Nikostratos grunted. He wasn’t surprised about Alkander, but he hadn’t expected to hear bad things about Leonidas. “Just what do you have him doing? Leonidas, I mean.”
“I’ve tried him at various tasks, but he’s not doing well and he knows it, which discourages him further. I think—”
Before Epidydes could finish there was a knock on the door, and Leonidas himself entered. “You sent for me, sir?”
“No; Nikostratos did.” Epidydes nodded toward Nikostratos, who was sitting with his hands resting on the T of his stick, considering Leonidas. The headmaster was right. Leonidas looked haggard and listless. He looked older than his thirty-one years, and he did not look like a happy man.
Leonidas was also confused. He saw Nikostratos every evening at his syssitia. What could the older man have to say that couldn’t wait?
“I’m here on official business of the Gerousia, young man,” Nikostratos answered his look. “You’d better come with me.” He pulled himself to his feet and led Leonidas out onto the agoge porch. They stopped beside the ancient Kouroi, who smiled enigmatically as they supported the portico. In the shade, with the busy square spread out before them in the dazzling sunlight, Nikostratos stopped and asked as if casually, “Just why did you quit the army and take a position with the agoge?”
Leonidas shrugged. “If I am to have no children of my own, then I wanted to at least spend time with the children of others.”
“What a lot of rubbish! There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have children of your own!”
Leonidas only shrugged again. “Theoretically.”
“Now listen to me, young man! I understand you are still grieving for your wife and babies, but that is no excuse for talking as if you were my age! You have more than half your life ahead of you. You should and will marry again. It is your duty to Lacedaemon and to your house.”
Leonidas smiled faintly. “My house is well secured by my brother Brotus, don’t you think? Aside from Pausanias, he has a second son now—as his smug wife reminds me whenever she sees me. So what official business brings you to me?” Leonidas was in no mood to talk about his marital status, or about his brother and his growing nursery.
“A Corinthian ambassador arrived early this morning.”
Leonidas was surprised. Usually news spread like wildfire in a tight-knit community like Sparta; but then again, he’d been inside all morning trying to impart the fundamentals of the constitution to unwilling and inattentive charges. He sighed unconsciously. He knew he wasn’t doing very well, and he didn’t understand why.
“It was Archilochos.” Nikostratos had Leonidas’ attention again.
Leonidas looked over hopefully. He’d begged Lychos to visit him for years, and the kleros was beautiful at the moment, with all the orchards in bloom. “Did he come alone?”
“With a slave or two.”
“Lychos wasn’t with him?”
“No; he rode very hard and through the night.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s rioting in Corinth. Because the fires of last year destroyed almost all domestic grain production and the war in the Aegean has chocked trade, the grain stores are almost depleted. Corinth sent a powerful convoy, escorted by a squadron of triremes, to Byzantion to buy grain, but it was attacked on the return voyage by a Phoenician fleet under Persian command. A large number of the freighters were sunk, along with their cargo, and the Corinthians lost five triremes.”
“And what does Archilochos want of us?”
“Roughly three hundred marines to protect the convoy they are now assembling for a second attempt.”
“Do the perioikoi have that many marines?”
“Corinth doesn’t want perioikoi marines, Leo. Archilochos wants Spartiates.”
“We don’t have trained marines,” Leonidas countered. Marines used the same weapons as hoplites—spear and sword—but they were usually adept at javelin and bow as well. More significantly, aboard ship there was no room to form a phalanx; and on unsteady wooden decks, there was no way for hoplites to dig in their heels and shove, foot by foot and pace by pace. In short, the great virtues of the Spartan line—the discipline, strength and drill—could not come into play when hoplites were fighting in the role of marines.
Nikostratos noted, however, that the listlessness was now gone from Leonidas’ stance. His spine had stiffened and he was standing more upright, his head had come up, and his eyes were alert. “Kyranios didn’t balk,” Nikostratos informed him.
“Kyranios is willing to take his lochos?”
