A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  On arrival the young men were ushered into the andron and provided with wreaths of myrtle. Some of the guests were already there, and they welcomed Kallixenos loudly, demanding introductions to his “Spartan friends.” Two men were sharing their couches, one with a youth of fourteen or fifteen, the other with a much younger boy. Leonidas instantly felt sorry for the little boy, who looked frightened and tense despite the reassuring petting of his companion. The latter stroked the boy’s shoulders and thighs and whispered repeatedly in his ear.

  The food again was exquisite: fresh plaice in coriander crust, chicken stuffed with olives and grapes, savory cheese cakes, and honeyed mushrooms. It was served on the finest of Attic pottery, but this time the scenes depicted meticulously and artistically in the bowls and on drinking cups were explicitly pornographic. There were also girls playing the aulos in the background. Unlike the night before, when the conversation had been more serious, tonight it was fast and witty—except for the little boy, who sat silently with his eyes down.

  When they had had their fill of the food, the tables were rolled away, and slaves quickly swept up anything that had fallen on the floor. Water and linens were brought for the guests to wash their hands. Garlands of fresh flowers were passed around to one and all, and the host offered a libation to the Gods. Finally a krater of wine was rolled in, and slaves went from couch to couch, pouring for the guests.

  Leonidas covered his kylix with his hand and insisted firmly, “No, we are drinking water.”

  “Only water?”

  “Only water.”

  “Why?” the others wanted to know, astonished.

  Kallixenos answered for him: “It is to be a contest of who is most nimble at the end of the evening: stone-sober Spartans or drunken Athenians!”

  “Aha!” His friends cheered and clapped and called for more wine so they could “start competing.”

  Meanwhile, someone brought out a lyre and played on it a bit. When finished, he passed it to the young man on his left, who in turn played and passed it on. They were all very good at it. Leonidas declined when his turn came, and the hosts graciously refrained from either pressing him or making derogatory comments. Euryleon, too, declined the lyre, but he struck up the duet of Kastor and Polydeukes when his turn came, and Leonidas with a laugh had to join in. The duet was well received, as both young men sang well, and Euryleon’s tenor blended well with Leonidas’ bass. When they had all finished performing, someone asked about Therapne; but their host shrugged and assured his friends, “Melanthius promised she would come.”

  They started a game of tossing wine at one another from their kylixes, a highly skilled undertaking that usually succeeded only in splashing wine on the floor and splattering the target with stray drops. Their host, however, produced great gusts of laughter when he landed a cup full in the face of the little boy. While the target was left gasping and wiping at the wine that dripped off his face, soaking the front of his expensive and now ruined chiton, the others roared with delighted laughter. Then several men at once started urging the little boy to remove his wet, spoiled clothes “so we can admire you fully.”

  The little boy clutched his stained and dripping chiton in obvious distress, tears brimming in his eyes; but his lover, more responsive to the urgings of his friends than to the misery of his “beloved,” whispered in the boy’s ear as he shoved the chiton off his shoulders.

  Leonidas couldn’t bear watching and looked away. Kallixenos caught his eye and remarked, “See what I mean about being nimble when we drink?”

  “I’d be more impressed if your friend landed a spear with the same accuracy,” Leonidas retorted, trying to keep his anger in check. Anger is as dangerous as drink, he reminded himself.

  “Do you think we can’t?” Kallixenos countered, his eyes glinting with hostility to match Leonidas’ own. “Don’t underestimate us,” he warned.

  An eruption of exclamations distracted them. In the doorway was a female figure completely swathed in a sober, dark gown and shrouded in heavy black shawls. She paused dramatically for a moment, then let these outer garments drop to reveal a sky-blue silk himation with red trim. On her arms were gold bracelets, while her throat was completely encased in the metal, and a gold tiara glittered against her black hair. Even her sandals appeared to be of gold—at least they glittered with gold decorations. As she stepped deeper into the room, she shed her himation, revealing a golden gauze gown so transparent that it revealed more than covered the body underneath. It was the kind of body to inflame any man’s loins: heavy on top, slender in the waist, and gently rounded at the belly and hips over long, graceful legs. She stood in the middle of the room, smiling from one man to the next, and they cheered and clapped and toasted her. “Incomparable Therapne!” “Aphrodite’s rival!” “Helen’s reincarnation!”

