A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  “Which was very much his loss, and reminds me of Nikostratos and Chilonis. You would not deny that they are happy together?”

  “Of course not.” Leonidas paused, because Beggar had stopped to wistfully watch a duck flap its way into the air and safety. It was a long time since she had been fleet enough to catch a duck, and he could sense her intense regret. He bent to stroke her head. “It’s all right, girl. Old age will lame my spear-arm, too, one day.” She looked up at him with adoring eyes, and he scratched her behind the ears so that she closed her eyes in contentment.

  “When I see you with that dog,” Hilaira told him sadly, “I see how much love you have in you, and it breaks my heart that you have no one to lavish it on but an aging bitch.”

  “What wife could ever be as adoring as Beggar?” Leonidas quipped back with a short grin. “Certainly not Gorgo! Why, she’d always be telling me off for being a fool, and admonishing me to do one thing or another!”

  “That’s not fair, Leo. She’s not a bitch.”

  “No, she’s just twice as smart as I am, and has never learned to hold her tongue. Imagine telling Aristagoras off to his face!” Leonidas laughed at the mere thought of it.

  “Actually, the way Nikostratos tells the story, she told her father off—in the presence of Aristagoras.”

  “Which is just my point. If the child would do that to her adored father, think what the woman would do to a husband she despises!”

  “Why should she despise you, Leo?” Hilaira asked, uncomprehending.

  Leonidas shrugged. “Because I’m not half as clever as her father—as he has told me often enough. And I’m certainly not as clever as she is herself.”

  “Leo! Where did you get such a low opinion of yourself? You are certainly wiser than Cleomenes; and while Gorgo is witty enough, you are more than her equal in depth of understanding.”

  Leonidas continued walking. “That is kind of you to say, but in reality no one has ever accused me of being particularly bright.”

  Hilaira was so taken aback by this remark that she found no response. As they walked side by side in silence, she thought back to their childhood, remembering that Leonidas’ brothers had never tired of telling him he was a disgrace to the family, the runt, the fifth wheel on the wagon … She realized there was no point in arguing about this, and tried a different approach. “You don’t really think that we women fall in love because of some rational assessment of which young man is cleverer than us, do you? Besides, Gorgo has already made it plain she does want you. Whatever her reasons—”

  “No!” Leonidas cut Hilaira off, his tone sharp for the first time in this friendly conversation. “Her reasons are very much to the point. The fact is, she is using me to foil her father! I don’t doubt that she had good reason to fear he intended to marry her to someone she didn’t want, and she brilliantly succeeding in interdicting that plan. I respect her—even admire her—for taking preventive action to avert something that was, from her point of view, a disaster. But when asked whom she wanted to marry, she was motivated by one thing only: she wanted to ensure the ephors did not dismiss her as a lovesick girl. She would have weakened her entire argument if she had named any other man in the city. They would have felt manipulated by a mere girl, and they might have dismissed the threat to her—and the city. Gorgo knew exactly what she was doing when she named me, but it had nothing to do with really wanting me.”

  Hilaira wasn’t so sure; but since she knew Gorgo only superficially, she sensed that her protests would carry little weight. Instead she took Leonidas’ arm again and walked with him in silence for several steps before remarking gently, “The wounds Eirana left still haven’t healed, have they? You need to marry a maiden who loves you more than anything in the world—the way I love Alkander.”

  Leonidas’ silence was answer enough.

  “But how do you expect to win a maiden’s heart if you never even try?” Hilaira asked him after a bit.

  “All right. You can start parading them through again. The ephors have given me only till the spring equinox to find a bride, so I have no choice but to pay attention this time.”

  The nights were getting longer and colder, and the rains had started. It was lousy weather to be out in, Leonidas thought, feeling sorry for the thirteen-year-olds undergoing the ritual of the “fox time.” Dark, threatening clouds were sinking down from Taygetos as he rode home from his syssitia, and they reminded him of the horrible storm that had killed several boys in his own class during the Phouxir.

