A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  From this exchange, Laodice concluded that Gorgo had been riding without her father’s permission and that probably a helot groom would be punished for giving in to the young mistress. Laodice disapproved of such behavior; but children were children all over the world, and she only hoped that this incident had taught Gorgo a lesson. At least she sounded distressed that someone else would get in trouble for her foolishness.

  “Lie down, Gorgo,” she urged firmly. “It is too late to change what you have done. Lie still while I see to your friend.” Laodice took a linen towel from Melissa and dipped it into the cool jug of water. She set about cleaning off Phaenna’s scrapes and sent Melissa for some pitch to spread over them. Then she wiped Gorgo’s head wound clean and dried her tears, too; for Gorgo was lying flat on her back, crying silently.

  Polychares put his head into the room. “Is she going to live?”

  “Yes, yes. Just a few broken bones. Your father has gone for the surgeon.”

  “I’ve got both horses tethered out back, but one will have to be put down. The sooner the better. Who does she belong to?” The question was directed at his mother, but she could only turn to the two little girls. It was Phaenna who answered in a timid, frightened voice, “King Cleomenes.”

  Laodice caught her breath and looked over at Gorgo in alarm.

  “He’s at Delphi, and Mom doesn’t understand anything about horses,” Gorgo told the helots. “You’d better send for my grandmother, Chilonis.”

  The queen mother arrived in her chariot before the surgeon, because she lived closer. Polychares took her around at once to see the wounded horse. She gave permission for it to be put down, and promised she would inform the king that everything had been done properly. She then urged Polychares to get his oxen out of the orchard, where they had wandered after being left standing so long, and return to his work.

  Only then did she go in search of her granddaughter. Laodice backed away a little nervously when the queen mother stood over the bed. “Well, you’ve ruined a perfectly good horse with your foolishness, child. A beautiful, fine creature with so much life in her is right now having her throat cut because you had less sense than she had. If you were a boy, I’d see you got sent to the pits for a good flogging!”

  “I know,” Gorgo sniffled miserably, rubbing away her tears with the back of her still-good hand as she squirmed on the bed in guilt.

  “Your mother is likely to respond very badly, you know. She might take Shadow away—or kill poor Jason here!” Chilonis glanced at the dog sitting patiently beside his mistress. Jason lifted his ears and cocked his head at the mention of his name.

  “Please, Grandma! Don’t let her do that! Please! You can flog me if you like! Really, I’ll go down to the pits just like the boys. I deserve it, I know—but don’t let Mom take Shadow or Jason away! Please!”

  “I’m afraid that is for your mother to decide.”

  “Then keep them safe at your kleros. Hide them from her! If she kills either of them, I’ll kill myself!” Jason looked back and forth between his mistress and her grandmother, aware he was being talked about but not understanding what was being said. To be on the safe side, he thumped the floor with his tail.

  Chilonis looked at the dog and knew she couldn’t bear to have her daughter-in-law kill him, or the sweet little mare Shadow, either. “I will keep Jason for a few days, but you should know that Shadow pulled a tendon, by the look of things. I think she will recover, but she’ll probably never be the same again.”

  “Oh, no!” Gorgo called out, and then with a gasp turned her head away and started crying miserably.

  Chilonis couldn’t bear the sight; she caved in. She reached out and patted Gorgo’s shoulder, and then stroked her head. “Hush, child. I’m sure your uncle will let her stay here in the care of Pelopidas. You know he worked at your uncle’s horse farm in Messenia, don’t you? He’s an excellent groom.”

  The surgeon arrived at last, and Chilonis took Phaenna out and drove her home to her own parents. By now Phaenna was very nervous about what would happen to her, and she explained to Chilonis that it was Gorgo’s fault. Gorgo wanted to ride Goldie and jump the wall. Chilonis let her talk, and then assured her that she would not be held responsible at the palace. “What your own parents do with you is their affair.” She then went to the Agiad palace to break the news to Gyrtias.

