The Queen of Sparta (2 page)

That night, Alexander began to read. Written in Attic Greek, the very dialect Alexander spoke, the manuscript began thus:

Even after all these years, I can still recall the calm after that cursed battle, as I walked among its dead. I can still taste that iron-tinged stench of blood that hung in the air. I began from the place where the heroes fell, my brother among them, by the entrance of the Great King’s tent. And as I strode towards Leonidas’ Wall, I passed a mound of bodies and shields. These were the last of the three hundred, their corpses riddled with arrows. And thereafter I came to the entrance of the pass. Stacks of hundreds of putrid human carcasses piled up against the Wall where for two bloody days the Spartans had held the line.

And I climbed the wall again – this time not in the midst of fierce combat with grunting, shouting, shoving bodies all around me – but alone in the midst of a dusky calm. All I could see was a sea of the dead and the dying.

It should not have been such a shock for a warrior. But it was.

Battle, they say, is everything that manhood is about; the very epitome of glory. But what glory, I asked myself, is there in a spear-point sticking out of a jaw or a mangled headless body rotting on the ground?

And there they all lay before me, the thousands of corpses who were once living beings.

Thermopylae was but an exercise in futility; no bearing upon anything that mattered. The Persians were determined yet to the crush the Greeks. And who on earth could stop them?

CHAPTER 1

IF!

The Agora

Sparta

Autumn, 480
BC

The man was trying to sit very still. He was on horseback, in full armour, facing a throng of mostly unarmed men and women. And yet he was trembling. He seemed too afraid even to dismount his horse.

A man, in front of the crowd, laughed. He was tall, with hair falling well below his shoulder and an equally long moustache-less beard. “This time they sent us a Greek. Why did the Persians send you and not one of their own? Are they afraid we would stuff them down the well again?”

Laughter roared across the marketplace.

The envoy, still shaking, cleared his throat and said, “I bring a message from the Great King Xerxes to the King of Sparta.”

A small voice shouted, “I am he!”

Looking down, the envoy saw a small dark-haired boy of around eight years looking up at him. He waited for someone to laugh at the boy’s impertinence or even shout at him. But none did.

“I am Pleistarchus, son of Leonidas,” said the boy.

The messenger plucked enough courage to say, “Sparta has two kings. I wish to speak with the older one.”

A young woman had stepped forward. She was long-haired and beautiful. Standing behind the boy, she placed her hands on his small shoulders. “He is away,” she said. “You will have to deliver your message to my son.”

“Go on,” said the boy king, his tiny voice carrying authority.

“His Majesty, King Xerxes, says:
I have destroyed your army at Thermopylae. My forces have occupied Athens. And your turn will soon come. You are advised to submit without further delay, for if I bring my army into your land, I shall destroy your farms, slaughter your people, and raze your city to the ground.
”

There was silence.

The boy king turned around and looked up at his mother. Her eyes blazed as she stared into the eyes of the messenger. Her lips curled mischievously as she gave him her response: “If!”

CHAPTER 2

THE CRIMSON QUEEN

Royal Compound of the Agiadae

Pitana District

Sparta

Spring, 479
BC

Even though the sun had risen, the morning mist still covered the garden. Beautiful flowers and exotic plants were arranged in neat rows all around the edges of a lawn. Delightful aromas mixed with the dewy smell of the early morning grass. In the centre of the lawn was a huge lone oak with a bench underneath. Close to the tree were rows of comfortable benches fashioned out of single pieces of log. On them sat nine men wearing rich tunics and elegantly embroidered robes. Because of the mist they could not take in the full beauty of the garden; nor did they care to.

“What is taking her so long?” grumbled Cimon, the youngest of the men.

“I told you it was a mistake coming here,” said Xanthippus.

“No one else in Sparta is willing to talk to us. We have no choice but to come here,” retorted the elderly Phaenippus.

“I meant it was a mistake to come here to Sparta,” retorted Xanthippus, mincing his words. “They have no intention of helping us liberate Athens.”

Cimon, who rarely agreed with Xanthippus, sighed. “We have been sitting around here in Sparta for over a week now and all we have are equivocations and half-promises.”

“We fought without the Spartans before,” said a rather tall, pudgy companion of theirs, “… and we can fight without them again.”

“That was eleven years ago, Callias,” said Phaenippus, shaking his head. “You know better than I that the conditions at Marathon worked to our favour, no matter what we said afterwards. But things are different now. Either the Spartans come to our aid or we surrender to Persia. There is no other choice.”

They did not notice her coming through the mist. Cimon was the first to catch a glimpse of her legs, when she had almost come upon them. She wore sandals, the straps of which ran up her ankles, which was strange because Spartan women rarely wore footwear; nor did their men, unless on campaign. He had hoped to see more of her leg – Spartan women were not called ‘thigh flashers’ for nothing – but her
peplos
gown reached her ankles.

