Spartan (35 page)

‘I want this house to be cleaned and restored to its former dignity; I’d like to live here,’ Kleidemos told him. ‘When everything is in order, I’ll call the woman
who raised me on the mountain as a son of your people. What is your name?’ he asked the elderly servant.

‘Alesos, sir.’

‘Do you know of whom I’m speaking?’

‘I do, sir. You’re speaking of the daughter of Kritolaos. Your story is well known in this city.’

‘I see that it is,’ replied Kleidemos. ‘I’ll sleep here in the atrium tonight.’

He worked all day alongside Alesos and the other servants he had called in from the fields. As dusk was falling, a fire was burning at the centre of the atrium and the votive lamps were lit.
Kleidemos felt as though he had returned to his ancient home. He sat next to the hearth with the old servant who had accompanied him.

‘How old are you?’ asked Kleidemos.

‘Over seventy, sir.’

‘How long have you been serving in this house?’

‘Since my birth – like my father before me and his father before him.’

‘You lived many years with Aristarkhos, the master of this home, then?’

‘Yes, sir. And while I was vigorous and my limbs strong I followed him to war as his personal attendant.’

‘Tell me about him. What kind of man was he?’

‘He was a great warrior, but not only; valiant warriors are common in this land. He was a just man, and generous, and he could rely on us always.’ He got up to add wood to the fire,
then sat down again and spoke in a low voice. ‘Our people do not love the Spartans, sir.’

‘I know, Alesos, I lived with your people.’

‘They are shells of iron and bronze; they have no soul.’

‘You are courageous to speak thus with the commander of the fourth battalion of the equals.’

‘But your father was a real man, and none of us ever suffered beatings or humiliations at his hand.’

‘And what do you think of me?’

‘Do you really want to know my thoughts?’

‘Yes, I do, speak freely.’

‘The voice of your blood cannot be silenced, and it was written that you would return to where you had come from. Only you know the secrets of your soul, but I believe that the heritage of
Kritolaos has not been lost either. Embers smoulder long under the ash, and stupid men believe them extinguished, but when the wind starts to blow again, the flame is reawakened.’

Kleidemos lowered his gaze. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, old man.’

‘Sir, among your servants there are some who, due to unfortunate necessity or fear, have become the eyes and ears of the powerful lords who oppress our people. Beware them; I will reveal
their names to you. As for me, I knew Kritolaos well and held him in great esteem, as I loved your father Aristarkhos. You are a tree with your roots in two different fields, but I have cultivated
both fields with love. I can give you proof of this, if you want. You have taken possession of the house you were born in and honour the memory of your father, so illustrious and so unfortunate.
Rightly so. But the road you must walk is perhaps still hidden even to you, and only the gods can reveal it.’

Kleidemos got to his feet and poked at the fire. ‘The gods know the road we must take,’ he said, staring at the flames dancing brightly in the hearth. ‘Tomorrow you will go up
the mountain and you will bring the woman who was my mother for twenty years back to me. You will tell her that I’ve never stopped thinking about her, and that only destiny kept me away . . .
that I am awaiting her with the love of a son.’

‘At dawn I will have already departed,’ said the servant, getting up, ‘and so with your permission I will retire now.’

‘Yes, go ahead,’ said Kleidemos. ‘And may the gods grant you a restful night.’

‘The same to you, sir,’ replied the old man, opening the door to leave.

‘Will she come?’ asked Kleidemos without turning, as if he were talking to himself.

‘She will come,’ replied the servant, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

*

He saw her far off, riding on the ass that Alesos was leading by the halter, and he recognized her immediately. He threw down the scythe that he had been using to cut the weeds
in the courtyard and started running as fast as he could, even though his lame foot pained him greatly with the turn of the seasons. But no pain could have stopped him at that moment. He lifted her
off the packsaddle and held her in his arms, unable to say a single word. Alesos led the ass into the stable.

‘Mother!’ he gasped finally. ‘Mother, how long has it been? Your hair . . . is all white.’

