A Peerless Peer

by Helena P. Schrader

  “Stubbornness. Ask anyone. It is my greatest weakness.”

  Gorgo frowned. Leonidas was infamous for being stubborn—or tenacious, if one wanted to word it more positively. “But what do you want?” Gorgo insisted.

  “That’s just it, Gorgo. I want to be married and start a family; and when I started thinking about all the young maidens down there,” he nodded in the vague direction of the city, “the bold ones flirting and preening and the shy ones blushing and awkward, I just couldn’t imagine being married to any of them. Hilaira has tried to interest me in one or another of them often enough, poor thing. But when I thought about being married to you, I realized it would be the simplest thing in the world.”

  Gorgo looked at him, unsure if that was a compliment or not.

  “But you know that in addition to being stubborn to a fault, I am notorious for being law-abiding. I will not break the law, even for you.”

  “But what law? Your father married his niece—” Gorgo started to protest at once, and Leonidas held up his hand to silence her.

  “Lycurgus’ laws say it is illegal to marry a girl too young to enjoy sex.” Leonidas looked her straight in the eye.

  Although she blushed slightly, she met his gaze and said very steadily and deliberately, “You will not be breaking the law if you take me to wife.”

  Leonidas nodded and looked away. “Then there is nothing to stop us, since your father solemnly swore to the ephors that I was his first choice as bridegroom—”

  “He didn’t mean it!” Gorgo pointed out indignantly, “and it makes me so mad that he would swear to a lie. He has no respect even for the Gods!”

  Leonidas laughed. “I know. But he’s on record approving my suit for you, so there is no way he can stop us.”

  Gorgo did not look convinced. “No matter what my father said, if he gets wind that you are coming for me, he might try to lock me up somewhere. He certainly won’t give the watch permission to let you in. I suppose you might be able to convince the meleirenes—”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to put them in a difficult position; but don’t worry about how I’ll get in. I was born in that palace, remember? I spent the first six years of my life there. I know every way in and out, including ones your father probably doesn’t. The question is: how soon can you be ready for me?”

  Gorgo was taken by surprise, but she quickly concluded: “Tonight. There’s really nothing to do …”

  “Are you still in the same room you had as a girl, or did you move into your brother’s room?”

  “No, that would have been closer to my mother. I moved into Grandma’s room after she moved out. It was a way of making me feel closer to her.”

  “Good. I know the room. I’ll fetch you there sometime during the middle watch.” (That was between midnight and dawn.)

  She nodded, holding her breath, because she still couldn’t believe that he meant what he said.

  “There’s one advantage to marrying an old man like me,” Leonidas quipped with a grin; “I’m not subject to curfew.” But then he grew serious again and considered Gorgo carefully. “You are sure about this? That there is no one else you’d rather have?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  “I’m not as quick as you are, Gorgo. My thought process is ponderous, but I am neither blind nor dense. You are the finest maiden in Sparta; and if you will have me, I would be a fool not to take you.”

  Gorgo was at first too stunned by the sudden turn of events to be nervous, but as darkness fell she started to fall into a kind of panic. When Leonidas had asked when she could be ready, she had feared to delay by even a single night, because she feared he might change his mind. But, of course, there were all sorts of things she really ought to do in preparation for her wedding. She was supposed to make sacrifices to Artemis and Aphrodite, for a start. It was also traditional to give away the symbols of her childhood, usually dolls and the like, but Gorgo had never liked playing with dolls. She had played with her dog and her horse instead, neither of which she was going to give away to anyone. Still, she had a bronze lion and a terra-cotta dolphin she had planned to leave on the altars of Apollo and Athena respectively. Under the circumstances, however, she decided that the Gods would accept the gifts after the fact as graciously as before.

