A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  Leonidas, however, had come to respect the young Corinthian. Lychos was frequently in pain. Sometimes a sudden motion or a too-eager gesture would tear a grimace from him, or he would catch his breath or break out into a sweat. Whenever Lychos saw that Leonidas had noticed, he would smile and insist, “It’s worth it. I’ll show you.”

  And in many ways he had. In Corinth, he had shown Leonidas his library. He admitted he had not been much interested in the sciences before “the accident,” but during the sedentary years of his slow recovery he had come to love reading. Leonidas had glanced through some of the documents, but they seemed very long-winded and hard to follow. Leonidas had more understanding for Lychos’ enthusiasm for his herb garden. Lychos explained that he had become interested in medicinal herbs, and he had overseen the planting of his own garden of healing plants. Leonidas could relate to that.

  But Lychos’ greatest joy was sailing. He had a small fishing smack that, with the help of a two-man crew, he could maneuver with amazing agility and daring. When first launched, the little craft had been tossed about by the wind and the waves, never steady for an instant, terrifying Leonidas, while Lychos laughed as the wind ruined his otherwise well-tended hair and clothes. With the sail set, however, the boat steadied and began to pound through the waves with bone-jarring force. When the bows smashed down, water was flung up and inward, soaking them all; and all the while the leeward gunnel sliced the sea, gurgling and frothing. Eventually, Leonidas started to enjoy it—somewhat—but the sea was far too unpredictable and capricious for him to be comfortable. Lychos, in contrast, seemed to be made whole again by the sea—and to have an uncanny feel for it. He gave his orders with certainty, and he seemed to smell a change in wind or weather long before either hit. Nor could Leonidas understand where he got the strength, for just a few minutes at the tiller had taught Leonidas that steering a boat required both skill and muscle.

  Commanding one of his father’s ships to Athens had been a major step forward for Lychos. He admitted to Leonidas the night before they sailed that it was the first time his father had given him the privilege, although he’d been nagging him for almost a year. “I’ve traveled with him everywhere this past year, and our helmsmen are all trustworthy men. They are loyal and would never let harm come to me intentionally. Yet my father resists letting me out of his sight. He let me have a ship this time only so as not to shame me in front of you—and because it’s such a short run.”

  They made Athens in a single day, on a good following wind, with a cargo of timber from Arcadia. They put in at Kantharos, the commercial port of Athens; so Leonidas did not get a good look at the naval shipyards in Zea, to the east of Piraeus, as he would have liked. Archilochos, however, kindly insisted that he would deal with business and their luggage, and sent Lychos on into Athens with the two Spartans and their attendants. Flanking Lychos’ litter, Leonidas and Euryleon with their helot servants had walked into Athens and, after stopping for some light refreshment from a street vendor, headed to the acropolis.

  With a nod to Euryleon, Leonidas descended from the wall and sat down beside Lychos. “Magnificent,” he commented simply.

  Lychos nodded. “It is, isn’t it? There’s no place quite like it in the whole world. Not even in Persia or Egypt. Although the pyramids in Egypt have their own grandeur, they are dry and lifeless compared to this. They were built to dead gods, while our Gods are still living.” He raised his head to look toward the ceiling, and then turned around to look back into the temple at the gigantic figure of Athena, with her glistening helmet and bright gown. “We’d better get back into town, or my father will start to worry,” Lychos decided.

  “May I make an offering to Athena first?” Leonidas asked, and Lychos nodded.

  Leonidas entered the temple, leaving the bright sun and the refreshing breeze behind. He took his time gazing up at the tall statue of the Goddess, who wore a bronze helmet with a real horsehair crest shoved back on her head. She was very impressive, undoubtedly more so than their own main statue to her in the Temple of the Bronzehouse Athena on the acropolis of Sparta. That likeness of the Goddess looked dowdy compared to this. Leonidas dropped his knapsack off his shoulder onto his feet and reached inside for some bread he had saved from lunch. He placed this on the altar, with a silent prayer to the Goddess to open her city to him in friendship and allow him to learn as much as he could without disgracing himself or his own city. Then he returned outside to his friends and asked, “Do you know where to meet your father?”

