Spartan (32 page)

‘I don’t know myself who he really is,’ replied Kleidemos. ‘He appeared when my grandfather Kritolaos died. When I met him, I realized by his words that he had come to
help me and protect me, and that I could trust him. He knew the secret of the great bow.’

‘The bow with the head of the Wolf of Messenia.’

‘Yes, but not only. There’s more to it than that, more than even I can understand. But tell me, what did Karas say?’

‘That he was ready to join us, but that he would not make a move until you had come back yourself to confirm my every word.’

‘He didn’t say anything else?’

‘No. When we’d finished, he got up and vanished. I didn’t see him again.’

As the king was speaking, Kleidemos was reminded of his past. His mother’s eyes, so full of sadness, Karas’ bullish head, his deep voice. He realized how badly he wanted to go
back.

‘When can I go?’ he asked the king, his eyes betraying his longing.

‘You must be patient,’ answered the king, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know how you feel, and I understand how much you want to return, but there are other important
things to be done first. You must take my answer for the Great King to the satrap at Dascylium immediately. When we have the Persians’ gold, I’ll enlist an army and equip a fleet:
that’s how we’ll return to Sparta. We will rouse the Helots, and the equals will all be on my side as well; I led them at Plataea.’

Kleidemos lowered his head. ‘As you wish. When shall I leave?’

‘Immediately. We have very little time. You’ll leave before the moon appears in the sky.’

Kleidemos departed, but that was not the only mission he carried out to Dascylium; he returned several times during the winter, always exercising great caution. At the start of the following
spring, however, Pausanias’ worst fears were realized: the Athenian fleet at Cimon’s command showed up at the mouth of the Bosporus, and the admiral ordered him to abandon the city. The
order was countersigned by the Spartan authorities. Pausanias attempted at first to resist, but knew that he could not hold up for long alone against a naval blockade of the city. Nor did he feel
he could fully trust the mercenaries he had signed up using Persian gold. He left Byzantium and marched to the Troad, stopping at a place not far from Dascylium where Kleidemos met up with him.

His position was already in serious jeopardy and even the Persians treated him with detachment. The only option he had left to him was to attempt to carry out his plan in Sparta. The time had
come for Kleidemos to leave Asia and return to Laconia, the official reason being that he did not intend to remain under the orders of a commander who had been repudiated by his own government, and
that he wished to report directly to the ephors and elders.

‘Farewell, Kleidemos,’ said the king, grasping his hand, ‘all of our hopes are placed in you now. Do not lose heart: I will return, and you will see that all is not
lost.’

‘Farewell, my king,’ responded Kleidemos. ‘When you return I will be waiting for you at the house of the Kleomenids. There we will meet again, if the gods so will it.’ He
mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Cyzicus.

Pausanias walked back towards his headquarters, leading his horse by its halter. It was a beautiful day. A fresh breeze was blowing, and huge white clouds sailed by in the clearest of skies.

‘
When the wind blows from land to sea, a good day it is to sail for the Greeks.
At least that’s how the proverb goes,’ the King of Sparta thought to himself as he turned
to look at the Aegean Sea shining in the distance like a mirror dropped by the hand of a goddess. Then a cloud covered the sun and the king slowly made his way down the road.

*

Kleidemos disembarked at Gytheum, had his horse brought ashore and started off towards Sparta.

It was early morning and he was counting on coming within sight of the city before sunset, so as to report to the ephors with the story he and Pausanias had agreed. He soon reached the right
bank of the Eurotas and followed it along its course all day. In the early afternoon, approaching the city of Pharis, he saw the Taygetus mountains. He contemplated the view at length, exploring
the peaks, the gorges and the forests with eager eyes until he managed to locate the exact spot where he hoped that the woman he had never stopped calling mother was waiting for him.

He ate a piece of bread from his knapsack with a chunk of cheese and drank the river water. He then readied himself to enter Sparta.

He put on his cuirass and his greaves. He removed the great shield with the dragon from a leather sack and hung it from his saddle. He then slipped on the helmet with its three crimson crests
and rode into the city. A guard who saw him from an observation tower was shocked: the warrior who advanced solemnly on his proud Nisaean steed, encased in flashing armour, seemed the great
Aristarkhos himself, back from the Underworld. Only when the horseman drew closer did he realize who he actually must be. He watched him closely until he entered among the houses and disappeared in
the maze of streets.

