Furthermore, by now she might have become frightened despite her initial enthusiasm. Chryse had been like that. At first she had been defiantly proud to be carrying Temenos’ child, but as the time for the birth drew nearer, she became frightened. She had been so terrified at the end that Laodice, who rarely asked for favors, begged Leonidas to send for Temenos. Leonidas, as an officer, could send for the young man, and he did. Temenos had then paced on the terrace all through the night, while Chryse screamed as if she was being tortured. It had been a bad night. Leonidas knew it would be worse when Gorgo was the one in agony.
They reached the top of the drive, and Leonidas could no longer restrain his eagerness. He let his stallion pick up the pace, leaving Meander trailing on his slower horse. To the left was a field of ripening grain, and to the right a half-dozen horses grazed contentedly, flicking casually at flies with their long tails. The air shimmered in the heat, and crickets screeched in the trees, but otherwise all was still. Everyone, Leonidas assumed, was resting during the noonday heat.
As they came close enough to see the front of the house, however, Leonidas was surprised to see two chariots waiting. The horses had been unhitched, explaining the large number of horses in the paddock; but Meander at once recognized Chilonis’ driver lounging in the shade of the front colonnade, while the other chariot belonged to Hilaira. It was not unusual for Chilonis or Hilaira to drive over to visit Gorgo, but both at the same time? Leonidas flung himself off his stallion, leaving him to Meander’s care without a word, and ran into the house only to collide with Melissa.
“Master! Where did you come from? This is no time to be here!”
“We just marched in. What’s going on?”
“The mistress’s water has broken. It won’t be long now.”
“Where is she?”
“Leo?” The voice came from the courtyard, and it belonged to Nikostratos. “Come here!”
Leonidas followed the voice. Nikostratos was sitting in the shade provided by a reed awning over the corner of the courtyard. As usual, he held his cane between his knees. Nikostratos was now seventy and increasingly blind. He had resigned as treasurer because of this, but his brain was as sharp as ever, and he remained an active member of the Gerousia. “Are you back already?” he asked as Leonidas emerged from the house.
“Already? I’ve been gone a month and we’re a day late. We came upon four wrecked barges laden with dead Ionian captives. The Persians had tied them together so when a storm struck they all drowned—hundreds of boys, recently castrated. It was one of the most horrible sights I’ve ever seen. Where’s Gorgo?”
“Where do you think? Sit down here and keep me company.”
“I want to see her—at least tell her I’m home—”
“I’ll tell her that, master.” Laodice emerged from the wing of the house, linens on her arm. “Mistress Hilaira is here and Mistress Chilonis. Everything is just as it should be. Welcome home.”
“Why can’t I see her?” Leonidas protested.
“You’d just get in the way and distract her, Leo,” Hilaira reasoned, emerging from the side wing behind Laodice. “I assure you, you can’t do a bit of good here.”
“But how long will it take?” Leonidas asked, focusing his attention on Laodice, because she had gone through this at least five times.
The helot, however, dutifully deferred to Hilaira because of her higher status. “There’s no way of knowing,” Hilaira told him calmly. “It could take as little as a few hours or as long as a couple of days. Generally, first children take longer, so you should plan on staying away the rest of the day at least. You can sleep at our kleros if it continues into the night,” Hilaira suggested. “Since I’ll be here until it’s over, I’m sure Alkander will be pleased to have company—and that way, we’ll know where to find you.”
“It’s barely midday!” Leonidas protested.
“Well, this is certainly going to take all afternoon, so just go amuse yourself somewhere,” Hilaira insisted, with a decisive and somewhat impatient gesture. She could hear Gorgo asking Chryse questions in the room behind her, and was anxious to get back to her. Chryse was only seventeen, after all; and although she had given birth to a healthy son a year ago, Hilaira did not think she was the best person to keep Gorgo calm.
Leonidas capitulated. Gorgo clearly had lots of support from her grandmother, Hilaira, Laodice, Melissa, and Chryse. So he turned to look rather helplessly at Nikostratos.
