Part Four of the Story of Anaxilus of Sparta, a Helot slave boy swapped at birth for a Spartan baby, Ouo, who is being raised as a slave.
Part Four of the Sparta Story
-Mother, see how far I can throw!
Anaxilus, now a sturdy three-year old, hurls his stone across a small stream at the bottom of the kitchen garden of the Spartans’ house, their oikoi. Hagesicora smiles at him and watches as he follows it with a volley of others.
-My enemies are on the other side of that river
-And who are your enemies?
-the wild ducks, that steal food from our chickens
Ouo is squatting in the dust close by. It is his job to bring the best and heaviest stones to place in Anaxilus’s pile. He is half the size of his milk-brother, and his skin is sallow and dark. His eyes are watchful but bright, he has not yet learnt to hide their fire.
Nanno, her belly heavy with her next child, is washing the household’s clothes in the stream. She is helped by her eldest daughter, a timid maiden of seven she calls Kyra, but whom the Spartans have nicknamed Mykes, the shrew. Her two oldest sons are helping their father in the fields. Her youngest boy, not yet walking, lies in a basket close by, asleep in the morning sun.
Hagesichora has been sent to watch over Anaxilus as he plays, he is too old now to be entrusted solely to Nanno. Presently Cynisca steps out from the house, she is on her way to give instruction in gymnastics at the girls school. With her are her daughters Arete and Callistonce, aged nine and ten.
Anaxilus, on seeing his aunt, redoubles his efforts, for it is she who has taught him how to use his throwing arm.
-Watch, Auntie!
He throws with mighty effort. But in his excitement he has misjudged and his throw goes wildly astray. The two girls snicker. Anaxilus flushes. He seizes more stones and begins to fire them over the stream. But he has lost concentration now and his aim is all over the place. His Aunt is disapproving.
-You throw like a girl
-I don’t! Boys are better than girls!
Cynisca nods to her daughters, who stoop down and pick their own stones, which they dispatch across the water with unerring accuracy.
-Correction; you do not throw as well as a girl
The little boy’s face is red with shame and anger
-It’s Ouo’s fault! He gave me bad stones!
He leaps on the Helot boy, rolling him in the dust and pummelling him with his hard little fists. Ouo rolls into a ball, protecting his face and head with his forearms, the way his mother has taught him. Anaxilus give him a final kick and then crows to the females.
-See! I can fight! Girls can’t fight!
Ouo, used to such treatment, remains in a close squat, still guarding his face. Anaxilus proceeds to perform a series of jumps, handstands and clumsy cartwheels, desperate to win praise.
Of the watchers, only Hagesichora’s eyes are encouraging, but she dare not speak. His cousins look at him coldly. They are gymnastic champions, and glance at their mother, hoping they may be called on to show their prowess. She ignores them, her eyes calculating. Finally she says
-To beat a Helot and a girl means nothing. I will set you a task worthy of a Spartiate, and if you succeed, you will have a fine reward
Then, sharply, to Ouo
-You, come with me
She takes the little Helot boy with her into the kitchen. When they come out into the open air again, Ouo is clutching a scroll in one hand and a short bladed kitchen knife in the other.
-This is the contest. Ouo, you must guard that scroll with your life. If you give it back to me at sunset today I will give you lots of honey cakes and a fine cheese. But if you let Anaxilus take it off you, you will be beaten – hard. And so will the rest of your family; your mother, father, brothers and your sister – all of them. Do you understand?
-Yes Mistress
-Very well. Anaxilus. Your task is to take the scroll from Ouo, and give it back to me before sunset. If you do, I will give you a fine present, fit for a Spartan. But you cannot use any weapons. A Spartan boy does not need weapons to beat a Helot. Do you understand?
-Yes Auntie
-Go on, then
Anaxilus needs no more encouragement. He squares up to Ouo, his eyes flashing. He shouts
-Give it to me!
Ouo’s eyes are wide with fear, but he shakes his head. Anaxilus jumps towards him but Ouo stands his ground, waving the knife clumsily from side to side. Anaxilus lunges for it, trying to grab Ouo’s wrist, but the smaller boy wrenches his hand from his adversary’s grasp and the sharp blade draws blood from the soft flesh between Anaxilus’s thumb and forefinger. He cries out and puts his hand to his mouth. Hagesichora and Nanno both gasp and make an involuntary movement towards him but Cynisca stills them with a stamp of her foot. She barks her order again.
-Take it!
The little boy runs forward again, trying to rush his opponent, and Ouo resumes his wild slashing from side to side. Anaxilus backs away and his cousins laugh. Enraged, Anaxilus makes another rush for his milk-brother’s knife hand and this time the blade scores across his inner forearm. His wails pierce the air and Ouo takes his chance to run.
-Don’t cry! Chase him!
Ignoring the blood dripping from his hand and arm, Anaxilus rushes after him and the women follow, Cynisca and her daughters excited and eager; Hagesichora, Nanno and her daughter fearful and alarmed.
Ouo sprints into the kitchen and slides feet first under the heavy wooden dresser in the corner of the room. He wriggles under and from there, pokes out his little blade, still waving it from side to side. Anaxilus skids to a halt.
