A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  “He raped you?” Hilaira asked intently, holding Laodice’s hand in hers.

  Laodice nodded, but would not meet Hilaira’s eyes. “When I was—was—fourteen.”

  Hilaira closed her hand around Laodice’s more firmly and waited.

  “He—he—made me—there were four of them.”

  Hilaira’s eyes met her housekeeper’s. The older woman came and laid a hand on Laodice’s shoulder too, patting her with her big fleshy hand and muttering, “There, there.”

  Laodice was shaking her head. “I try not—to—remember. But the girl—out there. It could have been me. You see, afterward—my father—said he couldn’t waste an obol on a dowry for—for—a whore. They pinned me down, you know,” she continued as she wiped at her running nose with the back of her arm; “they pinned me down. I tried to get away, but there were four of them. My father called me a whore. He told me to “go earn my living” … If Pelopidas … Pelopidas is such a good man.” Laodice dissolved into tears again, and Hilaira pushed herself upright. She was staring at her housekeeper. The old woman was shaking her head, but tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “I’m going to talk to Leonidas,” Hilaira announced.

  They had erected the framework and were already working on the latticework to hold the tiles when Crius—otherwise just getting underfoot—shouted up to Leonidas. “There’s a lady here to see you, master!”

  “Aha,” Euryleon retorted, casting Leonidas a glance while wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his arm. “So there is a future mistress we are doing all this work for. I suspected as much!”

  Leonidas pushed himself upright to get a look into the yard. The short flash of hope that it was Eirana driving the chariot fled; his stepmother Chilonis was at the reins. “Can’t you just imagine my brother’s face if I asked to marry his mother?” Leonidas replied to Euryleon, and left him gaping as he started down the ladder to the ground.

  Crius was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder, a linen towel over his shoulder and a bowl of cool water in his hands. Leonidas bent over the bowl, plunged his hands into the water, and threw it on his face. He grabbed the towel and dried his face and hands, and used the linen to wipe sweat off his arms and neck as well. He was thinking that Crius was becoming a problem. The surgeon had said there was nothing they could do about his hands. It was a condition that would probably only get worse with age and was particularly bad in cold, damp weather. A helot boy with weak hands was not much use in the world. Crius could not grip any tool firmly enough to use it effectively. He also had no future as an army attendant, since he would need strong hands to be able to arm his hoplite, drive supply wagons, or use a bow. Not only was his future very murky, but his present development was all bad. Rather than have him dropping and breaking things all the time, his father and brothers tended to just send him away. As a result, he was becoming wild and impudent. He grinned at Leonidas and asked boldly, “Will you give me a ride in the chariot? I’ve never done that!”

  “No!” Leonidas told him, amazed at the boy’s cheekiness. None of the boys in the agoge would have dared talk to him in such a tone! He didn’t even address Leonidas as “sir,” much less “master.”

  Crius obviously didn’t believe Leonidas, because he kept grinning and tagged along as Leonidas went over to greet Chilonis.

  “I’m sorry,” she opened the conversation. “I obviously came at a bad time.”

  “Not for me. I needed a break. Come sit in the sun, and Crius will bring us some refreshments.” Leonidas addressed the latter remark to Crius, scowling sternly. Crius laughed and ran off, tossing the water away so he could run better and forgetting the linen towel so that it blew off his shoulder and fluttered to the ground. With a sigh, Leonidas excused himself to collect the towel, and then returned to join Chilonis on the bench in the sun on the back terrace.

  Chilonis was admiring the view. “This kleros will be beautiful when you get it fixed up,” she greeted him.

  Leonidas took a moment to look at his view and nodded, still gazing out across the Eurotas to the backdrop of the blue-hued Taygetos. “If only I had someone to share it with.”

  “Good heavens! You’re only twenty-three. You have plenty of time to find the right maiden.”

  “I did find her, but she preferred someone else.” He smiled in self-contempt, still not meeting Chilonis’ eyes.

  “That is most definitely her problem,” Chilonis retorted firmly.

