DAUGHTER OF SPARTA: CHAPTER FOUR
KRISTEN LEPINE
HISTORIC HEROINES PUBLISHING
www.historicheroines.org
Copyright © 2016 by Kristen LePine
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FOUR
Gorgo felt exuberant as she rode with her parents by chariot to King Demaratus’s estate. After her encounter with Phoebe and Hegaso in the agora, she pieced together the mystery behind the early morning skytale Macar delivered and determined they were headed to Erinna and Gaius’s wedding reception.
It had been so long since they had joined with King Demaratus and his family in celebration. Gorgo remembered nostalgically how close the families had been. The children used to play games together and put on elaborate shows while Demaratus’s wife, Myia, and her mother went horseback riding while the kings attended Syssitia, the male only military meals. Their lives intertwined idyllically until the relationship between Demaratus and her father grew strained by political disagreements.
King Demaratus was a worldly diplomat that traveled to nearby cities, meeting with royalty and entangling Sparta in foreign affairs. King Cleomenes was an isolationist; he believed these entanglements drained Sparta of resources and detracted from his own ambitions for conquest. As co-rulers of Sparta, this led to many heated debates.
Their last disagreement rendered the relationship irreparable. Demaratus publically humiliated Cleomenes over a military decision and then persuaded the Ephors, a council who advised the Spartan kings, to deny Cleomenes’s request for troops to aid in one of his campaigns.
As a result, the families drifted further apart. When King Demaratus’s eldest daughter, Chara, was married, Gorgo and her family weren’t invited.
“I am so excited to join the celebration for Erinna and Gaius’s wedding!”
“We don’t yet know that is the reason for the dinner,” Korinna reminded Gorgo.
“Of course that’s the reason,” Gorgo insisted, ignoring her mother’s skepticism. “When Chara married the Athenian, I am told the festivities went on for three days. Why wouldn’t Demaratus do the same for Erinna?”
“That was completely different. The groom’s family insisted on a traditional Athenian ceremony.”
“You have said many times that Demaratus covets the Athenian lifestyle.”
“Do not disparage King Demaratus,” Cleomenes scolded.
“Father, does this mean that you and Demaratus have called a truce?
“You make it sound like Demaratus and I are at war with each other.”
“Aren’t you?” Gorgo asked.
As the chariot passed by two elegant Ionic columns flanking the entryway to Demaratus’s estate, his Athenian styled house came into view. The scroll topped columns decorated the entry way of his home that led into an enclosed garden.
Outside the house, Demaratus and his family gathered to welcome the chariot. Demaratus’s wife, Myia, wore a long flowing chiton that reached to the ground with a gold broach clasped at her shoulder. Most Spartan women, even nobles, did not decorate their outfits.
“Ridiculous,” Korinna murmured to her husband, wrinkling her nose, “soon she will be painting her face like the gaudy Athenians.”
Myia waved enthusiastically as the chariot came to a stop. Next to her stood two of her three daughters, Erinna and little Ismene. Chara now lived in Athens with her husband. Demaratus and Myia also had a son, Belos, but he was nowhere in sight, nor was Erinna’s groom, Gaius.
When Gorgo and her mother stepped to the ground, Myia hugged them both. “My dears,” she cooed, “It’s been far too long. I have missed you so.”
Gorgo warmly returned Myia’s embrace, “I have missed you, too.”
She then turned to Erinna and squeezed her hands, “Congratulations. I can’t wait to hear all the details. Where is Gaius?”
Erinna blushed and was about to say something, but Ismene grabbed Gorgo’s hand and pulled her toward the garden, “Come on, Gorgo. I can’t wait to show you the decorations I helped Macar layout for the dinner tonight.”
Within the garden, a profusion of orchids and small lemon trees crowded a table set for dinner, but the men that stood nearby were not who Gorgo expected to see. Gaius and Belos were not among them. Instead it was a group of elders, the Ephors. As they came forward to greet the kings, Gorgo saw two foreigners standing behind waiting for an introduction. One was a middle aged man clad in the typical attire of a traveling dignitary, but Gorgo gasped when she saw his younger companion.
