Leonidas had come to congratulate Euryleon on a brilliant debut as choreographer, but he did not like Aristodemos’ reception of his brother.
“Did you like it?” Euryleon eagerly asked his mentor, anxious for the praise he thought he deserved.
“The line was excellent,” Leonidas answered Euryleon, smiling and clapping him on the shoulder; then, without honoring Aristodemos with a single glance, he added, “but the soloist was too showy—too taken with himself, I think.”
“But, sir!” It was Meander who protested, while Euryleon simply looked astonished, and Aristodemos flushed with anger and shame.
Leonidas turned to Aristodemos at last and remarked, “I trust my life to your brother, boy.” The use of “boy” for a youth already seventeen was intensely insulting, and Aristodemos flushed hotly while Leonidas continued, “Until I say the same for you, I would—in your shoes—treat your brother with more respect.”
Both brothers stared at him, stunned; then Leonidas nodded again to Euryleon and departed the tent with Gorgo in his wake.
It was almost pitch dark. Behind them, by the light of torches, the traditional pantomime narrating the life of Asclepius was being performed by a mixed company. Ahead of them, the sky glowed a brilliant blue behind the sharp silhouette of Taygetos, and the stars were coming out over Parnon.
“Euryleon deserved better than that, Leo,” Gorgo ventured. “His whole life he’s struggled to make up for deficiencies that aren’t his own fault by excelling in other fields. The performance tonight was revolutionary in its complexity and verve, and it finally brought him widespread acclaim. But he cares most about your praise.”
“I’ll be sure he hears it; but that boy was only out on that stage because his brother came to me and was willing to work like a slave to keep him in school! Meander is worth ten of him! And then, rather than being grateful and honoring his brother for the sacrifice he made, he treated him like dirt! What the hell are they teaching the boys in the agoge today? That fame is more important than solidarity? If so, the Spartan army will disintegrate and collapse when Aristodemos’ generation takes the field!”
“Just because one seventeen-year-old lets his success on the stage go to his head is no reason to infer a complete failure of our educational system,” Gorgo cautioned.
“Of course not; but you know what Alkander says about Alcidas and his new regime! This is just another symptom of it! ” Leonidas would have said more, but out of the darkness a voice caught them by surprise.
“So. You’ve harnessed yourself to your brother’s chariot after all.”
Leonidas and Gorgo turned toward the speaker, startled. Demaratus separated himself from the shadows of the trees. He was dressed in showy armor, with elaborate brass reliefs on the breastplate and the cheek-pieces of the helmet. Leonidas wondered what had made him leave the theater before the last dance ended, but he answered Demaratus’ remark steadily, “No more than any other officer and ranker in the Spartan army.”
“Except you aren’t just an ordinary ranker anymore. You are deputy commander, Kyranios’ chosen successor, and an Agiad prince. Did you learn nothing from the fiasco in Attica?”
“My brother learned not to trust our allies—or even the perioikoi—which is why we’re taking a pure Spartiate army against Argos.”
“And risking the slaughter of two generations. Have you thought of that?”
“What do you want of me, Demaratus?”
“Be careful, Leonidas. They want to pull you down, too. Leotychidas and Brotus are working together. They are behind this whole campaign. Leotychidas ensured that Talthybiades was one of the two ephors appointed to accompany the army. He thinks Talthybiades will be able to manipulate your brother Cleomenes.”
Leonidas had voted against Talthybiades, but he had belonged to the minority on this point. The man was very, very clever, and had a long record of service to the state. Leonidas could not even say for sure why he distrusted him so much. His mistrust was completely intuitive, and that made it impossible to voice.
“He may be surprised,” Gorgo spoke up, drawing the attention of both men. “My father is not easily manipulated by anyone.”
“No,” Demaratus conceded. But then he added, “But don’t underestimate Talthybiades and Leotychidas, either. They are subtle and poisonous—and Leotychidas hates you, Little Leo.”