  Then there was the business of cutting her hair and dressing in boy’s clothing. Because custom demanded that a Spartiate “steal” his bride from her father’s home, and because most bridegrooms were young men on active service who were required to sleep in barracks, it had become tradition for the brides to cut their hair short and dress in short chitons like boys of the agoge or helots, so that they would allegedly “blend in” and attract less attention on the streets while being taken to their husband’s home. That didn’t entirely make sense to Gorgo, because of the curfew. No one but the watch and full citizens had a right to be out after curfew—most especially not helots or boys of the agoge. So why being disguised as one would help, Gorgo could not fathom. But tradition was tradition, and she was going to have to cut her hair and find a boy’s chiton, all without attracting the attention of any of the palace servants or her parents.

  It was a good thing, Gorgo noted, that her mother had always been too mean to give up one of her maids to serve Gorgo, even after she reached maturity. Normally, a girl her age would have had someone to look after her clothes, dress her in the mornings, and help her go to bed. But her mother kept the household women busy and only occasionally sent one to help Gorgo, so she didn’t have to worry about deceiving any of the helots.

  Gorgo wasn’t much worried about her mother, either. She and her mother had never liked each other much, and Gorgo’s appeal to the ephors had only poisoned the relationship further. Her mother accused Gorgo of being disobedient and disloyal (which Gorgo halfway admitted was justified). What really hurt was that her mother mocked her for naming Leonidas. “How dumb can you get?” her mother had asked. “I swear I knew by the time I was twelve that the last way to get a man was to announce to the world you wanted him! At your age you ought to know that the only way to ensnare a male is by flight! But then again, for all your alleged brains, you never did have more common sense than a goose, did you?”

  Part of Gorgo wanted to go to her mother in triumph and say, “You were wrong! Leonidas wants me after all!” But then she would get weak knees at the thought that maybe he wouldn’t come. So Gorgo decided the best thing to do was avoid her mother altogether. Since they did not have a close relationship, she expected no one would particularly notice.

  It was harder to avoid her father. Cleomenes often sent for his daughter after he returned from his syssitia. After she had gone to the ephors, he had made a horrible scene in which he had shouted and raged at her. He had even threatened to put her in a cage and send her to Aristagoras as a present “to do with as he pleased” if she wasn’t willing to marry him properly. But they had both known he was bluffing. No one in Sparta, certainly not the household helots, would have been his accomplice in such an outrage.

  Far worse had been the next time he sent for her—when, after shouting for a bit, he broke down into tears. He had not been very coherent. He had lamented the death of her brother and then equated her to Helen (which Gorgo thought ridiculous, given her plain looks) and talked about holding a contest among her suitors (which she didn’t have!) and a lot of other nonsense. Gorgo had tried to reason with him, but it was pointless.

  He had avoided her for about a week afterward, apparently ashamed of having broken down in front of her or aware that he had spoken a lot of nonsense. Certainly the next time he sent for her he made no reference to the previous incident, and spent the entire evening discussing the Ionian revolt, its prospects of success, the implications Spartan neutrality would have on its position in the Greek world, and speculations about the prospects of invading Argos successfully. Gorgo had been careful not to deviate from the prescribed topics and to tread very, very carefully, agreeing with everything her father said without a
ppearing to be merely echoing him.

  Gorgo could not risk cutting her hair or changing into a boy’s chiton until after her father had retired and there was no risk of him sending for her. But her father often kept very late hours, and she started to get nervous as the dinner watch ended and the pipes announced curfew.

  Just as she had feared, her father sent for her very late.

  By the time the summons came, she had “borrowed” a chiton that had been left out to dry in the kitchen courtyard, she’d packed her two favorite peplos and a himation, good sandals, and some toiletries into a satchel she could wear over her shoulder, and she had laid out scissors and mirror in preparation for cutting off her hair. But there was nothing she could do but answer her father’s summons; to have sent her regrets would only have aroused his suspicion.

  Gorgo joined him, as usual, in the small reception room off his sleeping quarters. The room was quite low, with fat, heavily painted pillars opening to the atrium at one end and couches on the other three sides. It was warmed now by a brazier with burning embers, which let off a thin trail of smoke. The paintings on the walls had darkened almost to non-recognizability under generations of smoke, and it made the room gloomy.

