Spartan (14 page)

Three years passed, and then news arrived that the forces of the Great King, incredibly numerous, were beginning to concentrate near Sardeis, in Lydia, ready to march against Hellas.

Messages from all corners of Greece reached Sparta, and in turn were sent in all directions. Mobilization and state of alarm: harbingers of war. King Leonidas and King Leotychidas departed one
autumn morning with their entourage, headed for Corinth. There on the isthmus, near the great temple of Poseidon, they would meet with representatives from a multitude of city states to devise a
common plan of defence. The two sovereigns knew the line of thought of the ephors, the elders and the popular assembly: they were to insist that the lines of defence be drawn up right on the
isthmus itself, so as to protect the Peloponnese from the invading army. They were also fully aware, however, that the Athenians, the Plataeans and the Phocians would request that the confederate
troops close ranks at the Thermopylae pass, in order to defend central Hellas as well.

In the hall of the Corinthian council sat the representatives of the thirty-one Hellenic states that had decided to join forces against the Great King. When the two Kings of Sparta entered, the
guards stiffened in salute, presenting their arms. King Leonidas and King Leotychidas took their places at the seats reserved for them. The hall was nearly full, and the Corinthian representative
took the floor to open the assembly. He read the treaty that they would all sign, declaring that complete agreement would reign among them for the entire period of the war against the barbarians.
He announced the recall of all political exiles and the constitution of a confederate army. The high command was offered to Sparta.

King Leonidas and King Leotychidas would lead the ground troops. Navarch Eurybiades would be supreme commander of the naval armada, although the great majority of the vessels had been supplied
by the Athenians. The Corinthian magistrate announced that the Corcyraeans had joined the alliance and that they would also send their fleet. Syracuse, the powerful Sicilian city, had refused.
Their tyrant Gelo had demanded the high command of the army, or at least of the fleet, neither of which could be conceded to him. Informers had already been sent to Asia, to Sardeis, to learn
precise facts about the enemy army, the actual size of which was frequently questioned. Some, in fact, maintained that the stories that had reached them were utterly absurd.

Until that moment all went well. The mood was certainly not relaxed, but it was clear that a common cause animated all of the delegates: the will to withstand the enemy invasion. Difficulties
arose when operational decisions had to be made. King Leotychidas seemed inflexible on one point: the main line of defence had to be on the isthmus, where a triple barrier wall had been under
construction for some time already. Even if the rest of Hellas were forced to capitulate, a counter-attack could still be prepared from the Peloponnese. His arguments were based largely on his
claim that there was no other position so easily defendable north of the isthmus.

This was not true; the Athenian delegate, Themistocles, son of Neocles, rose to his feet immediately to take the floor in protest. He was doubtless a man different from all the rest. His words
were incisive, dry, sometimes cutting. His arguments were cogent. As he spoke, King Leonidas listened with great attention, not missing a word of what was said. He began to realize that the Greeks
needed Athenian brilliance just as much as Spartan force.

Themistocles concluded, ‘For these reasons, gentlemen, it is imperative that the line of defence be prepared at the Thermopylae. This pass is not only the door to Attica, as I have heard
said today in this hall, but the door to all of Hellas; by defending the Thermopylae, we are also defending the Peloponnese. We must take into account,’ he added, ‘that if Athens were
to be overrun by barbarians or if we were forced to surrender . . .’ Leonidas shifted position in his seat, and shot a knowing glance at the other king.

‘Well,’ continued Themistocles, ‘if Athens were no longer in the picture, who would defend your coasts from a Persian landing? What good are the fortifications that are being
feverishly constructed along the isthmus if there is not a fleet behind them to defend them? The enemy could land an army in any part of Laconia, of Argolis, of Messenia; they could even land
contingents at several points and oblige you to split up as they conduct the final attack with the bulk of their forces. As valorous as they are, not even the Spartans,’ the orator continued
heatedly, turning directly to the two Spartan kings seated in front of him, ‘could hope to repel the attack of all of Asia without the aid of a fleet.’

This gave the Kings of Sparta no choice but to promise to send troops to the Thermopylae. They were not able to commit, however, to the intervention of the entire Peloponnesian army. They knew
well, in fact, that the ephors and the elders would never consent to send all of the Spartiate warriors outside of the Peloponnese.

When all of the orators had finished speaking, the doors of the great hall were opened and the priests entered for the pledging ceremony. The confederates swore, by the god of Delphi, not to
retreat from the war until the last barbarian had ceased to tread Greek ground; they swore to punish all those Greeks who might betray their own blood by aiding the Persians.

The delegates left at dusk, each returning to his own home. King Leonidas and King Leotychidas spent the night in Corinth, to discuss with the city magistrates details concerning coordination of
the war operations, troop enlistment and preparation of the battleships that would move alongside the confederate fleet.

After a modest dinner, Leonidas had retired to the house that the city government had put at his disposal, when the guard at the entrance announced that a man had arrived and desired to have a
word with him: it was Themistocles, the Athenian admiral.

‘Enter,’ said the sovereign, inviting him in. ‘You are welcome in this house.’ The Athenian sat down, arranging the white pallium on his arms. ‘What is the reason
for your visit?’

‘Sire, I am here to acquaint you with the occurrence of some very serious events that could severely damage our cause.’

The king looked at him, alarmed. ‘What exactly are you speaking of?’

‘I have learned that, beyond a doubt, the nations of the centre and north are preparing to surrender to the Great King, or, in any case, to collaborate with him. That’s not all: the
oracle of Delphi is on their side. Do you know the response given to delegates of my city who went to consult the oracle?’

‘I heard that the prophecy was discouraging, but I don’t know the exact content.’