  The rain struck just after he’d crossed the bridge. He got to his feet and waited, and Leonidas made a snap decision to jump down and take cover under the solid structure rather than ride on in the downpour. Rain this heavy rarely lasted for long. As he came under the arch, however, his stallion abruptly reared up and spun away, breaking free of Leonidas’ careless grasp. The horse bolted down the road at a full gallop. Cursing, Leonidas knew it was pointless chasing after him. The stallion knew the way home to his barn and feed and companions, and he obviously had no objection to getting wet. So Leonidas turned to go under the bridge on foot, and a sudden motion made him realize why the horse had bolted: there was a boy already cowering there. The boy gasped when he realized Leonidas was coming back, and tried to get to his feet. He slipped on the mud and fell backward.

  “Relax, boy!” Leonidas advised. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  The boy looked at him warily, little more than the whites of his eyes visible in the gloom under the bridge, as he got his feet under him again and waited, his filthy himation clutched around his bony shoulders.

  “I’ll just wait out the worst of the downpour and then I’ll be on my way,” Leonidas assured him. “Sit down. Who are you?”

  Warily the boy sat down again, still clutching his filthy himation around him. “Eurytus, son of Lysimachos, father.”

  “Lysimachos? Son of Tyndareus?”

  “Yes, father.”

  That made this boy the son of his fourth eirene, a youth who had been selfish and arbitrary and whom Leonidas had come to hate. He would not have liked such a man as his father. He calculated that the boy must have been born when his father was thirty and asked, “Have you older brothers?”

  “No, father, only two older sisters.”

  “Did your father teach you all you need to know to survive the Phouxir?”

  The boy seemed to think about this, and finally answered with another question: “What do I need to know to survive, father?”

  “There are many strategies. How do you plan to survive?”

  “I thought I had stashed away enough food in a hideout I had made myself, but some of the other boys found it and stole it all.” He hung his head as he admitted this, his words becoming mumbled at the end.

  “That’s bad. How long ago was that?”

  “That was two days ago, father.”

  “Have you had anything to eat since?”

  “No, father.”

  “That’s bad. You have a fortnight still to go.”

  The boy hunched his shoulders further and said nothing.

  They sat in silence, listening to the rain drumming on the paving stones of the bridge over their heads. Then Leonidas asked, “Don’t your sisters put food out for you?”

  The boy shook his head vigorously. “You don’t know my Dad! He’d beat their hides off them if they broke the rules! He thinks I’m soft as it is. I’ve got to survive this or he’ll kill me with his own hands.”

  “And what does your mother think of all that?”

  “Mom’s sick. She’s been sick as long as I can remember. She can’t leave her chamber anymore. My sisters think she can’t last much longer. It’ll surely kill her if I disgrace the family.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course, father. You’re Leonidas, the Agiad.”

  “Do you know where my kleros is?”

  “Yes, father; just down the road on the right before you reach the Menelaion.” />
  “There’s a toolshed beside the stables in which my helot housekeeper has been known to leave stale bread and other things she doesn’t need.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, the boy’s head came up.

  “The rain’s let up. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Thank you, father!”

  “Shhh!” Leonidas pulled his himation up over his head and left the cover of the bridge to start walking home.

  Halfway there, he was met by Pelopidas with Beggar. The arrival of his riderless horse had alarmed the whole household, and the loyal helot had come looking for him. “I was sure you’d been hurt, master!” he explained anxiously, “and in the dark I wasn’t sure I’d find you, but I knew Beggar would.”

  Leonidas bent and picked up Beggar. He carried her over his shoulders, her forefeet in one hand and her hind feet in the other.

  Laodice met them anxiously at the door of the kitchen, and Leonidas explained again what had happened. He put Beggar down by the helot’s fire, and asked Laodice to bring a towel so he could dry her off. As Laodice handed him a kitchen linen, he asked her: “Do you still leave bread out in the toolshed at this time of year?”

  “Master! How did you know about that?”

  Leonidas just laughed. “Can you leave a little extra tonight? I met a boy who is very hungry.”

  “Of course. Should I put in a little something sweet as well?”

