“It’s just jealousy, of course.”
Leonidas was silent. He could understand the frustration and jealousy of a man passed over for promotion. He remembered his own disappointment at being passed over for the Guard year after year. “They can say what they like. What difference does it make?”
“That’s exactly my point, Leo: you underestimate them. This isn’t about your personal reputation. It’s about discrediting you so that you cannot get in their way.”
Leonidas noted that this was a backhanded compliment, which imputed more influence to him than he felt he had.
Sperchias continued, “They have already bought Brotus with promises that he will be next. The idea is to bring down Demaratus first, and then Cleomenes.”
“And then?” Leonidas pressed. “Just what do they want then? It is hardly as if my brother and Demaratus have agreed on anything. How can they be against them both?”
“They don’t disagree with your brother’s policies; rather, they believe he has been inept at implementing them. They want Sparta to abandon Chilon’s policy of accommodation with our neighbors and return to an aggressive policy.”
“So they support this war against Argos?”
“One hundred per cent; and they hope Demaratus will oppose it so they can expose him as ‘cowardly.’”
“You said the faction was getting stronger?”
“Definitely,” Sperchias agreed. “Look how they got their candidate for Paidonomos elected!”
Epidydes had retired the previous year to take up the first vacancy on the Council of Elders in three years. He had been replaced by one of his three deputies, Alcidas.
“And they are behind your election defeats,” Leonidas concluded.
Sperchias did not meet his eyes, but Leonidas could read his expression.
Leonidas started up the steps out of the bath, and was met with a towel by one of the bath slaves. As he dried himself, he stated, “It will not happen again—if I can help it.”
Sperchias joined Leonidas outside the bath and looked at him hard. “Does that mean you are going to take an active interest in this, Leo?”
“You have my word.”
At dinnertime, Leonidas found Nikostratos waiting for him in front of the syssitia. “Any news?” he asked anxiously.
“Gorgo is doing very well, I’m told. She certainly has not made much noise, as these things go. In fact, I’ve heard laughing coming from the chamber, so she’s kept her wit so far.”
That sounded good, and Leonidas felt some of his tension ease.
“Oh, and one of your mares gave birth to a colt this afternoon, but she absolutely refuses to let it milk. She’s kicked it away from her so consistently that Pelopidas has separated them and is trying to keep it alive by hand.”
“Good man,” Leonidas answered automatically, his thoughts still on Gorgo. It had only been six hours since she started labor. While Nikostratos was surely telling the truth and all was well so far, things could still go very wrong. He sighed, and Nikostratos patted him on the arm in sympathy as they went into the dining club together.
Leonidas left the syssitia with Alkander. Alkander suggested they stay at his townhouse rather than ride the seven miles to his kleros. He led the way through the back alleys to the narrow house, rented more than a dozen years ago to enable Hilaira and Alkander to meet while he was on active service. They retained it now because his eldest son, Thersander, was already in the agoge, and the younger boy, Simonidas, soon would be. Alkander and Leonidas stepped through the dark entryway into the courtyard, and Alkander called out to the housekeeper to bring them wine and water in the andron.
At dinner there had been much talk about Cleomenes’ oracle, and Leonidas had reported on the corpses of the Ionian rebels, which led to a lengthy discussion of the Persian versus the Argive threat. Leonidas had taken a lively part in the discussion; and it was really only now, when he was alone with Alkander, that it struck him that Alkander, like Sperchias, looked tired and dejected.
“Is something wrong?” Leonidas asked. “You look discouraged.”
Alkander nodded, reaching for wine before answering, “It’s Alcidas.”
Leonidas was not entirely surprised. Alkander had never gotten along with the senior deputy headmaster. Alcidas had always been a conservative, while Alkander had joined the staff of the agoge in order to reform it. “Something in particular?”
Alkander shrugged, “He’s a tyrant, Leo. An insidious, subtle tyrant. He doesn’t shout or scream, of course. He’s Spartan. He was raised in the agoge the same as you or I. He has such firm control of his emotions that dealing with him is like dealing with a statue. His facial expression rarely changes, and his voice is always level, always soft, almost monotone. But he is …” Alkander looked hard for the right word, and finally concluded, “he is evil.”
