Gates of Fire: An Epic Novel of the Battle of Thermopylae

by Steven Pressfield

  In two brief exchanges, as if the Peers couldn't divine it themselves, it became clear that Alexandros had at the eleventh hour attempted to persuade Rooster into rescinding his defiance and accepting the city's honor, that he had failed and that still he had taken no action against him.

  This was treason pure and simple, Polynikes declared. Yet, he said, he personally had no wish to defame and punish the son of Olympieus, nor even myself, the squire of Dienekes. Let it end here. You gentlemen retire. Leave this helot and his brat to me.

  Dienekes now spoke. He expressed his gratitude to Polynikes for this offer of clemency. There remained, however, an aspect of half-exoneration to the Knight's suggestion. Let us not leave it at that, but clear Alexandras' name entire. May he, Dienekes requested, speak on the young man's behalf?

  The senior Medon assented, the Peers seconding him.

  Dienekes spoke. You gentlemen all know my feelings for Alexandros. All of you are aware that I have counseled and mentored him since he was a child. He is like a son to me, and a friend and brother as well. But I will not defend him out of these sentiments. Rather, my friends, consider these points.

  What Alexandros was attempting this night is nothing other than that which his father has been trying since Oe-nophyta, that is, to influence informally, by reason and persuasion, and out of friendly feeling, this boy Dekton called Rooster. To soften the bitterness he bears against us Spartans, who, he feels, have enslaved his countrymen, and to bring him around to the greater cause of Lakedaemon.

  In this endeavor, Alexandros has not this night and never has sought any advantage for himself.

  What good could come to him from enlisting this renegade beneath Spartan scarlet? His thought was alone for the good of the city, to harness to its use a young man of clearly demonstrated vigor and courage, the bastard son of a Peer and hero, my own wife's brother, Idotychides. In fact, you may hold me to blame along with Alexandros, for I more than once have referred to this boy Rooster as my by-blow nephew.

  Yes, Polynikes put in swiftly, as a joke and term of derision.

  We do not joke here tonight, Polynikes.

  There was a rustle among the leaves, and suddenly, to the astonishment of all, there into the slaughtering space advanced the lady Arete. I glimpsed a pair of bam urchins escaping into shadow; clearly these spies had witnessed the scene at Rooster's shell and dashed at once to relay it to the lady.

  Now she came forward. Wearing a plain peplos robe, with her hair down, summoned no doubt from bedtime lullabies just moments previous. The Peers parted before her, taken so by surprise that none could momentarily find voice to protest.

  What is this, she demanded with scorn, a skull court beneath the oaks? What august verdict will you brave warriors pronounce tonight? To murder a maiden or slit the throat of an infant?

  Dienekes sought to silence her, and the others did as well, with declamations to the effect that a woman had no business here, she must depart at once, they would hear of nothing else. Arete, however, ignored these utterly, stepping without hesitation to the side of the girl Harmonia, and there seizing Rooster's infant and taking him into her arms.

  You say my presence here can serve no purpose. On the contrary, she declared to the Peers, I can offer most apposite assistance. See? I can tilt this child's jaw back, to make his assassination easier. Which of you sons of Herakles will slice this infant's throat? You, Polynikes? You, my husband?

  More declarations of outrage ensued, insisting that the lady vacate at once. Dienekes himself voiced this in the most emphatic terms. Arete would not budge.

  If this young man's life were all that were at stake-her gesture indicated Rooster-I would obey my husband and you other Peers without hesitation. But who else will you heroes be compelled to murder in addition? The boy's half brothers? His uncles and cousins and their wives and children, all of them innocent and all assets which the city needs desperately in this hour of peril?

  It was reasserted that these issues were none of the lady's concern.

  Actaeon the boxer addressed her directly. With respect, lady, none can but see that your intention is to shield from extinction your honored brother's line, and he gestured to the squalling boy-child, even in this, its bastard form.

  My brother has already achieved imperishable fame, the lady responded with heat, which is more than can be said for any of you. No, it is simple justice I seek. This child you stand ready to murder is not the issue of this boy, Rooster.