  King Cleomenes was already well into his cups. He lay on one side with a large, white-glazed Laconic kylix filled with wine in his left hand. “Ah, there’s the little intriguer,” he called out jovially as he caught sight of his daughter.

  Gorgo ignored the barb and came over to kiss the cheek he offered her. He wore a full beard, which he did not trim like most Spartans. His eyes were bloodshot. With a gesture he indicated the couch nearest him on the right and irritably signaled one of the household helots to bring Gorgo a kylix and wine. Gorgo accepted the kylix, but asked for water only.

  “Not allowed at my table!” her father countered, and gestured for the helot to pour her wine.

  Gorgo capitulated. Tonight was not the night to fight with her father.

  Cleomenes was mollified by her submission and announced in a cheery tone, “I’ve been thinking. You were absolutely right to reject these Ionian tyrants! Nothing but a bunch of jumped-up upstarts!” He made a rude noise, then laughed at Gorgo’s embarrassed expression.

  “Don’t you like it when I do that?” he asked her, repeating the noise.

  “No, because it demeans you, father.”

  “Oh, my, aren’t we high and mighty tonight. It’s not enough that you lecture me on what bribes I am allowed to take; now you want to tell me what sounds I’m allowed to make! It really is time to marry you off! Then you can bully your poor husband rather than me!”

  Gorgo was very tempted to retort, but she bit her tongue.

  “I must say it surprised me that Leonidas had the backbone to stand up to you. No doubt he was afraid of your tongue. Poor little Leo! Actually, you’d think he’d be used to tongue-lashings by now, seeing the way his mother, his other brothers, and I have lectured him on his shortcomings all his life; but I guess the thought of hearing it from his niece was too much even for him.”

  “Yes, I guess so,” Gorgo agreed meekly, sipping her wine—and vowing that if Leonidas truly took her away from here and made her his wife, she would never, never, never insult or nag or demean him.

  “What I was thinking …” Cleomenes’ tone changed abruptly again, this time to the conspiratorial. Now he leaned toward his daughter with an eager smile and lowered his voice, as if he were afraid of being overheard. “I was thinking you are too good for these petty tyrants with the bloodlines of jackals! What you deserve, as the direct descendent of Herakles, is the Great King himself!” Cleomenes ended on a triumphant note.

  “The Great King?” Gorgo asked. “You mean Darius of Persia?”

  “Who else could I mean?” Cleomenes replied, as if she were dense.

  “But he has dozens, or is it scores, of wives already!” Gorgo protested, outraged that he would even jest about such at thing.

  “So, one more won’t make any difference!” Cleomenes retorted cheerfully. “I’m sure he’s so used to women nagging and badgering him that he is completely immune to it all.”

  “And I’m sure the ephors will be even more delighted by the idea of giving Sparta to Persia on a silver platter, than by the idea of handing it over to a rebellious tyrant!”

  “Don’t think the ephors can protect you much longer, my dear. You have no idea how venal they are. I’ve got two of them in my pay already. Give me another month and some more of Darius’ bride-price—which was very high, I might add, given the way you look—and I’ll have the third ephor ready to sign the marriage contract—Where are you going?”

  “To bed.”

  “I didn’t give you leave.”

  “I’m going without it. Call the guard, if you like.”

  “Gorgo! Come back here!”

  “No.”

  “Gorgo!”

  She stopped, suddenly afraid he might come after her if she continued—and then he would see all the things she had prepared for her flight. But she did not turn around.

  Her father’s voice was suddenly sad. “How did we ever come to this?”

  For a moment she felt sorry for him. She looked over her shoulder and met his bloodshot eyes. But she didn’t have an answer. She just shook her head. “Let me go to bed, father.”

  He waved at her in dismissal, his expression suggesting disinterest or mild disgust.

