“Water and something light would be nice,” Leonidas confessed.
Phormio went back onto the balcony and called down, “Water and a light snack!”
Then he returned and seated himself expectantly opposite his employer. “I assume you had some urgent reason for honoring me with this visit,” the steward concluded, still smiling. “How can I be of service?”
“When I was little, I had a nurse. A wet nurse, actually, because my mother was nearly fifty when I was born, and everyone assumed that caring for twins would be too much for her.”
Phormio just nodded. He knew all this.
“The girl was dismissed as soon as I went to the agoge, and I’ve never seen her since. Yesterday, however, one of the laundresses from the palace stopped me on the street to tell me she is in desperate straits. There must be some way I can help her. She was always good to me.”
“What did this laundress tell you exactly?”
“She said Dido had married and had two sons, but her husband died young and the boys didn’t turn out well. One, she said, had gone to sea and had never come back. The other is even worse because he doesn’t work, just lives off his mother, taking from her every obol she scratches together from the honey she sells. The laundress said she was ill, but didn’t know the details.”
“It sounds as if providing a pension would only enrich this ne’er-do-well son,” Phormio observed dryly.
“Couldn’t we bring her to my kleros or settle her on another estate? She was very good to me,” Leonidas repeated, feeling guilty for not looking after Dido earlier. It was six years since he had obtained citizenship, and he had not once inquired after her.
“We will need permission of not only her estate owner but her family as well—which in this case would be that same ne’er-do-well son.”
“That’s crazy,” Leonidas protested.
Phormio raised his eyebrows and his lips twitched, amused. “What do you mean, crazy?”
“Dido must be old enough to be a grandmother by now. Why shouldn’t she have control of her own fate?”
“Because she’s a woman.”
“What difference does that make?”
Phormio tilted his head to one side and considered his employer with amusement. “You do realize, I hope, that you Spartans are the only people in the whole world who think women are intelligent enough to make rational decisions?”
“But it’s perfectly obvious they do,” Leonidas countered, annoyed. “Besides, we’re talking about a mature woman and a worthless youth. How can it be reasonable to let the bad fruit ruin the tree?”
Phormio laughed outright now, and promised, “I’ll see what I can do. What is her name?”
“Dido.”
“Dido. That’s all? Do you know who her father was?”
Leonidas shook his head, feeling foolish.
“The village she was from?”
Leonidas shook his head again, adding, “But the laundress who told me about her will know where to find her.”
Phormio nodded. “Of course. Don’t worry. I will find her.”
Leonidas thanked him and at once got to his feet, anxious to continue downriver for an afternoon of bird hunting.
Phormio stopped him. “Wait! Before you go! Damn it! Where did I put …” Phormio pulled himself up and started looking about the room, picking up wax tablets, moving cushions, and opening chests until at last, in a corner, he found what he was looking for. With a satisfied “Aha!” he returned to Leonidas and, beaming, handed over a bundle wrapped in burlap and tied together with twine. “Here! Take a look at this!” he urged.
Leonidas took his eating knife and cut the twine easily. Unfolding the burlap, he found a dark-blue linen cloth with a border of white “Λ”s: the lambda of Lacedaemon—or Leonidas. It was reasonably nice, but not something he would have chosen for himself. Leonidas cast Phormio a puzzled look.
Phormio laughed. “No ideas? Don’t you remember the whore—”
“Kleta!” Leonidas made the connection at last.
“Exactly. I stopped by to see how she was getting on. She is really getting quite good at the weaving—as you can see. She’s not so good with the books, of course, being illiterate, but the manager of your flax factory is taking care of things for her.”
“And cheating her, no doubt,” Leonidas shot back.
Phormio raised his eyebrows. Their eyes met. “She’s not capable of looking after herself.”
“She might be, if he wasn’t taking such a large cut, don’t you think?”