“It really is best to leave the women to it. I’ll send your boy Crius for you as soon as it’s over,” he promised Leonidas. “Why don’t you go to the baths? After a month of maneuvers, you could use a good bath and massage,” Nikostratos noted, with a somewhat disdainful look at Leonidas’ dirty, rank chiton and the salty and greasy braids of his hair. “I’ll give you a report on her progress at dinnertime, but then I’ll come back here, and you can go home with Alkander as Hilaira suggested.”
“And from now to dinner?” Leonidas demanded. “I can’t spend all afternoon at the baths, and Alkander’s at the agoge this time of day,” Leonidas reminded him with ill-disguised exasperation.
“Then go talk to Phormio,” Nikostratos admonished. “You’ve been away a month, and I’m sure he has all sorts of things he wants to discuss with you. I think I heard him say something about a cargo of Egyptian papyrus, or was it sail canvas?”
No doubt Phormio did have all sorts of things he wanted to discuss, Leonidas conceded mentally, but Leonidas was in no mood for talking business. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He had been away a month, and Gorgo might die without having seen him again. In addition to his fears for her life, he also remembered how the birth of the twins had radically changed Eirana’s behavior toward him. After they were born, she had little time for—or interest in—him anymore.
Nikostratos’ voice brought him back to the discussion. “You should also give some thought to Argos.”
“What about Argos?” Leonidas asked, frowning because he could not follow Nikostratos’ train of thought.
Nikostratos shrugged. “Your brother received an oracle telling him he will take Argos …”
“I presume this was delivered by his own permanent representative at Delphi, Asteropus,” Leonidas noted sarcastically. Leonidas had disliked Asteropus ever since he had been a rival for Eirana’s affections, and increasingly he harbored suspicions that Asteropus had been bribed by his brother to deliver manipulated oracles.
“Yes,” Nikostratos admitted, fully aware of Leonidas’ suspicions, “but think about it all the same. We’ve been sparring with Argos for centuries. It’s time we forced a clear decision.”
“Why? The Persians have just ruthlessly suppressed the Ionian revolt, and left a warning in blood and brutality from Byzantion to Crete. Greeks should band together to oppose Persian ambitions—not kill each other!”
“Hmm. Possibly. But only after we’ve boxed Argos into submission.”
“Why?”
“Because we will not be free to engage Persia until we have eliminated the latent threat of Argos.”
“Kyranios says war is the failure of diplomacy. Has anyone ever tried to make an ally of Argos?”
“Not that I can remember—which is only to say it was probably before my time, not that it wasn’t tried. Now, are you finally going to go and clean yourself up, or aren’t you? I’ll see you at dinner.”
Leonidas gave up. He left Nikostratos in his spot in the shade, walked around the back of the helot quarters to the stables, and entered the low barn. Most of the horses were in the front paddock, but Meander had finished untacking and watering their riding horses. He was preparing to turn them out in the paddock and had each on a lead. “Is the mistress all right, sir?” Meander asked when he saw Leonidas.
“As well as can be expected, I am told,” he replied, adding indignantly, “I’ve been ordered out of my own house!”
Meander smiled. “I guess that’s normal, sir.”
“When you let those l
oose, bring Red and whichever horse you want out of the paddock. We’re returning to town,” Leonidas ordered as Meander started out of the barn.
“Yes, sir; and Pelopidas says he needs to talk to you when you have a moment.”
“Do you know what it is about?”
“Your mare,” Meander replied, nodding toward the only stall that wasn’t empty, and then he was gone.
Leonidas went to the stall. The black mare occupying it was one of his favorites. She had always been particularly intelligent and willing, but had suffered from assorted kinds of lameness. He had been forced to give up using her. Now she stood in her stall with her head down, looking distinctly miserable.
Pelopidas emerged from somewhere and came to stand beside him. Pelopidas was a hard worker and a good farmer, but his real love was horses. “Master,” he started, “do you remember last summer when one of Kyranios’ stallions got loose and it took weeks to catch him?” Leonidas turned to look at Pelopidas, understanding the implication at once. “He was caught downriver and we never thought anything of it, but you can see for yourself.”
