The Isle of Stone

7.

It was not long before Antalcidas understood the magnitude of their blunder. They had seen the fleet ring the island the night before, as usual. What no one among the Lacedaemonians had thought to do, though, was to count the number of vessels the Athenians had used in the blockade. If they had, they would have known that ten extra ships-together carrying as many as two thousand men-had taken up position around the south end of Sphacteria. There was now no doubt about their purpose.

Epitadas could spare no time on regrets. When the alarm went up, his first thought was to control the helots. Spartiates barked at their squires to fetch their shields and spears; the servants were then herded to one spot and two platoons of troops placed around them. It was the most he could spare in the face of the enemy attack. He assumed the latter would be driven off soon enough, but he feared what the helots might attempt in the interim. Defeat and death at the hands of the Athenians would be disappointing but creditable in the eyes of their elders. To be slaughtered from behind by unsecured helots, on the other hand, would be remembered as a true humiliation.

Epitadas summoned the captain of the guard and said-with no particular effort to conceal the threat-“If they so much as twitch, kill them.”

The rest of the Spartiates and under-thirties assembled around the well at the center of the island. There were enough of them to form a phalanx forty files wide and eight shields deep. The platoon leaders were in the front rank, and the most experienced hands in the back to bar retreat. But when Epitadas inspected his men, he saw the impossibility of cowardice. Every spear was held straight and true, the blades aflame with 320 tiny, reflected dawns. The new-style helmets left their faces exposed, burning eyes fueled by steady rage, lordly jaws square with confidence. After all the weeks of privation, of impotent waiting, the Lacedaemonian machine, leveler of the proud, stood assembled. He stepped before them.

“This looks like the day we’ve seen coming, so I won’t detain you with fancy talk. In Laconia we don’t need rousing speeches to fight, but only our love of country, and the sense to follow our training. You all know we’ve met the Athenians before, and whipped them. We’ll whip them here too, provided you each keep the line. They might try to use bows against us. I expect the under-thirties to do their duty in that case…”

Frog, who was standing in the file next to Antalcidas’, leaned toward him. “Might try to use archers? Doesn’t he see the bowmen down there?”

“Tell him, not me, fool!” growled Antalcidas. “This is your last chance.”

“We are three hundred today,” Epitadas went on. “I probably don’t need to remind you of the significance of that number. When our grandfathers stood against the barbarian at Thermopylae, he faced an army unglimpsed before or since in the history of men. It is said that they were so numerous that when they crossed into Greece, their host covered the plains of Thessaly, and the dust from their feet blocked the sun for three days. But despite such odds, despite the incompetence and betrayal of those they trusted, Leonidas and his three hundred were not diminished by their defeat. Instead, they gained everlasting fame.

“Today it is not Xerxes’ thousand thousand before us. Instead, we face Athenians, in numbers just two or three times our own. In these last months, in the time I have been privileged to lead you, we have contended with hunger, thirst, and fire. There have been injuries, storms, plagues of birds. The enemy thinks we are weak. He may even believe he has an advantage! But we know he is still overmatched when he faces us. For we fight now not for some distant mountain pass, but for soil vouchsafed by our ancestors, who long ago crossed high Taygetus to humble the Messenians. With their conquest it became our birthright-it became our life. I say to you, then, that I don’t expect we face Leonidas’ fate here.

“Yet I also say that if it comes to that choice, to consecrate another three hundred to eternity, I will not shrink! Nor will you, if my experience in these last months is any guide. For that is the way for men bred like us, for war. If we do our duty, if we fight as if the shades of our fathers back us in the phalanx, we must be victorious, either on the field this very day, or with our willing deaths, in the hearts of our children. And that, my companions, is all I have to say.”

No one cheered. The Spartans, who understood the importance of hearing orders above the roar of battle, were fastidious in their silence. Instead, the men simply raised their spears, checked the fit on their helmets on their heads, and tightened up their ranks. Epitadas, satisfied, turned to look down the hill at the enemy’s disposition.

What he saw encouraged him. The Athenians were pouring onto the island and collecting in the center, in the level area below the slope. His advance post, held by thirty of the younger men, already appeared to be overrun. Yet it seemed that the Athenians had landed only a company-sized force of hoplites. Did they think so few of their heavy troops, who were inferior to the Lacedaemonians under the best of circumstances, would carry the field? There were others flitting about-peltasts taking up positions on the hill, archers beyond them-but Epitadas knew from experience to focus on the real threats-the hoplites-and ignore the auxiliaries.

He was startled by a voice beside him, saying, “Look how they occupy the high positions with their bowmen. They hope to catch us between fires.”

Antalcidas was standing there, leaning into him as if to keep his counsel discreet. The presumption was galling.

“What are you doing here? Get back in line!” roared Epitadas.

The other hung his lower jaw for a moment before replying, “I just thought I would help.”

“Don’t presume upon my patience, Brother. And I’ll thank you to leave the thinking to me!”