He wore baggy trousers like the barbarians from the east. Standing with his legs shoulder width apart, arms folded across his slight chest, he blew a wisp of golden colored hair out of his face.
Ismene, who still clung to Gorgo’s arm, enjoyed her reaction. “He’s Persian. His baggy pants are called anaxyrides, and his name is –”
“Perseus.” Gorgo whispered, recognizing him from her dream.
“Hey! How did you know?” Ismene wondered.
Demaratus stepped forward sweeping his arm dramatically through the air. “Allow me to introduce my guests,” he said. “Cleomenes, this is Aristagoras, governor of Miletus, and his nephew, Perseus.”
Aristigoras bowed his head. “It is a tremendous honor to meet you. Your reputation on the battle field is legend across the Aegean Sea in the coastal village of Miletus.”
Cleomenes’s countenance hardened, his face darkening. “Likewise, your reputation precedes you – as a Persian tyrant and traitor.”
Gorgo’s mouth fell open in surprise. The room immediately froze with tension. Korinna and Myia both held their breath.
Demaratus seemed to anticipate Cleomenes’s reaction, “Hold your judgment, Cleomenes.”
“Do not tell me—” Cleomenes started.
“—the evening is young and there is much business to discuss,” interrupted Demaratus.
Cleomenes glared at Demaratus. “I don’t know why I expected otherwise. Myia, if you will excuse us, we’re going.”
“Please, your liege,” Aristagoras stepped forward, “I am not a man made to beg, but in this instance, I humbly and gravely beseech you to please stay. Let us dine and get to know each other, and after supper, we can discuss why I am here.”
“Whatever you have to say on behalf of the Persian Emperor, I am not interested in hearing.”
“But I am not here on behalf of Persia.” Aristagoras demurred, pronouncing Persia like something sour. “I am here as a kinsman – an Ionian brother. A fellow Greek.”
“You can change your costume to bare your legs,” Cleomenes seethed, referring to the man’s Greek-styled tunic, “but all I see before me is the henchman of Darius the first, Emperor of Persia. And Persia is my enemy.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Demaratus interrupted.
“You shouldn’t have kept this from me. When exactly did this traitor arrive?” Cleomenes demanded.
Pausanias, the oldest member of the Ephors, spoke up. “He arrived last night. He came to me, not Demaratus.” Pausanias’s bad eye was glazed over with a milky film. Unfocused, it darted around.
In his younger days, Pausanias trained Cleomenes and Demaratus when they were at the agoge. He appeared less intimidating in his old age, but he was once a revered warrior, and Cleomenes and Demaratus still deferred to h
is authority.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Cleomenes growled.
“I don’t care how it makes you feel, Cleomenes. My allegiance, like the rest of the Ephors, is to Sparta, and my actions are made on her behalf. I suggest we sit and enjoy the supper Myia has prepared. Then afterward, we listen to the foreigner’s business.”
“Yes, please,” Myia forced a smile and strained her neck forward imploringly, “take a sit.”
Pausanias and the rest of the Ephors sat down, so did Aristagoras and his nephew.
Gorgo’s eyes were fixed on Perseus. She was still stunned and felt an overwhelming uneasiness. The man from my dream? What does this mean? I wish I’d had the chance to talk with Phoebe. She moved instinctively to her station next to her mother, who was intently focused on her husband as he stood contemplating. After a moment, Korinna reassuringly touched his arm, waking him from his deliberation. He looked at her and softened, then walked to the head of the table and sat directly across from Demaratus, who looked very relieved at Cleomenes’s decision.
Myia summoned Macar to bring the wine and food. Gorgo took her seat next to her mother, directly across from Perseus. The young man seemed oblivious to all the others in the room, to include the Spartan princess fixated on him. He smiled politely when his name was mentioned by his boisterous uncle, who was spinning outlandish tales about their long journey to Sparta, but otherwise his blue-grey eyes were distant, dreaming of someplace else.
The first course arrived almost immediately after the wine was poured – a