All this went on until the year 399 B.C., when some of his enemies accused him of impiety, declaring that he did not worship the old gods, but introduced new ones and corrupted the minds of the young. "The penalty due," they said, "is death."
It had taken them some thirty years to find this out, for Socrates had been teaching the same things for that length of time. In fact, no ancient city but Athens would have listened to his radical talk for so many years without some such charge. But he had now so many enemies that the accusation was dangerous. He made it worse by his carelessness in his defence. He said things that provoked his judges. He could have been acquitted if he wished, for in the final vote only a majority of five or six out of nearly six hundred brought him in guilty.
Socrates seemingly did not care what verdict they brought. He had no fear of death, and would not trouble himself to say a word to preserve his life. The divine voice, he declared, would not permit him. He was sentenced to drink the poison of hemlock, and was imprisoned for thirty days, during which he conversed in his old calm manner with his friends.
Some of his disciples arranged a plan for his escape, but he refused to fly. If his fellow-citizens wished to take his life he would not oppose their wills. On the last day he drank the hemlock as calmly as though it were his usual beverage, and talked on quietly till death sealed his tongue.
Thus died the first and one of the greatest of ethical philosophers, and a man without a parallel, in his peculiar field, in all the history of mankind. Greece produced none like him, and this homely and humble personage, who wrote not a line, has been unsurpassed in fame and influence upon mankind by any of the host of illustrious writers who have made famous the Hellenic lands.
We have now to tell of one of the most remarkable events in Grecian history, to describe how ten thousand Greeks, who found themselves in the heart of the great Persian empire, without a leader and almost without food, marched through the land of their foes, over rugged mountains swarming with enemies, and across lofty plains covered deep with snow, until finally they reached once more their native land. Xenophon, their chosen leader, has told the story of this wonderful march in a book called the "Anabasis," and from this book we take what we have here to say.
First, how came these Greeks so far away from their home and friends? We have told elsewhere how the Persians several times invaded Greece. We have now to tell how the Greeks first invaded Persia. It happened many years afterwards. The Persian king Xerxes had long since been dead, and succeeded by his son Artaxerxes, who reigned over Persia for nearly forty years. Then came Darius Nothus, whose reign lasted nineteen years. This king had two sons, Artaxerxes and Cyrus. On his death he bequeathed the throne to Artaxerxes, while Cyrus was left satrap of a large province in Asia Minor.
Of these two sons, the new king was timid and incompetent; Cyrus was remarkably shrewd and able, and was filled with a consuming ambition. He wanted the Persian throne and knew the best means of obtaining it. He was well aware of the military ability of the Greeks. It was he who supplied the money which enabled Sparta to overthrow Athens. He now secretly enlisted a body of about thirteen thousand Greeks, promising them high pay if they would enter his service; and with these, and one hundred thousand Asiatics, he marched against his brother.
But Cyrus was too shrewd to let his purpose be known. He gave out that he was going to put down some brigand mountaineers. Then when he had got his army far eastward, he threw off the mask and started on the long march across the desert to Babylonia. The Greeks had been deceived. At first they refused to follow him on so perilous an errand, and to such a distance from home. But by liberal promises he overcame their objections, and they marched on till the heart of Babylonia was reached.
The army was now in the wonderfully fertile country between the rivers Euphrates and Tigris, that rich Mesopotamian region which had been part of the Persian empire since the great cities of Nineveh and Babylon were taken by the Persians a century before. And in all this long march no enemy had been met. But now Cyrus and his followers found themselves suddenly confronted by a great Persian army, led by Artaxerxes, the king.
First a great cloud of white dust was seen in the distance. Then under it appeared on the earth a broad dark spot, which widened and deepened as it came nearer, until at length armor began to shine and spear-heads to glitter, and dense masses of troops appeared beneath the cloud. Here were great troops of cavalry, wearing white cuirasses; here a vast array of bowmen with wicker shields, spiked so that they could thrust their points into the ground and send their arrows from behind them; there a dark mass of Egyptian infantry, with long wooden shields that covered the whole body; in front of all was a row of chariots, with scythes stretching outward from the wheels, so as to mow down the ranks through which they were driven.
