Thermopylae (14 page)
It was now late July, the fertile valley around the unwalled city shaking with heat, as the king assembled his small, picked task-force. Three hundred Spartiates in all formed the core, but there is no doubt that with them went something approaching one thousand other soldiers - either Helots who had been emancipated (certainly used in later wars), or possibly perioikoi, ‘friendly neighbours’. Xenophon, although writing at a later date, tells us the Spartan procedure when one of the kings set out for war. Because of the innate conservatism of this strange Greek state it is unlikely that this would have changed very much, if at all, since the time of Leonidas:
First of all he [the King] offers up sacrifices at home to Zeus the Leader and to the other gods associated with him. If the sacrifice seems propitious, the Fire-Bearer takes fire from the altar and leads the way to the borders of the land. [Fire, needed for cooking, heating or light had to be conveyed in iron cauldrons.] There the King offers sacrifice again to Zeus and Athene. Not until the sacrifice proves acceptable to both of these deities does the King cross the borders of the land. The fire from the sacrifices goes ahead and is never quenched; behind come animals of all sorts which are to be sacrificed. Whenever he offers a sacrifice the King always begins the ceremony before dawn… . Gathered together at the sacrifice are the colonels, captains, lieutenants, leaders of foreign contingents, commanders of the baggage train as well as any general from the states who wishes to be present…. When the sacrifices are over the King summons everyone and gives out the orders of the day. If you could but watch the scene you would come to the conclusion that all other men are mere amateurs at soldiering, and that the Lacedaemonians are the only artists in warfare.
On this subject of‘artistry’ Kitto has the very pertinent comment:
The Laws of Lycurgus were, to the Spartans, a pattern of ‘Virtue’, that is to say of arete, of human excellence regarded strictly from within the citizen-body. It was a narrower conception of ‘virtue’ than the Athenian, and it offends modern humanitarians almost as much as its demands would scare them, but though cruel in some aspects and brutal in others, it has a heroic quality. No one can say that Sparta was vulgar. Nor would a Spartan have admitted that Sparta was artistically barren. Art, poiesis, is creation, and Sparta created not things in words or stone, but men.
To this one could add that modern humanitarians, as such, might well not exist had it not been for the heroic and ‘Spartan’ qualities displayed by men like these and those other Greeks who, nearly two and a half thousand years ago, defended the Pass of Thermopylae.
It is evidence of the awareness of Leonidas that this holding action was likely to be suicidal that (probably with the words of the Delphic oracle in his mind) he was careful to select as his kingly corps d* elite only men who had sons living: he had no intention of seeing any Spartiate family line extinguished. His concern here is obvious when one realises that the Spartiates could never at any time field an army of the ruling caste larger than about 8000. It was from the lack of fresh blood into the Spartiates that this small unique nation would ultimately perish.
‘In other states,’ to quote their admirer, Xenophon, again,all men, I imagine, make as much money as they can. One is a farmer, another a shipowner, another a merchant, and others live by various different handicrafts. But at Sparta freeborn citizens were forbidden by Lycurgus to have anything to do with business. He insisted that they should regard as their only concern those activities which make for civic freedom. How, indeed, should wealth be considered seriously there since he also insisted on equal contributions to the food supply and the same standard of living for all, thus removing the attraction of money for indulgence’s sake?
The sheer professionalism of the Spartan army was what distinguished it from the other citizen armies of Greece, since all its men (aged between twenty and sixty) had been trained for nothing but the military art since they were boys. Their arms and armour did not differ from that of other Greek hoplites but the Spartan warrior was distinguishable from his fellows because he wore a scarlet cloak; this again because Lycurgus had decreed that its colour was suitable for war and because it bore the least resemblance to any clothing worn by women. Men past their first youth were also encouraged to wear their hair long since the sage reckoned that it would make them look both more dignified and more frightening. The soldiers were organised into files
(enomotia)
each commanded by an
enomotarch
or junior officer; the files then being linked to form ‘fifties’
(pentekostyles)
under the command of a senior officer. Xenophon adds the further comment that they ‘carry out with perfect ease manoeuvres which instructors in tactics think very difficult’. When marching in column, section followed section as they would have done now as they passed northwards through the Peloponnese, but ‘if an enemy in battle array were to make an appearance they would on the orders of their officers deploy into line to the left, and so on throughout the columns until the battle-line stands facing the enemy’. It would be different at Thermopylae because of the restricted nature of the terrain, but the iron discipline was ever unchanged. When camping
en route
they formed into a circle, with their arms and other impedimenta stacked in the centre. Sentries were placed looking inwards so as to keep their eyes at all times on the military equipment, while scouts took up their positions on any elevated features of the landscape round about to see that the camp was not surprised.