The Spartan army in all its splendor—fifty-three hundred citizens in full panoply, each supported by one to two helot attendants, a supply train piled high with spare spears, swords, aspis, and armor, wagons with grain and sacks of flour, dried meat, cheese, and more—stood stalled at the river Erasinus on the Argive border. The weather was perfect. It was exceptionally warm and dry for this time of year, which while bad for agriculture, was good for campaigning. There was no sign yet of the Argive army. The way into the Argolid lay open before them like a welcoming bride.
And King Cleomenes refused to order the advance across the river Erasinus.
“Actually,” he announced in a conversational tone of voice—his eyes, as usual, looking at something in the distance rather than at the faces of the men drawn up around him—“I rather admire Erasinus for refusing to betray his countrymen.” He referred to the river’s god.
“This is preposterous!” Talthybiades protested.
“Do you want to take such a decisive step against the wishes of the Gods?” Cleomenes asked as if astonished. “The omens, I tell you, are not favorable.”
“The omens?” Hyllus asked, incredulous. “But what about the Oracle? We are destined to take Argos once and for all. What do we care about a petty God like Erasinus if Apollo is on our side?”
“Don’t be impious!” Cleomenes admonished prissily, making several men roll their eyes, given Cleomenes’ reputation for impiety.
Kyranios grabbed Leonidas’ arm. “What is he up to now?” he demanded in a hiss that no one else could hear.
Leonidas looked hard at his elder brother and answered his commander, “He’s playing with us.”
“Meaning?”
“He has no intention of abandoning this campaign any more than we do.”
And at the front of the little crowd, Cleomenes announced, “All the same, the Argives will not get away with things so lightly. We’ll look for another ford.”
Kyranios let out his breath.
“There isn’t another ford!” Hyllus protested, but Cleomenes ignored him, and gave orders to start marching south on the west bank of the Erasinus.
Hyllus was right. There was no other ford, and they marched all the way to the Gulf of Argos, reaching the coast as the last of the light was fading. Despite the deepening dusk, however, it was still possible to make out the row of triremes and penteconters drawn up on the shore. Their rams were pointing out to sea ready for launch, and ladders were already extended to receive troops. Some of the men laughed at the sight of the ships, remarking on the cleverness of the Agiad kings. But Kyranios glanced at Leonidas and commented, “Do you still think you have no influence on him?”
Leonidas was struck by the brilliance of the plan. While Lacedaemon did not have enough ships to transport their full force anywhere, from here the ships could shuttle back and forth across the Gulf. The Pitanate Lochos embarked at once and established a bridgehead, while the ships returned for the remaining four lochos one at a time. By dawn the following day, the entire Spartan army was deep inside enemy territory and less than a two-hour march from Argos itself.
Dawn came upon them too soon, revealing that the night deployment had been less successful than expected. Somehow (and some men were already muttering about treachery) the Argives had found out where the Spartans had landed and encamped. The Argive army had come south out of the city to face them in full force, positioning themselves just outside the village of Sepeia.
Kyranios was summoned at once to consult with the king and the other lochagoi, while Leonidas, his eyes scratchy from too little sleep, went to wash in the nearby stream. They had
come for battle, and it awaited them today. It was time to wash and prepare oneself for death.
The whole army seemed to be in the stream, splashing water onto their faces and then stroking it out of their beards. With a fifteen-class call-up, the reservists outnumbered the active-duty men, and they, like the officers, had long hair that they wore braided. Leonidas, like the others, took the time to undo his braids, and with Meander’s help combed out his hair and rebraided it neatly from his forehead into six rows that hung down his back, longer than the tail of his crested helmet.