He caressed her head and face, then pulled her to him in a close embrace. Her hot tears wet his face and then came her voice, trembling. ‘Son, the gods are good if they have conceded me
this day. Ever since you left, every evening before I closed the door I looked towards the trail that comes from the plains, hoping to see you come up the mountain.’

‘Oh, mother!’ replied Kleidemos. ‘It had to be you, old and tired as you are, to come looking for me.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her towards the
house. They went in, and in the solitude of that great silent place they poured out all the feelings that they had kept so long locked up in their hearts, and their weeping was sweet as they looked
upon one another without saying a word.

Kleidemos realized that his mother’s lips no longer pronounced the name ‘Talos’ that he had expected to hear from her. She called him ‘son’ and her soul was filled
with that word, more precious to her than life itself. But the name ‘Talos’ stayed inside her like a memory that she guarded jealously as if she was waiting for events to take their
course. Kleidemos had so many things to ask her, and at the same time he didn’t dare: what had happened to Antinea and what news had she of Karas? He had been gone for so long, without being
able to send them word of himself. How could the memory of Talos have remained alive in those he loved?

It was his mother who spoke first, before he could ask anything. ‘Do you have a woman?’

‘I have had many in the years I was away, but I never loved any of them, and so I am alone.’

‘You are nearly thirty, my son. You know that when an equal reaches this age, it is customary to choose a wife.’

‘Mother, I’ve never stopped loving Antinea. How could I ever choose another woman?’

‘Listen to me: Antinea is one of our people and you know well that—’

‘Where is she? Mother, tell me where she is. I have to know!’

‘Why? You could only make her your concubine, certainly not your wife. The city will not allow the Kleomenid name to be extinguished. Don’t you understand that this is why the house
of your fathers was returned to you? If you don’t make your own choice, the elders will exercise their prerogative and select a virgin from a noble family who will be brought to your home so
she may become your wife. You’ll be able to see her first, if you like, as she exercises in the
palaestra
with her thighs bared—’

‘It’s not possible!’ cried out Kleidemos, frowning. ‘No one can force me—’

‘It’s true, no one can force you to marry. But they will put her in your bed nonetheless so you may deposit the seed of the Kleomenids in her womb. Oh, son, you have been away so
long! I realize now that you are not even aware of all the customs of this city.

‘Sparta has always been obsessed with the fear that the number of equals will diminish. There are Spartiates who do not know their fathers, although they see them every day. Men incapable
of begetting sons have their wives impregnated by famous warriors to ensure strong, robust progeny for themselves, in the same way as we give a mare to the most vigorous stallion, in order to
improve the breed of our horses. The city cannot allow the number of equals to drop, nor can it permit a family of equals to die out, especially at times when there are few births. This is why you
cannot think of reuniting with Antinea.’

Kleidemos fell silent, his heart crushed. His life was cursed; but while once he had been ready to put an end to it, that day in Thrace, he was now determined not to bow his head in the face of
adversity, even though his problems seemed insuperable.

‘Mother,’ he said then, ‘I want you to say what you know of Antinea, even if what you tell me may hurt me. I will know how to act when it is time.’

‘What I know of Antinea was told me by Karas. She lives with her father Pelias in Messenia at about three days’ journey from here. Pelias is old and weak, and Antinea is his only
support. Their master Krathippos died three years ago, and his son fell in battle during the war in Asia. The proceeds from his farm now go to the city, but it is not impossible that they will be
called back and assigned to the service of another family here. I can also tell you, since you want to know, that Antinea has never forgotten you and has not united with another man. The love she
had for her father has held her back as well. If she had married she would have had to abandon old Pelias to care for the farm alone, something he would never have been able to manage. Had that
happened, he would have certainly been dismissed and died in utter poverty.’

‘Karas – Mother, tell me about him. Where is he now, when did you see him last?’