  He turned to look at her at last. “I’m sure you did not come to discuss my marriage prospects.”

  “No, I came to thank you. Twofold, actually. I have owed you thanks for nearly two years.” Leonidas looked puzzled. “That sweet little mare you brought back from Messenia the winter before last,” she reminded him. “I bought her for my granddaughter, and Gorgo adores her. She learned to ride easily on such a gentle mare, and now she rides around the countryside as if she were a little centaur. With another horse I would worry about her far more. And it is on Gorgo’s account that I am here today. Thank you for bringing her home the day she ran away last month.” The excuse was—and sounded—lame. The incident had taken place weeks ago.

  Leonidas shrugged and shook his head. “Anyone would have done it, but it was lucky I happened along and spotted her. What on earth was she doing way down beyond Amyclae on her own?”

  “She’d run away from home—from her mother’s grieving.”

  “I’m sorry about this last child.”

  Chilonis nodded. She believed him. Unlike his two brothers, Leonidas clearly did not covet Cleomenes’ throne.

  “She could have come to harm.” Leonidas brought attention back to Gorgo’s ill-advised escapade. “There are a number of taverns and inns along the route that are frequented only by strangers. There are many strangers who do not understand our ways and would never have believed Gorgo was a Spartiate, much less a king’s daughter.”

  Chilonis sighed. “I know. And I’d like to think she has learned a lesson. She was frightened—or she would not have been so grateful for your rescue. She’s talked of nothing but you since.”

  Leonidas laughed. “Well, at least there is one Spartan maiden I have captivated—even if she’s only eight. Did her mother let her keep her puppy?”

  Chilonis sighed. “Not really. We’ve hidden it in the stables for now. Gorgo spends all her time there—between her mare and her puppy.” A burst of shouting from overhead drew their attention; Chilonis realized there was much work still to be done, and the day was half gone. She got to her feet. “I shouldn’t keep you from your work any longer. I just felt I ought to thank you, since neither my son nor my daughter-in-law will have the courtesy.”

  Leonidas stood, perplexed as to her purpose for coming since the reason she had given seemed unconvincing, and asked politely, “Are you sure you won’t stay for a snack? Laodice is the best cook in Lacedaemon.”

  “I know!” Chilonis smiled. “I buy from her whenever I see her stand in the agora, but your work crew needs the refreshments more.” She hesitated, and finally overcame her own reluctance to say what she had come for. Even if it wasn’t her business, she liked Leonidas, and she wanted to warn him. “People are talking, Leonidas.”

  “About what?”

  “That whore you bought. It does no man’s reputation any good to be seen with whores—much less maintaining one in his household.”

  “Kleta is no more a whore than Cassandra or Andromache! She was a prize of war—the Argives even carved an alpha in the flesh between her breasts to give her a permanent brand of ownership! And I’m not sleeping with her!” The truth was, he didn’t even want to. The thought of sleeping with the girl was abhorrent to him, because it would have put him on the same level as the men who had abused her—the Argives he hated.

  Chilonis looked at Leonidas sharply, impressed by the outrage in his voice and the vehemence of his reaction. Then she told him, “That’s not what your brother is saying.”

  “What does Cl
eomenes care?”

  “Not my son; Brotus.”

  “Brotus?” Leonidas repeated, looking at her hard. “Did it never bother anyone that Brotus was the only one who saw Kleta soliciting?” Leonidas paused to let this sink in, and then continued, “Kleta claims she was at an inn far outside the city limits. She says Brotus brought her to the city, promising her a place in his home—only to turn her over to the magistrates instead. She says she wasn’t soliciting inside the city.”

  Chilonis was shocked. “But why would Brotus lie like that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to understand how his mind works.”

  Chilonis considered this a moment and then shook her head. “Even if you’re right, Leo, it doesn’t change anything. It’s your reputation—not Brotus’—that is on the line. Brotus is seen as the “upstanding, conscientious citizen” who turned a whore over to the authorities, and you are cast in the role of the oversexed bachelor who keeps a whore in his own home. I believe that you mean well; but there are times when it is wiser to sacrifice our personal preferences in order not to court public disgrace. You could be ruined by this act of kindness.”