“But in summer …” Leonidas looked back at the mare, but there no denying what Pelopidas said.
“She’s due any day—just like the mistress.”
Leonidas nodded. “Then if I have a son, he will have his first mount.”
By the time Leonidas and Meander got back to the city, the main post-drill rush at the baths was over. Most men had moved on to spend their afternoon as they pleased in gymnasia or seeing to their private affairs. The bath slaves were cleaning up after the midday crowds—collecting discarded towels, mopping up water, sweat, and oil from the tiled floor, and rubbing down the marble benches.
Meander first unbraided and combed out Leonidas’ hair, then helped him strip down out of his dirty clothes. At a nod from Leonidas, he then stripped himself and followed Leonidas into the water. When the baths were crowded, attendants were not welcome, but since Leonidas was almost alone, he did not expect any objections.
He had miscalculated. One of the few other bathers was Lysimachos. Lysimachos had been Leonidas’ eirene when he was ten, and was father of the boy Leonidas had found under the bridge the year he married Gorgo. Although he had, as far as Leonidas knew, never done anything of note—never been promoted in the army or elected to public office—Lysimachos viewed himself as a defender of Spartan values. No sooner had Meander slipped into the cool waters of the large pool than Lysimachos reared up from where he was apparently dozing in the hot bath and shouted, “What are you doing, helot! You have no right to get into that pool! Get out! Out!”
Meander froze, then looked at Leonidas. Leonidas gestured for him to stay where he was, and turned in the water to address Lysimachos. “Meander is not a helot. He is the son of a Spartiate. Furthermore, he is my attendant, and we have been on maneuvers for the last month. There is no harm in him swimming when the pool is empty.”
“Just because you are the son of King Anaxandridas doesn’t give you the right to break the law! You’re no better than I am, Leonidas! Tell your helot to get out of the water, or I’ll come pull him out myself!”
Meander at once started to climb back out, but Leonidas laid a hand on his arm and stopped him. Instead, he got out of the pool himself, his hair hanging wet and limp to his shoulders and dripping water as he faced Lysimachos. Even in this state, Leonidas was an impressive figure. His muscles were well toned and his skin tanned. “Bring the ephors, Lysimachos, or call the whole damn Council: there is no law against attendants, particularly freeborn attendants, using these baths.”
“You and your kind are undermining Sparta’s strength and reputation in the whole world!” Lysimachos snapped back, pulling himself out of his bath and turning his back deliberately on Leonidas as he reached for his clothes. He was red with agitation. When he finished dressing, Lysimachos cast Leonidas a hate-filled look and snapped, “Don’t think I’ll forget this! You may deceive some people, but I remember what a little worm you were as a boy! You have always been soft on helots and tremblers! You even supported Corinth when they humiliated us and turned the League on its head!”
This was patent nonsense, since Leonidas had only been twenty-one at the time; but it was clear to Leonidas that Lysimachos was not being rational. This had nothing to do with an honest disagreement; it was personal animosity. Leonidas therefore did not bother answering, but he was inwardly stunned that anyone—especially anyone who knew him so little—hated him so much. He was reminded of the looks on the faces of the Corinthians that night thirteen years ago, when he had slipped into the Corinthian camp and overheard them ranting against Sparta. He had not understood the hate then, nor Lysimachos’ hate now. What had he ever done to Lysimachos?
He was still standing there thinking about the exchange when Sperchias remarked from behind him, “You look stunned, Leo.”
“I am,” Leonidas admitted, turning to smile at Sperchias in welcome. The two men greeted each other with a quick hug, and then Sperchias drew back and remarked, “I only caught the tail end of that exchange. What was it about?”
Leonidas indicated a confused-looking Meander. “There’s practically no one here, so I gave Meander permission to bathe. We’ve been on maneuvers for a month, and no one has worked harder than Meander. He’s not even a helot; though, by Kastor, I’d have defended his right to be here even if he had been! What harm can it possibly do?”