These scythed chariots faced the Greeks, whose ranks they were intended to break. But when the battle-shout was given, and the dense mass of Greeks rushed forward at a rapid pace, the Persians before them broke into a sudden panic and fled, the drivers of the chariots leaping wildly to the ground and joining in the flight. The horses, left to themselves, and scared by the tumult, rushed in all directions, many of them hurtling with their scythed chariots through the flying host, others coming against the Greeks, who opened their ranks to let them pass. In that part of the field the battle was won without a blow being struck or a man killed. The very presence of the Greeks had brought victory.
The great Persian army would soon have been all in flight but for an unlooked-for event. Artaxerxes, in the centre of his army, was surrounded by a body-guard of six thousand horse. Against these Cyrus, followed by six hundred horse, made an impetuous charge. So fierce was the onset that the body-guard were soon in full flight, Cyrus killing their general with his own hand. The six hundred hotly pursued their flying foe, leaving Cyrus almost alone. And now before him appeared his brother Artaxerxes, exposed by the flight of his guard.
Between these two men brotherly affection did not exist. They viewed each other as bitter enemies. So fiercely did Cyrus hate his brother that on seeing him he burst into a paroxysm of rage which robbed him of all the prudence and judgment he had so far shown. "I see the man!" he cried in tones of fury, and rushed hotly forward, followed only by the few companions who remained with him, against Artaxerxes and the strong force still with him. As Cyrus came near the king he cast his javelin so truly, and with such force, that it pierced the cuirass of Artaxerxes, and wounded him in the breast. Yet the assault of Cyrus was a mad one, and it met the end of madness. He was struck below the eye by a javelin, hurled from his horse and instantly slain; his few followers quickly sharing his fate.
The head and right hand of the slain prince were immediately cut off and held up to the view of all within sight, and the contest was proclaimed at an end. The Asiatic army of Cyrus, on learning of the fatal disaster, turned and fled. The Greeks held their own and repulsed all that came against them, in ignorance of the death of Cyrus, of which they did not hear till the next morning. The news then filled them with sorrow and dismay.
What followed must be briefly told. The position of the Greeks, much more than a thousand miles from their country, in the heart of an empire filled with foes, and in the presence of a vast hostile army, seemed hopeless. Yet they refused to surrender at the demand of the king. They were victors, not defeated men; why should they surrender? "If the king wants our arms, let him come and try to take them," they said. "Our arms are all the treasure we have left; we shall not be fools enough to hand them over to you, but shall use them to fight for your treasure."
This challenge King Artaxerxes showed no inclination to accept. Both he and his army feared the Greeks. As for the latter, they immediately began their retreat. They could not go back over the desert by which they had come, that was impossible; they therefore chose a longer road, but with more chance of food, leading up the left bank of the Tigris River and proceeding to the Euxine, or Black Sea. It was in dread and hopelessness that the solitary band began this long and perilous march, through a country of which they knew nothing, amid hosts of foes, and with the winter at hand. But they were soon to experience a new misfortune and be left in a still more hopeless state.
Their boldness had so intimidated King Artaxerxes that he sent heralds to them to treat for a truce. "Go tell the king," their general replied, "that our first business must be to fight. We have nothing to eat, and no man should talk to Greeks about a truce without first providing them with a dinner."
The result of this bold answer was that food was provided, a truce declared, and Tissaphernes, a Persian satrap, with a body of troops, undertook to conduct the Greeks out of the country. Crossing the Tigris, they marched for fifteen days up its east side, until the Great Zab River, in the country of Media, was reached. Here the treachery which Tissaphernes had all along intended was consummated. He invited Clearchus, the Greek leader, and the other generals to a conference with him in his tent,—three miles from their camp. They incautiously accepted, and on arriving there were immediately seized, the captains and soldiers who had accompanied them cut down, and the generals sent in chains to the king, who ordered them all to be put to death.
This loss of their leaders threw the Greeks into despair. Ruin appeared inevitable. In the midst of a hostile country, more than a thousand miles from Grecian soil, surrounded by enemies, blocked up by deep rivers and almost impassable mountains, without guides, without provisions, without cavalry, without generals to give orders, what were they to do? A stupor of helplessness seized upon them. Few came to the evening muster; few lighted fires to cook their suppers; every man lay down to rest where he was; yet fear, anguish, and yearning for home drove sleep from every eye. The expectation of the Persians that they would now surrender seemed likely to be realized, for without a guiding head and hand there seemed to many of the disheartened host nothing else to do.
