The Queen of Sparta (34 page)

Gorgo looked at Sherzada and said, “I do not know if your one God can forgive me, for I am not sure I can forgive myself.”

Just then the door slammed open. Gorgo got up with a start. Sherzada reached for his sword only to realise he had left it inside Pleistarchus’ room. A Helot came crashing through the door. He stumbled and fell into the hearth room, as if he had been hurled inside. He was small and thin; his nose seemed to be broken, bleeding profusely.

Behind him came a tall hooded figure, carrying a short sword.

CHAPTER 44

THE CHILDREN OF CHILON

Sparta

“Lampito?”

The tall Europontid Queen took off her hood to reveal her young, if determined, face. “This man came here to do you harm,” she said.

Lampito opened the door wide and showed Gorgo the two bodyguards posted outside her apartment lying on the ground. “Poisoned, just like your son. And this man is one of those responsible.”

Gorgo still eyed Lampito with suspicion and continued to stare warily at the sword she was wielding. In her head, she was trying to comprehend why the consort of her opponent, Archidamus, would try to protect her.

Lampito went over the fallen man, who had only just begun to recover his senses, and prodded him with the sharp point of her sword.

The man stared at her, and then at Gorgo and Sherzada, with a terrified look. He was wearing something around his neck. He grabbed it and bit into it.

Sherzada tried to open his mouth to expel what he was trying to ingest. But it was too late. His body went into spasms and soon his mouth began to froth amid a strong almondy smell. The man was dead within moments.

Lampito sheathed her sword and sat down beside Gorgo and Sherzada and told them what had transpired.

I was out on my usual run at sunset. Now that I am a queen, I do not think it dignified to charge around when most people are up and about. Instead of running through town I take a route which takes me from the Limnae district across the bridge over to Aphision and then I run a circuit around the forest before joining the north road that heads back to Sparta.

It was not yet completely dark and I noticed a Helot running ahead – the same man who lies here before you. There was something suspicious about the way he was behaving. His gait was that of a spy, certainly not a Helot. And why he was hurrying into a forest which most Helots believed to be cursed by the ghosts of those of their kind executed at Aphision was beyond me. I was curious.

I quietly followed him deep into the heart of the forest. At a clearing, he was joined by several men. It was getting dark and all I could make out was that one of them was dressed like a Spartan warrior, complete with a long cloak and a helmet covering his face. The rest were hooded men who wore leather armour over their dark tunics. As soon as this fake Helot joined them, the Spartan took him to task.

‘The boy king and his mother are not dead. Is that true?’ he asked.

The “Helot” explained that he had mixed poison into the breakfast milk of both the mother and son. That Queen Gorgo had become distracted when she learnt that she was to be visited by the prince of Syracuse. She refused to finish her breakfast saying that she had lost all her appetite. The son did drink the milk, but did not finish it, mistaking its slightly pungent taste for the milk going sour.

The Spartan became angry and said that even a modest amount of it could kill a grown man. But the “Helot” reported that the dark Barbarian prince had returned and had helped prepare an antidote to save the young King.

The Spartan lost his temper and hit the man so hard that he fell to ground and then he kicked him several times. But once his temper cooled he asked of the latest status of the King, his mother and the Barbarian. The response was that all three were in the royal apartments, where the King was slowly recovering.

The Spartan said that they would have to strike tonight to finish them off. When one of the hooded men asked him what if their victims fled, he replied that they would track them down no matter where they went. ‘By dawn, I shall have their heads. I swear it by the twelve gods of Olympus!’

Then the Spartan turned to the “Helot” and said that he should go back and prepare the ground for their assault. His task was but to clear the way; the other assassins would finish the job.

But then he warned the “Helot” not to get caught, for if he did a fate worse than death awaited him either at the hand of Queen Gorgo or his own. ‘So if you find you have no way out, I expect you to choose the least worst of all the options.’

As the Spartan conspirator dispersed the men, I ran back to Archidamus. I found him with his usually coterie of courtiers and hangers on, and managed with some difficulty to drag him away into the garden where we could talk alone. I noticed that one of his friends, Pericleidas, was watching me closely. I had drag my husband away from them all to a secluded spot. And there I told him all that I had heard and seen.

My husband may have been blinded by his jealousy for you Agiads, but that night you came to tell him about all the suspicious goings on in Sparta had disturbed him, and myself as well. Now I had my own proof about the conspiracies afoot.

I told Archidamus to put aside his hatred for your House. I told him if these men could get rid of one queen and king, they could certainly do the same to the other pair, especially as we too share many of Queen Gorgo’s sentiments. And then I said, ‘And if Gorgo and Pleistarchus are killed …’

‘… the finger of blame will point at me.’ Archidamus added that the successes of Cleomenes, Leonidas and Gorgo had cast a shadow over the Europontids and all he wanted was to reverse that by giving the Europontids their opportunity to shine. ‘Like Gorgo, we are also the descendants of Chilon who taught us to use our heads rather than blindly follow the antiquated code Lycurgus. He wanted us to find solutions that were best suited for our times. But now I see I have devoted all my energies thus far in pursuing the wrong objectives.’