‘Discouraging to say the least,’ went on the Athenian, stroking his beard. ‘The oracle prophesied frightening misfortune for the city, destruction and grief without end, if the
Athenians dared to defy the Medes. The delegates were so disheartened that they would not return to the city. They turned back and asked the oracle for another response. It was then that the oracle
offered me the way to save the city from despair and panic. The words that the Pythia professed this time were no less terrible, but at the end she added that the city could defend itself by
elevating a rampart of wood. An absurdity absolutely without any significance, but to the people of Athens I interpreted it as meaning that our only salvation could be a great fleet of
battleships.’

Leonidas looked at him, surprised. ‘You are more clever than Odysseus himself,’ he said, ‘but what you tell me is very alarming indeed; do you really believe that the oracle is
not acting in good faith?’

Themistocles fell into a troubled silence; it seemed too obvious to remind Leonidas of how King Cleomenes had convinced the Pythia Perialla to deny the legitimate birth of Demaratus. When King
Leonidas lowered his head, visibly confused, he understood that there was no need to mention this.

‘I am absolutely certain of it,’ responded the Athenian admiral. ‘As you know, the nations of the north control the Council of the Sanctuary of Delphi with an absolute majority
of votes. There is only one way we can oppose or neutralize this policy. There would be no end to the trouble if we were marked as adversaries of the god, or as heedless of the wisdom of oracles.
We must clearly let our allies know that we have nothing against the sanctuary, but emphasize the part of our oath that declares that traitors will be punished and forced to pay a tithe to the
temple of Apollo.

‘We must come to terms with the Thessalians, the Boeotians, the Perrhaebians and the Enianians, without counting the Macedonians. King Amyntas of Macedonia is on our side, but his position
is unsustainable. He could not resist for a single day alone. The Great King could camp his troops in central Greece, and from there attack us unchecked, confident in the submission and the
collaboration of the traitors. If only for this reason, it is absolutely necessary that your government be convinced to marshal all available troops at the Thermopylae.’

The King of Sparta, having listened carefully, answered, ‘I agree with your words, O Themistocles, and you may be sure that I will do all that is in my power to convince the ephors and the
elders, but you know well that my authority has its limits. Rest assured that I will be present at the Thermopylae, in any case.’

‘This alone is a great thing, sire,’ said Themistocles. ‘And I return content to my city knowing that King Leonidas is not only a valorous warrior, but also a wise and generous
man. Your word is of great value to me, so much that I wish to exchange promises with you, as two men may exchange hospitable gifts. You may be certain that when King Leonidas has drawn up at the
Thermopylae, Themistocles will be at your shoulders, to protect you from the sea, and that I would rather pay with my own life than dishonour this oath. And now,’ he said, rising, ‘we
all have need of rest: may the night be propitious for you, O King Leonidas.’

‘And favourable also to you, Athenian guest,’ said the king, rising to accompany Themistocles to the door.

At that moment a horse was heard galloping on the cobbled street. Almost immediately, they heard a whinny and low voices outside the door. A knock, and the guard entered.

‘Sire, a messenger asks to see you immediately.’

‘Let him enter,’ said the king. A man covered with dust and obviously exhausted came into the room, offered Leonidas a leather scroll, gave him a military salute and departed. The
king opened the scroll and quickly skimmed its contents. Themistocles saw him grow pale.

‘Is it serious?’

‘The elders have consulted the oracle about the war we are about to undertake, and the response has arrived.’ He began to read slowly:

Themistocles drew closer, and took the king’s arm. ‘Don’t take any heed of this, Leonidas, the oracle is openly in favour of the Persians. Do not give weight to those
words.’

Leonidas regarded him with an absorbed expression. ‘Perhaps what you say is true, Athenian guest, but the gods, at times, can make the truth heard even from the mouths of
evil-doers.’

He opened the door that led to the street. ‘At the beginning of spring I will be at the Thermopylae,’ he said in a firm voice. The Athenian nodded and, after shaking his hand,
departed, pulling his white cloak close. On the street, gusts of cold wind made the dry leaves of the plane trees spin.

M
EANWHILE, ON THE DISTANT
banks of the Hellespont, thousands and thousands of men worked feverishly under the direction of the architects of the Great
King, on the bridge that would join Asia to Europe. The enormous task had to be finished before the bad weather started.

Two anchorage cables, each fifteen stadia long – one made of linen by the Phoenicians, the other of papyrus by the Egyptians – were fixed onto the Asiatic coast. Each was towed by
two warships to the coast of Europe, where they were inserted into the grooves of two immense pulleys and stretched tight. They were then lifted from the water to the necessary height, using sixty
pairs of oxen and twenty pairs of horses.

The ships that would support the base of the bridge, a platform made of bundled sticks covered by compacted soil, were drawn up between the cables. At the end, the engineers and the architects
of the Great King admired their work with satisfaction, but their joy was short-lived: when the season changed, an impetuous north wind drove a violent sea-storm against the bridge, and they
realized that an error had been committed. The bridge was perpendicular to the direction of the wind and current.

The linen cable, being heavier than the papyrus cable, was soon soaked with water and this put the whole structure hugely off balance. The bridge anchors were uprooted, and the breakers soon
swept away the marvellous construction. The Great King, enraged, ordered that the sea be flogged with many canes and that these words be pronounced as the punishment was performed:

The architects were arrested and decapitated so that those who followed them would be more careful about fulfilling their duties. And so they were. The bridge was rebuilt in the spring; the
cables of papyrus and linen were made four, and alternated so that the weight was perfectly balanced. The position of the ground anchors was changed so that the bridge was parallel to the direction
of the current, and the cables remained permanently stretched tight. The length of the linen which held the anchors on the sea bed was changed to correspond to the force of the north wind and the
westerly winds that blew in the spring.