger naval presence to intercept the Argive ships before they can land their raiding parties.”
“The perioikoi want a stronger Lacedaemonian fleet to protect their trading interests!” someone shot back.
“And what is so wrong with that? We profit from their trading as well.”
“Do we? I wonder if we wouldn’t be better off living from our own resources. Foreign trade only brings foreign entanglements. We have enough trouble with Messenia.”
“Leonidas just returned from Messenia,” Nikostratos said, entering the conversation. “Let’s hear what he has to say. Leo?”
Leonidas was not unprepared for the question. He had spent much of the last month consciously trying to form his opinion in order to articulate it here. “We are hated there; and some of that hate is traditional, passed from father to son in the stories children are told, just as we learn of Messenian atrocities in the agoge. But some of the problem is the men we leave there to manage our estates. Some of these men are merely mediocre, and so resented by men who think themselves better. Others are outright cruel and arbitrary, reaping deserved hatred that grows and festers.”
Nikostratos was pleased with the answer. “Quite right! I have argued this many times. As absentee landlords, we often rely on petty tyrants who do us more disservice than service.”
“Yes, but if you do not ride the Messenians hard, they will rob you blind. They do not think they owe us rent at all,” one of the others protested; and soon a lively discussion of the Messenian problem developed—which led, naturally, nowhere.
When dinner was over, Nikostratos caught Leonidas by the arm and asked him to walk home with him. “I cannot see as I should; you don’t mind guiding me the few steps to my townhouse?”
“Of course not.”
Outside, the others dispersed rapidly into the darkness; while from all the other syssitia lining the road to Amyclae, men likewise emerged in laughing groups that then melted into the darkness. At the outskirts of the city itself, silence enveloped them except for a dog’s distant barking—which made Beggar tense and raise her ears, then drop her head and continue walking beside Leonidas as if to say she had chosen him. “I thought I should tell you that Eirana, daughter of Kyranios, married this last month while you were away.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Ah, that’s why you looked so dejected,” Nikostratos surmised and stopped. They faced each other. “She was a worthy choice, Leonidas, but you must put this behind you. You are still very young. I don’t know why you young men are all in such a hurry to wed these days. I was twenty-six before I took a wife, and we still had plenty of time to found a family.”
Leonidas nodded dutifully. Nikostratos had two children, a son and a daughter, both of whom were married and had children of their own. Nikostratos himself was widowed and lived alone in a couple of rooms over a shop so he could attend to his civic duties, because his kleros was halfway to Gytheon. Leonidas thought he was a lonely man who buried himself in his work in part to avoid the emptiness of his private life—but he dared not say that. Instead, he remembered, “You
wouldn’t have use for a pretty little mare? I bought her for Eirana, because she said her father’s horses were too tall. Now I can’t bear the sight of her.”
Nikostratos answered after a slight pause, “I have no use for her, but I will ask around.” He changed the subject. “You made a wise choice to settle Pelopidas and his family on your kleros. They are very grateful and anxious to make a success of it. However, you need to be sure they have the building materials they need. They think you expect them to buy it themselves.”
Leonidas sighed. In his present mood, his kleros and the helot family were just a burden, another problem, but he said dutifully, “I will visit them tomorrow.”
“Do not be discouraged by the rejection of one young woman, no matter how worthy she was,” Nikostratos reiterated. “Sometimes I think it is good for us to be denied what we think we want. We all too often get fixated on a single goal and become blind to all else.”
Leonidas nodded politely, not really in the mood for this fatherly talk. Then again, his father had died when he was very young, and he had often wished for an older man to give him advice when he was confused. He also reminded himself that Nikostratos had never given him bad advice.
“I used to be very ambitious,” Nikostratos continued. “I could see that the state finances were in chaotic disarray and that the city was always bankrupt despite being rich. All I wanted was to become treasurer so I could put things in order. Now I have done that, and I realize that I have only made things worse. Now your brother has the means to pursue his reckless adventures. In your father’s time, I could always tell the kings, “Sorry, we can’t afford that.” But your brother knows the treasury is full—thanks to me.” He laughed sadly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Do you never long for a democracy like Athens, with no kings at all?”
“Heavens, no! Why, they even elect their polemarchs! Can you imagine that? Turning the fate of the city over to the man who has the best dinner parties or pays the potters and papyrus-makers more than his rivals? Our kings may be a little eccentric at times, but they still have the blood of Herakles in their veins. I have not yet seen a Spartan king who lacked courage or did not have the instincts of a warrior.”
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