Kleidemos headed towards the square where the Council House stood and asked one of the guards to announce him. ‘Say that Kleidemos, son of Aristarkhos, Kleomenid, commander of the fourth
battalion of Thrace, requests to be received.’

He was soon brought before ephor Episthenes who came towards him smiling. ‘It is an honour for me to welcome to his homeland the son of great Aristarkhos, the noble Kleidemos, whose
endeavours in Thrace have not gone unnoticed. The venerable fathers of the council of elders will be glad to receive you as soon as possible and to hear your full report on the events that have
occurred in Byzantium . . . And on the situation of King Pausanias, whose conduct has recently been quite worrisome for us. I will let you know personally when they are ready to hear you. You will
now be accompanied to your battalion quarters where you can take refreshment and rest. I will arrange for you to take possession of your house, which has been abandoned for years. An old servant
has remained to look after the property; he will tell you everything you want to know about your estate and the Helots who are farming your land.’

‘I thank you, sir, and I will await your call,’ said Kleidemos. He offered a military salute and followed the guard who took him to his
syssitìa.

He crossed the city on foot, holding the horse’s reins. He passed through the districts known as Pitane and Cynosura and reached the acropolis. He turned to look at the facade of the
temple of Athena, the House of Bronze, and he saw himself as a boy again, cloaked in Pelias’ cape, watching Brithos being lashed. How full of hate his heart had been! He could still hear the
crack of the whip, as if no time had passed at all. He walked on through the city streets, wrapped in his thoughts, and the guard’s voice startled him. ‘We’re here, commander. If
you’d like to give me your horse, I’ll take him to your home so he can be groomed.’

Kleidemos removed the shield from the saddle, took its leather case and his knapsack and entered the quarters which had been assigned to him. The long, bare room contained thirty-two beds, at
the heads of which were the same number of chests. Leaning against the walls were racks for holding spears and swords, with a row of hangers for helmets and armour. In that vast space, so sad and
unadorned, the shining weapons seemed more like ornaments than instruments of death.

A Helot helped him off with his armour and placed the few items he carried with him into a chest. He told him that a meal would soon be distributed in the adjoining room. Kleidemos lay down on
the little bed that the Helot had indicated as his. He felt restless, troubled . . . he wanted to take his horse from the Kleomenid house and race up the mountain, reach the clearing, find his
cottage and shout, ‘Mother!’ so loud that everyone would hear him – even Kritolaos, buried at the edge of the forest. He wanted to go to the high spring, to Karas’ cabin, to
feel his bones crack in the giant’s powerful embrace. O powerful gods, would Karas still be there waiting for him? Would they still go hunting together, taking up the King’s bow once
again? Karas . . . Karas would know where he could find Antinea. He wanted to go straight to her. ‘I’m mad!’ he thought, tapping his forehead. ‘Mad! What do I expect from
her? She’s surely become the wife of some shepherd or farmer and I won’t even recognize her. Her body, worn out by hard labour and pregnancy. Or her soul, exasperated and disappointed
by an endless wait, then tamed and hardened by years of servitude.’

But he still had to see her. Perhaps something from their life together had remained, a part of her soul that could never, never leave the high pastures of Mount Taygetus. He had to find Karas;
Karas would take him to her.

A chorus of shouts interrupted his thoughts and thirty nude youths burst into the big room, laughing and joking, the members of the
syssitìa
he’d been assigned to. As soon as
the first of them noticed the new arrival, they stopped dead in their tracks. Shouting to be heard over the general confusion, one young man ordered his companions to draw up. ‘Fall in, men!
You have the commander of the Thracian battalion before you. Can’t you see his shield? He is the son of the great Aristarkhos! Do you hear me, men?’