-I can’t get him! I know, I’ll set it on fire!
-Ah! Now you’re thinking like a Spartan! But no, we don’t want our kitchen burnt down. Come here. I have a better idea
Cynisca whispers to her nephew. His face brightens, and he nods.
Ouo stays where he is all day. He can hear the sounds of the maids preparing the family meal and his belly rumbles with hunger. But he is used to that, and nothing will induce him to leave his place of safety. His mother and sister are in the room, he can see their bare feet. A piece of cheese drops to the floor near him and his mother’s foot kicks it sideways so it rolls under the dresser. He tucks the scroll under his chest and seizes the cheese, stuffing it in his mouth.
Now he needs to pee. The pain in his belly is so bad he wants to cry. But he dare not get the scroll wet, and he will be beaten if he sullies the kitchen floor. Yet he cannot hold it. He cries out as the pee floods out of him, pushing the scroll up against the wall, wriggling his body to soak up the moisture. Still a tell-tale puddle seeps out from under the dresser. The dogs come in to lick it up.
The kitchen is finally deserted as the Spartans eat their meal, and Nanno is sent home with her children, to cook for her own family. Ouo is numb all over. Worst is his knife arm, always outstretched lest Anaxilus should reach in and grab him. His hand is wet with sweat. He switches the knife to his other hand and brings his right arm alongside his body, rolling on it to try and get some feeling back. He is afraid Anaxilus will come at the point, and snatch the knife from his weaker left hand. But Anaxilus does not come.
The air is cooling, and with it the sour puddle in which he lies. He stinks of sweat and pee. He watches the light grow dimmer, the bright shafts from under the kitchen door becoming golden and finally grey. At last, the cicadas begin to sing. Surely his ordeal is almost over.
The kitchen door swings open and he sees the sandalled feet of Cynisca. She is alone. It is truly dusk now and he hears her speak.
-You can come out now
He does not move.
-It’s dusk. Give me the scroll
The little boy grasps the scroll firmly in his hand and, keeping the knife in the other, hauls himself out from under the dresser. Cynisca stands over him, smiling.
Even as he staggers to his feet, his infant brain registers that something is wrong. Why is Cynisca smiling?
The next thing he knows, he is dashed to the floor, Anaxilus landing squarely on top of him from where his has jumped from his hiding place on top of the dresser. Ouo’s face smashes into the ground, bloodying his nose and the knife flies out of his hand and skitters across the floor. Anaxilus wrenches the scroll from his fingers and holds it up to Cynisca in triumph. She takes it, beaming her approval.
-Good boy! That’s how a Spartan thinks! Strength and cunning!
Anaxilus’s reward is better than a cuddle. Cynisca pulls from behind her back a small but perfectly made javelin, and presses it into his eager hands.
-My little Spartan man!
And Ouo is ordered to run home to his mother, being also instructed not to forget to bring his family to the house first thing in the morning for their promised beating.
Dawn’s blush is rising over the mountains while the Helot family trudge through the mist that still coats the valley floor. There is Nanno, and Kyra who carries the baby. Nanno’s two elder sons, not yet adolescents, are solidly built boys who resemble their father Archius, who they walk behind. Ouo walks some distance away, his father has offered to carry him but he has refused, heavy with the responsibility of his failure.
Archius is a big man but he moves with a slow, shuffling gait, his hands hanging loose at his side, his mouth permanently half-open. The Spartans call him Nios, the halfwit. Because the Helot slaves are of the same race and culture as the Spartans, they share the same names. But the Spartans dislike this, so they habitually give the Helots derogatory nicknames based on real or perceived failings or imperfections. Cleitagora and Cynisca, for example, commonly call Nanno Huo-Ona – scarface.
When they arrive at the house, Anaxilus is waiting for them outside with two burly Helot slaves each holding a whip. As a further reward for his manly behaviour he is to oversee the whipping; the women watching from a window. But Hagesichora has had a better idea, a plan that her sisters thought most amusing, and have adopted.
One of the Helots has dug a hole in the ground, for Nanno’s belly. She lies in it and her family lie beside her, even the babe in arms, the only one unaware of what is happening. Once they are all face down, Anaxilus orders in his childish voice
-Close your eyes!
The Helot slaves approach with heavy tread. But Anaxilus, signalling them to be quiet, takes the whips from them, one in each hand, and runs up and down the line of prone bodies, laying on the whips, only not bothering with the baby. As he runs back and forth he laughs and cries out
-It’s me! It’s Anaxilus! I whip you hard, but it’s only me! You won’t die…
Hagesichora’s sisters and nieces are convulsed with laughter at his crowing and capering; his wielding of the whip with all his three-year-old strength. It appeals to their sense of humour, that the Helot family, dreading a severe and perhaps fatal beating, should find that their scourger was to be three-year-old child.
-Oh, that’s funny. Look at him!
-It’s a good joke, Hagesichora. A good idea of yours
-Come on, sister. Let’s put an end to it. They’ve work to do.
* * * *
Part 5 coming soon.
(You can read the first 3 parts of this story earlier in the blog)
* * * *
Part 5 coming soon.
(You can read the first 3 parts of this story earlier in the blog)