  “Of course. We always stay with a guest-friend of his: a certain Demothenes. We need only ask. Everyone in Athens knows the way.”

  By the time they arrived, Leonidas was thoroughly confused about direction. He was used to navigating by the sun and the mountains. Sparta had a simple north-south orientation, with the acropolis in the north and Amyclae in the south; it was impossible to get lost. But in Athens the streets were so narrow that you didn’t always have a clear view to the acropolis, and the surrounding mountains and sea were far too distant for navigation. Leonidas didn’t like the feeling of not knowing where he was or what direction to go to get home. It wasn’t that he felt any desire to go home just yet, but it was unsettling not to know what direction to walk should he want to.

  When they finally reached the house of their host, Leonidas and Euryleon were tired, sweaty, and ready for some peace and quiet, but they found neither. Instead, they entered an oppressively opulent house where the door frames were carved and painted, the floors were mosaics in elaborate patterns, and the walls were adorned with frescoes—but which, to young men who had spent so much of their life outdoors, seemed cramped, dark, crowded, and noisy. Because the windows were small and looked out onto the narrow streets—which actually meant at the walls of the next house—artificial lighting was needed, even in the glaring light of noon. The courtyard was so cramped that all but a tiny square lay in shade. It was also overcrowded, with a well, washing tubs, grinding stones, barrels, handcarts, and general clutter. The smell of the stables, which opened directly onto the courtyard, was powerful enough to pierce into the rooms facing the courtyard. Only deeper in the house did incense and dried herbs improve the smell.

  Leonidas and Euryleon were shown up to the old nursery in the rafters of the house and told they could make themselves comfortable here. Lychos would sleep with his father in the guest chamber. There were two beds in the nursery as well as a crib. Children’s toys—rocking horses, tin hoplites, dolls—were neatly lined up and gathering dust in the anteroom. Clearly there had been no young children in the household for a long time.

  Young Spartans travel light and they had little to unpack, so Euryleon and Leonidas soon found themselves back in the courtyard. By now it was starting to get dark, and they were directed to the andron for dinner with their host and “a small circle of friends.” Their attendants were pointed the way to the kitchens.

  The andron was the most elaborately decorated room in the house, with fine couches and soft cushions, large bronze lamps, and a marble-tiled floor. Their host, a man in his early sixties, greeted them warmly: “Any friends of Archilochos are welcome guests.” The young men were shown couches farther down the room and were soon joined there by the son of the house, Kallixenos.

  Kallixenos was in his early thirties, tall and slender, with rather gaunt features and long, curly dark-blond hair. He wore a long linen chiton with a wide border of woven hawks and hounds, over which he had slung a two-toned gauze himation with a floral border that glittered in the lamplight. “So you’re from Sparta!” he greeted the two guests. “How fascinating! I’ve never actually met a Spartan before. You must tell me what it is really like there. You know, we hear so many horror stories about life in Sparta—but I’m sure they can’t all be true. You look quite normal.” He laughed at his own joke. Leonidas and Euryleon looked at one another.

  “Please, please, make yourselves comfortable,” Kallixenos urged them, indicating two couches. Leonidas bent and untied
his sandals so he could swing his feet up onto the couch. Euryleon followed his example.

  Already a slave was hovering, offering hot white rolls and an olive relish garnished with mint and coriander. Lychos and his father arrived, and while Archilochos remained at the head of the chamber with their host, Lychos joined the young men. He clearly knew Kallixenos, but their greeting was decidedly cool, even vaguely embarrassed. Shortly afterward other guests started to arrive and they were introduced one after another.

  Most of the guests were roughly their host’s age, men of obvious wealth and power. Among these worthy gentlemen the conversation soon turned to politics. Leonidas tried to follow what they were saying, but not knowing much about the situation in Athens, it was difficult. All that he was able to glean was that there was to be an Assembly the next day, and that someone was at risk of being “ostracized.” Leonidas had no idea what that meant and had to ask Kallixenos about it.