He turned to Kleidemos, who had risen to his feet. ‘Commander, I am Aincias, son of Onesikritos, commander of the
syssitìa.
Welcome, sir, and forgive me if I have not ordered
a military salute. Since we’re all naked, as you can see, it is prohibited by regulations. In just a moment, my men will be dressed in full armour, and you may review us in the courtyard if
you so wish.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Kleidemos, with a gesture of his hand, ‘but I’m sure you are tired and hungry. Fall out, and prepare yourselves for dinner. I’ll meet you in
the mess.’

The meal was served just after sunset and Kleidemos took part, although he didn’t feel like company. His conduct had to be in line with what was expected; he did not want to attract undue
attention. Kleidemos was convinced that Pausanias’ plan was already seriously jeopardized, but in any case, it was best to continue as they had agreed. If the plan became feasible, all the
better. If Pausanias, as he suspected, had his hands tied upon his return to Sparta, Kleidemos would certainly not want to stir up the Helots, to push them into a futile massacre.

It was important to establish a good relationship with the warriors. The men from the battalion in Thrace had nearly all returned, and would have spread his fame as an irreproachable commander
and tireless fighter. During the meal, he realized that a phrase he had pronounced on the field in Thrace two years ago had made the rounds of all the barracks in the city. An officer had come from
Byzantium to inspect the troops, and he’d made an ironic comment regarding Kleidemos’ lame foot. He had replied, ‘I’m here to fight, not to take to my heels.’

Hundreds of stories about him had been bruited about, and the men were curious to hear more. The youngest wanted to hear about the Battle of the Thermopylae – he was the last living
Spartan to have witnessed it. Others wanted to know whether it was true that Pausanias had taken to living like the Persians, and that he was putting together a personal army and would return to
Sparta. But what interested them the most, and which none of them dared to voice openly, was his incredible past: surviving the wolves of Mount Taygetus, finding his brother Brithos and fighting by
his side at Plataea, and reclaiming his place among the equals. He who had begun life crippled and disinherited.

Kleidemos chose to ignore the hinted questions that emerged during the conversation, letting them know that he had had a painful life, but that he did not consider himself better than or
different from the others for this reason. This increased the esteem of these men who were accustomed to seeing their kings share their frugal meals and sleep on the same rough pallets, kings who
took first place only in times of danger and hardship. And so the conversation turned back to Pausanias. ‘What I cannot understand, commander,’ said one of the soldiers whose name was
Boiskos, ‘is how the victor of Plataea can be scheming with the Persians. It makes me think that someone wants to destroy his reputation and his fame in order to remove him from power. What
do you think?’

Kleidemos reflected on this, weighing his answer carefully. ‘My friend, no one has ever demonstrated that this rumour is founded in fact. But for someone to wilfully create such a rumour .
. . well, that seems just as incredible to me. I must say personally that Pausanias has always helped me and shown me his esteem, and I am grateful for this.’

‘You’ve abandoned him, though. You must have a reason.’

‘When I heard that the ephors and elders had revoked his command, I realized that my duty as a citizen could not be reconciled with my personal feelings of gratitude, and so I
returned.’

‘What does the king intend doing now?’ asked another.

‘I don’t know,’ responded Kleidemos. ‘I imagine he will return, if for no other reason than to defend himself, to explain his actions.’

*

Kleidemos could never have imagined that in the dungeons of the Council House the same question was being asked in a much more threatening tone by an officer of the
krypteia
. The man expected to answer had been tortured, chained, and was covered with blood and bruises: Karas.

‘We know that you met Pausanias in secret. The king of Sparta cannot have encountered a miserable slave without a very specific purpose in mind!’

‘I tell you that the king brought me news of a man whom we call Talos and you call Kleidemos,’ answered Karas, his voice exhausted.

‘Hidden away, in a broken-down hut, removed from any prying eyes?’ persisted the officer with a sneer, lashing cruelly with a whip. Karas moaned in pain, clenching his teeth.

‘Take pity on me,’ he said, as soon as he could talk again. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. A servant of the king came to my cabin to tell me that Pausanias wanted to talk to
me, that he had news of Talos. I don’t know why he wanted to meet me in that place; maybe he was embarrassed to meet a man of such miserable conditions in a public place, or in his home. He
said only that Talos had asked him to look for me so that I could take word of him to the woman who raised him.’