As he passed north through the small cities of Tegea and Mantinea, and then through Arcadia, on his way towards the Isthmus, Leonidas gathered in other small allied contingents to the total of 2120, Arcadia itself providing the bulk of these. He now, it would seem, had a little more than 3000 men, hardly enough even for a delaying action in the pass. However, as Burn points out, tradition has it that he reached the Isthmus with 4000 and the only conclusion to be drawn is that the additional 1000 were ‘emancipated Helots, armed as hoplites …’. We know that the bulk of the Spartan army would not march until after the Carneian Festival, which occurred at the third moon after midsummer - towards the end of August in 480. Why the other Peloponnesian allies despatched such small forces can only be guessed at, but the most reasonable conclusion seems to be that they still felt that to fight so far forward was not in their interests. They still clung, in fact, to the strategy which Themistocles had set his face against - that of holding a line across the Isthmus. Not even the fact that a Spartan king was on the march could drag them from their ‘Maginot Line’, or even isolationist, policies.
Putting the Isthmus behind him Leonidas marched north through Boeotia, where he may have hoped for some larger reinforcements, but only the small township of Thespiae came to his support with 700 hoplites. The important city of Thebes, somewhat grudgingly, sent no more than 400 men - a trivial amount and, as Herodotus suggests, ‘their sympathy was secretly with the enemy’. The Locrians of Opus sent him all the men they had (some hundreds?) while the people of Phocis despatched 1000, and these of Malis possibly a further 1100. The entire force which he took with him to Thermopylae was probably a little more than 7000 men.
A Spartan king on the march, with the immense reputation of his city behind him, must have been a strong inducement to these small places to put their limited manpower under his command. The other Greeks, furthermore, and presumably Leonidas himself, told them that this was merely an advance force, and that the main body would soon be joining them. The sea, these northerners were informed, was strongly held by the fleet of Athens, Aegina, and the other allies, and there was no cause for alarm. ‘The invader,’ they were reassured, ‘was after all not a god, but only a man. The greater the man, the greater the misfortune. Xerxes was no exception. He too was human, and could expect to be humbled in his pride.’
While the nodding horsehair-crested helmets and the scarlet cloaks marched north, picking up these reinforcements on their way, the allied fleet under a Spartan admiral, Eurybiades, had rounded Cape Sunium and was on its way up the Euboea Channel. A reserve fleet of some zoo ships had been left behind to guard the southern positions from Attica to the Argolid. There seems little doubt that the finest new ships were sent up to defend the position off Artemisium and even they, with presumably the best crews, will have made hard work of it. Under the blazing midsummer sun the oarsmen had to toil against the fast current which whips down between Euboea and the mainland, speeded at this time of the year by the fact that the northerly winds have been blowing for many weeks. Ahead of them had been sent a fast cutter with a well-known Athenian aboard, to act as liaison officer between the fleet at sea and the army under Leonidas. Sweating under the high sun, that small force made its way to a point of human destiny.
They came to the Pass of Thermopylae, the sea on their right hand to the north, crisped with the bright waves of summer. It was a formidable place. To the left of them the heights of Mount Kallidromos rose up stark and sheer, a defensive wall brilliant at noon, and lit at night only by the summer starshine, for it will have been the dark of the moon when they took up their positions. The full Carneia moon that year was on 20 August.
Their right flank, then, lay on the sea and their left was protected by Kallidromos, an ideal place for a hoplite line, being unturnable at either end. It requires an effort of the imagination today to see the pass as it was at the time when Leonidas reached it. Over the centuries, the Malian Gulf has silted up and the modern coastline now lies several miles away from the scene of the action. In 480, however, the point which was chosen for the defensive line was only about twenty yards wide. There were two other places that were even narrower, one to the east and one to the west of the chosen position. The reason why Leonidas and his staff eliminated them from their strategy was that in both of them the slopes, though steep, were far from sheer. In a massive assault, such as was to be expected, their left flank might well be turned. The Persians, it must be remembered, were mountain men and accustomed to fighting over rocky conditions - far more so than any Greek hoplite, who must of necessity fight on comparatively flat ground. The Spartans, therefore, chose a slightly wider front, but one where their vulnerable left was protected by a sheer wall of rock.