  “Oh. Don’t you have ostracism in Sparta? No, I suppose not. It’s quite new to Athens, too. Kleisthenes introduced it. One of his better ideas, really. It’s terribly amusing. The best reason for going to Assembly at all nowadays.”

  “But what is it?”

  “Oh, a public vote to exile someone.”

  “For what crime?” Leonidas asked, shocked, thinking of Prokles.

  “No crime,” Kallixenos shrugged. “That’s the fun of it. Anyone can be named, and since there doesn’t have to be a crime, no one even has a chance to defend himself. If you can buy enough votes, you can get rid of your worst enemy without them putting a foot wrong.”

  “Buy votes?” Leonidas asked incredulously. He could not imagine selling this precious privilege for any sum of money. “But who would sell his citizen’s rights?”

  Kallixenos shrugged. “Most of the poor citizens don’t give a damn if one rich man or another has to leave the city, so if you offer them a drachma or two, they’ll take the shard you give them with the name you’ve already scratched into it. Half of them can’t read anyway, and so don’t know what you’ve written. At least one man was enterprising enough to prepare shards with his enemy’s name on them and stack them in different piles. He then gave the shards out to the illiterates regardless of what name they said they wanted. He nearly got lynched by the mob when they found out.” Kallixenos laughed at the memory.

  “And who is going to be ostracized tomorrow?” Leonidas asked.

  “Well, we won’t know until the votes are counted, but my father’s all in a dither,” Kallixenos nodded dismissively in the direction of his father, “because Kleisthenes’ supporters have targeted one of his old cronies. You’ll have to come along to Assembly with us tomorrow and see which of them manages to manipulate the mob best. Generally Kleisthenes can talk them around, but my father’s friends have deeper pockets. If people are hungry enough, they’ll take the drachma and to hell with Kleisthenes’ pretty words.”

  At the other end of the hall the conversation had turned to the price of grain. Athens was dependent on imported grain, mostly from cities along the Black Sea. There were rumors of a drought in the north that made everyone nervous about this year’s grain crop, and apparently some people were starting to hoard grain, driving up prices. It occurred to Leonidas that if one had to have money to buy grain, then money would play a more important role in society. In Sparta, on the other hand, everyone had their own kleros, so that Spartiates and helots alike generally could be sure of enough to eat, and it was easy to do without money much of the time.

  Meanwhile, the appetizer of honey-glazed shrimp had been served. Leonidas had never had anything so delicious, and Euryleon announced appreciatively, “This beats black broth any day.” Due to a lull in the conversation, even the older men heard the remark, and everyone laughed.

  “I’m pleased that you are enjoying the meal,” their host called down to them. Leonidas and Euryleon nodded politely.

  The next course was brought, and the conversation of the older men turned to astrology and the extent to which the course of the stars reflected or predicted events. If an eclipse or a comet was an omen, did that mean that all that happened afterward was unavoidable? Or could men by their actions avert impending disaster? Could a comet, for example, wake up a city to a threat, inspiring them to avert the disaster predicted by the comet?

  Although Leonidas was interested in the discussion, the main course of eels in mulberry sauce and stuffed lamb’s kidneys arrived. Besides, Kallixenos had no intention of letting him listen to the older men, but rather started harassing the Spartans with questions. “Have you ever eaten eel before?”

  “No,” Leonidas admitted. He was having some difficulty getting this dish down. The diet of other Greeks was dominated by fish; and while he liked shellfish well enough, eels, oysters, and sardines appeared to be an acquired taste.

  “And the kidneys?” Kallixenos pressed him.

  “Oh, we eat lots of kidneys,” Euryleon declared, “but we don’t stuff them with pine nuts and coriander. We normally stew them with hearts and lung.”

  “How ghastly!” Kallixenos exclaimed with a look of disgust.

  “Not really,” Euryleon assured him. “You throw in carrots and leeks and season with bay leaves or—”

  “Good heavens! You make it sound like you cook it yourself!” Kallixenos exclaimed in horror. “Don’t you have kitchen slaves?”

