The Isle of Stone

9

In their twentieth year the young candidates for citizenship were cast back into a state of transition. They were not considered children anymore, but would not count as Spartiates until they were granted property and admitted to a dining group. For some, the anxiety of this passage was the hardest of all to cope with, as it seemed to wipe away whatever record of achievement they had compiled over the years of the Rearing. This was, in fact, one of the prime purposes of this time, to level the proud before they could carry their bad habits into the citizenry with them.

After their years of military training the recruits were ready for promotion into the ranks of the army. They were not placed in regular service at first, but consigned to a reserve force that kept watch on foreigners at Gytheion and the shrines, or patrolled the boundaries with Pisatis, Arcadia, and the Argolid. It was on one of these excursions that Antalcidas, with Doulos carrying his field kit and shield, penetrated as far as the river Alpheus and followed it downstream to Olympia. Indulging his curiosity, he went as far as a hill overlooking the Altis and peered through the oaks at the marble-girt sanctuary. There were no games that day-there would not be for several years-but the helot was determined to show his excitement.

“Pindar wrote of tradition that is both deeply rooted and always ripening. Can we agree now his wisdom must have been divinely inspired?”

“I see only vanities,” his master replied, nodding his head at the red-tiled edifices below. “The gods do not need fancy buildings.”

“Vanity, or the glory of the Thunderer? The poet wrote: Water exceeds all, and gold, like a blaze of fire in the night, is monarch of all varieties of wealth. But if, my heart, you wish to praise contests, seek not in vain some star warmer than the sun, shining by day through the heavenly vault, nor let us not pretend any contest is greater than Olympia…

“Helots read, men do,” Antalcidas said.

Like any good Spartan boy, Stone was indifferent to any poets other than Homer or Tyrtaeus. He did have one thought of his own that verged on the Pindaric: of all the foreign places he had seen, the green vale of Zeus reminded him the most of Laconia.

At last the season arrived when the dining groups voted on whether to admit recent graduates of the Rearing. Mess membership was necessary for full citizenship, and demanded in turn the payment of monthly dues-in the form of produce or wild game-that approximated what the member consumed. For this purpose the graduates received farm-land from their families and helots from the state to work it; elder patrons did their part too, helping to set up the households of the young men they had mentored. Damatria gave Antalcidas a corner of her property situated on a west-facing slope, with a modest farmhouse and a view of the mountains. Zeuxippos contributed a suite of furniture, including a sleeping couch, linens chest, and a fine wrought-iron brazier. These were the first significant possessions he owned since he gave up his toys in boyhood. Still, as he was in training or patrol for most of his time, and would be obliged to sleep in the public barracks until he was thirty, his domestic property would stand unused by anyone-with the possible exception of his partner in an early marriage.

The most immediately useful of Zeuxippos’ gifts was a full panoply of arms and armor. At last, he was free to stop drilling with a blunt-ended pole and wooden training sword. Instead, he was now the proud custodian of an ash-wood spear, about eight feet long, with a iron point and bronze butt-spike. The spear was a veteran, Zeuxippos said, having served in the line at Plataea and during the last helot revolt. A tear swelled in the old man’s eye as he said this, which Antalcidas took to mean that the spear was carried by the young Zeuxippos himself. The sword, with its iron blade shaped like an olive leaf, seemed of similar vintage. Like all Lacedaemonian swords, it was no longer than a man’s forearm, and therefore useful only for the kind of close-in fighting fit for a Lacedaemonian. He also received an old-style muscle-cuirass and greaves, but no one wore such encumbrances on the battlefield anymore.

Instead, the modern Spartan warrior relied for protection on the shields of his countrymen. Zeuxippos gave him a newly fashioned design-three feet wide, with a prestressed hardwood core and a front of beaten bronze. While it was still common in those years to see individual insignias on shields, Antalcidas’ new model bore the emerging standard for the Spartan army, the bold red? for “Lacedaemon.” His patron never explained why he could bear to part with his old spear and sword but not his original shield, but Antalcidas could well guess the reason: as the shield was worn on the left arm, it was designed to protect not only the wearer but also his immediate neighbor on the left. More than any other piece of equipment, then, the shield represented the sacred compact of each warrior with his comrades in the line. In Spartan houses it was not uncommon to find a sword used for gutting fish or a spear stuck in the ground to hold open a door. An old warrior’s shield, however, was always proudly displayed over the hearth.

Voting for new members of a dining group occurred after the meal but before the wine flowed. Those wishing to advocate for or against the applicant were asked to state their case. Then bread was distributed to the diners, with a helot assigned to walk around the room with a bowl. Those voting for admission tossed one piece of bread into the vessel; those casting a veto squeezed the bread before dropping it. By the end, if there was even one pinched piece in the bowl the candidate was rejected-or in the vernacular, he was “bread-bowled.” The confidentiality of the voting varied from group to group, with some encouraging all to speak openly about their preferences, and others going so far to assure secrecy that they made the helot go around with the bowl balanced on her head, so no one could see the ballots already in it. A young man could stand for membership in as many messes as he cared, though news of rejection tended to get around, damaging his prospects elsewhere.

Antalcidas had just returned from maneuvers in Messenia when he was surprised to learn that the Spit Companions had already voted on him. He was bread-bowled by a single ballot. Zeuxippos was more angry about the slight than Antalcidas, for he had sponsored his candidacy and spoken in favor of him before the vote.

“Mark my words, if it’s the last thing I’ll do I’ll find out who insulted you!” the old man raged.

Antalcidas’ knowledge of his servile origins had the effect of tempering his expectations. “No need,” he said.

“I can’t think it was Isidas, or the king,” Zeuxippos went on, oblivious to Antalcidas’ presence. “Eudamidas owes me for admitting Herippidas. So it must have been Damonon, that little climber!”

“No matter.”

“Did you know that Damonon had been promised Thibron’s cousin? I only heard about it after you came to the table. But the veto is not supposed to be used for settling petty scores! Really, it is a scandal! What is this city coming to, I ask you, when our traditions are abused in this way?”

“I see,” replied Antalcidas, unable to rouse himself to disappointment. Nor did he feel any particular sense of alarm, considering that the Companions was the only group to invite him as a guest. His indifference melted only later, when Zeuxippos told him the results of another vote: it seems that Isidas, Damonon, Eudamidas, and Co. did see fit to admit an old acquaintance of his. It was Frog-stupid, hapless Frog from his boyhood pack-that merited a place at that eminent table.

Without membership in a dining group Antalcidas could not be nominated for the King’s Knights. He was likewise passed over for service in the Hidden Service, though the idea of creeping around by night for the privilege of ambushing helots never held much appeal for him. The possibility that he might unknowingly eliminate a member of his father’s family filled him with painful ambivalence.

At this point Zeuxippos promised to find him another mess, but Antalcidas preferred to hear nothing more about it. He found himself daydreaming instead about life as a mercenary, traveling to Asia and Africa, hiring himself out to kings and tyrants to bring Lacedaemonian-style discipline to the foreigners. In his more grandiose moments he even imagined bringing his troops back to invade Laconia, at long last seizing the respect his countrymen begrudged him. No one would laugh then at his questions about diplomacy; Thibron’s exile would be a faint memory, and they would never, ever call him “Stone.”