  When her painted eyes fell on Leonidas, she stopped and cocked her head. Leonidas felt his pulse race. She walked straight toward him, and his mouth went dry. But then she reached out to stroke his head like a hound, and Leonidas instinctively pulled back sharply. The room hooted in derision. Therapne silenced them with an imperative gesture of her hand as she addressed Leonidas. “You are no puppy, Spartan. What is your name?”

  “Leonidas.”

  “And well it suits you! A lion among the pampered lap dogs.” She tossed the insult casually over her shoulder, and the others groaned or protested, but she ignored them. “May I join you?” She prepared to recline upon his couch.

  Leonidas shook his head. “I don’t think that would be in your master’s interests.”

  “Sorry?” She raised her well-traced eyebrows.

  “As I am a stranger, your owner will have no particular benefit from my friendship.” Leonidas was testing her. He was hoping she had chosen him for himself, but he was very wary of being used. He was also aware that sexual desire could be as enslaving and as humiliating as drunkenness.

  “On the contrary: to a man intent on war, no ally could be of greater value than Sparta.”

  It was not the answer he had hoped for but now that he knew she was only acting on the orders of her master, he found it easier to resist. “I am only a Spartan Peer.”

  “Funny. I was told you were a Spartan prince, the brother of Cleo-menes, whom my master would be most interested in befriending.”

  “Then I am the last man you wish to please, for my brother heeds me not at all.”

  “Why ever should he ignore such a splendid brother?” she teased, smiling at him intimately.

  Leonidas laughed but retorted, “It is a long story. Do your master’s bidding with someone else.”

  Several others at once started clamoring for her to come to them, and Therapne shrugged and turned to smile at them; but Kallixenos said for all to hear, “You are a fool or a coward, Leonidas. You could have enjoyed her first and then told her she was barking up the wrong tree. What true man turns away pleasure like that when it comes crawling to him!”

  “What is the pleasure in being another man’s pawn?”

  “Don’t be so puritanical! What pleasure is more basic or universal than sexual satisfaction?” Kallixenos challenged him.

  “Satisfaction of the loins is animal, while the joys of love cannot be purchased.”

  Kallixenos looked at him, uncomprehending; but Therapne spun around and, clapping her hands slowly, declared: “And the lion has claws! Well said, Leonidas!” She went toward him again, her hips swaying provocatively and her eyes fixed on him. “But tell me, if you scorn the pleasure I offer you, where do you take your pleasure? Have you a mistress to whom you have sworn fidelity? Or is there some boy who has turned your head?” Her lips curled in a sneer and her eyes fell contemptuously on the little boy, who sat naked on his lover’s couch, blushing bright red with natural shame.

  “Mine is the pleasure of the sun breaking over Taygetos after a long, chilly night on watch; the pleasure of diving into the cool waters of the Eurotas after a morning in the dust and sweat of the drill fields; the
taste of my helot’s apple tarts; or the sight of my dog, bursting with pride, when she brings me a stolen duck.”

  Kallixenos broke out laughing. “You are going to give your countrymen a reputation for garrulousness with answers like that.”

  Leonidas looked down, embarrassed and ashamed of himself. He had indeed said too much.

  Therapne reached out and stroked his thigh, smiling at him. “Are you sure?”

  “You can see for yourself you have aroused me, but I still prefer Beggar with her stolen duck,” Leonidas retorted stubbornly, lifting his chin and staring her in the eye. His loins were full to bursting, and he was acutely aware of wasting his youth as a bachelor, but his obstinate streak had taken over. He was full of sexual energy and resented the fact that he had no place to expend it in his current lifestyle, but he hated even more the feeling of being manipulated. These Athenians wanted to see him turned into a mere animal, panting and gasping in his desperation to satisfy the hunger of his loins.

