Pammon's Visit
- 5 days ago
- 11 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
By Alex Penza
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This work of historical fiction by CT State Community College sophomore Alex Penza is set during the Greco-Persian Wars (499-449 BCE). Written as a creative project for a history class, the story is presented from the point of view of Pammon, an Athenian envoy sent to Sparta during wartime—at which time a variety of Spartan institutions are introduced, among them the agōgē, the famously rigorous military education system for male citizens; the Ephors, a panel of five magistrates elected annually by the Spartan assembly to serve as a check on Sparta's two kings; and the Gerousia, the council of elders consisting of said two kings and 28 other men over 60. (The Gerousia were elected by the Spartan assembly for life.)
“You will see, Pammon.” Anaxos’ voice grumbled against the gusts of wind. “Sparta’s culture sustains itself. Without these traditions, life as we know would fail to exist for us. It might not be Athenian diplomacy and democracy, but it is ours. And it just might be the thing that wins us this war.”
“I understand already, Anaxos. It will just be… different, at first. As you can see, I’m not part of a society of the strongest warriors the Mediterranean has to offer.” Pammon gestured to his shorter, slender frame and then towards his Spartan counterpart, who could easily tear him asunder should he wish to.
“No, you’re not. But you too are in this war against the barbaric Persians, one way or another. So maybe there’s a few things Sparta will teach you.” Anaxos grinned at him as the ship barreled over the ocean.
Pammon dared not let his eyes linger too long, so he took in the sights of the seas approaching Sparta. Dark blue waters reached up in waves towards a cerulean sky dotted with clouds. When he turned his head towards Sparta, he saw a mountain range like the hand of a god sprawled across its home island, encircling something towards the peaks. Other ships flanked their lead, and wind thrusted them all into the bay where they’d dock and make their way towards the city. Pammon’s anxiety buzzed within him all the way to his fingertips. Surely a culture comprised of warriors would laugh at a scrawny young politician from the mainland, right? Anaxos was different because he’d been exposed to others for a long time, or at least that was what Pammon told himself to excuse his nervousness.
“Tell me, please. What do you think they’re going to think of me? I’m the only Athenian going into the city for now. I’m going to be completely alone in there.” Pammon looked back towards Anaxos, finding those nerves quelled.
“Some might find you weak, yes. You’re right to feel anxious about that. Most will find you pretty, though. You might have to learn how to fight quick or they’ll devour you like Lycurgos would!” Anaxos joked. “I trust the agōgē is where you want to visit first. It might enlighten you. And the alone part is wrong; you’ll have me there the whole time, too. Sure, I’ll be back home, but my job isn’t over yet. I’m your liaison the whole time you’re there. You’ll be fine. You’re being allowed to live there for a reason, to improve our relations during war with the Persians.”
“That’s good. I’m not sure how I’d fare without someone familiar alongside me. I’ve never really been outside of Athens before. I’m the first in my family to.” Pammon explained his anxiety, hoping that’d reason the blush that pinkened his cheeks at the proposition that he’d be pretty in Sparta. “It’s not like an Athenian to be pretty, but I guess I will no longer be only an Athenian, but a Spartan as well while I’m there.”
“That’s the mindset, Pammon. You may be a decade too late to start in the agōgē, but perhaps politics has plied into a fast learner, no? You could be the first in your family and in Athenian history to fight alongside us. Like I said, without our ways, the good order we’ve cultivated would cease to exist. It was created to protect us from greed breaking us apart in the past, and it is what will keep us safe and happy within those walls despite what sacrifices are made. I think you’ll find Sparta and Athens are different, but not so different in many ways. We just carry more… conviction, I’ll call it.” Anaxos did his best to ease Pammon into his new home for the foreseeable future. “Get on the back of my horse and rest once we’ve docked. It’s a rocky ride up the side of the mountain and you’ve got tired written all over your face. I’ll wake you up when we’ve arrived.”
The ship lurched as it turned. Salty water lapped onto the planked deck, and a chuckle escaped both Pammon and Anaxos’ mouths as they steadied themselves. Helots and other workers below moored the boat to the dock, those of which Pammon was still accustoming himself to just the same. Athens proclaimed everyone free, and Sparta enslaved native Greeks in droves to fuel their society. Anaxos guided him towards the stables in the port village where the horse awaited them. The Spartan was right; heat and choppy seas exhausted the Athenian, another thing that’d likely bring more laughter from the rest of his counterparts in his new home.
“Sailing does drain me of my energy. I think it’s the sun. Maybe Sparta will toughen me up like you and your soldiers back home. For now, I rest like you said.” Pammon chuckled as Anaxos yanked him up with one arm, helping him onto the horse. “Thanks, Nax.”
—
Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.
