Serving at the Syssitia - An Excerpt from "A Boy of the Agoge

At the start of the month I noted that the boys of the agoge were required to serve as mess boys in the citizen messes, the syssitia. Here they were expected to learn their manners — and answer all manner of questions put to them. The purpose was to socialize the young boys in the laws, customs and ethos of Sparta.

There were always two boys assigned to a mess at any one time. Whether by chance or design, Leonidas and Alkander were assigned to serve together. Alkander was very nervous, so much so that he started dropping and knocking things over while they were still in the kitchen getting the tables set up. At first Leonidas was annoyed because he had to clean up after Alkander, but he felt sorry for him too.

“Th-th-they’re g-g-going to make f-f-fun of me,” Alkander predicted miserably. As this seemed more than likely, Leonidas didn’t answer. In fact, part of him was rather glad that Alkander would probably act as a lightning rode deflecting any unkind ridicule away from him.

They made their appearance in the mess, dutifully reporting to the eldest member, or chairman, first. This was a venerable old man who had lost an eye in the battle against Tegea ten Olympiads earlier. Alkander got his name out without stuttering, and attention turned to Leonidas.

“Ah ha. The youngest Agiad,” the old man declared, his one eye focusing hard on Leonidas. “Well, all right. You know what to do?” They nodded. “Then get on with it.”

They brought water and towels to all the members as they arrived, and were introduced to each by the chairman. They also got the first course of black broth out to everyone without incident, but during the second course someone decided to ask Leonidas what he thought the qualities of a good Spartan king were.

“Courage, father,” Leonidas replied without hesitation. It was a safe bet; no one in Sparta would ever suggest there was ever a time when courage wasn’t a virtue.

“That is a quality required of every citizen,” the man scoffed. “We are talking about our kings. What do they need besides what every citizen must have?”

Leonidas thought for a moment and decided: “Good judgement, father.”

“Certainly. And what more?”

Lacking further inspiration, Leonidas tried to remember all the things his mother said Cleomenes lacked. “Prowess at sports and arms, father.”

“Well enough. What more?”

“Dignity, father.”

“I suppose, yes. And?”

“Ah, self-discipline, father.”

“Not bad. What else?”

“Piety, father.”

“Oh, very good. I’ll bet you heard that one from your mother, didn’t you, boy?”

“Ah, yes, father,” Leonidas admitted.

For some reason, everyone in the room burst out laughing. Although Leonidas didn’t get the joke, he was relieved to note that the atmosphere was far from hostile.

Another man took up the interrogation in a distinctly friendly, even paternal, tone. “Tell us then, son of the Heraklid: why are Spartan men the only Hellenes who wear their hair long?”

Leonidas didn’t have clue. He thought for a second and then tried, “Ah, so the boys of the agoge will know who to address as father rather than just ‘sir,’ father.”

To Leonidas’ amazement and relief they all burst out laughing again, this time more heartily than before; and when the guffaws had faded into chuckles, they turned their attention to Alkander.

“Tell us, Alkander, son of Demarmenus, what is Sparta’s worst enemy?”

“Argos, sir,” Alkander got out without stuttering. (He rarely had trouble with vowels.”

“Argos? Argos? That ridiculous mud-heap filled with braggarts and ass-lickers? Argo is not an enemy, boy; it is a training field. The only reason we haven’t razed Argos to the ground is so you boys will still have someone to practice your weapons on before you face a real enemy. Try again: What is Sparta’s worse enemy?”

Leonidas was very glad he was not on the spot. He hadn’t any idea what the man wanted.

Alkander tried again, “Athens, sir.”

“Athens? A bunch of shopkeepers and whoremongers! They’re more interested in a good play than a good fight. Not worth the mention. Come on; use your brains, boy. What is our worst enemy?”

Alkander swallowed hard, and Leonidas could see he was sweating miserably. His throat was working, too, as he tried to suppress his stutter. “Persia, sir?”

“He’s got a point there,” one of the younger members of the syssitia suggested; but the questioner was not satisfied.