  The Athenians protested that he had no right to insult such a magnificent example of womanhood, while the hetaera stared down at Leonidas with narrowed eyes, now full of hatred because she felt insulted. “I came here to make a friend, but you have made an enemy. Are you so certain that was in your city’s interests?”

  “I am certain that my city cannot be bought any more than I can. If Sparta fights the Persians, it will be in her own interests and not those of Athens or your master.”

  “We shall see!” she told him, and went at once to the host’s open arms. She lay on his couch and rolled him onto his back to kiss him in front of all of them. This seemed to be a signal for the flute girls to sidle up to the other couches with their painted smiles and practiced gestures, while the little boy was now all but smothered by his lover.

  Leonidas could take no more. He swung his feet down and slipped on his sandals.

  Euryleon looked over at him in protest. “Do we have to go already?”

  “Stay if you like. I am leaving.”

  To his surprise, Lychos also slipped from his couch and, with a gasp of pain, bent to tie his sandals. Leonidas waited for him, then took his arm to help him out into the courtyard.

  They stood side by side in the cool night air. A breeze had sprung up from somewhere and rustled the few leaves of a scrawny tree, struggling for life in the cobbled yard. “Thank you,” Lychos whispered.

  Leonidas looked over at him, unsure what he meant.

  “I hate it, too. And Kallixenos knows it. But I—I have never had the courage to say ‘no.’” He fell silent and then admitted, “My father makes me go. He wants me to ‘enjoy myself with men of my own age and class.’ There is so much I can’t do anymore, so he feels it is all the more important that I do what I can—like drink and whore. But you are right! There is more pleasure in a sunset over the Aegean or running before a brisk breeze on a rolling swell or in a starry night! Why, even the sounds of the springs and lines creaking as a ship rises and falls at her berth in port on a cool, dark night like this is more magnificent than a dozen Therapnes! Oh, that we could go down to the Heron and just lie on her deck under the stars!”

  Leonidas thought about it a moment. He certainly had no desire to return to the cramped, stuffy room under the eaves where he had sweated through the previous night. The thought of a night in the open on the warm deck of a ship was much more appealing. “Why don’t we?”

  “We’d have to rouse my litter slaves, and they can be so subtly resentful and will tell my father.”

  “I can carry you. Climb on my back.” Leonidas went down on his heels and offered his back to Lychos.

  Lychos hesitated only a moment; then he wrapped his arms around Leonidas’ neck and his feet around his waist. Leonidas stood. “You have to tell me the way.”

  “I could find my way to the sea if my eyes were blind and ears deaf. Here! To the right!”

  They caused a small commotion when they reached the ship, and at first the helmsman was angry. He insisted on sending a crewman to tell Archilochos where his son was; but eventually the crew calmed down and went back to sleep, while Leonidas and Lychos settled on the deck between the steering oars. Leonidas accepted wine in his water, and they talked while the stars turned slowly overhead.

  “You see what a favor you did me that day by Acrocorinth?” Lychos pressed Leonidas.

  The latter shook his head.

  “I was on my way to becoming just like Kallixenos. Indeed, I admired him and tried to imitate him. I looked up to him so much that I allowed him to be my lover, when I was younger—a sporadic affair that lasted almost until I was sixteen. I was still under his spell when the boar got me.” Leonidas stirred uneasily, and Lychos looked over at him. “Did you never have a lover? A man you let use your body any way he pleased because you thought he was the most wonderful thing in the world?”

  Leonidas sensed it was almost rude to tell the truth, but he was poor at lying. “No. Sparta is different.”

  “So everyone says,” Lychos agreed, staring at the stars. “One day maybe I will be able to visit there.”

  “You are welcome any time. You can stay at my kleros, and although our cooking is not so sophisticated as here, my housekeeper is an excellent cook.”

  “I love simple food. When sailing, we usually catch fish during the day and grill it at night over an open fire. It is better that way than in any sauce or fancy crust.” They both reflected on this for a moment, and then Lychos continued, “You aren’t married yet, are you?”