  As was to be expected, her daughter-in-law reacted badly: first hysterical with worry, then angry about Gorgo’s foolishness. She at once threatened to take her daughter’s horse away from her, but Chilonis told her not to be silly. “A girl needs to be able to ride. It is better Gorgo keeps the mild-tempered Shadow than be tempted to take one of her father’s horses again.” Gyrtias next swore to punish the head groom, but Chilonis dissuaded her from this, too. “You will only incur my son’s displeasure if you do that. He trusts the old man. Besides, the loss of such a fine mare will be punishment enough for him. Indeed, I doubt he will feel kindly toward Gorgo ever again. You know how he dotes on his four-legged charges.”

  This settled, she swung by Leonidas’ kleros on the way home to see what the surgeon had to say. Gorgo was bandaged and patiently awaiting her punishment. Having told Gyrtias that Gorgo probably shouldn’t be moved, Chilonis felt no guilt about loading her on her chariot and taking her home to her own kleros for the night.

  It was dark now and they had to drive slowly, Jason trotting alongside them. The horses nickered as they smelled their own barn, and the household helots spilled out into the yard as Chilonis pulled up. “We were worrying, mistress!” they confessed.

  It was quite chilly, and Gorgo was shivering in her grandmother’s himation, the shock catching up with her now. Chilonis ushered her into the main hearth room and settled her on a bench beside the fire, while someone went to fetch her wine and a snack. Chilonis had her own meal brought to her here and sat beside Gorgo, with Jason at their feet. Gorgo impulsively laid her head on her grandmother’s shoulder, unable to embrace her because of her broken collarbone, held rigidly in place by the bandages. “I’m so sorry, Grandma. I’ll never forgive myself for killing Goldie. But, you know, the worst is, I’m afraid now—of jumping, I mean. I’ll never be able to jump a stone wall after this.”

  Chilonis laid her arm gently over her granddaughter’s shoulders and told her gently, “It is not a good thing to be afraid, Gorgo; but sometimes it is better to know your own limits than to take unnecessary risks just for the sake of proving one’s courage.”

  The sound of Nikostratos returning from his syssitia brought Chilonis to her feet. She rose, flinging the end of her himation over her shoulder, as she went toward the hallway to greet him. Gorgo could hear their low voices as her grandmother told her husband all that had happened to her this day.

  “But the girl’s all right?” Nikostratos asked anxiously.

  “Yes, yes. I think she’s learned an important lesson.”

  They came into the hearth room arm in arm, and Gorgo got to her feet dutifully. Nikostratos came over to look down sternly at her, but then he smiled, and called for wine for all of them. “There must be something about that stone wall,” he remarked with a laugh. “Leonidas damn near killed himself trying to jump it a few years back, too. Speaking of which, the Guard list was posted today and Leonidas wasn’t on it.”

  “Were you expecting him to be?” Chilonis asked, surprised.

  Nikostratos weighed his head from side to side. “Leonidas is an exceptional young man. He’s not just brighter than most of his generation, he combines intelligence with justice and common sense.”

  “And since when were those criteria for the Guard?” Chilonis wanted to know. “I thought it was all about who was strongest, fastest, and best at drill?”

  “Rare as it is, my dear, you are wrong. Theoretically at least, guardsmen are supposed to be able to think and act independently. They should be officer material. Which is why it disturbs me that Brotus was on the list.”

  “Brotus?” Chilonis exclaime
d, incredulous. “But what has he ever done to deserve such an honor?”

  “Nothing, unless you count winning the laurels in the boxing at Delphi during the last Pythian Games,” Nikostratos pointed out. “The problem is that the selection is up to the three hippagretai; and a certain Orthryades, the same man who resigned from the army when he was passed over for lochagos, was appointed by the ephors to replace Akrotatos. Orthryades is very thick with Leotychidas, and they both seem to think that Brotus is a useful ally.”

  “I’m not following you,” Chilonis admitted.

  “Leotychidas and Brotus are heirs apparent to the two reigning kings, respectively. Brotus has never fully accepted that Cleomenes should be king, you know, and Leotychidas will seek to exploit his discontent to use against Demaratus.”