Leonidas started at such a bald accusation, but he said nothing. Alkander was not one for idle exaggeration. He looked hard at Alkander and awaited the explanation.
“I will give you an example: he has so intimidated the eirenes that they are afraid to come to him with their problems. I don’t have responsibility for the eirenes.” Alkander was the assistant deputy headmaster for the little boys, the boys aged seven to thirteen. “But Ephorus has confided this to me.” Ephorus, once their herd leader, had become the supervisor of eirenes at the agoge. “Fortunately, in some matters they still feel they can go to Ephorus himself, but Alcidas has managed to make them ashamed of seeking advice; and Ephorus says the weaker youths, the very ones who need the most assistance, shy away from him.”
Leonidas was appalled. He could vividly remember being an eirene himself. He remembered how much guidance and assistance he had needed from the experienced staff of the agoge. Before he could comment, however, Alkander continued. “Alcidas’ answer to any kind of problem is to blame the person reporting to him; which, of course, only means that problems are not reported to him, and that instructors, eirenes, and youths try to avoid getting in trouble by taking as few risks as possible. Nobody nowadays would do what you did, for example, and turn the text for a public performance into an off-color caricature of the original. They wouldn’t dare. You may say that isn’t such a loss—and I’ll grant you that your text was juvenile—but what I see is a creeping inhibition of initiative that could be fatal for Sparta’s long-term agility in public and foreign affairs.”
Leonidas nodded.
“Worse is the fact that the boys are being taught silence not so that they think before they speak, but to stop them from speaking at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when we were growing up, we were never allowed to gossip, babble, or talk nonsense in class. We were supposed to speak only when spoken to; but then we were expected to give concise, coherent, and relevant answers. The emphasis was on responding to questions that challenged our intellect and made us think carefully about our answers before we opened our mouths.”
Leonidas nodded slowly in agreement.
“What that meant in practice,” Alkander continued, “is that the wittier we were—the more original, the more articulate, even the more impudent—the greater the approval we harvested. Don’t you remember?” he asked, leaning closer to Leonidas, because darkness had crept into the little andron but neither man had thought to light a lamp. “You were so good at it! I can vividly remember one night in some syssitia when you were asked why only full citizens were allowed to wear their hair long, and you said, ‘So the boys of the agoge will know whom to call “father” rather than “sir.”’” Leonidas laughed, because he had forgotten the exchange.
“That’s the point, Leo,” Alkander told him intensely now. “They all laughed. At that moment, no one gave a damn whether you knew the correct answer; they appreciated a quick reply. In fact, as soon as we went back into the kitchen, they started discussing whether the tradition had indeed become nothing but an empty symbol of status.
“But under Alcidas, the boys a
re afraid of giving a ‘wrong’ answer. Alcidas wants them to learn everything by rote rather than think things out for themselves. He wants them to be silent not so that they think through their answers before speaking, but rather to silence differences of opinion.”
“Are you sure?” Leonidas resisted the implications of what Alkander was saying. He had always been proud of his education, and most proud of the fact that it taught boys to think for themselves.
Alkander insisted firmly, “Yes. I am. Which is why I was not very interested in what you said tonight about the Persians, Leo. The Persians are very far away. Alcidas and his supporters are right here in Sparta.”
“Chi claims Alcidas owes his election to the faction around Leotychidas. Do you agree with that?”
To Leonidas’ surprise, Alkander agreed, “Absolutely! Leotychidas is like a venomous snake. He makes very little noise, and he prefers to wait for his prey to come to him. He strikes silently and without warning, and he is cold-blooded and devoid of compassion. He has been working against Demaratus for years now, and we never even noticed …” Alkander hesitated, but then he dropped his voice and admitted, “My sister came to me at the full moon. She confessed to following the urgings of her maid and seeking out a woman who lives in a cave on Mani. The woman is generally considered mad, but according to Percalus, she is a priestess to Gaia.”