“Kyranios will be taking an all-volunteer task force two hundred strong, and one hundred perioikoi marines,” Nikostratos answered. “He said he would have to hand-pick the men because—and I quote—‘Marines have to be more agile, more independent, more resourceful, and more spontaneous than hoplites.’”
“Volunteers?” Leonidas asked. “Active service only?” His expression was anxious.
Nikostratos shook his head slowly, amazed to find this was easier than he had expected.
“Reserves, too? I could volunteer?”
Nikostratos shook his head again, but before Leonidas could protest, he added, “You don’t have to. Kyranios has asked that you be appointed his second in command.”
It took them only three days to organize the task force. There were more than enough volunteers, just as Kyranios had predicted; so they hand-picked twenty section leaders and let them choose their own sections of ten and a deputy from among the plentiful volunteers. In addition to Leonidas, who was to serve as the more-or-less independent commander of ten of the sections, Kyranios appointed an experienced senior quartermaster for the entire task force, and Leonidas talked Oliantus out of retirement to be his own quartermaster. They took along a surgeon, two heralds, and two salpinx players. Each man was accompanied by his own attendant, of course; and so the little force was over 450 strong when it marched north at dawn on the fourth day.
Despite the early hour, with the city still cast in shadow as the sun had not cleared the Parnon range, people filled the streets to see them off. The boys of the agoge were like a noisy flock of crows, shouting and shoving and scrambling onto rooftops or into the plane trees for a good view. Some of the maidens formed a chorus and sang some of Tyrtaios’ songs. Matrons waved from the balconies.
The men of the task force were in full panoply for the official march-out, their helmets, hoplons, and breastplates polished, their crests stiff with wax, their chitons fresh, and their sandals oiled. Everyone looked magnificent. The salpinx sounded “advance” and the flutes took up a melody, which the troops recognized at once and started singing.
Nikostratos, Chilonis, and Gorgo were standing in Chilonis’ chariot drawn up in the road to Limera, which joined the Tegean road a little beyond the drill fields. As Leonidas came into view leading the second contingent of troops, they waved to him energetically. Leonidas waved back.
Gorgo was growing up, he noted with surprise. She was as tall as her grandmother, and she was developing a feminine softness he had not noticed before. The eirenes and bachelors were sure to start noticing her soon—if they hadn’t already. Somewhat ruefully, he reflected that his brother was soon going to have a problem. As Gorgo was his only surviving child, any man who married her could conceivably claim—if not the throne itself—regency for any sons he had by her. If she married the right man, he would put an end to Brotus’ ambitions altogether, Leonidas thought gleefully. But Cleomenes was going to have to choose his son-in-law very carefully …
They stopped to change out of their panoply after they had left Sparta behind, loaded the heavy gear onto the following carts, and proceeded at a vigorous marching pace that brought them to Corinth by nightfall. They re-kitted before entering Corinth, to enter in full splendor. The Corinthians expected them, of course, and the gates opened before them. Indeed, a large crowd welcomed them with torches, applause, and occasional cheers. Two oxen were sacrificed to Poseidon on their arrival, a
nd the roasted meat with donated wine ensured a festive atmosphere in the city. The Spartans, however, continued beyond Corinth to rendezvous with the perioikoi marines, who had proceeded by sea from Gytheon. At Kenchrea, where the fleet was assembled, they set up camp.
Kenchrea was notorious for its taverns and brothels. The very air smelled sour with spilled wine, piss, and fatty food. Drunken men with slovenly women staggered around in the dark, and music escaped from the various locales with each opening and closing of the doors. But the hand-picked quality of the task force proved its value at once. Every one of the section leaders had his own men firmly under his eye, and Kyranios’ reputation for discipline had discouraged men inclined to break rules from volunteering.