  “But Demaratus and Cleomenes hate each other.”

  “True, but don’t underestimate Leotychidas’ deviousness. What he lacks in raw intelligence, he makes up for in instinctive cleverness.”

  “What can he possibly gain by backing a dim-witted brute like Brotus?” Chilonis wanted to know.

  Nikostratos lifted his shoulders in helpless acknowledgment of his own uncertainty. “I don’t think there is any specific plan as yet, just a general sense that men opposed to the status quo need to band together and support one another. By the selection of Brotus for the Guard, his standing—and so his potential value to Leotychidas—has been increased. At least that’s the best sense I can make of it.

  “Changing the subject, we learned today in Council that Athens sent an embassy to the Persian Artaphernes, demanding that he send Hippias back to Athens in chains.”

  “Not very likely, I wouldn’t think,” Chilonis retorted rather flippantly.

  “No chance at all,” her husband replied, “but it is the kind of request that will provoke the Persian ire. They don’t like ‘insignificant little towns’ making demands of them. And almost more importantly: if the Athenian Assembly has been moved to make this demand, how do you think it will respond to a negative answer? I suspect they will get all worked up about it. A mob is generally more arrogant than even the vainest king.”

  “Does bad blood between Athens and Persia really affect us in any way?” Chilonis wanted to know.

  “Maybe not,” Nikostratos admitted with a shrug, but his expression belied his words.

  “Any other news?” Chilonis pressed him. She loved this hour of the night, when Nikostratos told her all the gossip of the city.

  “Oh, this will interest you: That Thespian slave Leonidas bought Leonidas bought in Athens really is a clever mathematician. Epidydes was skeptical at first, but he says that in three hours of interrogation this Thespian put all the agoge instructors to shame. Imagine letting such a learned man slide into slavery for the sake of a tax!” Nikostratos shook his head in bafflement and disapproval.

  “Don’t sound so smug. You know there are many good men here in Sparta who may lose their citizenship only for want of enough money to pay their syssitia fees.”

  “They may lose their citizenship, but they are not sold as slaves! This man was sold like some barbarian on the open market! He was lucky to be bought by a rich man as a paidagogos, but even then he had little chance to actually teach. He says the young man of the house showed him no respect, laughing at and playing tricks on him! You will want to talk to him yourself. Epidydes has agreed to give him a room at the agoge and let him teach the boys who are interested and sharp enough—not as part of the regular curriculum, but for those who show particular talent with numbers.”

  “Do you think we have many of those?” Chilonis asked skeptically.

  “A score or so, no doubt. I certainly intend to see if he can teach me anything useful.”

  “Then I will tag along,” Chilonis agreed, pleased at the thought of doing something together with her husband. They had found each other so late in life that it was important to share as much as possible, and what could be more satisfying than learning something new together?

  “There is also a rumor going around that Asteropus—the Agiad permanent representative to Delphi—has taken a concubine. They are saying that he paid some poor farmer a handsome sum for his fourteen-year-old daughter, and she has now moved into his house to keep his hearth and warm his bed just as if she were his wife.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “He couldn’t get away with it in Sparta, but who is to censure him in Delphi? Other Greeks do this kind of thing all the time—sometimes keeping a concubine under the same roof as their legal wife.”

  Chilonis looked at him in skeptical disapproval.

  “Your son is hardly the type to be too harsh on a man for keeping a mistress,” Nikostratos pointed out.

  Chilonis glanced a little nervously at Gorgo. With relief she saw that her granddaughter had drifted off to sleep, with her good arm over her panting dog. Chilonis smiled. “We’d best put her to bed, poor child.”

  Nikostratos went over and lifted Gorgo into his arms. He carried her to the bed at the back of the hearth room. Chilonis brought an extra blanket and tucked it around her, while Nikostratos brought a bowl of water and some old bread for Jason. The dog settled down for the night, while the older couple returned to the fire and sat holding hands as they talked late into the night of a dozen other things.