  “Cheese or sausage would be better for him. He’s got to survive two more weeks.”

  “Did you tell him about your stepmother?”

  “No. Does she set aside things for the boys as well?”

  “Not really; she just gets ‘careless and forgetful’—as she words it—this time of year.”

  Leonidas laughed.

  “I’ve got some fresh apple tarts, master; would you like me to bring them to you?”

  “No, I’ll join you here.” Leonidas gave Beggar a last pat and stood. The dog lifted her head in alarm, but when he sat himself at the bench beside the helot’s own table, she dropped her head on the floor, sighed deeply, and closed her eyes to enjoy the warmth.

  Melissa fetched a black-glazed one-handled kothon and set it before Leonidas, then fetched wine and water, while Laodice went to get her apple tarts from the cooling tray in the pantry. There were just the five of them: Pelopidas, Laodice, Polychares, Melissa, and Kleon. Mantiklos had left three days earlier for one of Leonidas’ estates in Messenia, taking his wife with him, and Meander was sleeping in the barracks, as he preferred, because it made him feel almost Spartiate again. Chryse, however, should have been here and was not in evidence. “Where’s Chryse?” Leonidas asked as Laodice returned with the tarts.

  Her parents exchanged a look, but Melissa answered tartly, “You can’t keep track of a bitch in heat.”

  “Melissa!” Laodice cried out in pain and rebuke. “How dare you!”

  Polychares put his hand on his wife’s arm to stop her from answering, and turned on his mother. “Don’t shout at Melissa, Mom. She’s only speaking the truth. Chryse sneaks away every chance she gets to meet with that—that—”

  “Mind your tongue, lad!” his father interrupted, with a nervous glance at Leonidas, and Laodice ordered Melissa to help her put things out in the toolshed for the boys.

  Melissa dutifully got to her feet and took a tray, which Laodice loaded with bread and cheese. Together they left for the toolshed (and a little talk, Leonidas suspected), leaving the men to talk about the harvest and impending slaughter.

  When Laodice and Melissa returned, the conversation continued about mundane things while they drank more of their home-pressed wine, until Laodice ventured very cautiously, “Master, why don’t you marry again?”

  “I will. I have to. The ephors have given me only till the spring equinox.”

  “Will you bring Gorgo here?” Laodice brightened up at once.

  “Gorgo? No. I don’t know who yet,” Leonidas told her.

  The helot woman looked baffled, even a little alarmed. “Why not Gorgo, master? She’s a good girl. She’s always been kind to us. Why, she’s even used her chariot to transport heavy things for me now and again. There aren’t many Spartiate maidens, much less princesses, that help out helots like that. She’s always been good to us, ever since she broke her collarbone jumping her horse over your stone wall.”

  Leonidas understood Laodice’s concern. She had worried about Eirana, too. She was afraid of a strange woman coming in and taking over, ordering her around, insisting on changes. So he did not take offense; he just shook his head. “I haven’t made up my mind yet, Laodice; but if my future wife, whoever she may be, is unfair to you, we’ll move elsewhere.”

  The sound of a crash, a high-pitched cry, and then thuds and clatter, coming from the outbuildings behind the kitchen, brought them all to their feet. The helots each grabbed something heavy to use as weapons, while Leonidas led the way, his hand on his hilt. They didn’t get very far. Just beyond, in the kitchen garden, they ran into Temenos struggling to hold on to a viciously fighting boy. “I caught him trying to steal from the toolshed!” Temenos announced excitedly to Leonidas, even as the boy wrenched himself half free.

  “Let him go!” Leonidas ordered, annoyed, certain it was the same boy he had explicitly told to come here.

  “But, sir! He’s—” Leonidas cuffed Temenos hard enough for the youth to lose the last of his grip on the desperate thirteen-year-old. The boy dashed off into the darkness, and Leonidas could only hope he’d have the sense to try to collect the food later.

  Temenos, meanwhile, stared at him in confused outrage. As an eirene, it was his duty to arrest thirteen-year-olds who broke the rules of the Phouxir.