  This statement appeared so irrelevant as to border upon the preposterous.

  Then whose is he? Actaeon demanded impatiently.

  The lady hesitated not a moment.

  My husband's, she replied.

  Snorts of incredulity greeted this. Truth is an immortal goddess, lady, the senior Medon spoke sternly. One would be wise to consider before defaming her.

  If you don't believe me, ask this girl, the child's mother.

  The Peers plainly granted no credence whatever to the lady's outrageous assertion. Yet all eyes now centered upon the poor young housewoman, Harmonia.

  He is my child, Rooster broke in with vehemence, and no one else's.

  Let the mother speak, Arete cut him off. Then to Harmonia: Whose son is he?

  The hapless girl sputtered in consternation. Arete held the infant up before the Peers. Let all see, the babe is well made, strong of limb and voice, with the cradled vigor which precedes strength in youth and valor in manhood.

  She turned to the girl. Tell these men. Did my husband lie with you? Is this child his?

  No… yes… I don't…

  Speak!

  Lady, you terrorize the girl.

  Speak!

  He is your husband's, the girl blurted, and began to sob.

  She lies! Rooster shouted. He received a vicious cuff for his efforts; blood sprung from his Up, now split.

  Of course she would not tell you, her husband, the lady addressed Rooster. No woman would.

  But that does not alter the facts.

  With a gesture Polynikes indicated Rooster. For the only time in his life, this villain speaks the truth. He has sired this whelp, as he says.

  This opinion was seconded vigorously by the others.

  Medon now addressed Arete. I would sooner go up barehanded against a lioness in her den than face your wrath, lady. Nor can any but commend your motive, as a wife and mother, in seeking to shield the life of an innocent. Nonetheless we of this mess have known your husband since he was no bigger than this babe here. None in the city surpasses him in honor and fidelity. We have been, with him, more than once on campaign, when he has had opportunity, ample and tempting opportunity, to be faithless. Never has he so much as wavered.

  This was corroborated with emphasis by the others.

  Then ask him, Arete demanded.

  We will do no such thing, Medon replied. Even to call his honor into question would be infamous.

  The Peers of the mess faced Arete, solid as a phalanx. Yet far from being intimidated, she confronted the line boldly, in a tone of order and command.

  I will tell you what you will do, Arete declared, stepping squarely before Medon, senior of the mess, and addressing him like a commander. You will recognize this child as the issue of my husband. You, Olympieus, and you, Medon, and you, Polynikes, will then sponsor the boy and enroll him in the agoge. You will pay his dues. He will be given a schooling name, and that name will be Idotychides.

  This was too much for the Peers to endure. The boxer Actaeon now spoke. You dishonor your husband, and your brother's memory, even to propose such a course, lady.

  If the child were my husband's, would my argument find favor?

  But he is not your husband's.

  If he were?

  Medon cut her short. The lady knows full well that if a man, like this youth called Rooster, is found guilty of treason and executed, his male issue may not be allowed to live, for these, if they possess any honor whatever, will seek vengeance when they reach manhood
. This is the law not merely of Lykurgus but of every city in Hellas and holds true without exception even among the barbarians.

  If you believe that, then slit the babe's throat now, Arete stepped directly before Polynikes. Before the runner could react, her grasp sprung to his hip and snatched forth his xiphos. Maintaining her own hand upon the hilt, she thrust the weapon into Polynikes' hand and held the infant up, exposing its throat beneath the whetted steel.

  Honor the law, sons of Herakles. But do it here in the light where all may see, not in the darkness so beloved of the krypteia.

  Polynikes froze. His hand sought to tug the blade back and away, but the lady's grip would not release it.

  Can't do it? she hissed. Let me help. Here, I'll plunge it with you…

  A dozen voices, led by her husband's, implored Arete to hold. Harmonia sobbed uncontrollably.

  Rooster looked on, still bound, paralyzed with horror.

  Such a fierceness stood now in the lady's eye as must have informed Medea herself as she poised the steel of slaughter above her own babes.