As she came closer, more of her was revealed to the men. Her loose-fitting white dress could not hide her lithe, athletic body. Unlike the coarse materials ordinary Spartans wore, hers was of the finest linen. Hung over her shoulder was a long
himation
shawl. Its colour was crimson; the colour of Sparta. The colour of war.

As her face emerged from the mist, its beauty mesmerized the men. Her most defining feature was her large hazel-green eyes, made more intense and foreboding by kohl. Her long, dark hair was swept up loosely, some falling over her left shoulder.

One by one, the Athenians stood up, in awe of her beauty, enthralled by her presence. Only Phaenippus had seen her before. She looked just as beautiful as she had a decade earlier, yet the expression on her face was now one of authority; her appearance exuding power.

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she quietly sat down opposite them on the bench under the oak tree. Normally, a queen waited for her guests to be seated. “But not this time,” she thought to herself. Sparta was the senior partner in this alliance and a queen of Sparta was not bound to stand in ceremony for these representatives of the Athenian rabble.

“Be seated, gentlemen,” she said. The Queen already knew that in a rare display of unity, Athens’ democratic Assembly had sent representatives from nearly all their major factions. Their leader was Phaenippus. He had once been
Epynomous Archon
– Athens’ Head of State. She smiled at him politely, acknowledging him by name.

Next to him was a handsome-faced man in his late thirties with a trimmed beard but a curious shaped head; his dishevelled dark blonde hair all bunched up at the bottom and rising to a point at the top. “Onion head,” she said to herself, suppressing her laughter with some difficulty. “Welcome, Xanthippus son of Ariphron, commander of the Athenian Navy.”

Xanthippus was a little flustered, perhaps not expecting her to recognize him without an introduction.

Behind him was a tall heavy-set man with thick lips, a paunchy belly and a pug nose, who was generally quite hairy except on the top of his head. The clothes he wore were made of the most expensive fabrics and his shoes appeared incredibly soft. “Oh yes, that is him; the richest man in Athens,” the Queen said to herself. “How ironic; this ugly man’s name is ‘Callias’.” But she knew that the irony did not stop there. Behind this façade of a man of affluence, accustomed to luxury, was a hardened veteran; a war hero, who, eleven years ago, had led one of the ten tribal regiments at the Athenian victory at Marathon. She knew that it was as much a mistake to underestimate the Athenians as it was to trust them.

She was about to guess who the person next to Callias was, when the frail Phaenippus spoke. “Queen Gorgo, where is your army? We have been here a week and have not seen the troops we are promised to liberate Athens.”

“Of course,” she said, “you are aware that military activity is forbidden during the festival of
Hyacinthia
.”

“Yes, the Regent Pausanias told us as much,” snorted Xanthippus, while the men behind him murmured in discontent.

The youngest of the envoys made his way to the front. A little older than Gorgo, he was a handsome man with curly red hair and a clean-shaven face. His scandalous lifestyle was the subject of gossip right across Greece. They spoke of a string of notorious seductions that included, if rumours were to be believed, his own younger half-sister. And yet, he had a saving grace. The son of one of Athens’ greatest heroes, he had recently distinguished himself in battle, against the Persians at Salamis.

“Is this not the very same excuse Leonidas used to avoid Spartan participation in the battle of Marathon eleven years ago? The festival on that occasion was the
Carneia
, now it is the Hyacinthia. The Spartans seem a little too fond of their festivals, don’t you think?” said the younger man.

A burst of sarcastic laughter echoed his barb.

“My late husband, Leonidas,” said Gorgo with pride, “arrived in Marathon to support your troops as soon as the Carneia was over, just as he had promised.”

“Yes,” said the man, “but only after the battle was over. Where were the Spartans, Queen Gorgo, on the day my father won the great victory at Marathon?”

Some of the envoys began to grumble loudly.

“Cimon, son of Miltiades, tell me how many Athenian warriors were present at the battle of Thermopylae? The Arcadians were there and so were the Phlians. The sons of Corinth fought and died there, as did the Isemenian Band. Those patriots from Thebes fought for us, despite of the treachery of their own government. The Lion Guard of ancient Mycenae fought to the end there. So did the Thespiaeans, and heroically so. Men of high-walled Phocis were present too, as were those of Locris and Malia. Your neighbours, the Megarians were also there. Even the Mantineans tried to redeem their lost honour by showing up. But not a single Athenian fought at Thermopylae. Where were you, oh men of Athens, on the day our Three Hundred Spartans and their allies fell for the cause of Greece?”

“You know very well, Queen Gorgo, that our fleet was at Artemisium, along with other Greek ships, protecting the naval flank of your land forces. We prevented the Persian fleet from landing troops behind the Spartan lines,” retorted Xanthippus.

“A fat lot of good that did,” she replied. “For your fleet did not deter the Persians from outflanking the Greek positions and destroying our army at Thermopylae.”