  “And what happens to Kleta if I throw her out? She was raped by a horde of Argives when she was hardly out of childhood, then rejected by her own family, and driven to prostitution just to eat. She was betrayed by a customer, sentenced to humiliation in public, and ridiculed by every passer-by. If I throw her out, she’ll have nowhere else to go but back to the streets—and from what Laodice tells me, she’s more likely to kill herself. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  Chilonis sighed and opened her hands to indicate she didn’t have an answer, but added, “I hope you aren’t making a mistake. Thank you again for helping Gorgo.” She climbed aboard her chariot, took up the reins, and carefully turned it around in the drive. Then she waved and set off at a trot. Leonidas stood and watched her drive away, then returned to working on the roof.

  Chilonis, however, was disturbed by what Leonidas had told her; and taking advantage of the sunny day, she decided not to return to the palace just yet. Instead she turned south at the road and headed farther from Sparta, enjoying the brittle winter sunshine and the solitude. She was in no hurry to return to the royal palace, because the atmosphere there was oppressive. The problems were much deeper than the death of the youngest infant.

  For some time it had been evident that Cleomenes had a mistress, a perioikoi woman in Messenia, and he was spending more and more time with her—using any and every excuse to go to the far side of Taygetos. Chilonis sighed. Although she had never warmed to her daughter-in-law, Gyrtias, she did not approve of her son’s infidelity. Furthermore, his infidelity was itself only one of many symptoms of his increasing self-indulgence and inconstancy. Chilonis had doted on Cleomenes as a child, but he had always been willful and baffling to her. They had clashed often when he was a teenager, and since becoming king before he was old enough to be a citizen, her influence on him had waned sharply. Cleomenes was polite to her, but he did not heed her—and much less did he heed the hapless beauty he had selected (against her advice) to be his wife.

  As for poor Gyrtias, she knew about her husband’s infidelities—or at least suspected them—and husband and wife fought bitterly. The loss of this third son only made things worse. Gyrtias’ grief was genuine, but it also made her difficult to live with. She was obviously never going to win back Cleomenes’ affections if all she ever did in his presence was scream or weep.

  The situation had the added negative effect of disturbing the two older children—as this incident with Gorgo proved. Gorgo, as Leonidas so rightly pointed out, had been in real danger. A lone child was easy prey for any number of predators, the worst of which were the barbarian and Greek slave traders that frequented the taverns Leonidas had talked about. Gorgo could have disappeared, and they would not even have known where to look for her. She could have been kidnapped, put aboard a ship bound for any port in the world, and lost to them forever before anyone noticed she was gone.

  And then there was Agis. Chilonis sighed again. Her son’s firstborn and heir was turning into a terror. He was more self-willed than his father had ever been. He was hot-tempered and violent and seemed utterly immune to discipline. Not that he was subject to overmuch of that, Chilonis thought with another sigh. Both his parents spoiled him, and even when she or one of the ephors or councilmen made some effort to bring the boy to order, his response was irrational screaming and boundless fury. It frightened her to think what sort of king he would make.

  She shook her head. It made no sense for Sparta to evolve and nurture such an excellent system of public education—and then deny it to their future kings. Chilonis was certain that Agis would have benefited from the agoge. It was exactly what he needed—the pressure of a herd to make him respect his fellows, and the discipline of the eirenes and instructors to make him respect the law and accept that he could not always get his own way. It most certainly would do him no harm to go to the pits once or twice to learn to endure pain and humiliation with dignity! In retrospect, Chilonis acknowledged that Cleomenes, too, would have made a better king had he gone through the agoge as his half-brothers had done. His half-brothers had all gained in stature and popularity by successfully completing that long, hard testing ground.