Pammon’s head found comfort rested against Anaxos’ shoulder. Where the blade of it jutted out of his muscled back, the diplomat found that comfort and trust the Spartan tried iterating to him. Safe. Happy. His dormant mind lacked the dams of control Athenian diplomacy had taught him, especially with miles of open ocean between him and anything resembling home. It’d been about a month he’d been around Anaxos. Even back in Athens, where his new position of power offered some safety, Pammon knew the Spartan had something to do with his confidence in the past month.
He couldn’t quite place his finger on it before, but now, as his hands were wrapped round his waist to keep him from falling in his slumber, and his head rested on the epitome of the warrior class, he could do nothing but place his fingers on it. Was this what the Spartan citizens felt like when they were asleep? The question had wandered his mind since Anaxos arrived to choose and gather the liaison back to Sparta with whomever they chose to come along. Even in uncertainty Anaxos knew what to say, knew to remain steadfast. Perhaps it was in that agōgē he kept mentioning.
“Pammon…” No response for a few seconds until the Athenian’s head shifted.
“Paaaammonnn…”
“Five more minutes…” Pammon grumbled, sleep clutching his upper lids and forcing them back shut every time they fluttered open.
“They won’t want to wait to meet you, Mister Diplomacy. You’ve got schooling to see now, and Ephors and Gerousia to see later. One of the Kings is preparing the legions for war, and that means the Ephors will be separated. It may be the last time you get to see our system work as it does for a small while, so you’ve got to wake up now, please.” Anaxos jostled his shoulder to nudge Pammon awake. “We’ll be at the gates in a few minutes.”
“Right. Right. Spartan strength awaits me beyond the gates in these mountains. Agōgē are where the boys are trained, you’ve told me. It’s where you said we’ll be going first, so I’d hate to make a bad impression on the people who make Sparta so admirable.” Pammon admitted, taking a hand to wipe the sleep from his eyes and finally set his sights upon Sparta’s domain.
That hand of god he’d seen from the sea only seemed larger up close. Tucked into those mountains, nestled into the crook of the river valley, was the stronghold city known as Sparta. As they approached, bustling crowds could be heard, and the occasional whip crack followed by “hupomenō” or “kartereō” sounded from deeper within the walls. Words from an older time, he’d thought originally, but the more he pondered them revealed their true nature. These were evolutions of the Greek language to even further drive the idea that Spartans are not garden-variety Greeks, to inspire pride within them for their specific traditions and culture. Athenians preserved their culture in buildings and artworks and writings, and these Spartans lived and breathed that which made them special. Each gust of mountain-born valley wind brought another proud breath to their lungs. Soldiers atop the walls looked down towards Pammon and Anaxos, recognizing their comrade.
“Anaxos! You’ve returned! And with your Athenian, too. Come, come; the gates are opening. We can’t wait to hear of your travels!” one called down to the pair.
“We’ve no time for talking yet, Proxenos. Pammon here is to see the agōgē and our government before the legions leave for battle. After he does, we are free for leisure. He’ll be living here for the time being.” Anaxos rode the horse through the gates and stabled it before helping Pammon off. “Follow me. Parents are watching the diamastigosis now. It’s… different, like you said.”
“Are they?” Pammon attempted to keep up both with Anaxos and the events taking place at the agōgē. “Are they whipping them? What in the—”
“Shhh, Pammon. It’s their rite of passage. Those who stand the longest are considered victors and improve their chances at becoming officers in later evaluations by the Ephors. You have your senates and courtrooms, we have our agōgē. Become Spartan with us, Pammon. Embrace your strength and your willingness to bear pain for that which you love. Hupomenō.” Anaxos calmed Pammon’s nerves with a hand on his middle back, but a jolt shook him with every whip crack.
Athenian schools were where children wore their favorite clothes. These boys looked as if they’d been wearing the same cloth for the entire year. Some were run ragged, and some were kept as pristine as possible. He was not sure who would be the most successful end of this Spartan spectrum. Pammon had seen people whipped before, but he had never seen children whipped repeatedly in the name of making them tougher. The poor things didn’t even have shoes on their feet! Pammon closed his eyes for a moment, still jolting from the cracks of the whips against the stoically silent subordinates’ backs. Parents continued to commend their sons and encourage them from the audience, making Anaxos’ voice echo in his head. Hupomenō, to persevere and endure pain for what you love. Sacrifice your want for softness in life to preserve the peace and order at home.
“Anaxos… I think I’d like to see the Ephors and the Gerousia. We can come back when they’re done with… this.” Pammon exhaled a breath to expel some of his growing angst being here.
“Right, those are more urgent with the Kings preparing for war. Let’s go to their hall. They will be in session now trying to pass legislation before the Kings leave. The Gerousia will decide whether it’s right to even be considered, and the Kings are part of that council, so there will be quite the commotion down there.” Anaxos, still with his hand at the small of Pammon’s back, pushed him away from the cracking weapons and towards the bustling crowds they’d heard from outside.