Yet they were not all in that mood. One among them, a volunteer, with no rank in the army, but with ample courage, brought back by brave words hope to their souls. This man, an Athenian, Xenophon by name, and one of the disciples of Socrates the philosopher, had an encouraging dream in the night, and at once rose, called into council the captains of the host, and advised them to select new generals to take the place of the four who had been seized. This was done, Xenophon being one of the new leaders. At daybreak the soldiers were called together, told what had been done in the night, and asked to confirm the action of their captains. This they did.
Xenophon, the orator of the army, now made them a stirring speech. He told them that they need not fear the Persians, who were cowards and traitors, as they knew. If provisions were no longer furnished them, they could take them for themselves. If rivers were to be crossed, they could march up their course and wade them where not deep. "Let us burn our baggage-wagons and tents, and carry only what is strictly needful. Above all, let us maintain discipline and obedience to commanders. Now is the time for action. If any man has anything better to suggest, let him state it. We all have but one object,—the common safety."
No one had anything better to suggest; the soldiers enthusiastically accepted Xenophon's plan of action, and soon were on the march again, with Tissaphernes, their late guide, now their open foe. They marched in a hollow oblong body, with the baggage in the centre. Here also walked the women, of whom many had accompanied the army through all its career.
Crossing the Great Zab River, the Greeks continued their march, though surrounded by enemies, many of them horsemen, who cast javelins and arrows into their ranks, and fled when pursued. That night they reached some villages, bearing their wounded, who were many, and deeply discouraged. During the night the Greeks organized a small body of cavalry and two hundred Rhodian slingers, who threw leaden bullets instead of stones. The next day they were attacked by a body of four thousand confident Persians, who expected an easy victory. Yet when the few horsemen and slingers of the Greeks attacked them they fled in dismay, and many of them were killed in a ravine which they were forced to traverse.
On went the fugitives, day by day, still assailed, still repelling their foes. On the fifth day they saw a palace, around which lay many villages. To reach it they had high hills to pass, and here their enemies appeared on the summits, showering down arrows, darts, and stones. The Greeks finally dislodged them by mounting to higher points, and by night had fought their way to the villages, where they found abundance of food and wine, and where they rested for three days.
On starting again the troops of Tissaphernes annoyed them as before. They now adopted a new plan. Whenever the enemy came up they halted at some village and fought them from their camp. Each night the Persians withdrew about ten miles, lest they might be surprised when their horses were shackled and they unarmed. This custom the Greeks now took advantage of. As soon as the enemy had withdrawn to their nightly camp the march was resumed and continued for some ten miles. The distance gained gave the Greeks two days of peaceful progress before their foes came up again.
On the fourth day the Greeks saw before them a lofty hill, which must be passed, and which their enemies occupied, having got past them in the night. Their march seemed at an end, for the path that must be taken was completely commanded by the weapons of the foe. What was to be done? A conference took place between Xenophon and the Spartan Cheirisophus, his principal colleague. Xenophon perceived that from the top of a mountain near the army the hill held by the enemy might be reached.
"The best thing we can do is to gain the top of this mountain with all haste," he said; "if we are once masters of that the enemy cannot maintain themselves on the hill. You stay with the army, if you think fit, and I will go up the hill. Or you go, if you desire, and I will stay here."
"I give you your choice," answered Cheirisophus.
"Then I will go, as I am the younger man," said Xenophon.
Taking a strong force from the van of the army, Xenophon at once began to climb the hill. The enemy, seeing this movement, hastily detached a force for the same purpose. Both sides shouted encouragement to their men, and Xenophon, riding beside his troop, spurred them to exertion by reminding them of their wives and children at home. And here took place one of those occurrences which gave this leader so much influence over his men.
"We are not upon equal terms, Xenophon," said Soteridas, a soldier from Sicyon, "for you are on horseback, while I am weary from carrying my shield."
Instantly Xenophon sprang from his horse, took the man's shield from his arm, and thrust him out of the ranks, taking his place. The horseman's corselet which he wore, added to by the weight of the shield, gave him much annoyance. But he called out bravely to the men to hasten their pace.