He frowned and retorted to his peer rather than to Alkander, “What do we care who rules Asia? As long as they don’t try to set foot in the Peloponnese, they can carry on painting themselves like women and castrating little boys. It only denies them men they may one day need.” He turned again to Alkander. “You are barking up the wrong tree, boy. Let me ask the question in a different way: Is there any army in the world that Sparta needs to fear?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s better. So what should we fear?”

“I d-d-don’t know, sir.” Alkander was forced to admit, and Leonidas wanted to groan in sympathy. The stutter had come.

“What was that?” the Peer asked sharply, cocking his ear toward Alkander.

“I d-d-don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know, son of Anaxandridas?” The man turned on Leonidas.

“No, sir.”

“I see. Two equally ignorant whelps.”

“Why don’t you enlighten them, Phormion, so we can get on with the meal? Some of us are hungry.”

“Hungry? You’re not hungry. You’re in a hurry to get home to your wife.”

“If you had my wife, you’d be in a hurry to get home to her too.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Get the next course, boys,” the syssitia elder ordered, and Leonidas and Alkander dashed gratefully back to the kitchen. From the dinning room waves of laughter came in quick succession. The boys filled up the next tables an dutifully rolled these out. The conversation around them faded, and again the attention focused on them. “Leonidas, where does Lacedaemon end?”

“In which direction, sir?”

“In any direction.”

“Well, to the south it end at the Gulf of Laconia, and—“\

“Really? What about Kyther?”

“Oh.”

“Come now. Think harder. Where would we be if the Sons of Herakles had accepted that all they owned was the plot of earth they were born on?”

Leonidas considered that for a second, and then asked cautiously, “You mean, sir, that our borders are what we make them?”

“Well done! Or as we prefer to word it: as far as the reach of our spears.”

Leonidas liked that.

“Now, let’s try the other question again, you two. What does Sparta most have to fear?”

Leonidas and Alkander looked at one another. Leonidas still didn’t know what the man was looking for, but Alkander had evidently been thinking about it and very cautiously suggested: “D-d-disobedience to our l-l-laws.”

There was a moment of tense silence. There was no question that the boy suttered and that was not to be applauded, but the answer had been good. One of the men started rapping his knuckles on his table and declared, “Well said, Alkander.” The others joined in nodding and saying this was good answer. In relief the boys fled to the kitchen, their ordeal over for this night.

Based primarily on Nigel Kennel's comprehensive study of the Spartan agoge, the first novel of my Leonidas Trilogy depicts the Spartan "upbringing" one year at a time through the eyes of young Leonidas and his (fictional) friends. Experience the Spartan agoge in the age of Leonidas in:

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A Mothake Makes his Point - An Excerpt from "A Boy of the Agoge"

The fact that the boys of the agoge could be flogged for misbehaving is legendary — particularly the fact that they would be flogged if they were caught stealing. So, I felt compelled to include an incident of this kind in the first book of my three-part biographical novel of Leonidas, “A Boy of the Agoge.” 

Leonidas and his friend Alkander have been caught trying to steal food while on a training exercise that required them to live “by their wits” for ten days. Leonidas’ friend Alkander at this point has been orphaned and his widowed mother was unable to afford his agoge fees, so Leonidas has “adopted” him — i.e has taken over the costs of his education making Alkander a “mothake.”  Furthermore, as a little boy, Alkander stuttered and was very weak, attracting widespread contempt.

 

By the time Leonidas was taken down to the sandpits by the banks of the Eurotas where the public floggings took place, he was at the end of his twelve-year-old strength in more ways than one. First, he was half-starved from six days in the wilderness without one proper meal. Second, he was miserably disappointed that he had failed to feed himself by legitimate means. Third, he was frustrated that he had been so inept at thieving. And fourth, he felt guilty for dragging poor Alkander into the whole mess with him. He was famished, exhausted, and feeling worthless when they made him strip off his chiton and, naked in the chill of an autumn morning, he turned to face the Eurotas. He stood barefoot in the dew-cooled sand and gripped a bar of poplar, which was laid at right angles to two six-foot high stakes as if for high jumping. Alkander was beside him, facing the same punishment.