Phormio considered Leonidas intently, slowly reseating himself opposite his young employer without for a second breaking eye contact. He had liked Leonidas from the start, and he had been delighted to be given such a free hand managing things. His own ethics prevented him from cheating Leonidas, especially since he had no need to. The estate was vast and varied, offering ample opportunities to increase his own percentage-based income without ever taking more than his contractual share. But not until today had he seen any indication that Leonidas was even aware of the potential for being cheated. “Do you distrust all of us so much?”
“No. Should I?”
Phormio laughed and then, still smiling, he cocked his head, his eyes both alert and amused, and said, “The only way to stop from being cheated, good sir, is to take a more active interest in your estate.”
Leonidas took a deep breath, and held it. Outside it was a beautiful spring day. Beggar would be making a nuisance of herself by trying to get at the household hens. His colt would be fidgeting and pretending to spook at every sudden sound. It was four hours to dinner. He wanted to spend the afternoon chasing down the wild geese that invaded the Eurotas this time of year, laying their eggs in the high reeds. He let his breath out slowly. “All right. Tell me.”
Phormio smiled. “Let’s start with Pantes.”
“Pantes? Pelopidas’ younger son?”
“Exactly. He’s a very good carpenter.”
“I know.”
“Well. Let him do it full time. Hire someone less talented to do the heavy agricultural labor. Loan Pantes what he needs to set up his own shop in Sparta and travel to the major markets throughout the Peloponnese.”
“That sounds expensive,” Leonidas protested.
Phormio ignored him. “If you let him do what he wants to do, you’ll find he works much harder, produces much better products, and repays your investment a hundredfold.”
Leonidas nodded slowly. Phormio continued. “Then there’s your bronze foundry. It needs a new, larger, better-lit and better-ventilated building.”
“But I thought you said it was unprofitable?”
“It is. That’s why I went to visit it this spring. The reason it is unprofitable is that the conditions under which people currently work are too cramped. There are frequent accidents and morale is terrible. A new building would enable the work to be done without so many accidents; but most important, morale and productivity—and so, ultimately, profitability—would increase.”
Leonidas was a soldier. He understood the importance of morale. But he still hesitated, because this sounded extravagant.
Phormio pressed his case. “As it is, the factory helots are always running away, joining outlaw bands, becoming thieves and troublemakers. If, on the other hand, they had good working conditions and were paid higher wages, they would settle down, get married, raise families, and stop being troublesome.”
“You’re saying the best way to prevent helots from becoming restless and rebellious is to pay them off?”
“No,” Phormio countered. He was now very, very serious. He knew he had Leonidas’ attention, and had just discovered that Leonidas was sharper than he had given him credit for. “What I am saying is, the best way to prevent them from becoming rebellious is to give them respect and dignity.”
“Which is expressed by higher wages,” Leonidas insisted.
“Which is expressed by treating them like the skilled workers they are, rather than disp
osable, contemptible beasts.”
“But what will that cost?” Leonidas insisted.
Phormio considered him. After a moment he admitted, “You won’t even notice.” He let this sink in, and then continued. “According to legend, you know, that is the very foundry in which the bronzeworks for the Temple of the Bronzehouse Athena were produced. It is a proud tradition. Worthy of an Agiad prince.”
“Your point?”
“You don’t have to confine yourself to smelting bronze for military equipment; you could hire craftsmen capable of manufacturing works of art, such as we used to export around the world.”
“Hire from where?”
“That will depend in part on what you pay.”
“And what else?”
“Apollo,” Phormio replied with a quick smile. “Talent sometimes lies undiscovered in the gutter. With the good will of Apollo, we will find such a person right here in Lacedaemon. But nothing attracts talent so much as talent. You need to build up a reputation, and to do that you have to want to do it—and to commit resources.”
“Will there be anything left for me?”
Phormio considered Leonidas very seriously, and then concluded, “That depends, young man, on what you want.” He paused. “Do you want to be rich like your twin, who lets whole harvests rot in his warehouses while his helots kill their newborn children for fear they cannot bring them through the winter, or do you want to count your wealth not by what you hoard but by the fame of Lacedaemon itself?”