While the section leaders oversaw setting up camp, Kyranios and Leonidas attended a meeting with the officers of the fleet; they took their quartermasters with them. The meeting was held in the tollhouse at Kenchrea, and by the time they arrived, the room was crowded. Gathered here already were the trireme, penteconter, and merchant captains, the helmsmen, the rowing masters, the Corinthian captains of marines, and the perioikoi commander. Although, because of Spartan sensibilities, Kyranios was nominally in command of the entire expeditionary force, Archilochos was the actual admiral commanding the expedition, and he would be aboard the Corinthian flagship, the Vengeance. Another leading citizen of Corinth, Erxander, commanded the second squadron of triremes from the Liberty. Leonidas was pleased to see that Lychos was commodore of the six merchantmen from his father’s merchant fleet sailing with the convoy. He would be aboard the largest of these freighters, the Orcelle. As agreed in advance, the Spartan marines were detailed to the triremes only. The Corinthian and perioikoi marines were placed aboard the merchantmen. Kyranios was stationed aboard the Vengeance, and Leonidas the Liberty.
After the full briefing, Archilochos signaled for the Lacedaemonians to remain while the others dispersed. The Corinthian then sketched the convoy formation for the Lacedaemonians on a wax tablet, and Kyranios assigned each of their sections to one of the triremes. The two quartermasters were dispatched to inform the individual section leaders of their assignments and make sure the provisions and stores that the Spartans had brought with them were properly distributed and stowed. Throughout these activities Lychos waited patiently, sitting at one of the toll-collection tables. Finally Archilochos and Kyranios left together, and the perioikoi commander excused himself as well, leaving Leonidas and Lychos alone together.
“I was hoping you’d come, but I hardly dared expect it,” Lychos opened.
“We’re all volunteers,” Leonidas countered. “I was the first. How are your wife and children?”
Lychos was taken aback. It was considered rude in Corinth to ask after another man’s wife, and he had never before known Leonidas to be intentionally rude. He concluded that maybe there was nothing wrong in Sparta with talking about a wife. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to speak about his wife in public. So he answered, “They are growing very rapidly. Each time I return from a voyage they seem completely changed.”
“How old are they now?” Leonidas forced himself to ask.
“Agathon is seven and Kallias four, their sisters five and two.”
Leonidas realized he was too jealous to pursue this topic further, so he changed the subject. “Can you tell me more about the current situation?”
“What do you know?”
“Very little. I was told your grain reserves were almost depleted and the ships you sent to Byzantion last month were attacked by Phoenicians. Why? I thought Corinth was neutral.”
“Corinth is, but Byzantion has joined the Ionian rebels, so the Persians declared an embargo.”
“So why not buy grain elsewhere—Sicily or Crete?”
“First, it would take longer. Second, it would be much more expensive. If we are to fill our warehouses, we can’t afford to pay the prices they are asking in Sicily these days! However, because of the embargo, prices in Byzantion have plummeted. Grain from around the Black Sea is piling up there. We really have no choice, though I admit we underestimated the risk. We had not realized the Persians had brought a Phoenician fleet into the Aegean.”
Leonidas was thankful Lacedaemon did not depend on imported grain. It was bad enough that some citizens had been reduced to penury by the drought and fire of the last year, but there was no absolute shortage of grain in Lacedaemon—it was just unequally distributed. Men like Brotus profited from the poverty of others, but there was no need to import grain, and no risk of widespread starvation and riots. “What was this last expedition like?”
“A nightmare. The Phoenicians surprised us out of a fog bank. We didn’t have time to get our triremes into line-astern on the exposed side, and we lost several freighters to that first onslaught. Another freighter went down to one of our own triremes that tried to cut through the fleet to get into position. The wind was erratic, coming first from one direction then another, so we couldn’t get away. Furthermore, the Persians had placed archers aboard the Phoenician ships. So even ships like my own, which were not rammed or boarded, were subjected to barrages of arrows. We cowered behind whatever cover we could find as waves of arrows landed on the deck with a horrible racket—like hail, only worse. At some point I looked down through the gunnels at the water beside the ship and saw that it had turned red. There were men struggling amid the corpses and flotsam of a crushed ship, screaming and clawing at the sides of my vessel, trying to climb aboard. But we didn’t dare stop to take them on board. I still have nightmares about it.”
Leonidas said nothing. There were many images from his short military career—like that Farm of Horrors on Kythera—that he, too, preferred to forget. And then there was the image of the charred remains of Eirana and the twins … “What’s Byzantion like?”
