Spartan (15 page)

Three hundred and sixty triremes and light warships were moored between the cables. Tree trunks were sawed to the exact measurement and placed on the ships to support the compacted earth. Reed
and wicker screens were built into the sides of the bridge as parapets so that the horses would not be frightened by the sea’s waves.

When the storks began to appear in the skies of the Troad and Bithynia the work was finished and the vast army of Xerxes was put into motion.

The Medes, the Kisseans, the Hyrcanians, and the Assyrians crossed over the bridge with their conical helmets and heavy iron-clad clubs, followed by the Scythians with their small hirsute horses
from the steppe. The Bactrians came next, their faces burnt from the sun of Paropamisus, and then the Indians with their bamboo spears and tattooed skin. The Parthians and Korasmians crossed with
their long scimitars, and so did the Caspians with their heavy goatskin mantles. Next came the curly-haired Ethiopians, dressed in lion- and leopard-skins, armed with long iron-tipped assegais, the
Sogdianians from the southern deserts, the Arabs on their dromedaries, wrapped in wide capes, and then still Libyans, Cappadocians, Phrygians, Mysians, Thracians, Mosynoecians, Egyptians,
Paphlagonians and Colchians.

They marched past for days and days, until at the very end came the Immortals, the guard of Xerxes. There were ten thousand of them, wearing long fringed tunics, their arms adorned with gold and
silver bracelets, long bows and quivers across their backs. They were the cream of the Persian army: extremely tall, valorous and unswervingly faithful to their sovereign to the very end.

From his ebony throne, the Great King watched them march past; not even he himself had realized how many peoples lived within the confines of his vast empire. On the European coast, a crowd of
shepherds and farmers who lived in the villages of the area gathered along the beach to watch the spectacle with incredlous eyes.

In the meantime, from the ports of Ionia and Phoenicia arrived the various squads that were to form the magnificent fleet that would back up and supply provisions for the army on its long march
over land. The population of the coast saw the vessels of Tyre, Sidon, Byblos, Aradus, Joppa and Ascalon pass before them, and the long rostrated ships of Halicarnassus, Cnidus, Smyrna, Samos,
Chios, Cyprus, and Phocaea, advancing majestically with unfurled sails, the banners and ensigns of the admirals fluttering on the stern yards.

The first news of the crossing arrived quickly at the general headquarters of King Leonidas and King Leotychidas, who immediately put the Peloponnesian army on a state of alert, and began to
amass troops near the Corinthian isthmus. Meanwhile, from the ports of Peiraeus, Aegina and Corinth itself arrived the battleships meant to block the passage of the fleet of the Persian king.

From the quarterdeck of the admiral ship, Themistocles contemplated his superb newly formed squad as they weighed anchor amidst a confusion of calls to order and shouted commands. Drum beats
provided the rowing tempo for hundreds of sailors below deck at the long oars. One by one, the splendid triremes, jewels of Athenian naval art, left port. Low on the surface of the water, long and
sleek to take advantage of both wind power and rowing force, their sharp rams were bolted to the keel’s master beam so as to break through any bulwark without damaging the ship’s
forward structure.

Engineers had designed and built formidable machines that would not be easy to defeat or destroy. Crews had been training for the most daring and dangerous manoeuvres since the summer, the
oarsmen had skinned their hands and broken their backs with fatigue, but thousands of hands now moved in absolute synchrony, obedient to the commands of their crew-masters.

In Sparta, the ephors and the elders met with the two kings to decide on a plan of action. All agreed that the Spartiate army should not be risked outside of the Peloponnese. Their only
concession was a single contingent of Peloponnesians for the Thermopylae: King Leonidas would be allowed to take only three hundred Spartiates with him. As hard as he tried, the sovereign was not
able to obtain a single man more. Not even King Leotychidas, close as he was to the ephors and elders, would back him.

And so Leonidas personally chose the three hundred Spartiates who would follow him to the Thermopylae. Among them were almost all of the members of the twelfth
syssitìa
of the
third battalion: Aghias, Brithos, Kleandridas, Kresilas and the other young warriors accepted the call with enthusiasm, eager to be pitted directly against the enemy. No thought of their likelihood
of survival against an army as vast as that of the Great King even crossed their minds.