When I told him we could still make things right and stop this conspiracy, he shook his head. He said that reactionary feelings were running deep. His first instinct was to mobilize the Company of Knights, but ever since the deaths of Theras and Iason, he was certain that the reactionaries might even have infiltrated that most elite of Spartan military units. Instead of stopping the assassins, the conspirators within might abet them.

When I asked him what he could do to stop the conspirators, he bent his head and held it with both his hands and began to weep. He looked up to me with misty eyes and said,

‘Ironic is it not that my name means “leader of the people,” and here am I now leading no one. I am but a mere tool. And within the clique that is now trying to govern Sparta are extremists who will stop at nothing to get their way.’

Since he could not risk coming here without arousing suspicion of reactionaries amongst his entourage, he sent me alone to warn you.

I slipped through the guards and approached your apartment. But then I saw this man approach two of the guards and offer them some spiced wine, which the guards gladly took, only to fall dead in moments. It was then I attacked him and hurled him in here.

“Queen Gorgo,” said Lampito. “We were all blind. I realize now you have been right all along. But it is too late now. Your Majesty, you must flee at once.”

At that very moment, someone knocked hard on the door.

“Assassins don’t knock.” Sherzada got up, walked over the door, and opened it.

It was Agathe, with a horrified expression on her face. Menander stood beside her, taut with anxiety. They had seen the bodies outside.

Sherzada signaled Menander to follow him into Pleistarchus’ room. He said to Gorgo, “We will get Pleistarchus; you and Agathe must fetch the horses.”

“Where are we going?”

“I have an idea. But first we must get out of Sparta,” he said.

Menander stepped forward. “If it pleases you, Highness, I would like to come with you. I know the countryside well and will guide you to wherever you wish to go.”

Sherzada and Menander carried the still weak Pleistarchus towards the stables nearby. Agathe, Lampito and Gorgo had come out with three horses. Sherzada noticed that Gorgo was carrying her father’s shield and sword.

Pleistarchus was helped up to one of the horses and Menander mounted behind his king to give him support.

Sherzada mounted a second horse and turned to Lampito. “My Queen, you must go over to the Regent Nicomedes and warn him about this.”

Gorgo nodded. “Agathe, go along too, and make sure all others are out of harm’s way, especially Pausanias’ children and your own people.”

As Lampito was about to turn, Gorgo embraced her warmly. “Thank you, for all you have done.”

Gorgo released her and mounted her horse, whereupon Lampito bowed and said, “I would have done more for you, had it been in my power. Keep safe,
Megistu-Anassa
.”

CHAPTER 45

“ME KHEIRON BELTISTON”

Outside Sparta

That night

Sherzada led the party on the north-west road for several miles and then he circled westward towards the Taygetus range. With Menander’s help, they followed a path along the foot of the range south. They circled the outskirts until they were on a path diametrically opposite to the road upon which they had left Sparta. Sherzada was taking his companions to the south-eastern corner of the Peloponnesus.

They rode hard until they reached the Laconian Forest near the coastline. Pleistarchus had started gaining consciousness but he was still tired. Sherzada suggested they take a break.

As Gorgo gave her son some water she asked Sherzada where they were going.

“To the beach at Boeae, opposite Cythera,” he said. “There is a Roman warship anchored nearby. As soon as we get there, we will signal them and they will take us to Cos.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t think it wise to return to Sparta any time soon. You may have to stay away for a while. You need to find a temporary home. What about Athens? I am sure Aristeides will give you protection; Elpinice, too.”

Gorgo shook her head. “While I adore Aristeides and have become fond of Elpinice, I do not think I can trust the Athenians anymore. They are expanding their influence right across the Aegean. The island of Scyros and the city-state of Carystus have recently fallen to Athenian spears. This is only the beginning. It is as if an Athenian empire is replacing a Persian one in the Aegean.

“Just as you said the Persians fought for the Truth, the Athenians are now doing the same in the name of Democracy. How can you impose Democracy at the point of spears? How can Athenians say they are fighting for freedom when they trample the rights of others? Forcing Aegean states to bow to them and become their vassals. People are being enslaved in the name of freedom, and I thought we Spartans were the only hypocrites in Greece.”

“Athens can afford to be hypocritical,” quipped Sherzada. “The caches of silver, the proceeds of the slave trade, access to timber and iron makes Athens pre-eminent in the Aegean. It is the only power there. Weaker states have no choice but to submit. Athens can get away with this; Sparta cannot.