  That was a sore subject, particularly since Brotus had married for a second time before heading for Olympia. Leonidas shrugged and answered, “No more than you.”

  “My father has arranged it,” Lychos admitted, not looking at Leonidas. “Most Corinthians don’t marry until they are in their thirties, but he is afraid I won’t live that long and is desperate for an heir. The wedding was to take place after the Games, but we postponed it when you accepted our invitation.”

  Leonidas at once felt guilty. “I’m sorry to have disrupted your plans. Why didn’t you say something? We could—”

  “I don’t mind the postponement,” Lychos assured him. “I wouldn’t mind waiting for years. I’d rather not marry at all.”

  Leonidas didn’t understand. “Why?”

  Lychos shrugged, clutched his knees, and looked at the stars.

  “Don’t you like your bride?” Leonidas ventured.

  Lychos shrugged again. “I’ve only met her once. At the betrothal. She seems nice … It must have been terrible for her when she learned her father was giving her to a cripple.”

  Leonidas thought about that a moment, impressed that Lychos could see things from the girl’s perspective, but he still couldn’t understand Lychos’ reluctance to marry. “But?”

  “It seems like a lot of responsibility,” Lychos admitted. “I’ll be responsible not just for her well-being but for her reputation and her happiness.”

  “I don’t think Kallixenos sees marriage that way,” Leonidas remarked dryly, his disapproval obvious.

  “No,” Lychos agreed. “But I don’t want to be like him. Why aren’t you married?” Lychos asked.

  “I’m still on active service and have to live in barracks,” Leonidas answered, hoping Lychos had not heard that many Spartiates married anyway.

  “That sounds horrible,” Lychos admitted candidly.

  Leonidas thought about it. “You’ll laugh, but in a way it makes me enjoy the rest of life more.”

  Lychos laughed, but remarked, “Now, perhaps, you understand about my pain! It is horrible, but it reminds me that I am alive. And without it, if I were dead, I would not be sitting on this warm deck with a cooling breeze and my first real friend beside me.”

  “I’m honored. But what of Chambias?”

  “Chambias?” Lychos looked up at the stars. “Chambias has always been my friend because our fathers want it; but, you see, tonight he would have been like the Athenians—”

  “And E
uryleon!” Leonidas snorted.

  “Yes, and Euryleon. He would have justified staying and drinking until he couldn’t walk in a straight line and had to vomit in the street while slaves guided him home. That’s what they’re all doing now, you know? They will drink until they can’t see straight or stand upright, and then they will stagger home, feeling miserable but telling themselves they are ‘real men.’ What does being pissing drunk have to do with manhood? I don’t understand it.”

  Leonidas didn’t understand it either, so they were comfortably silent together until Lychos remarked, “When Kallixenos was my lover, he often hurt me. He knew he was doing it, yet he did it intentionally—just to see how far he could go, to test just how great my love for him was.”

  “Then Kallixenos is more than an ass, he is a bastard.”

  “He will be a very powerful bastard,” Lychos reflected. “He is the kind of man who would be a tyrant if he could be.”

  “You know that the sexual misuse of a child, male or female, is against our laws, don’t you?” Leonidas asked.

  “And do all Spartans live by your laws?”

  “Of course not. There are as many cruel and selfish men in Sparta as anywhere; but at least they have to do it in secret and fear the scorn of their neighbors and officers if they are discovered. If a child’s parents find out, for example, they can demand terrible punishment.”

  Lychos thought about that and nodded. “You know, it sometimes seems as if you Spartans live your whole lives in fear of your neighbors and officers. You have so little chance to be yourselves, for better or for worse. You must all wear the same clothes. You even have to wear your hair and beards the same way! And you must behave in set ways and follow the same profession.”

  Leonidas thought about this carefully, because there had been times when he had resented all these things; but he asked back, “Is it really all that different in Corinth and Athens? Don’t potters’ sons become potters and tickers’ sons tinkers? And it seems to me the dictates of fashion are as stringent as our traditions.