“But why did they select a system of government similar to ancient Sparta?” Blade asked.
“One of the professors, a history teacher, suggested the idea. They realized only the strong would survive in the postwar era, and there were few people as strong as the Spartans. They held meeting after meeting, and finally agreed to start their own town and to form their own government. Using the Spartan constitution as a model, the professors created a book of laws for all of their followers. Inevitably, I suppose, the seven became known as the Lawgivers.”
“And the town has continued to grow over the past century.”
“We no longer refer to Sparta as a mere town. It’s a city-state in every sense of the word.”
“What about the Helots? Where did they come from?”
“There were many farmers in the outlying territory, and most of them balked at turning over part of their crops to the invaders, as they regarded the Spartans. So they were subjugated and forced to turn over a portion of their yields whether they liked it or not. In due course they became an entirely separate class, just like the Helots of old.”
“And you approve of such a system?”
“Why not? It works out for the best for everyone. The Helots feed us and we protect them. What more could they want?”
“Their freedom.”
“The Helots are as free as they need to be.” sounding very much like a trumpet shattered the stalemate. “What was that?”
“The signal!” Leonidas exclaimed, running toward his troops.
“Agesilaus’s men are going to attack!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What do we do?” Teucer asked.
“Technically, this isn’t our battle. We’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to use the SEAL. And since they’re fighting in formation, there’s no place for us,” Blade said.
“I’d still like to view the clash,” Rikki remarked.
“So would I,” Blade stated. “This is a once-in-a-life-time opportunity.”
“Where the two of you go, I go,” Teucer declared. “Count me in.”
Blade grinned at both of them. “Okay. We’re all agreed. Back in the SEAL.” He clambered into his seat, waited for them to get in, then started the engine, backed up, and drove along the side street to the junction with the gravel road.
Neither contingent had moved. General Leonidas stepped around to the front of his men, a sword in his right hand, a shield in his left. Across the way a similar figure stood at the head of Agesilaus’s troops.
“That must be General Calchas,” Blade deduced, and killed the engine once more.
“He waited for Leonidas to arrive,” Rikki said in a respectful tone. “He could have attacked sooner if he wanted.”
The bowman leaned between the buckets seats and braced his hands on the console. “I’ve never known men like these Spartans.”
“And you never will again,” Rikki responded. Both generals now addressed their contingents. “Roll down your window,” Blade suggested to the martial artist. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Nodding, Rikki complied, and the deep, booming voice of General Leonidas clearly reached their ears.
“—what happened to King Dercyllidas. I need not remind each of you about your oath to him. All of you have taken a solemn vow to defend him with your lives, and now is the time to prove the worth of your word. Stand shoulder to shoulder and fight bravely as Spartans should. And remember that you fight not for yourselves, but for the common good of Sparta and all her people, for your families, friends, and even those you don’t know.” The general paused. “The man has a way with words,” Teucer observed. Leonidas continued. “We face the prospect of death today, but what is death to a Spartan? Death is simply the way we get from this life to the next. And should you fall, you know that you’ll be honored as a valiant soldier. Your name will be engraved on the plaque of distinction is the palace for all to see. Your wives and children will receive the praise and gratitude of the whole city. And the marker on your grave will bear not only your name, rank, and age, but will include a list of your accomplishments and mention you fell heroically. Only soldiers slain in combat receive the special markers. Think of the glory you’ll have won!”
“Big deal,” Teucer said. “I don’t see what difference a fancy headstone makes.”
“Shhh,” Rikki said.
General Leonidas raised his sword on high. “Above all you are Spartans. Above all, you value duty and discipline. Get ready for both to be put to the supreme test. Remember the instructions you were given the day you received your shield.” He touched his sword to his own shield and declared, “With this or on it. Either return from battle victorious with your shield or dead on it. That is the simple creed by which we live, the creed that sums up our existence. Let’s show Agesilaus’s men the courage in our hearts. Let’s carry our swords to victory and not stop until the enemy has been routed.”
“Say, what happened to Captain Chilon?” Teucer absently queried.
“Maybe Leonidas let him join the formation,” Blade speculated.
Further conversation was cut short when the two generals assumed their positions in the first rows of the soldiers, each in the very center. The two officers lifted their swords overhead, then swept the blade down, and at the signal both formations moved forward.
“I wish we could aid Leonidas,” Rikki said wistfully.
Blade simply nodded, his gaze riveted on the Spartans. The phalanxes presented veritable walls of shields and long spears on three sides. He imagined how he would feel if he faced such a line himself, and shook his head in amazement. Only a truly courageous soul could perform such a feat. He’d rather take his enemies on one by one instead of in a packed mass where the element of chance figured so prominently in deciding the victor.
The phalanxes neared the gravel road slowly, every Spartan moving at a set pace, every man holding position, the glittering tips of the spears held perfectly steady. Red boots marched in precision order.
“Why do they wear all red?” Teucer asked no one in particular.
“I read that the ancient Spartans wore red cloaks so those they fought wouldn’t know if they were hurt. They didn’t want their enemies to see them bleed,” Blade answered.
“A lot of them are about to do just that,” the bowman said.
As the twin phalanxes drew closer to the road they moved faster, yet still retained their formations. Soon they broke into a headlong charge, running in rhythm, their horsehair crests bobbing.
Blade scarcely breathed as the two sides converged. The clash, when it came, resounded to the heavens, a tremendous crash of metal against metal, and a mighty shout added to the din. Spears flashed in the warm air. Neither side gave way, and the battle became a grim, intense struggle for survival.
The leading ranks of both phalanxes were on the gravel road, and their strenuous exertions raised choking dust that gave the air a powdery aspect.
Blade had yet to see a Spartan fall, and he marveled at their prowess and stamina. More than ever he wanted to persuade them to join the Federation. They would be so priceless.
The fighting devolved into a mad melee of thrusting spears, slashing swords, and countering shields. Soldiers finally fell on both sides, and whenever a man in the first rank went down, another moved forward to take his place. At such close quarters all the spears of those in the front were soon shattered or rendered useless by the press of combat, compelling the Spartans at the forefront to rely exclusively on their swords.
Locked in savage conflict, neither phalanx made any headway. The men fought toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder. Those Spartans who were slain died without uttering a cry. Except for the banging of sword on sword and sword on shield, the battle was conducted in an eerie silence. None of the combatants yelled or cursed, as so often happened in mass engagements.