  Gorgo had to force herself not to run. The palace was still. All sensible people were long since abed, and the torches and lamps had been extinguished everywhere beyond her father’s private quarters. At her mother’s suite of rooms she paused and listened, but heard no voices within. She continued down the long corridor, which looked out through a second-floor colonnade at an interior courtyard, and noticed that there was a moon tonight. That was not good. The moon would light the streets and reveal them to the watch—assuming Leonidas came as he had promised.

  She turned and slipped into her bedroom. Everything was as she had left it. Or was it? She sensed that something was different, even before a shadow separated itself from her cabinet. But the moment of tension was rapidly over; it was her uncle. “My father sent for me,” she whispered. “I only just got away. I’m not ready yet.”

  “I’ll wait outside, but hurry.” Leonidas went onto the loggia.

  Gorgo pulled her peplos off over her head, pulled the chiton on, and realized too late that in her haste she had forgotten a belt. There was nothing to do about that. She pulled her satchel over her head, then went to the dressing table. She pulled her hair together at the back of her neck with both hands, held it fast with her left hand, and with her right, blindly applied the scissors. She was certain the result was not flattering, so she did not even pick up the mirror. She simply hoped that Laodice (or more likely Melissa, in this case) would be able to put things partway right in the morning.

  She joined Leonidas on the loggia, touching his elbow without a word. He looked down at her and smiled. Then he took her hand and led her deeper into the palace, back toward the kitchens, across the kitchen courtyard, and into the stables. Here, however, the horses stirred, and a man called out, “Who’s there? Who’s there? What do you want?”

  “It’s just me,” Gorgo answered the old groom.

  “Who’s that with you?” The moonlight was lighting them up from behind, and the groom could see Leonidas’ silhouette.

  “It’s me. Leo,” Leonidas spoke very softly.

  “Master Leo? How did you get in here? What’s going on?”

  “Shhh! Do you want to wake the whole household or provoke the meleirenes into sounding the alarm?” Leonidas asked in a low voice, coming nearer.

  “But what’s going on?” the old man asked in a whisper, peering up at Leonidas to be sure he was who he said he was.

  “I’m taking Gorgo home with me,” Leonidas told him.

  Understanding dawned at last. The old man looked sharply at Gorgo and finally noticed her hair and dress. A wide
grin spread over his face. “Oh, that’s good, master! That’s wonderful! Do you want to take some of the horses?”

  “No, I have horses waiting at the company stables. But if you’ll let us out the door, we can spare ourselves climbing into the loft and back down by the rope I used to get in.”

  The old man grinned and cheerfully let them out into the street.

  Here Leonidas led, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Although as a full citizen he had the right to move around the city after curfew, he did not want news of his marriage to become public before he went to the ephors to announce it. So at each crossroads, he paused to check for the watch before proceeding. Once he had to signal Gorgo sharply back and into an alley, while he hid in a doorway. The watch marched past, talking among themselves as they were not supposed to do. The officer in Leonidas frowned and he shook his head, but the bridegroom resisted the temptation to call them out for it.

  At the company stables, Meander was waiting with two of Leonidas’ horses. Leonidas helped Gorgo to mount one, taking her satchel from her, and then mounted the other himself. The footfall of the horses seemed very loud on the cobbles as they crossed the second half of the sleeping city, but Gorgo felt as if her heart were beating just as loudly.

  At last they crossed the Eurotas, and Leonidas turned to assure her, “We’re safe now. No one can stop us anymore.”

  “I don’t think I’ll feel safe until we’re at your kleros,” Gorgo answered, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She had forgotten a himation as well as a belt.

  Leonidas took off his own himation and flung it over her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” Gorgo told him; “I didn’t plan very well.”

  Leonidas laughed. “I didn’t give you a chance to plan at all. Let’s get out of the cold as soon as we can.” She nodded, and they started cantering down the road.

  At Leonidas’ driveway, they reined the horses in and rode up the drive between the cypress trees at a walk. The crickets were shrieking in a high-pitched chorus, as if they were trying to stop the onset of winter by sheer protest. The house was bright white in the moonlight.