Sperchias nodded and gestured for Meander to relax. “I’ll join you,” he announced, and stripped down to join Leonidas and Meander in the pool.
For several moments they were silent. Leonidas dunked his head underwater and ran his fingers through his hair from the scalp, as the accumulated salt from weeks of sweating in his helmet dissolved in the water. After a moment, he righted himself and swept his hands from his face to the back of his skull, pressed out the water, then caught his hair together at the back of his neck and wrung it out. Only when he was finished did he turn to consider Sperchias.
Sperchias was looking heavier these days, and his pleasantly round face seemed to sag a little, while his rough, red hair was already receding. But most disturbing, the once so cheerful Sperchias had eyes and lips with a permanently downward tilt that gave them a sad or discouraged expression. As they paddled around in the cool water, Sperchias remarked, “They’re getting stronger, you know.”
“Who?” Leonidas demanded.
“Leotychidas’ faction.”
Leonidas did not answer immediately. He was not blind or indifferent to politics. He was still a citizen with a vote in Assembly, but of late he had focused on his military career—and Gorgo. He had not been paying as much attention to politics as Sperchias did.
Sperchias had run for a half-dozen different offices over the last four years—and lost each time. Leonidas had repeatedly found himself assuring Sperchias that there was nothing wrong with him. But Leonidas could understand if Sperchias had become discouraged. Sperchias, meanwhile, had not lost his interest in public affairs, only his optimism. He had become increasingly cynical. Leonidas opted for a question now: “What does Leotychidas want?”
“He wants Demaratus disgraced and exiled so he can become king.”
“I can see why Leotychidas would want that, but why would anyone support him?”
Sperchias weighed his head from side to side, considering his words carefully. “For a variety of reasons, not necessarily all compatible. Mostly they are malcontents, who don’t like the way things are and believe Sparta is poorly led.”
Leonidas thought a moment, reflecting on the remarks Lysimachos had just made about the change in the League charter, and then asked, “Because Demaratus sided with the Corinthians during the abortive campaign against Athens?”
“Yes. That was the start of it.”
“But not the end, you mean?”
Sperchias was standing in the pool, his feet firmly on the bottom. He stretched his arms out and brought them together slowly, then repeated the ges
ture without comment, making small waves that lapped against the sides of the pool. Finally he said, “They have an agenda.”
“What?”
“To ‘restore’ Sparta.”
“As hegemon in the League?” Leonidas asked.
“More than that. It’s also about putting the helots ‘back in their place.’”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, they see prosperous helots and impoverished Spartiates, and allege there is a relationship. In short, they blame the latter on the former.”
“That’s absurd. The helots on the marginal estates are worse off than anyone.”
“But helots like yours, Leonidas, are seen to be accumulating wealth.”
“If my helots are industrious and talented, like Pantes with his excellent carpentry or Laodice with her sweets, why shouldn’t they profit? They make me richer as well.”
“That has been noted—and resented.”
“That’s even more absurd.”
Sperchias shrugged. “I don’t disagree …”
“But?” Leo prompted.
“You don’t seem to recognize the danger. It does no good to say that they are irrational and that what they say is not true. They still say these things, and they are spreading bad rumors about you.”
“Like what?”
“That you bought your promotion, for example.”
“Chi! Are you serious? That would imply that all five lochagoi are corrupt!” Promotion of midlevel officers in the Spartan army was effected by consensus among the officers of the immediately superior rank. Enomotarchs were selected among promising section leaders by the company commanders collectively, and company commanders were appointed by the five lochagoi from the eligible enomotarchs.
“But you only needed three votes, didn’t you? Euragoras says you bought two of them.”
“Euragoras?” For the second time in a quarter-hour, Leonidas was stunned. Euragoras had been his own enomotarch when he was first in the army. He had always thought of Euragoras as a friend—not a close friend, but a friend nevertheless.
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