  “Not in the agoge. We did a lot of our own cooking in the agoge.”

  “How revolting! Why on earth should you be made to do the work of slaves?”

  Euryleon looked uncomfortable and tried to explain, “Well, we don’t have slaves in the agoge, so it makes sense to learn to cook.” Because of his poor eyesight, Euryleon was a poor hunter, and so he had often been stuck with the chore of cooking for the boys of his herd. Over time he had developed a certain talent at it, which in turn had won him the affection of his herd mates.

  Leonidas had learned to appreciate Euryleon’s culinary talents during his year as Euryleon’s eirene. Sensing that Euryleon was hurt to have one of his few talents devalued as “slave work,” Leonidas remarked, “Feeding an army is as important as arming it.”

  Lychos smirked, hiding his amusement behind his kylix, but Kallixenos frowned. “What does that have to do with whether a gentleman should demean himself with cooking?”

  “In Sparta, we respect any skill that contributes to the readiness of our troops.”

  “I see. Including cooking.”

  “Exactly. Army and syssitia cooks are hereditary professions, passed from father to son along with many recipes and secrets on how to improvise in the field and adapt dishes for different types of game.”

  “So you respect your armorers and mule-team drivers and the camp followers, too?” It was not a serious question, and Leonidas thought it was beneath his dignity to answer.

  Euryleon, however, felt deeply insulted by the mention of camp followers and burst out, “We don’t have whores with our army! They sap a man’s strength, the opposite of a good meal.”

  Kallixenos laughed. “How would you know? I’ll wager a tetradrachma you’ve never visited a whore!”

  With the incident at Olympia fresh on his mind, Euryleon flushed, and Leonidas spoke more harshly than appropriate in order to draw the attention away from his friend. “And you have never been to war!”

  Kallixenos snapped his head around to sneer at Leonidas, “Don’t pretend you and this boy have!”

  Lychos burst out laughing, and enlightened their host with obvious relish. “Wrong, Kallixenos. They beat the hell out the Argives last year.”

  “Sparta’s army may have, but not these gentle youth—”

  Lychos was nodding smugly, enjoying the fact that Kallixenos was in the wrong. “Our dear friends here have blood all over their gentle hands, so show a little more respect.”

  Kallixenos raised his eyebrows and then bowed his head. “Well, well, a toast to our warriors, then;” and although not everyone was finished eating, he signale
d to a slave for wine. As soon as his kylix was full, he tossed the contents over his shoulder in the vague direction of a house altar as a flippant libation, and the slave at once refilled the kylix, which he then raised with the words, “To our Spartan guests!”

  A slave was filling the kylixes of the others, and Leonidas tried to cover his cup—with a glance at the older men, who had not started drinking wine yet—but as soon as he removed his hand, the slave filled it anyway.

  “It’s black wine from Crete,” Kallixenos told him. “Try it; you’ll like it.”

  “Is it neat?” Leonidas sniffed at it.

  “Oh! You mean it’s true you never drink wine neat in Sparta?” Kallixenos sounded astonished.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because neat wine makes a man dull of tongue and slow of motion.”

  Kallixenos threw back his head and laughed. “We will see about that! Tomorrow evening I’ll take you to a little symposium with some of my friends. I’ll show you just how nimble neat wine makes us!”

  “We’d be delighted to attend,” Leonidas agreed at once. He was very curious about this kind of event.

  “Good, but for now have one little bowl,” Kallixenos cajoled. “Surely you aren’t afraid that a single sip or two of strong wine will unman you? Here in Athens, you will find, we respect a man who can hold his liquor far more than a man who abstains. After all, any slave can be sober simply by being too poor to afford good wine; but a man who, having tasted the finest Dionysus has to offer, can still perform like a true man is admirable indeed!”

  The meal appeared to be over. Demothenes was also signaling the slaves to pour wine. Leonidas sniffed tentatively at the wine in his kylix.