Lychos smiled. “You’ll like it. Half oriental, half barbarian. I’ll show it to you. And you’ll love the Hellespont. It’s the most spectacular sail you can imagine.” He paused, smiled at Leonidas, and declared with feeling, “It will be good to have you sailing with us!”
Leonidas nodded; but it was time to get back to his men. He embraced Lychos and stepped out into the night. He walked along the line of crispy black seaweed under the curving sterns of the triremes lined up on the beach. The vicious, beak-like rams pointed out to sea, ready for launch. He could hear the water hissing in, rolling the stones on the beach, and then sighing as it retreated. Offshore, lamps swayed slowly in the rigging of the merchantmen. Now and then a seagull cawed, angry at being disturbed.
Leonidas was challenged at the perimeter of the Spartan camp, not by an ordinary sentry but by one of the section leaders Kyranios had selected, Dienekes. Even before Leonidas could answer the challenge, however, he was recognized and informed, “A Corinthian marine came looking for you, sir.”
“Marine? You don’t mean Archilochos?”
“Don’t you think I know the difference between a perfumed Corinthian salesman and a hard-assed marine?” Dienekes answered, insulted.
“I expect he’s a messenger of some sort. Where is he?”
“I sent him to your tent. Mantiklos is keeping a good eye on him. I didn’t like the look of him, and I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I were you.”
Leonidas nodded, and without thinking dropped his hand to his sword hilt. Then, annoyed at himself, he took his hand away, but nevertheless approached his tent cautiously.
It was one of the privileges of command not to share a tent with nine other men. He shared his tent only with his quartermaster Oliantus and their two attendants. (Leonidas had left Meander behind on account of his youth and inexperience, much to the young man’s disappointment.) Oliantus, however, was still seeing to the provisioning of the ships they would be boarding at dawn. The Corinthians had advised it might not be possible to stop for a midday meal, as was normal practice for triremes, and thus provisions for three days were being put aboard the ships.
As he entered, Leonidas saw Mantiklos fi
rst. The Messenian attendant was standing with a jug of something in one hand—and the other hand rested with his thumb looped through his belt, in easy reach of his knife. The guest was seated on Leonidas’ sea chest, a wooden box filled with his gear that was ready to go aboard the trireme in the morning.
It was a “hard-assed” marine, all right. His thick, curly, unkempt hair and beard seemed to have a film of salt on them, and his skin was burnt leathery from the sun reflected off the waves on countless journeys. He had a scarf tied at his neck, as sailors often did, though Leonidas did not know why. He wore a chiton of undefined color and poor quality and a leather corselet of better quality, but stained and worn. Against it, his sword was like a jewel set in cast iron—amber glowed in the knob of an ivory handle, and the silver sheath was elaborately embossed and highly polished. But the man’s sandals were in bad shape, and there were bad scars on the man’s legs. There was also a recent wound under his left eye that had discolored much of his face and swollen the one eye almost closed. Despite all that, Leonidas recognized him at once. It was Prokles.
“I guess no one calls you ‘Little Leo’ anymore, do they?” his boyhood friend remarked, without getting to his feet.
Leonidas didn’t like his friend’s looks any more than Dienekes had—if for different reasons. He saw too clearly the indications of bad times only partially withstood, and he saw bitterness on the prematurely aged face. But he was alive. And he was here. “Mantiklos, hard as it may be for you to believe, the man before you is a Spartiate—”
“Not so fast, Leo! I was born Spartiate, but no one ever gave me cloak or shield!”
“You can claim them as soon as your term of exile is up. You’ve passed the halfway mark already.”
“I’m not coming back, Leo; and if you breathe a word of this to anyone besides my mother and sister, I’ll find a way to have your throat cut!” Now Prokles was on his feet, and his entire posture was threatening. It reminded Leonidas of the savage barking of a dog that has been kicked too often. “Don’t think I couldn’t! I know all the cutthroats in the Mediterranean!” Prokles added viciously, and then laughed—a mirthless laugh.
A Peerless Peer Page 41