On this the other soldiers began to abuse and stone Soteridas, making it so unpleasant for him that he was glad to ask for his shield again. Xenophon now remounted and rode as far as his horse could go, then sprang down and hastened onward on foot. Such was the speed made that they reached the summit before the foe, whereupon the enemy fled, leaving the road open to the Greeks. That evening they reached the plain beyond, where they found a village abounding in food; and in this plain, near the Tigris, many other villages were found, well filled with all sorts of provisions.
Finding it impossible to cross the Tigris in the face of the enemy, who lined its western bank, the Greeks were obliged to continue their course up its eastern side. This would bring them to the elevated table land of Armenia, but first they would have to cross the rugged Carduchian Mountains, inhabited by a tribe so fierce that they had hitherto defied all the power of Persia, and had once destroyed a Persian army of one hundred and twenty thousand men. These mountains must be crossed, but the mountaineers proved fiercely hostile. Seven days were occupied in the task, and these were days of constant battle and loss. At one pass the Carduchians rolled down such incessant masses of rocks that progress was impossible, and the Greeks were almost in despair. Fortunately a prisoner showed them a pass by which they could get above these defenders, who, on seeing themselves thus exposed, took to their heels, and left the way open to the main body of the Greek army. Glad enough were the disheartened adventurers to see once more a plain, and find themselves past these dreaded hills and on the banks of an Armenian river.
But they now had the Persians again in their front, with the Carduchians in their rear, and it was with no small difficulty that they reached the north side of this stream. In Armenia they had new perils to encounter. The winter was upon them, and the country covered with snow. Reaching at length the head-waters of the Euphrates, they waded across, and there found themselves in such deep snow and facing such fierce winds that many slaves and draught-horses died of cold, together with about thirty soldiers. Some of the men lost their sight from the snow-glare; others had their feet badly frosted; food was very scarce; the foe was in their rear. It was a miserable and woe-begone army that at length gladly reached, on the summit of some hills, a number of villages well stored with food.
In the country of the Taochians, which the fugitives next reached, the people carried off all their food into mountain strongholds, and starvation threatened the Greeks. One of these strongholds was reached, a lofty place surrounded by precipices, where great numbers of men and women, with their cattle, had assembled. Yet, strong as it was, it must be taken, or the army would be starved.
As they sought to ascend, stones came down in showers, breaking the legs and ribs of the unlucky climbers. By stratagem, however, the Greeks induced the defenders to exhaust their ammunition of stones, the soldiers pretending to advance, and then running back behind trees as the stones came crashing down. Finally several bold men made a dash for the top, others followed, and the place was won. Then came a dreadful scene. The women threw their children down the precipice, and then leaped after them. The men did the same. Æneas, a captain, seeing a richly-dressed barbarian about to throw himself down the height, caught hold of him. It was a fatal impulse of cupidity. The Taochian seized him in a fierce grasp and sprang with him over the brink, both being dashed to pieces below. Very few prisoners were made, but, what was more to the purpose of the Greeks, a large number of oxen, asses, and sheep were obtained.
At another point, where a mountain-pass had to be crossed, which could only be done by ascending the mountain by stealth at night, and so turning the position of the enemy, an amusing piece of badinage took place between Xenophon, the Athenian, and Cheirisophus, the Spartan.
"Stealing a march upon the enemy is more your trade than mine," said Xenophon. "For I understand that you, the full citizens and peers at Sparta, practise stealing from your boyhood upward, and that it is held no way base, but even honorable, to steal such things as the law does not distinctly forbid. And to the end that you may steal with the greatest effect, and take pains to do it in secret, the custom is to flog you if you are found out. Here, then, you have an excellent opportunity to display your training. Take good care that we be not found out in stealing an occupation of the mountain now before us; for if we are found out, we shall be well beaten."
"Why, as to that," retorted Cheirisophus, good-humoredly, "you Athenians also, as I learn, are capital hands at stealing the public money, and that, too, in spite of prodigious peril to the thief. Nay, your most powerful men steal most of all, at least if it be the most powerful men among you who are raised to official command. So this is a time for you to exhibit your training, as well as for me to exhibit mine."
Leaving the land of the Taochi, the Greeks entered that of the Chalybes, which they were seven days in passing through. All the food here was carried off, and they had to live on the cattle they had recently won. Then came the country of the Skythini, where they found villages and food. Four days more brought them to a large and flourishing city named Gymnias. They were now evidently drawing near to the sea and civilization.
