The End of Sparta

The cloaked figure muttered only a word or two about “a horde from the north.”

“A horde, now? Of Boiotians maybe? You know the Messenian prophecy?”

“And some Arkadians. I know no more news.”

Kuniskos laughed again. “What does this horde want with this Kuniskos? To throw down Sparta and raise up Messenia?”

“Perhaps-though the god has not told me all that. They act only as fate wills. It’s too late. Neither you nor your Spartans can ward off the great reckoning.”

“Reckoning, is it? Come nearer, priestess, sit on your granddaddy’s lap. Either you be a talker of the gods’ minds, or some faker in the robes of a holy woman sent here to stir up our kind. But I say, come near, scoot over, cast off that hood. Do you remember who I am?”

The hooded girl spat back. “They know you as Kuniskos. The new killer of the helots, or so the travelers say Lichas mined you out of Taygetos, hammering you from stone to smash down your own kind. You kill the Messenians sometimes as the farmer, sometimes the mounted man, sometimes their friend and recruiter. They say you are alone and a drunkard and even your lord Antikrates has left you to swing on a Messenian gallows.”

Kuniskos liked her sauciness and even more his own playacting. In his wine-craze he was close to confessing to her his charade, but wished the drama to play out a little longer. Kuniskos tugged a bit on a thick cord that was wrapped tight around her left foot. “What a nice little bitch on a leash to visit her Kuniskos. But when Klopis brings me virgins from the helot temples, I send them back soiled and stamped-the lucky ones that do not go over Taygetos to the pits. With the seed and the brand of Kuniskos-my own kappa burned right into their cheeks and a puppy in their belly, if I’m lucky.”

He yanked on her leg chain a bit more. “They learn to serve men’s lust on the street corners. Or maybe they play flutes at the fine houses for a few coppers. For the goddess has nothing to do with them stained and polluting her sacred ground, especially if with child, the new litters of my puppies to come.” Gorgos was pulling the chain ever harder, as he went on. “So Virgin, talk-unless you wish to feel the spike of Kuniskos inside you. Then the pictures and whispers in your head will disappear for good. An ugly gamma will mark your cheek just as your own Messenian killers smear their bloody letter mus on my innocent dead. You alone earn the gamma-for the sake of the ancient days on Helikon.” With that end to his drama, Kuniskos, drunk and stumbling, with haze in his eyes and dizziness in his head, threw off the young woman’s long cloak and veil. Then he tore her chiton. But then even he, lord of the Helots, froze for a moment in his delight as the wine no longer clouded his vision.

His eyes flashed, and he yelled to Klopis, “Bar the door, bar it and for the night!” Kuniskos calmed and laughed. “You now. We are a long way from that hill above Leuktra, are we not, my Netike? Netike. Oh, my lovely Netike at last. So lovely after all, in your nakedness, as I dreamed. So much the better for all my waiting. Now in service to the lord of the helots, of your own kind. Now you leave the virgin world of Artemis and will join that of Eros.”

She spat at him. “Kuniskos, a new name for an old monster. You were never drunk. You knew me even in your feigned stupor, liar, dogface.”

“And no doubt, you knew that I did, at first sight when they brought you in, for all your denials of your old lust. You enjoyed our little game as much as I did. No matter. Past is past. For you alone, my Netike, it is Gorgos. Only you can call me that, my old name, in your eros as you groan for your Gorgikos. As I promised, I will brand you not with a kappa for Kuniskos, but you alone with a little gamma no less-a gammikon for the Gorgikos of old and for the sake of the Helikon days and on that soft unspoiled cheek.”

She let out a shriek as the toothless satyr dropped his bright robe. It was the alale, alalale of Helikon, the war cry of Neto of the Malgidai-the paean to Alale, daughter of Polemos. Neto was caught in the lair of Gorgos-no longer the loyal servant of Melon but Kuniskos, the fading lord of the helots. He pulled hard on her roped leg and sent her sprawling to the floor, as he had wanted to for twenty summers on Helikon even under the deathless eye of Melon, who was now far away on the road to Mantineia.