Back at the command tent, Leonidas pulled a clean red chiton over his head. Then he sat and pried open his leather-lined bronze greaves with his thumbs, one at a time, to fit them onto his shins. When he finished, Meander was waiting with his bronze breastplate, which he helped Leonidas wriggle into, and then pulled the sleeves of his chiton out through the armholes to reduce the discomfort under his arms. Next came the baldric, with the sword already in the sheath. Leonidas partly withdrew the sword in an automatic test that it sat correctly. Finally he took his leather-padded Corinthian helmet, with the distinctive black-and-white crest of a company commander, and pulled it down first to check the fit; he then pushed it upward by the nosepiece, so that it sat with the back edge rested on the base of his neck and the nosepiece on his forehead.
Kyranios was still not back from the command tent, so Leonidas made a tour of the lochos. Temenos was on guard with the Kastor Company, and Leonidas paused beside him. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, sir.” Temenos thought a moment and then asked, “Isn’t it, sir?” The look of doubt in his eyes reminded Leonidas of his own first engagement more than a decade ago. He, too, had been frightened he might disgrace himself.
“Fine,” Leonidas assured the younger man, and started to turn away.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” He turned back.
Temenos looked nervous. “Sir, if something happens to me, Chryse’s parents will make her marry—I mean, I want her to marry, but my son … I mean, a helot stepfather won’t be able to teach him about us. I want him to know—to grow up knowing—that his father—”
Leonidas’ waved him silent. “Don’t worry. As a young man, your position in the file is at least five deep behind the leaders from the active army, with the reservists at your back. By this time tomorrow, you will probably feel cheated, because you will have seen very little except the back of your shield and the back of the man in front of you, and you’ll be complaining about nothing more than aching shoulders and cramped calves. But if ever something happens to you and I am still alive, I’ll be sure your son knows about you.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry—”
Leonidas again waved him silent, and turned to return to the tent.
Although mist still lingered in the valley, the sun rose like an aspis of burnished copper above the murk. Just before he reached the command tent, the Spartan salpinx wailed out, calling for the men to form up by regiment. Leonidas felt a twinge of irritation with his brother for calling the men to fight without their breakfast, but he supposed his brother wanted to get this over with. Waiting could tear at one’s nerves, and Cleomenes’ nerves tended to be overwrought. He was not known for his patience. So Leonidas turned his attention to his lochos, watching for any sign of confusion as it fell in. Their position was to the right of the Pitanate Lochos, which held the center of the line, with the Guard and Cleomenes in their midst. To their own right was the Amyclaeon Lochos. Left of the Pitanate was the Limnate Lochos, and the Conouran was on the far-left flank.
As the Spartans started to form up in their regiments, frantic shouting erupted from the Argive camp. Soon men could be seen pouring out of their tents and starting to form up on the double. In some cases men took their places in line while still arming, their slaves carrying their hoplons and helmets for them.
Abruptly the pipes ordered the Spartans to stand down for breakfast after all. Apprehensively Leonidas watched the Argives, while behind him his men obeyed the order and returned to their camp. After a moment of apparent disbelief, however, the Argive lines also disintegrated, and the Argives set aside their armor as they settled down to have their breakfast as well.
An hour or so later, with the sun now yellow as it rose above the mist and the air turning decidedly warm, the Spartan pipes called again for the Spartan units to form up. Again Leonidas went to stand at the front, his eyes watching the Argives as much as his own troops. The Argive response was amazingly alacritous—as if they could read the Spartans’ own signals.
Kyranios was beside him. He looked gray and his eyes were bloodshot, but there was nothing wrong with his mind. “They’re reading our signals,” he concluded, just as Leonidas had done.
As if to prove his point, the herald blew for the Spartan line to stretch out, thinning to just five men deep, and instantly—with much shouting and running around—the Argive line also started to lengthen. Kyranios cursed and called for his horse.
One of his helots brought a sturdy black gelding over to the lochagos, and Kyranios tried to fling himself onto its broad back. He failed with an audible groan. Leonidas instantly went to help him. Kyranios looked at him with an unfathomable expression and made another attempt to mount. This time Leonidas shoved him upward from behind, so that he managed to land on the patient gelding’s back; he then pulled himself upright and turned the horse to canter toward Cleomenes in the center of the line.