The mastigophoroi, the young men who were to carry out the punishment, took up their positions with their canes.  An unbearable stillness fell over the crowd. Leonidas could hear the cane whistle through the air, and then it cracked on his naked back, and the sting of it made his whole body leap in outrage.  He clung grimly to the wooden bar, biting down to keep from emitting any sort of cry. The next blow followed. And the next. And the next. Gradually, Leonidas’ body lost the strength to leap and start each time the cane struck at him. Soon he only wanted to sink down into the soft sand, just down and away. Escape. Surrender.

He could stop the ordeal at any moment just by letting go of the bar and sinking into the sand. It would be so simple, but it would be a disgrace. His mother wasn’t even here, and yet he felt her ice-cold eyes boring into his raw back and making it cold, even as the welts turned red and hot. She hated him just for wanting to quit. But she hated him anyway. She had always said he was a useless whelp. He should have been killed at birth. He was no use to anyone. Completely superfluous.

“Leonidas!” Alkander hissed his name through his gritted teeth. “Leonidas!”

“What?” Leonidas hissed back.

“Stand up!”

“Why?”

“You’re an Agiad.”

“So what!” Leonidas replied, but he had stiffened his knees again already.

“You have to let me go down first!” Alkander insisted next.

“Why?”

“It’s what they expect. I’m a worthless mothake.” Alkander referred to himself by the somewhat derogatory term reserved for youths who, like himself, were too poor to pay their fees and were sponsored by someone wealthier. “If you go down first, you will never live it down.”

Leonidas wanted to scream at Alkander to drop, to surrender, to spare them both any further agony, but Alkander was (as Leonidas was learning) incredibly tenacious. There were many skills he simply did not have, but enduring pain was not a function of physical strength, dexterity or skill — it was sheer willpower.  Alkander had more than enough of that when he wanted.

By now Leonidas could feel moisture running off his back. He did not know if it was sweat or blood, but the sense of simply not being able to endure any more was mounting. “Alkander! I can’t take any more.”

“Of course you can. I can.”

“Why?”

“To prove them all wrong.”

“I have to suffer so you can prove them wrong?” Leonidas demanded.

“Just a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Please!”

Leonidas was unconsciously writhing, his body desperately trying to evade further abuse, while his mind kept his hands clasped to the bar and his feet in place. Someone called for him to “stand firm or surrender.”

“I’m going down!” Leonidas hissed at Alkander.

“No! Just a few more!”

“Why?”

“To prove them wrong!”

Again Leonidas forced himself to endure a little longer, but it really was getting unbearable. For Alkander too. Later they would fight over who finally gasped out. “Now!”

They dropped face first into the cool, soft sand, the ordeal ove

Based primarily on Nigel Kennel's comprehensive study of the Spartan agoge, the first novel of my Leonidas Trilogy depicts the Spartan "upbringing" one year at a time through the eyes of young Leonidas and his (fictional) friends. Experience the Spartan agoge in the age of Leonidas in:

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Erollment in the Agoge - An Excerpt from "A Boy of the Agoge"

At the start of the month I discussed the the unique features of the agoge. One of them was that enrollment was universal and compulsory. In fact, there was one exception: the heirs apparent to each of the Spartan thrones were exempt. Yet younger princes were not. This explains why Leonidas I, the hero of Thermopylae, was one of the few Spartan kings to have ever gone through the agoge.

In the attached excerpt I depict Leonidas' enrollment by his father, the aging King Anaxandridas.

At the age of seven, Cleombrotus and Leonidas were enrolled in the agoge. Dido had warned him this would happen, and she had always looked sad when she told him, but she hadn't been able to tell him very much about it. She was a helot, after all, and no one in her family had ever been allowed to go to the agoge. Nor could Leonidas' father tell him much -- if he had dared ask him -- because the heir apparent to the throne was exempt from attending the agoge and so King Anaxandridas had never gone. As for Dorieus, he didn't waste time talking to his youngest brothers, so neither of the twins had any idea what to expect except that it meant leaving home and living in the agoge barracks with other boys their age.

One day just after the winter solstice, their father came for them dressed in his armor and scarlet cloak. He was already a great age by then, much more than three score. He had white hair that he wore braided in the Spartan fashion, but it was so thin that his plaits were tiny little strings, and his scalp was almost completely bare. The skin of his scalp was flecked with brown. He could no longer stand upright; the weight of his breast plate appeared to be too great for his shoulders and dragged him forward. He kept himself partially upright by using a T-shaped walking stick that he propped under his right armpit.