  Ask my husband if this child is his, Arete demanded again. Ask him!

  A chorus of refusal greeted this. Yet what alternative did the Peers possess? Each eye now swung to Dienekes, not so much in demand that he respond to this ridiculous accusation, as simply because they were flummoxed by the lady's temerity and did not know what else to do.

  Tell them, my husband, Arete spoke softly. Before the gods, is this child yours?

  Arete released her hand upon the blade. She swung the babe away from Polynikes' sword and held him out before her husband.

  The Peers knew the lady's assertion could not be true. Yet, if Dienekes so testified, and under oath as Arete demanded, it must be accepted by all, and by the city as well, or his holy honor would be forfeit. Dienekes understood this too. He peered for a long moment into his wife's eyes, which met his, as Medon's image had so aptly suggested, like those of a lioness.

  By all the gods, Dienekes swore, the child is mine.

  Tears welled in the lady Arete's eyes, which she at once quelled.

  The Peers murmured at this defilement of the oath of honor.

  Medon spoke. Consider what you are saying, Dienekes. You defame your wife by attesting to this 'truth' and yourself by swearing to this falsehood.

  I have considered, my friend, Dienekes responded.

  He restated that the child was his.

  Take him, then, Arete directed at once, advancing the final pace before her husband and placing the babe gently into his grasp. Dienekes accepted the bundle as if he'd been handed a Utter of serpents.

  He glanced again, for a long moment, into the eyes of his wife, then turned and addressed the Peers.

  Which of you, friends and comrades, will sponsor my son and enroll him before the ephors?

  Not a peep. It was a dreadful oath to which their brother-in-arms had sworn; would they, seconding him, be impeached by it as well?

  It will be my privilege to stand up for the child, Medon spoke. We will present him tomorrow.

  His name as the lady wishes shall be Idotychides, as was her brother's.

  Harmonia wept with relief.

  Rooster glared at the assembly with helpless rage.

  Then it is settled, said Arete. The child will be raised by his mother within the walls of my husband's home. At seven years he will enter the Upbringing as a mothax and be trained as any other blood issue of a citizen. If he proves worthy in virtue and discipline, he will when he reaches manhood receive his initiation and take his place as a warrior and defender of Lakedaemon.

  So be it, assented Medon, and the others of the mess, however reluctantly, agreed.

  It was not yet over.

  This one, Polynikes indicated Rooster. This one dies.

  The warriors of the krypteia now hauled Rooster to his feet. None of the mess raised a hand in his defense. The assassins commenced to drag their captive toward the shadows. In five minutes he would be dead. His body would never be found.

  May I speak?

  This from Alexandras, advancing to intercept the executioners. May I address the Peers of the mess?

  Medon, the eldest, nodded his assent.

  Alexandros indicated Rooster. There is another way to deal with this renegade which may, I suggest, prove of greater utility to the city than summarily to dispatch him. Consider: many among the helots honor this man. His death by assassination will make him in their eyes a martyr. Those who call him friend may for the moment be cowed by the terror of his execution but later, in the field against the Persian, their sense of injustice may find an outlet opposed to the interests of Hellas and of Lakedaemon. They may prove traitor under fire, or work harm to our warriors when they are most vulnerable.

  Polynikes interrupted with anger. Why do you defend this scum, son of Olympieus?

  He is nothing to me, Alexandros replied. You know he holds me in contempt and considers himself a braver man than I. In this judgment he is doubtless correct.

  The Peers were abashed by this candor, expressed so openly by the young man. Alexandros continued.

  Here is what I propose: let this helot live, but go over to the Persian. Have him escorted to the frontier and cut loose. Nothing could suit his seditious purposes more; he will embrace the prospect of dealing harm to us whom he hates. The enemy will welcome a runaway slave. Them he will provide with all the intelligence he wishes about the Spartans; they may even arm him and allow him to march beneath their banner against us. But nothing he says can injure our cause, since Xerxes already has among his courtiers Demaratos, and who can give better intelligence of the Lakedaemonians than their own deposed king?