King Leonidas also wanted Aristarkhos, Brithos’ father, with him. Both his valour as a warrior, and his experience and wisdom would prove invaluable. Thus father and son found themselves
in the same contingent departing for the north.

The mountain people received the news of imminent enrolment and finally realized that they were no longer dealing with rumours. The war had already begun and they too had to prepare for
departure. A herald came one morning to the great clearing and proclaimed that all able-bodied Helots must report for enlistment. And so, even Talos had to say goodbye to his mother and join the
others down on the plain.

When they reached the city they would be chosen by the Spartan warriors, one by one, to serve as attendants and porters. Talos knew that he wouldn’t be chosen; his deformity would be sure
to make them pass him over: no warrior would want a crippled Helot with him.

The Helots were conducted into the great square of the House of Bronze and arranged in three lines. The Spartan warriors, in formation opposite them, left the ranks one by one in order of
seniority to select their own servants and squires. Finally it was the youngest warriors’ turn to choose. Talos, petrified, watched Brithos leave the ranks. He crossed the square and began to
move down the line until he was directly in front of Talos. Brithos recognized him and fixed him with a mocking expression that made his blood turn to ice. The young Spartan turned to the
recruitment officer and said, ‘I want this one.’

‘But, Brithos,’ said the officer, drawing closer, ‘are you really sure? Can’t you see that he’s lame? Leave him for the baggage carriers. Your personal attendant
must be both strong and quick.’

‘Don’t worry,’ answered Brithos. ‘This one is strong enough, believe me.’

And so Talos was cast once again into the centre of the whirlwind after having lived for years in peace, if not in happiness.

Going towards the camp that had been set up near the city, he thought with consuming melancholy of Antinea: it had been years since he’d seen her, and perhaps now he’d never see her
again. And of his mother, who was still hoping to see him return to their home on Mount Taygetus.

He thought of his grandfather Kritolaos in his tomb covered with oak leaves on the edge of the forest, and poor Krios – all over. Torn from his home, his people, his mother, he was utterly
alone now and almost at the complete mercy of his worst enemy. He tried to summon up his courage and not feel defeated. The most important thing was survival, and certainly his young master would
have enough to concern himself with, if what he had heard was true.

And so, the moment of departure came without anything happening in particular. He saw Brithos only a few times: when he went to the
syssitìa
to get his equipment, and when he came
to camp to give instructions for the journey. Talos was busy applying new leather straps to the inside of his master’s shield. Brithos entered, took off his cuirass, put it into a corner, and
went to sit on a low stool. ‘Is everything ready?’ he asked, without looking at Talos.

‘Yes, sir, everything is ready. I’ve changed these leather straps because they were worn out. The weapon has to be worn close to the arm.’

Brithos fixed him with a questioning gaze. ‘You know a lot of things for a shepherd who has never come down off the mountain.’

‘The elders of my people taught me everything that I needed to know to do this work.’

‘The elders of your people must have taught you some other things, too,’ continued Brithos, watching him intently. ‘You know full well what I’m talking about. I haven’t
forgotten, even if years have passed since then, and I don’t think you have either.’

‘No, sir,’ responded Talos dryly, continuing his work, ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

‘I see that the lesson we gave you must have erased certain ideas from your mind. It looks that way, at least. But,’ he continued, removing his shin-plates, ‘there’s
still something about you that doesn’t quite convince me. So, when I saw you in the square alongside the other Helots, I decided to find out what it was.’

‘There’s nothing to find out, sir,’ murmured Talos, without lifting his eyes from his work. ‘I’m only a poor shepherd.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Brithos coldly. ‘Strange things have been happening up on your mountains over the last few years. Only a month ago, a deer was found near the Eurotas;
it had come there to die, struck by a strange type of arrow that we Spartans have never used. I have the impression that you may know something about it.’

‘You’re wrong, sir, I don’t know anything. I’ve only ever taken care of my flock.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Talos.’

‘And do you know who I am?’

‘You are Brithos, son of Aristarkhos, Kleomenid.’