‘Karas has been my support over all these years, even though he would disappear for months at a time. But this never created difficulties for me: the people of the mountain always remember
Kritolaos and I’ve never gone wanting. Unfortunately, I have heard nothing from Karas for over three months and no one knows where he has gone. I’ve asked the shepherds and the farmers
who come up from the plains, but no one has been able to tell me anything. At first I was not worried, because I know that he has left his cabin up at the high spring before, but as time goes on, I
have become anxious; when he went away for so long a time he would always send word.’

‘Did he know that I had returned?’ asked Kleidemos, suddenly troubled.

‘He did know. It was he who told me. He said that I would embrace you again soon; he said that he would turn the whole city upside down to find you!’

‘I’m sure of that!’ exclaimed Kleidemos, smiling despite himself. ‘But if it’s true that he was looking for me, that doesn’t explain why he has disappeared.
Mother, there are so many thoughts crowding my mind; I need time to reflect on them. Ever since I was a boy, I’ve felt surrounded by mysterious happenings and events. Since that night that
Kritolaos took me out into the forest – you know about that, don’t you mother?’ The woman nodded, keeping her eyes low. ‘Strangely enough, Kritolaos never spoke to me
clearly; he never told me exactly what he wanted me to do. And when he died, Karas appeared. He has been my guide, as Kritolaos was. More than once, he has shown me the way, but he has never told
me where that way leads; where exactly I am headed.

‘I can tell you, mother, that I don’t know who he is in reality. What I know for certain is that Kritolaos must have called him before he died – he knows the secret of the
cursed sword, and he knows where the weapons of King Aristodemus are. The time has come when I must decide my fate: Karas will come back, and then I will know. All the questions that I’ve
been asking myself for years, trying to remember looks, words, gestures . . . all of this must have an answer. And you, mother? Are you hiding something from me, as well?’

‘Oh no, my son, I’ve always told you everything, and even now I’ve told you all I know. Among our people, the men decide, never the women; they take charge of matters that
involve the common good. But I’m sure that one day Karas will be back, and that day all of us will know what we must do.’

‘Mother,’ said Kleidemos, ‘I left the mountain ten years ago to find my way, but fate unfortunately has prevented me from succeeding in my quest. I have learned other things,
though. Many things that were unknown to me are now clear: those who abandoned me as a child loved me, although the laws of the city never permitted them to show it. My brother Brithos was, in his
soul, a sincere and generous man, and he loved me too. I met Pausanias, one of the most illustrious men of Hellas, and I learned what his dream was: I thought that he would make it possible for me
to save my Spartan blood while I delivered the people of Kritolaos from their long servitude.

‘I am lost now because I am alone. I don’t know who I can trust among the equals of Sparta and I’m not sure that I can trust the Helots who surround me either. I’ve been
told that some of them have been compelled or convinced to spy against me for the ephors and elders. Mother, now that you are here, tell me who, among the people of the mountain, is against me and
who is with me.’

‘It is arduous to answer what you have asked of me, my son,’ replied the woman, ‘perhaps because there are those who love Talos the Wolf but hate Kleidemos the
Dragon.’

Kleidemos stood and stared at her, his gaze unwavering. ‘I am what I am, mother! The gods have given me two births and two mothers and two names. They have made me son of two mortal
enemies, but I will weep no longer, nor bow my head.’ His eyes glittered even as he scowled, and his voice was firm and resolute. ‘And the gods will have to show me the way! As far as
men are concerned: those who know me understand that I am incapable of duplicity and betrayal. They know that I have suffered like a dog, and that I am unafraid of death. I only need to know, if
you can tell me, who I must beware and who I can speak with without the fear of being betrayed. I have a servant in this house; his name is Alesos—’

‘I know him well, you can trust him completely without fear. It was he who warned us to be on guard when the
krypteia
visited us that terrible night. And Karas would never have been
able to bring Brithos his father’s armour without Alesos’ help. He is one of the elders of our people, and they listen to his word.’

‘He told me that he served my father Aristarkhos faithfully and that he was devotedly attached to my Spartan family.’

‘You can believe him. He is a wise man, and he loves courage and truth wherever he finds them. Perhaps he can understand you better than anyone else, because he knew both Kritolaos and
Aristarkhos.’