Spartan (44 page)

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we can get right up to the camp without anyone sounding the alarm. When I give the signal, attack with everything you’ve got: cut the tent ropes so that
they fall in on the men sleeping inside and yell at the top of your lungs; they must think that there are thousands of us. Set fire to everything you can, free the horses, destroy their provisions,
but don’t ever isolate yourselves; stay in groups, company by company. When you have crossed the camp and destroyed it, head towards the rampart at the bottom of the valley, as we’ve
established. The archers will remain behind in the dark and strike by the light of the fires. May the gods assist you.’

He raised his arm and gave the signal: his men opened into a fan formation and ran forwards shouting. They were upon the outposts in no time. They lunged at the guards, overwhelming them, while
the Spartan warriors, jolted awake in the dead of night, were scrambling to take up their weapons and head outside, where they met with the raiders, who were everywhere by then. In the darkness,
hand-to-hand combat rose to a furious pitch and in the reddish light of the flames the scene was frightening to behold. Shouts, excited orders, curses, the whinnying of horses and tangles of
bloodied bodies all about. But Kleidemos’ men soon found themselves on open ground, and they realized that the bulk of the camp was about a hundred feet over. King Pleistarchus must have
changed the set-up in the last hours, fearing just such a sortie. These were only the light infantry.

When the Helots began to run across the clearing, the trumpets had already sounded the alarm and Pleistarchus’ hoplites were forming their ranks. Attacking under such conditions in the
open field would have been sheer madness, and Kleidemos ordered all his men to run directly to the rampart, in the hope that Karas would have already occupied it. The battle resumed, while the
Helots tried to make an orderly retreat. The archers managed to hold off Pleistarchus’ phalanx momentarily as they were forced to advance slowly over the uneven ground so as not to break
rank.

At dawn, the Spartan army was lined up before the rampart where all of the Helots who had been able to reach the position had regrouped. Behind them, the entire population of Ithome, defended by
a handful of armed men, was walking westwards. Pleistarchus advanced on his horse, ready to command the attack that would wipe out the enemy. There would be no surprises now; they were utterly
exhausted and no longer protected by the walls of their city. He raised his spear as the rays of the sun tried to pierce the clouds, but before he could lower it, a horseman burst into the space
between the phalanx and the rampart.

‘O King,’ he said, jumping to the ground in front of Pleistarchus. ‘My King, a message from the ephors and the elders.’

‘I’ll read it later,’ replied the king, raising his spear once again.

‘No!’ insisted the messenger, holding out a scroll. ‘You must read it immediately.’

Pleistarchus took off his helmet as the two armies faced off in silence, and read:

The king raised his astonished eyes to find two Athenian officers before him who had just caught up with the messenger.

‘O King,’ said one of the two, ‘for quite some time we have been demanding that the ephors and the elders end this war which has brought nothing but blood and disaster; when
they asked us to take these people in, we willingly agreed. Allow us then to lead them out of this land and accept the greetings and the regards of the Athenians who still honour the memory of your
father.’

‘If it has been decided thus, then thus shall it be done,’ replied the king. He called an officer. ‘Give the order to retreat. We will be going back to Laconia this very
day.’

The Spartan soldiers were stunned at the orders of the king, and began to wheel and return to their camp under the incredulous eyes of the Helots, who could not fathom what was happening. The
two Athenians spurred on their horses and rode up to the rampart.

‘Men of Ithome!’ shouted the officer who had spoken to the king. ‘Your city is lost, but the god of Delphi has willed that a new homeland be given you. Thanks to the piety of
your sovereigns, Archidamus, son of Zeuxidamus, and Pleistarchus, son of Leonidas, and to the generosity of the Athenians who have sent us to guide you there, men of Ithome, you are free!’ A
confused murmur rose little by little as those closest to the Athenians repeated what they had heard to the others.

‘You are free!’ cried out the Athenian officer again. The murmur grew then until it exploded into an unrestrainable shout. The Helots embraced each other like men gone mad. Some fell
to their knees, arms raised towards the sky and eyes filled with tears, others ran among the ranks screaming, still others had already taken off to bring the news to the refugees marching under the
protection of Karas’ men.

When their enthusiasm finally calmed, they formed a long column behind the Athenian officers on horseback, heading down the road that led to the sea. At midday they had caught up with
Karas’ group, weakened by their long march but filled with joy at the incredible news that the fast-riding couriers had already brought them.

When the head of the column reached the banks of the Pamisus, Karas gave orders to set up camp. He reported immediately to the Athenian officers. ‘I thank you,’ he said, drying his
sweaty brow and holding out his hand, ‘in the name of this unhappy people who have been snatched from the jaws of death when hope no longer existed. Our leader will have told you what
happened last night.’

The two officers looked at each other in surprise. ‘We have not met your leader, although we have heard tell of him and would be pleased to speak with him.’

Karas scowled, realizing that he had not seen Kleidemos since he had first launched the attack. He excused himself hurriedly and ran through the camp, asking all those he met if they had seen
him, but he was soon convinced that Kleidemos was not among them. The warriors who had taken up position on the rampart assumed that he had reached the advance guard, while the advance guard was
sure that he had remained behind. Karas assembled all the chiefs and gave them orders to follow the Athenians; he would go back and search for Kleidemos on the battleground. He found a horse and
raced towards the trail they had just left, as the sun began to wane. He arrived at the foot of Ithome at dusk and jumped to the ground, allowing his horse to roam free.