Brithos stood and began to walk back and forth in the tent. Suddenly he stopped, his back to Talos.

‘And your girl . . . yes, the peasant. What ever happened to her?’

‘Pelias and his family followed noble Krathippos to Tegea and then to Messenia, I believe.’ Talos stood up and when Brithos turned he found the youth directly before him.
Talos’ jaw was tight and he fixed him with a firm gaze.

‘Return to your work, shepherd, there is still much to prepare. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.’ He threw his short military cape over his shoulders and walked out.

The next day the army drew up in perfect order: the three hundred Spartiates first, four men by eight for each company, with their Peloponnesian allies behind them. Last came the Helot servants
with the carts and baggage.

The king, surrounded by his officers, arrived when it was still dark. The mothers of the new warriors walked behind him. The women would officiate at the traditional ceremony of the consignment
of the shield. Dressed in white with their heads veiled, they took their places before the formation of hoplites. The trumpets blared, and each young man stepped out of the ranks, advancing two
paces. The trumpets sounded again, and they set the shields with the red lambda that they had received from their fathers on the day of their initiation onto the ground before them.

At a signal from the king, the first woman went up to her own son, picked up the shield and slipped it onto his arm. Firm-voiced, she declaimed the traditional formula: ‘Come back with
this or upon it,’ which meant, ‘You shall return with your shield, as a victor. Or, should you fall in battle, you shall be brought back upon your own shield.’

Ismene’s turn came. The king had paid her a terrible honour, breaking with the custom of never putting all of the males of a family on the battlefield and thus risking the loss of the
family name; Leonidas had chosen both husband and son.

Ismene knelt, picked up the shield, and rose to her feet facing her son. The grey light of dawn outlined the boy’s dark profile, making the lines of his face seem harder, and for a moment
Ismene recognized the expression of the Kleomenid heroes sculpted in cypress wood. She froze, and her voice trembled as she pronounced the formula. The sun appeared behind the mountains as the last
of the women returned to her place, and sinister flashes lit up the dark, still group of warriors as they stood before their mothers. With dry eyes, they watched their sons, knowing that they had
given birth to mortals. Pain and grief were eternal prisoners in the darkness of their wombs.

The king put the three-crested helmet on his head and gave the signal for departure. Talos listened to the drum roll and then the sound of their pipes: that strange, measured melody that he had
heard as a child when he had stolen down to the plain for the first time. The column left the camp and marched down the road for Tegea, heading north.

At the gate of the city, a great crowd had gathered to bid the departing army farewell. The old men, no longer able to bear arms, watched the young warriors with pride: their splendid bronze
armour flashing brilliantly now in the sun, their tunics and crimson cloaks, their round shields with the great painted lambda. The eldest of the ephors came forward, and King Leonidas stopped his
horse and dismounted. He took off his helmet, freeing his long red hair, and tossed back his cape.

‘We salute you, O Leonidas our king,’ said the ephor. ‘Sparta wishes your victory and awaits your happy return.’ An ovation rose from the crowd. The king responded by
bowing his head. Putting his helmet back on, he leapt into his saddle and again gave the signal for departure. The roll of drums and the sound of pipes was soon lost in the dust along the road to
the north.

Two weeks after their departure Leonidas closed ranks at the pass of the Thermopylae, and immediately gave orders to repair the old wall of fortification that blocked the pass. He ordered a
group of seven hundred Phocian hoplites who had joined them at the Thermopylae to guard the vulnerable pass of Anopaea, the only route by which the enemy could flank Leonidas’ position. He
then arranged for the organization of guard duty and distribution of supplies.

Themistocles learned that the Persian fleet, having doubled the Chalcidice peninsula, was headed south. He went to lie in wait at the Artemision promontory, to protect Leonidas from the
direction of the sea, as he had promised. At night, from the stern of the admiral ship, he launched signals with a torch and a mirror to keep Leonidas informed of what was happening. One day, as he
was inspecting the fortifications, Leonidas saw one of the men who usually patrolled the road of the pass racing towards him at full speed. The guard leapt off his horse and began, panting, to make
his report.