Without a word he signaled his twin sons, who had been told to be ready for him, and with one on either side of him he walked out of the palace. At once they were caught in the cold wind that blew down off the Taygetos.  Leonidas clutched his himation tighter around him, but his father shook his head. "Better get used to the cold, boy. You'll not be allowed to keep such a thick himation in the agoge."

Leonidas gazed up at the old man, who he knew was his father but who was still a stranger to him, and started to become alarmed.

The king led his sons to an imposing building standing directly on the Agora, opposite the dancing floor and at right angles to the Council House and the Ephorate. Although given the same prominence as these buildings, it lacked the lovely colonnade and elegant portico of the government buildings. Instead, the entrance was supported by three ancient Kouroi. All had once been painted but were now naked stone, except for some remnants of color in the curls of their hair. Boys of various ages with shaved heads and rough, black himations came and went in groups. Leonidas noticed that despite the snow lying in the shadows, the boys were all barefoot. This is going to be terrible, he registered.

They entered an office. An elderly man in Spartan scarlet sat behind a desk.  Several middle-aged men stood about discussing things earnestly. At the sight of King Anaxandridas, the others fell silent, and the elderly man behind the desk got to his feet respectfully.

"Here they are," the king announced simply. "My youngest boys."

All eyes were drawn to the two boys, whom Anaxandridas now pushed forward.

"You'd never know they were twins!" one of the men exclaimed.

Hardly a brilliant observation, Leonidas thought. Brotus was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a stubborn set to his aw and a compact body that -- as one of the men immediately observed -- made him look a year older than his twin.  Leonidas was not blond, just brown, but he was much lighter in color than his brother and his eyes were hazel. He was also ten pounds lighter and two inches shorter than Cleombrotus.

"Who's this fine fellow here?" They all focused on Brotus.

"Cleombrotus," the king said. 

"Then this is Leonidas." The oldest of the men walked around his desk and stepped closer to look intently at Leonidas. Leonidas wanted to step back, but he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. In a vice-like grip it held him in place. Leonidas stared rather terrified up into the headmaster's face, but Leonidas decided that whatever the man thought of him (and he did not say), he did not seem hostile.

The king took his leave. It was the last time Leonidas ever saw him up close. A little more than a year later he was dead.

The two boys were left in the cold room, surrounded by strangers.

"I think we best separate them, sir, at least at first," one of the younger men suggested. "Twins have a tendency to be dependent on one another."

The Paidonomos, or headmaster, nodded.  He looked from one boy to the other, evidently considering something, and then nodded. "Put Cleombrotus in Herripidas' and Leonidas in Gitiades' unit."

Leonidas was taken out of the administrative building and down the street to an even less assuming building. Here he was taken along a long corridor to a simple room furnished with what looked like shelves running around the perimeter at knee and shoulder height -- except there were ladders leading up to the upper shelves. There were wicker bins and baskets under the lower shelves. Already there were a half dozen other boys his own age in the room. All looked as bewildered and uncertain as he felt. There was also a young man there. He was tall and well formed, but not a citizen yet because he wore a black rather than a scarlet cloak. Also, his face and head were shaven. Leonidas knew enough about the agoge to know this young man must be one of the so-called eirenes. The eirenes were 20-year-olds who had just graduated from the agoge themselves. They were required to spend one year as a unit leader of younger boys before being enrolled in the ranks of the citizens and army at age 21.

The man escorting Leonidas addressed this eirene; "Gitiades, here's another one for you: Leonidas, son of Anaxandridas."

"King Anaxandridas?"

"That's right."

That made the other boys look over and stare. The older man was gone, and Gitiades addressed Leonidas. "You're nothing special here. Remember that. Just one of the herd."

Based primarily on Nigel Kennel's comprehensive study of the Spartan agoge, the first novel of my Leonidas Trilogy depicts the Spartan "upbringing" one year at a time through the eyes of young Leonidas and his (fictional) friends. Experience the Spartan agoge in the age of Leonidas in:

 Buy Now!