“It’s a pity you can’t speak at Assembly,” Leonidas countered, with a smile that was not as flippant as he wanted it to seem. “Maybe you could influence my other brother.”
“King Cleomenes, you mean? He is a shrewd administrator. Like you, he is more concerned with results than means, and he encourages trade. He is willing to provide loans to enable investment, and his appreciation for quality production has resulted in a number of new initiatives. Think of the pottery painters he invited from Corinth: they have set up their own factory in Tsasi.” Phormio paused. Leonidas nodded but said no more. So Phormio was forced to ask point-blank, “May I do it?”
“Yes. Anything else?”
“I think that’s enough for today—if you want to have time for bird hunting.”
Leonidas was a little ashamed to think he was so transparent, but also relieved that the afternoon was indeed still young. He thanked Phormio, who escorted him to the top of the stairs. Leonidas started down, and from overhead, Phormio called after him. “It’s time you married, master. Only a man with children really plans for the future.”
Leonidas was on his way to his syssitia with Alkander when Kyranios, his white-crested helmet in the crook of his arm, flagged him down. Leonidas pulled up and waited respectfully but warily for the senior officer.
“I’d like a word with you alone, if I may.” Kyranios glanced at Alkander, who at once took the hint and departed with the words, “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Then, when Alkander was out of hearing, the senior officer addressed Leonidas earnestly. “I am here on a personal matter.” Leonidas tensed. “Once, six or more years ago, you indicated an interest in my daughter Eirana.” Kyranios paused and looked at Leonidas inquiringly.
Leonidas was compelled to concede, “Yes.”
“You have not married since.”
“No. But she did.”
“To a man unworthy of her!” her father told him sharply. “I opposed the match and so did her mother, but Eirana insisted. Now he has humiliated her! He has taken a concubine into his house in Delphi and lives openly with her.”
Leonidas had heard the rumors. He said nothing.
“She spent the winter in Delphi. Trying to set things right. But Asteropus refuses to send the other girl away. He says she has done him no wrong and does not deserve disgrace!” The father’s voice vibrated with indignation. “Eirana had no choice but to return to us. And now this other woman—the daughter of some man too poor to provide a dowry!—has given Asteropus a son. I’m told he dotes on the boy—neglecting his legitimate child! He has broken my daughter’s heart! There is no chance of reconciliation. So I have asked the magistrates to recognize a divorce.” He paused and looked sidelong at Leonidas, as if expecting a response.
“I am sorry for her,” Leonidas commented stiffly.
“Yes.” The lochagos waited, but when no more came, he continued, “You are still a bachelor. Would you consider taking my daughter to wife? You know her bloodlines are among the best in Sparta, bar the royal families. I am prepared to provide a large dowry.”
“I do not need property, sir, and I would never take a bride for her dowry. There is no question that your daughter is in every way suitable to be my bride, but what does she want?” Leonidas paused and looked hard at Kyranios. The older man’s face was clouded, unreadable. So Leonidas continued, “She preferred another man six years ago. I will not take her now unless that is her wish—not yours.”
“Fair enough. Talk to her yourself.”
Leonidas could not put either his thoughts or his feelings in order. He tossed and turned so much during the night that some of his comrades cursed him, and Sperchias sat up and told him bluntly to go outside and leave them in peace. So Leonidas rose and with only Beggar for company, walked the deserted streets of Sparta for over an hour.
Twice the meleirenes on patrol called out to him and then, recognizing him, rapidly faded away. They were supposed to watch for helots or strangers who had no business prowling the streets after curfew—and for boys of the agoge and men on active service, who were supposed to be in barracks. But the reality of power relationships meant that no meleirene was going to risk reporting a man of Leonidas’ stature. It wasn’t being a prince or even a section leader that protected him. If he had developed a reputation for bad living, arrogance, or bullying, they might even have enjoyed reporting him and seeing him humiliated. But Leonidas had a good reputation, and that meant he was safe from harassment.