  “I ordered you not to return here without my permission,” Leonidas said, distracting the eirene from the boy.

  “But, sir—”

  “I’m sick of hearing those words out of your mouth!”

  “It’s my fault, master,” Chryse spoke up, emerging out of the darkness and coming to stand beside Temenos, clutching his elbow. “I was afraid to come home in the dark. I’d gone to meet Temenos in Amyclae, but then the rain came down so hard that we lingered. When it stopped it was dark and I was afraid.”

  “You shouldn’t be in Amyclae after dark,” Leonidas agreed simply. It was a bad part of town, frequented by foreigners and populated by pickpockets, thieves, and pimps. The fact that Chryse was known to be carrying on with an eirene made her all the more vulnerable. He was worried for her. Frowning slightly, he ordered her to go inside with her father and brother. The latter started berating her before they were out of hearing. Then the door closed, and the two Spartiates were alone in the darkness and the light drizzle.

  “Sir, why won’t you let me see Chryse here? You can’t stop us from meeting, and this is the safest place.”

  “The best and safest thing for her would be for you to give her up. You know the others may use her to get at you.”

  “I’ve told her, sir, but she says she’d rather risk it than not see me. You can ask her yourself.”

  “I don’t doubt that is what she would say; but if you love her so much, you should do what is best for her regardless of what she says. The truth is, you don’t have the strength of character to give her up. You may love her, but evidently you crave her more.”

  Temenos was silent, and Leonidas sighed. He felt tired and old in the face of so much youthful ardor. At Temenos’ age he had risked his fair share of reprimands and punishment to see Eirana—and she had not even returned his affection. What would he not have done for a girl who loved him and slept with him as well? He had to admit to himself that he would probably have risked almost anything. “You might as well come inside by the fire,” Leonidas capitulated.

  “Does that mean I am welcome here, sir? That I can come again?”

  “’Welcome’ would be putting it a bit strong, but you have permission to come here. I surrender.”

  Temenos did not look triumphant. Rather, he came fo
rward only hesitantly, and when Leonidas turned and went into the house, he followed cautiously.

  Inside, the Spartiates interrupted a tense family drama. Although the voices fell silent at the approach of the two Spartiates, they came into the kitchen to find Chryse in tears, Melissa looking self-righteous, Pelopidas looking beaten, and Laodice and Polychares both angry, while poor Kleon tried to make himself invisible in a corner. Temenos went immediately to stand beside Chryse, and Leonidas announced, “I have given Temenos permission to visit the kleros as often as he likes. It is safer for them to meet here than elsewhere. Pelopidas, if you do not want your daughter to see Temenos, you must prevail upon her to break off the relationship. Temenos will respect her wishes.” As Leonidas said this he looked hard at Temenos, and the young man nodded vigorously.

  “You can’t talk sense to her!” Polychares protested. “She’s lovesick.”

  “There are worse things,” Laodice declared firmly.

  “I’ll turn in now,” Leonidas announced, so that the helots and Temenos could sort things out among themselves. He retreated to the cool, dark portion of the house built for the Spartiate master.

  It was a gracious house, two stories high. On the ground floor was the bath complex, and the long hearth room with a women’s hall at right angles to it. On the first floor there were no less than four bedrooms. Leonidas went up the outside stairs, but rather than entering the bedroom he used, he wandered through the other three. The smallest had been used by Eirana’s daughter from her first marriage, and the second had been the nursery for his twins. In the third, Eirana herself had slept when he did not visit, and here she had given birth to the twins.

  The rain had turned heavy again and it made a dull, low-pitched rumble on the tiles overhead, while the gurgling of the drains was loud and higher-pitched. Leonidas hoped the boy he’d met tonight had the sense to spend the night in the toolshed, but he feared Temenos had frightened him away. He felt a renewed flash of irritation with the eirene for spoiling things, and then he realized that he was jealous. He envied Temenos with all his heart. He wished that he were twenty again, on the brink of manhood, and desperately in love with a girl who loved him back.