Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield Read Free Book Online

knows his whole life will be war; that the laws of Lykurgus forbid him and every other Spartan to know or pursue a trade other than war; that his term of obligation extends from age twenty to age sixty, and that no force under heaven will excuse him from soon, very soon, assuming his place in line of battle and clashing shield-to-shield, helmet-to-helmet with the enemy.
    â€œNow answer again, Alexandros. Did you observe today in the manner of the
eirenes
delivering the beating any sign or indication of malice?”
    The boy answered no.
    â€œWould you characterize their demeanor as barbarous? Did they take pleasure in dealing agony to Tripod?”
    No.
    â€œWas their intention to crush his will or break his spirit?”
    No.
    â€œWhat was their intention?”
    â€œTo harden his mind against pain.”
    Throughout this conversation the older man maintained a voice tender and solicitous with love. Nothing Alexandros could do would ever make this voice love him less or abandon him. Such is the peculiar genius of the Spartan system of pairing each boy in training with a mentor other than his own father. A mentor may say things that a father cannot; a boy can confess to his mentor that which would bring shame to reveal to his father.
    â€œIt was bad today, wasn’t it, my young friend?”
    Dienekes then asked the boy how he imagined battle, real battle, compared with what he had witnessed today.
    No answer was required or expected.
    â€œNever forget, Alexandros, that this flesh, this body, does not belong to us. Thank God it doesn’t. If I thought this stuff was mine, I could not advance a pace into the face of the enemy. But it is not ours, my friend. It belongs to the gods and to our children, our fathers and mothers and those of Lakedaemon a hundred, a thousand years yet unborn. It belongs to the city which gives us all we have and demands no less in requital.”
    Man and boy moved on, down the slope to the river. They followed the path to that grove of double-boled myrtle called the Twins, sacred to the sons of Tyndareus and to the family to which Alexandros belonged. It would be to this spot, on the night of his final ordeal and initiation, that he would repair, alone save his mother and sisters, to receive the salve and sanction of the gods of his line.
    Dienekes sat upon the earth beneath the Twins. He gestured to Alexandros to take the place beside him.
    â€œPersonally I think your friend Tripod was foolish. What he displayed today contained more of recklessness than true courage,
andreia.
He cost the city his life, which could have been spent more fruitfully in battle.”
    Nonetheless it was clear Dienekes respected him.
    â€œBut to his credit he showed us something of nobility today. He showed you and every boy watching what it is to pass beyond identification with the body, beyond pain, beyond fear of death. You were horrified to behold his
agonisma,
but it was awe that struck you truly, wasn’t it? Awe of that boy or whatever
daimon
animated him. Your friend Tripod showed us contempt for this.” Again Dienekes indicated the flesh. “A contempt which approached the stature of the sublime.”
    From my spot, above on the bank, I could see the boy’s shoulders shudder as the grief and terror of the day at last purged themselves from his heart. Dienekes embraced and comforted him. When at last the boy had recomposed himself, his mentor gently released him.
    â€œHave your instructors taught you why the Spartans excuse without penalty the warrior who loses his helmet or breastplate in battle, but punish with loss of all citizenship rights the man who discards his shield?”
    They had, Alexandros replied.
    â€œBecause a warrior carries helmet and breastplate for his own protection, but his shield for the safety of the whole line.”
    Dienekes smiled and placed a hand upon his protege’s shoulder.
    â€œRemember this, my young friend. There is a force