  The defection of this youth will work no harm to us, but it will accomplish something of inestimable value: it will prevent him from being viewed by his fellows in our midst as a martyr and a hero. He will be seen by them for what he is, an ingrate who was offered a chance to wear the scarlet of Lakedaemon and who spurned it out of pride and vainglory.

  Let him go, Polynikes, and I promise you this: if the gods grant that this villain come before us again on the field of battle, then you will have no need to slay him, for I will do it myself.

  Alexandros finished. He stepped back. I glanced to Olympieus; his eyes glistened with pride at the case so concisely and emphatically put forward by his son.

  The polemarch addressed Polynikes. See to it.

  The krypteis hauled Rooster away.

  Medon broke up the assembly with orders to the Peers to disperse at once to their berths or homes and repeat nothing of what had transpired here, until tomorrow at the proper hour before the ephors. He upbraided the lady Arete sternly, admonishing her that she had tempted the gods sorely this evening. Arete, now chastened and beginning to experience that quaking of the limbs which all warriors know in the aftermath of battle, accepted the elder's chastisement without protest. As she turned her path toward home, her knees failed. She stumbled, faint, and had to be braced up by her husband, who stood at her side.

  Dienekes wrapped his cloak about his wife's shoulders. I could see him regard her keenly while she struggled to reclaim her self-command. A portion of him still burned, furious at her for what she had forced him to do tonight. But another part stood in awe of her, at her compassion and audacity and even, if the word may be applied, her generalship. The lady's equilibrium returned; she glanced up to discover her husband studying her. She smiled for him. Whatever deeds of virtue you have performed or may yet perform, my husband, none will exceed that which you have done this night.

  Dienekes appeared less than convinced.

  I hope you're right, he said.

  The Peers had now departed, leaving Dienekes beneath the oaks with the babe still in the crook of his arm, about to hand it back to its mother.

  Medon spoke. Let's have a look at this little bundle.

  In the starlight the elder advanced to my master's shoulder. He took the infant and passed it gently across to Harmo-nia. Me
don examined the little fellow, extending a war-scarred forefinger, which the boy clasped in his strong infant's fist and tugged upon with vigor and pleasure. The elder nodded, approving. He caressed the babe's crown once in tender benediction, then turned back with satisfaction toward the lady Arete and her husband.

  You have a son now, Dienekes, he said. Now you may be chosen.

  My master regarded the elder quizzically, uncertain of his meaning.

  For the Three Hundred, Medon said. For Thermopylae.

  Book Five. Polynikes

  Chapter Eighteen

  His Majesty read with great interest these words of the Greek Xeones which I, His historian, placed before Him in their transcribed form. The army of Persia had advanced by this date deep into Attika and made camp at that crossroads called by the Hellenes the Three-Cornered Way, two hours' march northwest of Athens. There His Majesty made sacrifice to God Ahura Mazda and distributed decorations for valor to the leading men among the Empire's forces. His Majesty had not for the preceding several days summoned into His presence the captive Xeones to hear from him in person the continuance of his tale, so consumed was He with the myriad affairs of the army and navy in the advance. Yet did His Majesty not fail to follow the narrative in His spare hours, studying it in this, the transcribed form in which His historian daily submitted it.

  In fact His Majesty had not been well for the previous several nights. His sleep had been troubled; the attendance of the Royal Surgeon had been summoned. His Majesty's rest was disturbed by untoward dreams whose content He divulged to no one, save the Magi and the circle of His most trusted counselors: the general Hydarnes, commander of the Immortals and victor at Thermopylae; Mardonius, field marshal of His Majesty's land forces; Demaratos, the deposed Spartan king and now guest-friend; and the warrioress Artemisia, queen of Halicarnassus, whose wisdom in counsel His Majesty esteemed beyond all others'.

  The incubus of these troublous dreams, His Majesty now confided, appeared to be His own remorse over the desecration, following the victory at the Hot Gates, of the body of the Spartan Leonidas. His Majesty reiterated his regret at the defilement of the corpse of this warrior who was, before all, a king.