—
To be away from the agōgē eased Pammon’s nerves. Instead of a tense, heightened-shouldered foreigner, he felt much more at home approaching the hall for the Ephors and the Gerousia. It sounded a bit more like an Athenian senate in there, where some voices called out legislative recommendations and the people agreed or disagreed. It seemed there were fewer people, likely because of the goings-on at the school, or maybe something else. He remembered Anaxos mentioning women who’d inherited incredible amounts of money from their military husbands who were able to steer political support with those funds. Whatever it was, Pammon was glad to be finding out more about something that felt more geared towards him instead of breaking him down to build him up.
The courtyard bore a decimal of the population of eligible voters. Five men stood before them all, listing out ideas they’d like to see around Sparta. After a few near-unanimous yays and nays for these legislative ideas, the Gerousia made their presence known. Twenty-eight elders and both Kings exited a side room established in the hall. If Pammon thought wealth existed in Athens, he was severely underestimating what could exist in other places. These elders all chit-chatted amongst one another until one spoke to deny or approve the legislation brought forth by the Ephors and the voting hominoi. This, to Pammon, was exactly what he wished to see from Sparta. Not the agōgē, where strength and order were beaten into the young boys, but the place where minds got together to make decisions for the good of the people.
Of course, their ideas of “good for the people” were completely foreign to him, but he knew it’d be different before he even arrived, so he contained any complaint. The hominoi were dismissed back to their farmlands. They left the hall and the gates of Sparta, travelling down into the valley to their river-bound harvest-place. The Gerousia retreated into the city to their homes as well, leaving the Kings and the Ephors to their pre-war business. Two adorned men stood across from the five Ephors, and Pammon watched as two of them volunteered to leave Sparta to oversee the warring Kings while the others volunteered to stay to oversee Sparta. Two other men flanked the Kings, clearly messengers of some kind.
“Who are they?” Pammon asked. “I know the younger ones are Ephors. They serve a year and are banned from serving again. The elders are Gerousia, lifelong members after sixty. The Kings are able to be removed, but their line is never interfered with. They’re ordained by Herakles, if I remember correctly. But who are those messengers?”
“Those are prophetic correspondents. The Kings bear all religious power here in Sparta, because you’re right. Royal lineage from the two families was given to the Spartan Kings by Herakles himself. Their right to rule this place is divinely gifted to them, and thus we grant them power over our military as well. We’ve got guards and other soldiers to stay while the legions go to fight outside Sparta, so the Kings lead their people into battle to preserve our way. Managing the religious idols we have becomes difficult for them, so they send someone to speak with the oracles to make sure they are all accurate.” Anaxos explained to Pammon.
“How do you know all of these things, Nax?” Pammon asked.
“Because I am second in line for my family’s throne, Pammon. My father is right over there talking with the Ephors, about to go to war. I, like him and his fathers before him, will perhaps lead them to glory and greatness in the name of Sparta, the home that has kept me strong all these years.” Anaxos answered.
“Wait, you’ve been a potential heir to Sparta’s throne this entire time? I’ve known you for a month! You didn’t lead with that?” Pammon joked with Anaxos.
“Here in Sparta you aren’t allowed to be yourself much unless you are in the Gerousia or a King. Everyone else is a tool for Spartan success. While I was in Athens with you, I wanted to get to know myself a little bit. Being far from this place has helped me grow. Now I know it is not just Sparta I am fighting for. I know that I fight for all Greece if I am to go fight this battle with my father. I love my home, but I have grown to love the idea of all of us together. Maybe it wouldn’t be exactly Spartan, but maybe it would be nice nonetheless.” Anaxos admitted to Pammon.
“Well, it was nice for me to get to know you there, too. Maybe Sparta will teach me things about myself over the course of these months. Maybe I won’t be as sensitive to the rituals here, too, with time. What do you say you take me to where I’ll be staying? Some food might not hurt, either.” Pammon joked once more with Anaxos.
“Oh, the diplomat is making demands now.” Anaxos retorted sarcastically. “Don’t worry, Pammon. I’ll make you melas zomos. It’s a Spartan staple.”
“There has to be a reason you haven’t told me what that is.” Pammon’s voice cracked. “Dear Gods, what is melas zomos?”
“You will just have to find out. Let’s get you home and then we get you your food.” Anaxos grinned. “I think we have a Spartan to make out of you yet.”
Works Cited
“The Constitution of the Spartans.” Edited by Historia Civilis, YouTube, 11 Sept. 2017, youtu.be/ppGCbh8ggUs?si=gL-yC1YXJwj0HJ6l.
Kulesza, Ryszard. Sparta: History, State and Society. Peter Lang International Academic Publishers, 2022.
Hughes, Bethany. Season The Spartans, episode 1, Channel 4, 30 Nov. 2003.
Alex Penza is a sophomore at CT State Three Rivers.
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