“But, Queen Gorgo,” retorted Callias angrily in his loud voice, “that is not the point. We have been waiting for your leaders to give us an answer on whether you will support us against the Persians. And today, when we went looking for the Regent, he could not be found, nor could any of your generals. Then we went to the Ephors, and even they refused to speak with us. Instead, they sent us to you. What is going on?”

“Where are your troops, Majesty?” asked Cimon. “Not a single one can be found in Sparta, and that too in a city supposedly populated by warriors. Don’t you think it strange? I am sure your men would not mind a woman answering for them … for they are not man enough to answer for themselves.” He continued to smile as some of his colleagues shouted in disgust.

“I owe you no explanation, my Lord,” replied Gorgo calmly.

“Alright,” said Phaenippus lifting up his hands, silencing his colleagues. “We understand perfectly, Queen Gorgo. We know that we have outlived our welcome here. You Spartans can stay at home and enjoy your festival. Forget your obligations towards your closest allies. We will have no choice but to surrender to Persia. And once we do so, and when their Great King invades your lands, do not blame us if we join his forces against yours. Only then will you realize the consequences of your inaction.”

“Consequence of our inaction?” she snorted, staring ferociously at the elderly envoy. “Your democracy has only survived under the shade of Spartan spears!”

Cimon tried to say something, but she cut him off. “Ambassadors of Athens,” she began, in a tone matched only by the blazing of her eyes. “I do not deal with assumptions or presumptions, nor do I make empty threats. The Hyacinthia ended last night. On my recommendation, and in accordance with terms of our alliance, the War Council of Sparta have dispatched an army to liberate Athens. Gentlemen, as we speak, the entire Spartan field army under the command of my cousin, the Regent Pausanias, are already on their way. That is why you could not find even a single warrior in Sparta today … or a general, for that matter.”

“The entire Spartan field army, Your Majesty? On their way? ... to Athens?” Phaenippus blubbered. “This … is … wonderful … news!”

“I told you, we made the right decision to come here,” said Xanthippus, smiling. Cimon gave him a stare that combined incredulity with anger. The other ambassadors could not contain their joy.

Gorgo continued, “This morning, I received a message that they are approaching the Isthmus of Corinth, which means they will arrive at Athens by sunset tomorrow. We have five thousand additional troops, our
Outlander
brigade, waiting outside Sparta to escort you back to your city.”

“But … why did not anyone inform us?” asked Cimon.

“After all, we are the Ambassadors of Athens, your allies,” said Phaenippus. “We had a right to be informed the moment you decided to send your troops to aid us.”

“… And tell the entire world that the Spartans were coming?” she replied.

Gorgo knew that many powerful men in Athens had taken the Great King’s gold. Nearby Argos was in league with Persia, and she had doubts about the loyalty of Sparta’s Arcadian neighbours. Not all the Greeks opposed the Persian presence. Secrecy had to be maintained to ensure the Spartan force would not be intercepted by Greeks loyal to Persia.

“Thank you, Queen Gorgo. You are a true friend of Athens. We never doubted your support for a moment,” said Xanthippus.

“Of course you doubted it,” she said. “Is that not why you came to see me? To accuse the Spartans of cowardice? Of inaction? … Of hiding behind a woman? Lord Cimon, let me tell you why I speak for my menfolk, because it is only we Spartan women who give birth to real men.”

Cimon turned red, a colour matching his flaming hair. But Phaenippus bowed low. “We apologize, Majesty. Your wisdom has never failed Greece.” Then he raised his head. “Now, if you would excuse us, we need to hurry home.”

“Not just yet, gentlemen!” Gorgo shouted. “I have not finished.”

This stopped the Athenians in their tracks.

“The liberation of Athens does not come without its price.”

One by one, the nine Athenians turned to face her. “Let me ask you, again, why were there no Athenians at Thermopylae?”

There was silence.

“Then let me give you the answer, gentlemen,” she said. “Did not the democratic Assembly and Council of Athens, under the influence of your great leader, Themistocles, take a decision to disband your army and effectively transform it into a navy? Lord Cimon, did you not march off to the armoury at the Temple of Athena Parthenos on the Acropolis, and exchange your cavalryman’s bridle for a marine’s shield? As soon as you heard about the Persian victory at Thermopylae, did not your fleet rush back to Athens to evacuate your civilian population to nearby islands? You did not fight on land at Thermopylae because you had made up your minds to resist the Persians by sea.”

Phaenippus retorted, “But the Oracle of Delphi had told us to place our trust only in the wooden walls that Zeus had given us. Those wooden walls were, after all, our warships.”

“No,” Gorgo corrected him. “It was because you had no faith in in our strategy – my strategy – to stop the Persians on land. You wanted to confront them at sea. We went along with you against our better judgement. Yes, together we won the great battle of Salamis. But that victory did not get rid of the Persians. They are still in Greece. And once again they have occupied your city, and once again their soldiers gaze across the Straits of Salamis. So we are exactly back to where we were some six months ago.”