“Sparta is like a strong but brittle piece of metal,” he continued, as he helped Pleistarchus, looking a little better, back on to his horse, “difficult to break, but once broken, completely useless. To survive, Sparta has to be flexible, but I do not see that happening.”

Menander mounted up behind Pleistarchus, giving his young king support. After having helped Gorgo on to her horse, Sherzada got up on his and rode behind her.

He continued, “The irony is that Persians, whom you have defeated, are never going to go away. Their symbol is a mythical bird called the
Huma
. Every time the Huma is seen to be destroyed, it reappears, often like the phoenix rising from the ashes. This is very much the nature of Persia. They are a proud and sophisticated people and as a civilization they know what it takes to survive. It is always a mistake to ignore the Persians, though at times it is unwise to take them too seriously. We who have lived next to them for centuries know a little about how to deal with them. Call them Persians, or Medes, or Parthians, or Iranians. Persia will rise again, and again, from the ashes. Even two or three thousand years from now, there will be a Persia in some shape or form. My question is: will there also be then a kingdom, a country, a land called Sparta?”

After almost two hours of riding, they finally reached the beach. There, Gorgo dismounted and spread a crimson cloak on the ground for Pleistarchus to lie on. Then Sherzada and Menander began collecting enough wood for three large fires.

“Hopefully, they can see these in Cythera,” said Sherzada, while Gorgo sat by her resting son.

Leaving Menander to look after the three bonfires, Sherzada walked up on top of a mound to get a better vantage point. The fires lit up the area, and so he reached into his satchel and took out a pen and parchment. He unrolled the parchment and started to write on it.

Once Pleistarchus had fallen asleep again, Gorgo climbed up the mound and sat next to Sherzada. “What’s that you are writing?” she asked.

“Oh, this is the book about the events I have witnessed here in Greece.”

Gorgo took the parchment from his hand and started to read it. After a while, she remarked, “Just as I thought. Your account seems a little one-sided, don’t you think?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“It gives only your perspective.”

“You mean it needs a Greek perspective as well?”

“Or a woman’s … you need to balance it somehow,” Gorgo replied.

Sherzada sighed and put away his writing material. “Have you decided where you want to go?” he asked her.

“Frankly, I’d rather face death in Sparta than suffer the ignominy of being a Spartan exile in any other part of Greece. It just does not feel right.”

“But you also have to think of your son,” he said. “Do you really want to return to Sparta to let the assassins have another go at him … and you as well?”

“So what should I do? Concede victory to my foes?”

“Sparta is about to embark on a disastrous path,” said Sherzada. “There is nothing you can do to stop it. All you will succeed in doing is putting your life at needless risk.”

Gorgo gave him a bitter look but one which also told him that he was right.

“You have done your best, Gorgo,” he continued. “You have preserved the freedom of Sparta. You have saved Greece. But you cannot save Sparta from itself. There is nothing more you can do here.”

“Then where am I supposed to go?” she asked. “With your Roman friends to this rather exotic Republic of theirs?”

Sherzada thought for a moment, and said, “They would certainly treat you well. Even though they will never admit it, the Romans deeply admire both Athenians and Spartans. And no longer having a monarchy of their own, they are always fascinated by monarchs of other lands. But the problem is that Rome is surrounded by enemies and in a constant state of warfare. This is true all across Italy. It is worse even than Greece.”

“So, my Prince,” she asked. “Where else can I go?”

“There is one more option,” he said with a half-smile. “Once Pleistarchus has recovered, I shall leave for home. I plan to take a ship to the far side of the Euxine Sea – the land of the Western Scyths. From there, I shall make my way overland to my homeland in the Indus Valley, skirting around Persian lands. I would like you and Pleistarchus to accompany me back to my homeland.”

“Spartans are famous for carrying off women they intend to marry to their homes. I did not know that the Scythians had the same custom.” Gorgo’s lips curled. “Is this a marriage proposal, by any chance, my Prince?”

Sherzada shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something. Gorgo thought she had heard him say, “
Me kheiron beltiston!
– the least worst of all the options.”

“For it is the strangest marriage proposal I have ever heard!”

Sherzada looked abashed. “I have heard that you have not been very keen on accepting proposals lately …”

Suddenly, Menander cried out, “Look: a ship is heading for us! It’s a trireme.”

Sherzada quickly packed up his parchment and writing material into his satchel and got up to try to determine whether the vessel belonged to friend or foe. The ship lowered a boat with armed men who began to row towards them.

Hearing movement behind them, Sherzada turned and saw a dozen men wearing black leather jerkins over dark tunics. Many were masked and those who weren’t did not look very friendly. They were rapidly moving towards him, and all were armed. These men were not Spartans. But behind them strode a Spartan warrior, his face covered by his helmet.

“Magnas,” Gorgo gasped. “What you want from us?”

“Your deaths, of course.”