In feet, the chief of this city told them that the sea was but five days' journey away, and gave them a guide who in that time would conduct them to a hill from which they could see the Euxine's distant waves. On they went, and at length, while Xenophon was driving off some natives that had attacked the rear of the column, he heard loud shouts in front. Thinking that the van had been assailed, he rode hastily forward at the head of his few cavalry, the noise increasing as he approached.
At length the sounds took shape in words. "Thalatta! Thalatta!" ("The sea! The sea!") cried the Greeks, in tones of exultation and ecstasy. All, excited by the sound, came hurrying up to the summit, and burst into simultaneous shouts of joy as they saw, far in the distance, the gleaming waters of the long-prayed-for sea. Tears, embraces, cries of wild delight, manifested their intense feeling, and for the time being the whole army went mad with joy. The terrors of their march were at an end; they were on the verge of Grecian territory again; and with pride they felt that they had achieved an enterprise such as the world had never known before.
A few words will suffice to complete their tale. Reaching the city of Trebizond, they took ship for home. Fifteen months had passed since they set out with the army of Cyrus. After various further adventures, Xenophon led them on a pillaging expedition against the Persians of Asia Minor, paid them all richly from the plunder, and gained himself sufficient wealth to enrich him for the remainder of his days.
On a certain cold and wet evening, in the month of December of the year 379 B.C., seven men, dressed as rustics or hunters, and to all appearance unarmed, though each man had a dagger concealed beneath his clothes, appeared at the gate of Thebes, the principal city of the Bœotian confederacy. They had come that day from Athens, making their way afoot across Mount Cithæron, which lay between. It was now just nightfall and most of the farmers had come into the city from the fields, but some late ones were still returning. Mingling with these, the seven strangers entered the gates, unnoticed by the guards, and were quickly lost to sight in the city streets. Quietly as they had come, the noise of their coming was soon to resound throughout Greece, for the arrival of those seven men was the first step in a revolution that was destined to overturn all the existing conditions of Grecian states.
We should like to go straight on with their story; but to make it clear to our readers we must go back and offer a short extract from earlier history. Hitherto the history of Greece had been largely the history of two cities, Athens and Sparta. The other cities had all played second or third parts to these great and proud municipalities. But now a third city, Thebes, was about to come forward, and assume a leading place in the history of Greece. And of the two men who were to guide it in this proud career, one was among the seven who entered the gates of the city in rustic garb that rainy December night.
Of the earlier history of Thebes little need be said. It played its part in the legendary story of Greece, as may be seen in our story of the "Seven against Thebes." During the Persian invasion Thebes proved false to its country, assisted the invaders, and after their repulse was punished for its treasonable acts. Later on it came again into prominent notice. During the Peloponnesian war it was a strong ally of Sparta. Another city, only six miles away, Platæa, was as strong an ally of Athens. And the inhabitants of these two cities hated each other with the bitterest animosity. It is a striking example of the isolated character of Greek communities, and one that it is difficult to understand in modern times, that two cities of one small state, so near together that an easy two hours' walk would take a traveller from the gates of one to those of the other, could be the bitterest of enemies, sworn allies of two hostile states, and the inhabitants ready to cut each other's throats at any opportunity. Certainly the sentiment of human brotherhood has vastly widened since then. There are no two cities in the civilized world to-day that feel to each other as did Platæa and Thebes, only six miles apart, in that famous era of Grecian enlightenment.
We have told how Platæa was taken and destroyed, and its defenders murdered, by a Spartan army. But it is well to say here that Thebans formed the most fiercely hostile part of that army, and that it was the Thebans who demanded and obtained the murder in cold blood of the hapless prisoners.
And now we pass on to a date less than fifty years later to find a remarkable change in the state of affairs. Athens has fallen from her high estate. Sparta is now the lord and master of the Grecian world. And a harsh master has she proved, with her controlling agents in every city, her voice the arbiter in all political concerns.
Thebes is now the friend of Athens and the foe of Sparta, the chief among those cities which oppose the new order of things. Yet Thebes in 379 B.C. lies hard and fast within the Spartan clutch. How she got there is now for us to tell.