Leonidas looked at Alkander in alarm. He had never had a high opinion of Alkander’s sister Percalus. She had Alkander’s beautiful, fragile blond looks, but none of his common sense. Worse, she had let her good looks go to her head. She first enjoyed playing suitors off against one another; then, having given her promise to Leotychidas, she dropped him without hesitation when Demaratus beckoned with a crown. She had been married for fourteen years and had never once conceived, and this failure had induced her to make extravagant gifts to Eileithyia, the Goddess of childbirth, and Hestia, the Goddess of the hearth, as well as frequent sacrifices to Hera and Aphrodite—all without result. But Gaia was one of the old gods, and the Olympians were fiercely jealous. Leonidas did not think it was wise to seek out a woman who claimed to communicate with them.
“I agree,” Alkander responded to Leonidas’ look. “But she did, and this is the worst of it, Leo: the woman told her Leotychidas had put a curse on her womb. The woman said Leotychidas had himself come to her and paid her to perform the curse.”
“And for a larger sum she would reverse it, no doubt,” Leonidas scoffed. Whether or not it was because of his animosity toward Asteropus, over the years Leonidas had developed a low opinion of priests and priestesses. They were so greedy.
“I wish she had said that,” Alkander answered in a voice that was almost inaudible. “That, at least, would have been transparent, and Percalus could have paid up and gone away happy—though none the more fertile. But she didn’t.” Alkander paused. It was pitch dark in the andron, but still neither of them thought to light a lamp. The darkness made Alkander’s voice disembodied and more ominous. “She said it was too late, that a chain of events had already been set in motion. She told Percalus that she would live to be scorned by the man she’d scorned, but that Demaratus’ fate would be worse: he would betray what he loved most, and be forced to watch while the barbarians reaped the harvest that he had sown with his treason.”
The sky was graying in anticipation of dawn by the time Leonidas cantered up his drive in response to the summons by Crius. As he jumped down in front of the house, he turned his horse free and left him to find his own way back to his stall. He went inside and took the stairs two at a time, until the stillness in the house admonished him to silence. He stopped at the top of the stairs and listened. Nothing stirred. Cautiously he pushed the door open and peered into the room. Hilaira was stretched out on a pallet on the floor. On the bed, nestled in fresh, clean linens, was Gorgo, sound asleep with a bundle in her arms.
Leonidas tiptoed into the room and looked down at the bundle—which had a bright red face, wet lips, eyes screwed shut, and a shock of wet hair plastered to its forehead. He put out a finger to touch it, but then changed his mind and bent to kiss his wife instead.
Gorgo woke instantly. Her eyes widened, and then she smiled. “Leo! Have you seen her? Isn’t she beautiful? She doesn’t take after me at all! She’s all yours!” She looked down at the bundle in her arms, full of pride, and Leo kissed her again.
“She’s beautiful,” Leo told his wife. “But not as beautiful as you.”
“Leo—”
He silenced her with a kiss and then asked in a whisper, “Is there room for me in there, or do I have to sleep somewhere else? I’m exhausted.”
Gorgo smiled and at once squirmed closer to the wall, taking the baby with her, while Leonidas pulled his clothes off and left them on the floor. It was a hot, sticky night and he did not try to take Gorgo in his arms; it was enough that—unlike Eirana—she did not send him to sleep elsewhere. He took her hand and she squeezed it. Her smile seemed to light up the darkness.
“What do you think we should name her?” Gorgo asked in a whisper.
“Agiatis,” Leo told her without hesitation.
“You were expecting a daughter!” Gorgo guessed, almost offended; and then asked at once, anxiously, “Are you unhappy?”
“No,” Leonidas lied. He wanted and needed a son—now more than ever, after what he’d heard today about Leotychidas and, by association, Brotus. He needed a son that he and Gorgo could raise to be a reforming king like Polydorus, a king with the blood of Chilon in his veins, as well as the blood of Herakles … But there was no point admitting that to Gorgo. It was not her fault. So he kissed her again, and pretended to sleep until he did.