Leonidas wandered listlessly to the Spartan acropolis and to the Temple of Athena. According to legend the temple had been started by Tyndareus, and his sons had continued to build it but had died before it could be completed. So the Spartans had finished it. Unlike the Temple to Athena in Athens, all the artwork was done in bronze, rather than stone. But this was an advantage, because Spartan stoneworkers of the previous century had been unable to produce work comparable to what the Athenians did now; while Lacedaemon’s bronzeworkers, in contrast, were a match for the Athenian stonecutters. More than a hundred years ago, Spartan artisans had produced works in bronze equal in liveliness and character to what the Athenians did in stone today.
Leonidas found himself studying the bronze friezes closely, the words of Phormio in his head. He was intrigued by the thought that Lacedaemonian craftsmen might be capable of producing works like this again: the miracles of Herakles, and a particularly moving depiction of Hephaistos freeing his mother from her fetters. Why shouldn’t Lacedaemon be renowned for her men of bronze in more than one way—as the products of her factories as well as her agoge?
Leonidas went around to the back of the temple, where the lives of Kastor and Polydeukes were depicted. He sank down on the steps and gazed up at the night sky, littered with bright stars. Beggar, as always, was content just to be with him, even if she did not understand this strange night outing. She sat herself down between his knees and he scratched her absently behind the ears, as he tried to decide what he wanted.
He was hungry for marriage and children, but he disliked being anyone’s second choice. He was not even sure if he was in love with Eirana anymore. Yet all the pretty maidens that Alkander and Hilaira pointed out to him were more off-putting than attractive. They ran around in loud, self-confident hordes, always so full of themselves, and they all seemed alike. Of course, he knew objectively that this wasn’t true, but to stop and watch them and try to find one he liked would arouse too much attention. He couldn’t ask a young woman the time of day w
ithout the whole city speculating on his intentions!
After a while, however, he was stiff and tired and none the wiser, so he went back to the barracks and slept until the watch woke them. After morning drill, he bathed and changed into a clean chiton made by Laodice from the cloth Kleta had sent him. Wearing only a belt and baldric, but no armor, he walked to Kyranios’ kleros.
He had the feeling everyone was expecting him, because no one was there but Eirana herself. She met him at the door and asked him in—“… or would you rather walk together?”
Leonidas preferred the outdoors.
It being a warm, early summer day, Eirana took no outer garment. She simply pulled a scarf up over her head and closed the door behind her. She set out toward the pastures, and Leonidas fell in beside her. She had aged in the last six years. Her eyes were sunk deeper in her face and she had put on weight. She was no longer the fresh young maiden he had fallen head over heels in love with when he was still an eirene.
“I wasn’t sure you would come,” Eirana admitted when Leonidas remained silent.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”
She stopped and looked up at him, tears quivering in her eyes. “You are right. I treated you poorly, and I have no right to ask for your kindness now. I would not have done it! It was my father—”
“Then I will not torment you any longer.” Leonidas turned to leave.
“No! Please! That’s not what I meant!” The anguish in her voice was real, and he stopped and looked back at her. The tears were escaping from her eyes and running down her face. “I meant I had no right to ask you to come! Not that I didn’t want you to come! Please, Leonidas! Please don’t reject me—even if it is what I deserve!” She dropped her face in her hands and started sobbing miserably.
Leonidas didn’t have the heart to resist her. He went back, wrapped his arms around her, and held her until she had calmed herself. It felt remarkably good to have her in his arms. She was warm and soft, and his whole body responded. How much he wanted a wife! He wanted to spend his nights in her embrace, not listening to the snores of his comrades. He lowered his head to nuzzle at the back of Eirana’s bent head, probing her responses. She lifted her face to his, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately. It was more than he had expected.
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