There was another advantage to be gained from the site they chose. At this point, which was known as ‘The Middle Gate’, the people of Phocis at some time in the past had built a defensive wall designed to protect them from the Thessalians to the north. It was now in a ruinous condition, so the defenders immediately set about repairing it. The sulphurous springs which gave the place its name, Hot Gates, poured out - and still do - from the base of the mountain about a mile to the north-west from ‘The Middle Gate’. They presented no hazard to anyone passing along the ancient coast road, and nowadays have been diverted into some modern baths, where those whose olfactory threshold is high can enjoy them.
Xerxes and the army were still in Macedonia when the Spartans and allies began to dig themselves in at Thermopylae. He was just on the point of moving, since reports had reached him that the way was cleared for the troops to pass over the mountains into Thessaly. Just as the first columns were beginning their advance, he decided to send a small detachment from the fleet down to inspect the strait between Cape Sepias and the island of Skiathos, and then to reconnoitre the Gulf of Pagasae. This was to lead to the first naval engagement of the whole campaign, and one which did not auger very well for the Greeks. Ten fast ships, almost certainly Phoenician and possibly specifically from Sidon, were selected for the operation.
The Greeks from their naval base at Artemisium had naturally enough despatched scouts to watch the Skiathos channel where the enemy must inevitably first be seen. There were three triremes on guard, one from Athens, one from Aegina, and one from Troezen -their task clearly being not to engage any advance squadron but to report back quickly to base. They were, however, out-manoeuvred or, as seems clear, the heavier Greek vessels were no match in speed for the lighter-built and faster Phoenicians.
At the first sight of the enemy all three turned tail and fled. The Persians gave chase, and the ship from Troezen, commanded by Prexinus, was captured at once. The victors picked out the best-looking of the marines on board, took him up to the bows and cut his throat. They thought, no doubt, that the sacrifice of their first handsome Greek prisoner would aid their cause. The name of this unfortunate was Leon, which may have had something to do with his fate. [Leon means ‘Lion’, therefore possibly a very acceptable sacrifice?] The ship from Aegina, however, which was commanded by Asonides, put up a fierce resistance. A marine on board, Pytheas, distinguished himself in particular and, after his ship was boarded, continued to fight until he was almost cut to pieces. He fell at last but, as he was still alive, the Persian marines did all that they could to save his life, dressing his wounds with myrrh and binding them up with linen. When they got back to their base they displayed him with admiration to everybody there and looked after him well. The other prisoners from the ship, however, were treated as slaves’
War, then as now, was an indescribable mixture of cruelty and violence coupled with admiration, in some cases, for the courage of an opponent.
The third vessel, the Athenian, its retreat cut off, fled northward and finally ran itself aground at the mouth of the River Peneus in Thessaly. The whole crew of 200, who only got clear of their pursuers by the narrowest of margins, then made their way back through hostile Thessaly to reach Athens after a long overland march. Presumably the Thessalians let them through because sailors were worthless as hostages, not worth ransoming, and had nothing with them of the slightest value. On the other hand, they may still have been temporising and have not as yet quite made up their minds as to the forthcoming issue between Persian and Greek. Three of the pursuing vessels, we learn, ran aground on a small rocky reef in the Skiathos channel which, with seamanlike efficiency, they promptly marked for the benefit of the oncoming fleet using stone blocks to form a pillar. (The Phoenicians’ marker pylon has long since gone, but the place is clearly marked on modern charts, and shows itself by a breaking swell when the wind is in the north.) On receipt of a signal flashed from Skiathos the Greek fleet is said by Herodotus to have withdrawn to Chalcis (a run of some ninety miles). Some modern historians have thought it unlikely that the fleet would have done more than withdraw a few miles west of Artemisium, although they would certainly have withdrawn their lookouts and advance guard from Skiathos itself.