Meanwhile, the Spartans were in position. The troops stood at ease, with their hoplons resting against their left knee and their spears stuck butt-end into the earth. They wore their helmets cocked back while the officers inspected. Then they settled down to wait. The mist had burned off entirely, and the day was getting very hot. The men sweated in the sun.
While the army helots stayed in the camp with the baggage, the individual attendants were expected to bring water to their hoplites at regular intervals, as well as to have reserve spears handy, and to provide first aid when the battle actually started. All along the line, men were taking an offered goatskin and drinking eagerly. Leonidas noticed that he, too, was thirsty and looked around for Meander. The young man came instantly. He was grinning. “Your first engagement, isn’t it?” Leonidas realized.
“Yes, sir!”
“Well, no doubt it will take that grin off your face,” Leonidas predicted. “Remember, once we engage, no one is going to pay attention to anything but what is ahead of him. If you move in to pull the wounded out, watch out for the butt ends of the spears from the rank ahead. More than one attendant has been mortally wounded by the butts of fighting front-rankers.”
“Yes, sir.” Meander looked only a fraction more sobered, and Leonidas could not entirely blame him. For the products of the agoge, this was the ultimate test; Meander had been in the agoge long enough to absorb the ethos, even if his father’s poverty had denied him the right to stand in the line.
It felt as if they had been standing in position for almost an hour when yet another signal sounded. It was to sit down. Not more than a thousand paces from the enemy, it was a gesture of contempt, intended to signal that the Spartans were so unconcerned about the enemy and so confident of their ability to respond rapidly that they did not need to remain at the ready even when in sight of the enemy. The Argives, however, parroted the move and settled on the ground, too.
Kyranios returned. He was no longer sitting upright in the saddle, but slouched to one side. He drew alongside Leonidas. “In a few moments, the pipes are going to order the midday meal. The Amyclaeon and Conouran Lochoi are going to peel off each flank and start back to camp. The Limnate and Mesoan Lochoi are to about-face and start marching back. If—as expected—the Argives also start to break up and return to their camp, the Pitanate will attack at once. Meanwhile, we take only ten paces in the wrong direction, then reverse again and support the Pitanate. Pass the word to ignore the salpinx, await verbal orders, and keep silent.”
With an inward b
ow of respect, Leonidas noted that his brother was very canny—although the maneuver was highly risky as well. It would, in effect, break up their line into five regiments that would then each attack independently at slightly different times. If the Argive line truly broke up, it would work, since each lochos could fight well as an independent phalanx. But it all hinged on the Argives breaking up their formation …
Leonidas passed Kyranios’ orders to the five company commanders and saw them bring it to the enomotarchs just in time. Then the signal to stand brought the Spartans (and Argives) to their feet, followed by the signal for “meal.”
As planned, the Amyclaeon and Conouran Lochoi fell out toward the flanks, and the Mesoan and Limnate Lochoi about-faced. Ten paces was an eternity in this situation. Leonidas felt as if his back were exposed to the javelins of ten thousand men. He could hear noise from the Argive line, but he did not know what it heralded until, at last, they had covered the distance, and Leonidas gave the verbal order to about-face again.
As soon as they faced the enemy again, they could see the Argives had indeed turned their backs and dropped their guard. The Pitanate Lochos, which was now twenty paces ahead of the Mesoan Lochos, advanced at a jog, the fastest the Spartans ever moved in attack. The Spartan shields overlapped and the lines were almost straight; but because they were not singing or shouting, the Argives didn’t realize they were coming until it was too late.
The king’s lochos, with the Guard at the forefront, fell upon the unheeding Argives in a block that was not as compact as a standard phalanx, but dense enough to run over anything in its path for thirty paces. The first three Spartan ranks, using an overhand grip, stabbed down at anything standing; and the remaining ranks kept their spears vertical but in an underhand grip, ready to finish off the crumpled bodies of the men the front rankers had wounded and dropped but failed to kill outright.
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