The king arrived with an escort of two knights. Unlike commoners, who were discouraged the use of fire to accustom them to travel by night, Spartan crown princes were not obligated to undertake the Rearing. Pleistoanax therefore came in with attendants bearing torches. What little conversation preceded his arrival stopped as the king removed his woolen overcloak and fur boots. Free of this gear, he revealed himself to be a pale, rather stout figure who more resembled the aristocracy of other Greek cities. His shaved upper lip and long, forked beard were typically Spartiate, however.
Pleistoanax nodded to each of the diners in turn, mouthing their names inaudibly as he went around the room. Antalcidas was surprised when the king seemed to recognize him, muttering his name without hesitation or prompting. This honor caused Zeuxippos to fairly swell with gratification.
With Pleistoanax settled in his chair, the rest threw themselves on the benches. A helot entered with the meal’s first course-a massive loaf of barley bread and a crock of black broth. Conversation among the Spartiates commenced as if picking up from where it had left off the previous evening:
“I have heard of the excellence of a comb none of you have mentioned, the one made of human bone,” said Dorieus as he tore off a hunk of bread and passed the loaf.
“It is perhaps unmentioned, but not forgotten,” replied Herippidas, “for I carry one with me all the time…”
He pulled the comb from a fold in his tunic: a rough-hewn thing with sharp, uneven teeth that were indeed the color of bone. Isidas tugged at his beard as he regarded it.
“It’s said that a comb made of man is most consonant with the properties of human hair.”
“That is true, as I have never found it to pull or tangle.”
“It will still tangle if you wash in ditch water.”
“Of course. Only river water is fit for washing.”
“But even then, the hairs might split,” said Dorieus, “unless they are treated first with rendered pork fat.”
Eudamidas snorted at this, crying “What a keen grasp of the obvious you have, Dorieus! Now tell us the color of black broth!”
The company had a good laugh at the expense of Dorieus, who was piqued but went along with it because Spartiates are supposed to be thick-skinned. Thick-skinned, that is, at least in front of the king.
The broth was served on deep wooden trenchers. Though it was the staple dish of the mess, boys undergoing the Rearing had little opportunity to sample it until they were invited to a men’s board.
Antalcidas stared at his portion as a metallic odor struck him. Black broth was pork meat boiled so thoroughly in its own blood that the flesh fell off the bone. The cooked blood, which had a flavor like salted saliva, was improved by a copious seasoning of vinegar. Depending on how long the broth was simmered, the color of it ranged from rust to inky black, and the consistency from soupy to stewlike. Most of the Spit Companions appeared to prefer it quite thick as they raised their trenchers to their mouths and slurped. A few others, including Zeuxippos and the king, made satisfied noises but buffered the taste with fresh lupine greens or chunks of barley bread. Pleistoanax, as king, got his served in a earthenware bowl with a spoon, and was entitled to a double portion. Having eaten less than half of it, though, he passed the rest to his chamberlain, saying, “Share this among the helots, as a gift from their masters.” The servants blanched at his generosity.
Tasting it, Antalcidas willed himself to swallow. He at last understood the response of a certain ambassador from Sybaris who, being anxious to sample the celebrated dish of the Lacedaemonians, bid his servants to bring him a bowl; after spitting it out in disgust, the Sybarite remarked, “Now I know why the Spartans are so willing to die.”
Antalcidas grew impatient as the meal progressed. Lying out in the woods during frigid winter nights, he had warmed himself by dreaming that his membership in a prestigious mess would open a whole world of significance to him-a world of mythic personalities, grand strategy, concentrated wisdom. But instead, the table talk continued to consist of petty insults and matters of hygiene, and not even orotund Zeuxippos seemed to be behaving like himself. Indeed, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the members not to treat a subject of any importance. Lying there, his shrunken stomach recoiling from its fill of pig blood, Antalcidas resolved that he would see his expectations realized, even if it cost him any prospect of membership later.
“But what of Athens?” he blurted. “I hear that they have a strong leader in this man Pericles-a leader who knows how to fight. They are building an empire out of reach of any army, at sea. How shall we meet such a challenge?”
All eyes turned to the young guest. After an awkward instant, Damonon and Herippidas laughed out loud, and Isidas smiled into his cup. “It seems that the boy has some interest in diplomacy!” he exclaimed. Zeuxippos glared at Antalcidas, furious.
“If you please,” said the helot server, “Polynicus regrets he cannot attend the king tonight because he is on the hunt. In his place, he bids you to enjoy the gift he had sent to the table…”
The waiters brought out a brace of roasted hares. Pleistoanax, looking much relieved, cleared a place in front of himself. “Let us then remember our friend, the Equal Polynicus, as we envy his good fortune on the hunt.”
And so Antalcidas’ question was answered only by the sound of ripping tendons, decanted wine, and the clink of sucked-clean bones dropped on plates. Antalcidas, as he gnawed at a stringy foreleg, had all but given up on the prospect of edifying talk. Then old Isidas leaned back with his wine cup and made a clicking sound with his tongue.
“An interesting question the boy raises. It is all unclear, it seems. Very unclear.”
“Athens is run by an ignorant, womanish mob!” cried Damonon with sudden vehemence. “They have a few ships, I grant you, but who mans them? Filth and locusts! That rabble will break with the first hint of real opposition, I promise you.”
“Oh, I’d not be so sure about that. If you’d seen their fleet.. .” began Iphitus, the admiral.
“Our mistake was to have let them rebuild their fortifications after we chased the Persians out!” Eudamidas interjected. “Without artillery, we might as well piss on those walls as attack them. If only someone had seen through that cocksucker Themistocles, with all his smooth talk!”
Pleistoanax slammed his cup. “I would think Equals would better govern their tongues in front of the boy. And not let their fears overthrow their reason. What the Athenians don’t know, after all, is that this Pericles, son of Xanthippus, is Sparta’s man.”
Antalcidas shook his head. “Our man?”
“The houses of King Archidamus and Pericles have long shared mutual sponsorship in their respective cities,” explained Pleistoanax. “For that reason, there will be no war. In fact, we are on the verge of a treaty of peace.”
There was another lapse in talk as the helots brought out plates of dried figs and green cheese. As an ex-ephor and soon-to-be member of the Gerousia, Isidas had a special privilege to contradict the king. The others therefore seemed to brace themselves when the elder broke the silence.
“What you say must be true, Highness: our differences will certainly be resolved in peace, or end us all in war. Or do I show too much of a grasp of the obvious, my dear Eudamidas?”
6.
Molobrus did his part to bring honor to his family by dying in battle. It happened a few miles to the west of old Lerna, in a clash with a battalion from Argos. The Lacedaemonians were withdrawing south in the wake of the new thirty-year peace treaty between Sparta and Athens; the Argives, ever eager to exact a toll in blood for the traverse of their territory, blocked their progress. The enemies formed opposing lines and performed their respective sacrifices. Molobrus, to his credit, was in the first rank of the phalanx when the pipes sounded the advance.