The deserted field was sown with corpses: the Spartans had already left, taking their fallen with them. He began to search feverishly for his friend, overturning the bodies one by one,
scrutinizing their disfigured faces. He was nowhere to be found. Out of his mind with grief, Karas climbed the slopes of the mountain as the sun still cast out a little bloody light. The silence
was tomb-like, broken every so often by the screams of the crows who hungrily encircled their repast. On high, the open gates on Ithome’s black walls stared down at him like the eyes of a
skull.

Karas paused to catch his breath on the mountainside, half dead with exertion. He looked down into the shadowy valley: it was completely deserted. He brought his hands to the side of his mouth
and started to call with all the breath he had in him, but only distant echoes answered. He sank to the ground, his heart filled with despair. All energy had abandoned him and, as he thought sadly
that he should return to the others, he noticed a faint flickering on his right, just tens of feet away. He rose to his feet to see better. They were eyes, shining in the night, the yellow eyes of
a big grey wolf. The animal moved towards him, lifting his snout as if to sniff him, and then let out a long howl. He went off along the ridge of the mountain, stopping and turning around now and
then.

Karas took heart and followed him until the animal stopped at the great parched olive tree which seemed a creature in pain, claws raised beseechingly towards the sky. There the wolf vanished
behind a rock. Karas ran towards the tree, causing masses of pebbles to roll and rattle onto the rocks below.

When he reached the tree, he was overcome by astonishment. There, on its gnarled roots, lay Kleidemos’ magnificent armour, shining and bloodied: the storied cuirass, the horn bow, the
great shield, the amber-hilted sword and the helmet crowned with wolf fangs.

The giant fell to his knees weeping hot tears. He planted his fists in the dust and remained in that position, unmoving, until he heard the wolf’s howl echoing through the valley. He shook
himself, collected the armour piece by piece and began to descend the slope. He reached the valley and the banks of the little stream where the people of Ithome had first drawn water upon their
arrival from Laconia. In its limpid waters, he washed the cuirass, the sword and the shield. He called his horse and loaded the armour onto its back, covering it with his cloak. He began walking
east, towards Mount Taygetus, to bring it whence it had come.

One day, when his people needed him, Talos the Wolf would wear it again.

Spartan society – as described by the authors of the fifth century
BC
– is the most archaic, contradictory construct imaginable. They had
not one but two kings, a fact that has been explained in a variety of ways, although a completely convincing hypothesis has never emerged. These two kings in theory held the maximum authority; in
fact they were subject to the control of an executive body of five ephors (‘inspectors’). Any king who happened to have a strong personality tended to generate institutional conflict,
both with his fellow king and with the other authorities, with consequences that were often devastating.

Male citizens who enjoyed full rights – the so-called ‘equals’ or ‘Spartiates’ – belonged to a closed number of families. They met in a general assembly
called the ‘Apella’, which had a purely advisory function. They spent all their time on a single pastime: combat training. Raised from boyhood outside the family home in groups of
‘dining companions’ in their
syssitiai
, they were also expected to undergo survival training in the wood, without any type of support or aid. These bands of adolescents behaved
like packs of predators; they were allowed to steal, and even to kill or terrorize the Helots, who were considered an inferior class. Their raids were called
krypteiai
, and they may have
been guided or inspired by the political authorities, with the aim of maintaining constant pressure on the Helots, who periodically tried to regain their freedom through insurrections which were
almost always drowned in blood.

Although Spartan society was completely militarized, their politics were generally pacifist, because war had become a luxury they could ill afford. If a family of equals was extinguished, it
could not be replaced. In addition, since each family was assigned a limited (and equal) lot of land, births were strictly controlled so estates would remain intact. In the long run, this suicidal
demographic policy led to the extinction of the ‘Spartiates’, their ranks continually reduced as well by combat losses and the growing number of marriages between close relations. When
in 198
AD
Roman emperor Septimius Severus asked the Spartiates to follow him in the war against the Parthians (obviously for propagandist purposes), he found a few haggard
weaklings before him. The Spartan obsession with preserving their numbers is already well documented in the myth of the
Partheniae
– when the Messenian Wars (seventh century
BC
) kept the warriors away from home for years, the ephors realized that this would eventually mean a long period of time in the future without new conscripts. A group of
warriors was promptly sent back to Sparta with the mission of coupling with all virgins of child-bearing age.

And yet Sparta, which is often considered the dark side of Greek civilization, had certain fascinating and surprising aspects: for example, women had a dignity and freedom unimaginable in
democratic Athens. They could possess and bequeath property, and girls competed bare-legged in the gymnasiums like the boys of the same age. The Athenians considered this a scandal, and called them
‘thigh-barers’. What is more, Plutarch has handed down a series of ‘maxims of Spartan women’, which suggests a storehouse of traditional female wisdom, practically unheard
of in any other ancient Mediterranean civilization. When the legation of Aristagoras of Miletus arrived at the home of King Cleomenes I, they found him on all fours giving his little daughter
Gorgò a ‘pony ride’. Noting his visitors’ surprise, he told them, ‘This isn’t the best way to receive foreign guests, but if you are fathers, you’ll
understand.’ This anecdote clearly illustrates the fact that the Spartans must have loved their daughters at least as much as their sons.

Actual slavery didn’t exist (although the Helots had no political rights, they could not be bought or sold), nor did luxury; all excess was frowned upon. The Spartans saw themselves as a
proud, austere race, and it is probable that the life of an ‘equal’ was no less harsh or difficult than that of a Helot servant. In battle, their only alternative to winning was to die,
and losing one’s shield was considered an intolerable disgrace. They were so confident of their strength that they did not wall in their city (the term ‘city gates’ in the novel
is purely symbolic), declaring that the chests of their soldiers provided the best defence.