CHAPTER 29

Erinna of Messenia

For days Chion had been stuck in this port of the Phokians. He was drinking the worst of Nemea’s red wine and eating squid and cuttlefish by the fire with the helot rowers, pledged to protect the effort of Alkidamas to arrive in Messenia before the army. Five Korinthian triremes still battled the white caps off shore, with ten more arriving as they left. All the time he thought of Neto in the fort of Kuniskos.

“They think we carry gold, not helots,” Gaster swore as he clamored over the deck of the beached Theoris. “Why do these Korinthian pirates keep circling out there? Hey you, Alkidama. Our hull rots, and I’m sick of these shorebird Phokians, worse than thieves. We either break out or hike home and let the Theoris keep rotting.”

Alkidamas scoffed at the fat man. “Settle down and keep eating your oysters. The arm of Agesilaos is not so long anymore. Just be patient. A few more days, a few more coins sent over the Isthmos, and the Korinthians will smile and leave, and we’ll be back out. With these helot rowers, we’ll be there just in time to help with the building of new Messene. These Phokians here are not such bad cooks, anyway.”

Chion had had enough. He left the small hut and glanced back at Alkidamas. “No more wait. Nikon can’t wait. Neto can’t wait. No more sea legs. You meet me wherever this Ithome of yours is. I’ll find it. In five days I’m there before you with a live Neto and the head of your Gorgos.” Chion put a long pole on his shoulder with a bag of rations on the end and set out along the sea. He had little idea of the world outside Thespiai but knew enough to follow the north shore of the gulf for a half day, always west into the setting sun, until he could see the long walls of Patrai looming across the water.

This was real freedom-no wife, no farm to work, no children to raise, just one man in the wild against all others. No wonder men liked war. He knew he did. He forgot Damo, even their son to come, and the three sons of Lophis, with the assurance they’d all be better off after he killed those who needed killing. Yes, he’d take a ferry across the straits to the Peloponnesos, skirt the shoulders of Erymanthos until he reached Olympia, and from there, or so he heard, he’d just hike up the Alpheios. Then take the south fork down to the land of the Messenians. Five days he reckoned and he would be at this Ithome, and before either Epaminondas or the Theoris. He’d put the dragon head of Gorgos in this bag and stuff it with honey to show Melon when he arrived. Maybe Chion would pull the tongue out between the teeth so Gorgos would look like the gorgon he was. As he ran he mumbled to himself, as if Alkidamas was at his side rather than stuck back on the shore of the gulf.

“Neto warned me about the sea, Alkidama, and so I’m leaving the waves to you to find her. I’m a hoplite, a front-rank prostates. I have no worries. I’ve lived too long as it is. No death wish. Better yet, no care. Live or die, freer than any free man. You won’t see me again, only hear of my work. I go into the hills to kill those who would kill our own. Free to kill. You’ll see the good I do you all without the bridle of your law.” With that Chion stopped his talking to himself and went over the hill on his way to Naupaktos and the mouth of the gulf.

Chion went on foot west, and in a day and half saw the torchlights at the eastern gate of Naupaktos on the water. Once back on land and free from the Theoris, he felt better and moved even more quickly than he was accustomed, convinced he could do far better without the leaky boat and the helots of Alkidamas. Already he was at the neck of the gulf. But could he run fast enough to kill Gorgos before he cut off the head of Neto? He would surely be across the water tonight at least, since there were helot boats aplenty down there for hire. He had a full pack of Melon’s coins and hadn’t left much with Alkidamas. No doubt Epaminondas was sweeping down from Sellasia into Lakonia-and here he was not yet into the Peloponnesos.

Then a blast of cold air nearly knocked Chion over as he turned the last switchback of the mountain trail, on the downward slope to the city gate of Naupaktos. The odd wind came in the wrong direction, hard, but blowing from the south. It howled and it brought winter ice in the air. The torches above on the walls of Naupaktos went out with sudden gusts. Where did that come from? Cold blasts on the gulf-but something colder from the south across