  Chapter 13

  Marriage

  Usually, the perioikoi steward of his estates sought out Leonidas at his barracks. Leonidas’ days were filled with his duties as a citizen, and he devoted what free time he had to the activities he enjoyed: relaxing at the baths with his friends, practicing for the next festival with his chorus, bird hunting with Beggar, or riding out with his friends. Managing his estates was not on Leonidas’ agenda. He had not learned about it while growing up a virtual orphan, nor was it necessary to learn after he came of age, since he had an excellent steward in the person of Phormio.

  Phormio had been recommended to Leonidas by the steward of the royal Agiad estates. Even then, six years ago, Phormio had been an experienced administrator, no longer in his youth, but his previous position as one of the hired officials responsible for procurement for the Spartan army had not given him sufficient scope to unfold his talents. Leonidas, in contrast, had given him a free hand to manage his dispersed and diverse properties as he saw best. Leonidas’ only requirement had been that his mess fees be paid punctually, and he could afford whatever was needed to fix up his kleros.

  Phormio had soon proved his worth. Leonidas never lacked for money personally, and on his occasional visits to his scattered estates, he had noticed that all his properties were looking more prosperous, better maintained, and somehow happier. That was all Leonidas cared about; he was not very interested in the details of the accounts. But on this sunny late-spring day, Leonidas needed to talk to Phormio.

  Phormio, like most wealthy perioikoi, preferred not to live in Sparta. Spartiates had their own, unique lifestyle, which the perioikoi did not share. Perioikoi served only two years in the army, providing Sparta with reliable contingents of auxiliary troops; but at the age of twenty-one, just when the Spartiates were starting on a forty-year career in the military, perioikoi took up whatever profession they wished to pursue. Nor did perioikoi have to belong to syssitia or refrain from the pleasures of neat wine, loose women, and conspicuous consumption. Perioikoi towns reflected these differences, with a large number of taverns and brightly painted houses and inhabitants.

  Thus Leonidas had to ride to Bryseiai, west of Amyclae, to find Phormio. Bryseiai crouched at the foot of Taygetos, surrounded by flowering orchards at this time of year. Phormio’s house was one of the largest in the little town, a sprawling, two-story structure with imported red tile roofs, complete with decorative corners that reared upward just as on the temples in Athens. Covered balconies ringed the upper story, and covered outdoor stairways led up to these directly from the street. The façade itself was freshly plastered and painted a bright white down to three feet above the pavement,
then red-brown so that dirt splattered by passing vehicles would be less visible, while the window frames, doors, and shutters were painted a bright red.

  Leonidas’ arrival caused a minor stir; a slave boy took his horse while another rushed up the stairs to inform the master. Leonidas himself was ushered down a short but narrow hallway into an atrium paved with splendid mosaics in every color of the rainbow. The sun poured in, glinting on the water bubbling up from a central fountain set in a square pool. Around the pool were blooming potted plants, while the walls of the walkway around the atrium were painted with vivid scenes from the Odyssey. Because this house was newly built and decorated, to Leonidas it seemed more splendid than the royal palace in which he had grown up. It was certainly more pompously decorated than his own kleros.

  Phormio emerged on a balcony overlooking the atrium and called down jovially to Leonidas. (Leonidas had never known the man to be anything but good-humored.) “What a surprise! Come up to my office!” Phormio gestured toward a stairway at the corner of the atrium.

  Leonidas bounded up the stairs to be met at the top by his steward. Phormio was very fat by Spartan standards. His face was round under longish, curly hair, his shoulders were soft, his stomach extended, and he waddled more than walked; but his smile was heartwarming. “If you’d warned me,” he admonished, smiling, “I could have fixed things up for you; but since you choose to take me by surprise, you will see me as I really am.” From his tone, he was not the least flustered or ashamed. “Come this way.” He led Leonidas into a spacious room faced with a long balcony looking toward the mountains, now in shade. There were cubbyholes for documents on one of the interior walls, and two scribes behind a long desk got to their feet at the sight of Leonidas, obviously more flustered than their master.

  Phormio dismissed the scribes with a wave of his hand and indicated a leather sofa to Leonidas. “Wine? Water? Fruit?” he asked his guest.