  She thought again of Leonidas, by far the best of her husband’s sons. From the first day they had ever exchanged words in the courtyard of the royal palace, Leonidas had surprised her with his level-headed intelligence, his sound understanding of human nature, and his rock-solid instinct for right and wrong, all combined with a natural warmth. All of this explained why he had rescued this perioikoi girl accused of soliciting, she conceded. And now that she thought about it, she had heard Dienekes remark mysteriously and disparagingly that “Brotus had his reasons” for wanting the girl discredited. Dienekes had added that Leonidas was “sharper than his reputation.” But she couldn’t make sense of his words, nor shake the sense that it was a dangerous mistake. In a small city like Sparta, a man’s reputation was quickly ruined. Then again, a man had to be true to himself. It had to be some sort of divine joke that the only Agiad prince uninterested in power was the one most suited to kingship. Or was the fact that he was disinterested what made him so well suited?

  Chilonis was so lost in her thoughts that she had already driven past the man sitting by the side of the road before she noticed him. The red of a citizen’s himation, however, eventually penetrated to her brain, and she pulled up to look back over her shoulder.

  Her subconscious had not been mistaken. A gray-headed Spartiate was sitting on a boulder by the side of the road. Just sitting there, gripping his walking stick. It was rare to see anyone idle in Sparta—particularly out in the middle of nowhere on a chilly winter day. Chilonis carefully backed the chariot up until she was directly opposite the man, who looked up at her.

  It was the city treasurer, Nikostratos; and with a small intake of breath Chilonis noted that his high forehead was badly bruised, his cheek scratched, and his beard dirty.

  “Sir! What happened to you?” Chilonis asked in alarm.

  Nikostratos frowned and pressed his lips together in disgust. Then he took a breath and admitted, “I tripped and fell coming out of the Menelaion.” He was referring to the temple to Menelaus and Helen that was perched on the hill behind him. “I was just trying to collect myself a bit before continuing.”

  “Are you hurt?” Chilonis asked, sensing that he did not need to “collect himself” if all he had was a scratch and a bruise or two.

  Again Nikostratos sighed. Then he opened his himation, which he had been clutching around his torso, and thrust out a naked leg that revealed an already swollen and discolored ankle. He had removed his sandal because the swelling made it uncomfortable, and red indentations marked where the sandal straps had been.

  “Wait while I turn the chariot around,” Chilonis ordered; and then, with considerable skill, she backed into the turno
ff to the Menelaion and maneuvered the chariot next to Nikostratos. As she halted beside him again, he hauled himself off the boulder using his walking stick, then reached up and grabbed hold of the side of the chariot. With Chilonis’ help he clambered up beside her, shaking his head and muttering about being a “worthless old man” the whole time.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It could have happened to anyone,” Chilonis admonished.

  “It happens to me far too frequently,” he countered. “I broke it more than twenty years ago when I was still with the army, and it has never been the same since.”

  “Maybe you should ride more and walk less,” Chilonis suggested gently.

  Nikostratos shook his head, hesitated, and then admitted, “Can’t afford the damn beasts.”

  Chilonis stared at him. “The man who saved Sparta from bankruptcy can’t afford a horse?”

  “You don’t avert bankruptcy by spendthrift habits,” Nikostratos pointed out rather sharply, not meeting her eye.

  “True,” Chilonis agreed and decided to let the subject drop, since the treasurer was clearly embarrassed. They continued in silence until Nikostratos, feeling guilty about his rudeness, remarked, “I hope I am not diverting you from some important task.”

  “None at all. I was just enjoying the day after stopping to look in on my stepson.”

  “Leonidas?”

  “Yes. I came to thank him for bringing Gorgo home. You know she ran away a couple weeks ago, and Leonidas found her south of Amyclae in one of those inns?”

  Nikostratos gazed at Chilonis in alarm. “That’s dangerous! Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. She even rescued a puppy that someone had thrown into the river to drown—and she adores Leonidas, talks of him all the time.”

  Nikostratos smiled at the image and nodded. “She’s got spirit.”

  “Indeed … You know Leonidas is roofing the main house of his kleros—he was up on the roof with several friends, helping the helots.”