The First Battle

One month before the Krypteia, we were issued the Spartan's primary weapons a spear with a metal tip and a short sword. There were no shields among the gear: they were too expensive, unlike the other weapons. Many didn't want to give up their wooden shields, but those were too heavy and unwieldy.

Gathering our peers, we set off toward the helots. I disliked the very idea of killing the defenseless. I wasn't against war, nor did I fear combat against a strong foe when blades meet in honest battle. But slaughtering the unarmed, those who couldn't fight back, was foreign to me.

"Are you sure you don't want to fight?" Damipp asked.

He, more than anyone, understood me without words. We grew up together, children of Sparta, bound not only by blood but by spirit. We sensed each other as if we were one body. And yet even he couldn't grasp my refusal.

"If you're ambushed, if they gather and fight back I'll help," I said, making my decision final.

I saw no point in killing just to eat. Most of the boys had long grown used to cruelty. They had almost shed their humanity, becoming perfect instruments of death. What kept me from following the same path were my thoughts, my memories of the past, and the slightly better conditions I had earned through cunning.

The helot village, like most settlements, was located near a river. Life without water here would be impossible. In cities, they had wells, but not every village could afford them especially those inhabited by helots.

Simple houses, no fortifications, no fences. The villagers were former residents of other poleis, taken during wars. Sometimes, there were people from distant lands, but most were Greeks.

They lived in fear. Sometimes a Spartan would come and kill them for no reason at all.

I made my comrades swear they would not harm anyone except the men.

The first scream rang out from one of the houses. Then another. The village, like a living being, shuddered in fear. Men burst from their homes, grabbing whatever came to hand: axes, sticks, pitchforks, spears any weapon they could craft themselves.

"Form up!" I shouted, calling to all nearby. For those farther away, it was a signal to regroup.

"You bastard sons of Hades! Haven't you spilled enough of our blood?! We'll burn you all today, you monsters!" one of the men roared.

I understood his fury.

"You'll live if you lay down your arms," I said.

The other Spartans shot me puzzled glances, but they seemed indifferent.

"Screw you!" one man shouted. "Come on, men! Let's kill these bastards!"

He waved his arm, and the crowd charged. They had the numbers, no question.

"Spears forward!" I commanded, stepping one foot back for better balance. The warriors instantly leveled their spears toward the oncoming attackers.

They ran screaming, weapons clenched with no order, no plan.

"Attack!" I shouted.

We stepped forward like a single organism. Spears thrust out to meet the enemy. First blood splashed onto the earth. A few men looked at us in horror, realizing their lives were already seeping away to Hades.

"Aaaah!" a piercing scream tore the air.

"Damn you all!" someone from the crowd bellowed and hurled a pitchfork.

Not all of us had shields. The strike was nearly fatal.

The pitchfork drove into the chest of the boy next to me.

I didn't know who exactly stood beside me at that moment. But we were all brothers.

"Strike! Kill them all!" I yelled.

A vicious cycle: death for death.

We knew how to win, how to hold formation, how to strike. But in the face of rage and superior numbers, it wasn't enough. Still, we repelled their first attack. The survivors began to fall back some fled outright.

"Enough! That's enough blood for today. Do not pursue," I ordered. "Gather the wounded. We're leaving."

At that moment, I nearly dropped my guard.

Instincts kicked in I stepped aside. An arrow buried itself in the ground right next to me.

I looked up and spotted a dark figure with a bow on one of the rooftops. He hadn't fought in the battle and vanished immediately, realizing his chance had failed.

I approached the arrow. The shaft was slightly damp and carried a strange scent. It felt vaguely familiar.

"Poison, most likely," I muttered.

Then I spoke aloud, commanding:

"We're leaving."

I stared into the veil of night, trying to sense whether the mysterious archer would strike again. But no more arrows came.

"Damocles, we have three wounded. They'll live. But Eurytus is dead," Damipp said quietly.

"We're taking him with us," I replied.

We gathered ourselves and moved on, disappearing into the forest shadows.

Out of the darkness stepped the elder, his face lit by the torchlight.

"You lost one," he said.

"Yes. They were angry too angry after the constant raids. They wanted revenge," I answered calmly.

"They're just slaves. It's a disgrace to lose a warrior over them," the elder said, shaking his head. "I'll report everything to the Lochagos."

I gripped my spear tighter. Losing a brother was painful. But giving such orders... Perhaps I'm not meant to lead.

**************************************

Now I stood in the Lochagos' tent, awaiting his judgment.

"They say you stood aside while your men fought. That you only joined the battle after it had begun," Kreon said.

A chill ran through me. How did he know? Who among my own betrayed me?

"It's true," I admitted. There was no point in lying.

"Give me your reason," Kreon demanded.

"I don't understand why we attack defenseless helots. They are Spartans too. Isn't it our duty as warriors to protect everyone who lives in our land?" I said.

"True words, but you're missing something. They are slaves. And rebellious ones at that."

Kreon spoke calmly, but there was steel in his voice.

"You think we send you to kill without cause? They refused to pay their dues. They defied Spartan law. We warned them. They ignored us. These are the consequences of their stubbornness and their folly."

I stood frozen. I hadn't known that.

"I was wrong. The fault is mine," I said.

"Remember this, Damocles: an order is not to be questioned. You may voice your thoughts afterward as you are now, when it's already done. But once a command is given you carry it out without hesitation."

He paused, locking eyes with mine.

"We placed great hopes in you as a warrior and a leader. But now, you've made me doubt. Ten lashes. And you no longer command your agelē."

"Yes, Lochagos," I replied.

Damipp was already waiting for me outside.

"Is it bad?" he asked.

"Who told them I refused to take part in the raid?" I asked sharply.

"Don't go looking for someone to blame. We all agree that maybe just maybe if we had attacked at once, before they took up arms, no one would've died," Damipp answered calmly.

"You think so too?" I asked.

He said nothing.

That silence was louder than any words.

I said no more and walked toward the place where punishments were carried out.

Ten lashes.

My body was hardened, used to pain. I could endure without lasting harm. But every stroke still burned like fire.

I endured. Not a single sound escaped me.

I simply raised my eyes to the sky.

I had made everything too complicated.

As it turned out, they had broken the law. And they were punished by those same laws. It was simple. But I had doubted.

Belief in tales from the past had made me question everything.