Chapter 21
The Hereditary Foe
The pain made Kyranios catch his breath and cling to the edge of the table. For a moment his sight dimmed, and a trembling took hold of his left side; but then the crisis passed again, and he slowly let out his breath. These “fits” were coming more frequently, and it was getting more difficult to hide them from those around him.
As his breathing returned to normal, he twisted slowly to look behind him and see if anyone had noticed anything this time. Fortunately, the quartermaster was engrossed in going through the inventory with the clerk and the perioikoi responsible for procurement. They were in the final stages of topping up supplies in preparation for the campaign against Argos. If all went according to schedule, they would call up fifteen classes of reserves the day following the end of the Asclepia and march out three days later, roughly ten days from now.
A full call-up of this nature would enable Sparta to field five thousand Spartiate troops of the line, plus three hundred Guardsmen. It was Sparta’s maximum striking force; and it left the defense of Lacedaemon in the hands of the perioikoi auxiliaries, and Sparta itself in the hands of the forty-six- to sixty-year-olds, supported by the eirenes and meleirenes.
It was rare for Sparta to field such a large force. Kyranios had never personally experienced it before, and he was extremely reluctant to admit his physical condition under the circumstances. To field a force this size, each lochos expanded from a standing force of four hundred men to a unit one thousand strong by absorbing reservists into their ranks. This was achieved by activating a fifth company and by swelling the four active companies with reservists until their strength doubled from one to two hundred men each. This, in turn, was achieved by each enomotia adding a section, to bring their numbers up to forty men each. The responsibility shouldered by each officer in such a call-up was enormous.
Kyranios had been a lochagos for twenty-three years, making him the most experienced commander in the Spartan army. Two of the lochagos were very junior, while the man closest to Kyranios in experience, Hyllus, was in Kyranios’ opinion a pig-headed fool. Hyllus thought every battle could be won by sheer strength. He was fond of saying, “Turn off your brain, put your head down, and shove!” Hyllus was the last man Kyranios wanted to see in the de facto position of principal advi
sor to the commanding king, Cleomenes. Next senior after Hyllus was Arkesilos of the Limnate Lochos. While Arkesilos was certainly no bonehead like Hyllus, Kyranios was not sure he had the backbone needed to stand up to Cleomenes if the king started to do something crazy.
That they might need to stand up to Cleomenes was all too obvious to Kyranios. Cleomenes had always been erratic and prone to extravagant experiments. Despite the success of his first campaign against Athens, his latter expeditions had resulted in nothing but humiliation—first getting trapped on the Athenian acropolis and then having the allies abandon them. But getting humiliated by Athens was one thing; being defeated by Argos was another altogether.
Cleomenes’ interference in Athenian affairs had not threatened the integrity of Lacedaemon—attacking Argos did. If they struck at Argos and failed to deliver a crippling blow, the Argives would take a terrible revenge. Kyranios had only to think of the raids Argos had delivered throughout the past decade, from Kythera to Thyrea. The Argives would love nothing better than the opportunity to regain control of the Malean peninsula and Kythera. They would, indeed, love to invade Lacedaemon and take Sparta itself. If they did, they would turn every Spartiate and his wife and children into Argive slaves. Kyranios didn’t doubt that for a moment.
Which meant: if war with Argos was unavoidable (and it was, because Cleomenes was obsessed with it and the Assembly had endorsed it), then it had to be a singularly successful war. To be successful, the Spartan army had to deliver a knockout blow to the Argives—something so decisive that they would finally acknowledge Lacedaemonian hegemony on the Peloponnese. Anything less would only result in an escalation of the simmering hostilities—with dangerous consequences for the safety of all Lacedaemon, not to mention Sparta’s ability to confront other threats such as Persia.
Kyranios’ head was killing him. It felt as if one of the Titans had clamped his hand around Kyranios’ skull and was pressing inward. Kyranios could picture the plates of his skull fracturing like an egg pinched between his thumb and forefingers. He put his fingertips to his temples and tried to rub the pain away.
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