It was an act of treason, some three years before, that handed this city over to the tender mercies of her old ally, her present foe. There was a party in Thebes favorable to Sparta, at whose head was a man named Leontiades. And at this time Sparta was at war with Olynthus, a city far to the north. One Spartan army had marched to Olynthus. Another, led by a general named Phœbidas, was on its march thither, and had halted for a period of rest near the gymnasium, a short distance outside the walls of Thebes. There is good reason to believe that Phœbidas well knew what Leontiades designed, and was quite ready to play his part in the treacherous scheme.
It was the day of the Thesmophoria, a religious festival celebrated by women only, no men being admitted. The Cadmeia, or citadel, had been given to their use, and was now occupied by women alone. It was a warm summer's day. The heat of noon had driven the people from the streets. The Senate of the city was in session in the portico of the agora, or forum, but their deliberations were drowsily conducted and the whole city seemed taking a noontide siesta.
Phœbidas chose this warm noontide to put his army in march again, rounding the walls of Thebes. As the van passed the gates Leontiades, who had stolen away from the Senate and hastened on horseback through the deserted streets, rode up to the Spartan commander, and bade him turn and march inward through the gate which lay invitingly open before him. Through the deserted streets Phœbidas and his men rapidly made their way, following the traitor Theban, to the gates of the Cadmeia, which, like those of the town, were thrown open to his order as polemarch, or war governor; and the Spartans, pouring in, soon were masters not only of the citadel, but of the wives and daughters of the leading Theban citizens as well.
The news got abroad only when it was too late to remedy the treacherous act. The Senate heard with consternation that their acropolis was in the hands of their enemies, their wives captives, their city at the mercy of the foe. Leontiades returned to his seat and at once gave orders for the arrest of his chief opponent Ismenias. He had a party armed and ready. The Senate was helpless. Ismenias was seized and conveyed to Sparta, where he was basely put to death. The other senators hurried home, glad to escape with their lives. Three hundred of them left the city in haste, and made their way as exiles to Athens. The other citizens, whose wives and daughters were in Spartan hands, felt obliged to submit. "Order reigned" in Thebes; such was the message which Leontiades bore to Sparta.
Thus it was that Sparta gained possession of one of her greatest opponents. Leontiades and his fellows, backed by a Spartan general, ruled the city harshly. The rich were robbed, the prisons were filled, many more citizens fled into exile. Thebes was in the condition of a conquered city; the people, helpless and indignant, waited impatiently the slow revolution of the wheel of destiny which should once more set them free.
As for the exiles at Athens, they sought in vain to obtain Athenian aid to recover their city from the foe. Athens was by no means in love with Sparta, but peace had been declared, and all they could agree to do was to give the fugitives a place of refuge. Evidently the city, which had been won by treason, was not to be recovered by open war. If set free at all it must be by secret measures. And with this intent a conspiracy was formed between the leaders of the exiles and certain citizens of Thebes for the overthrow of Leontiades and his colleagues and the expulsion of the Spartan garrison from the citadel. And this it was that brought the seven men to Thebes,—seven exiles, armed with hidden daggers, with which they were to win a city and start a revolution which in the end would destroy the power of Sparta the imperial.
Of the seven exiles who thus returned, under cover of night and disguise, to their native city, the chief was Pelopidas, a rich and patriotic Theban, who was yet to prove himself one of the great men of Greece. Entering the gates, they proceeded quietly through the streets, and soon found an abiding-place in the house of Charon, an earnest patriot. This was their appointed rendezvous.
And now we have a curious incident to tell, showing on what small accidents great events may hinge. Among the Thebans who had been let into the secret of the conspiracy was a faint-hearted man named Hipposthenidas. As the time for action drew near this timid fellow grew more and more frightened, and at length took upon himself, unknown to the rest, to stop the coming of the exiled patriots. He ordered Chlidon, a faithful slave of one of the seven, to ride in haste from Thebes, meet his master on the road, and bid him and his companions to go back to Athens, as circumstances had arisen which made their coming dangerous and their project impracticable.
Chlidon, ready to obey orders, went home for his bridle, but failed to find it in its usual place. He asked his wife where it was. She pretended at first to help him look for it, but at last, in a tone of contrition, acknowledged that she had lent it, without asking him, to a neighbor. Chlidon, in a burst of anger at the delay to his journey, entered into a loud altercation with the woman, who grew angry on her part and wished him ill luck on his journey. Word led to word, both sides grew more angry and abusive, and at length he began to beat his wife, and continued his ill treatment until her cries brought neighbors in to separate them. But all this caused a loss of time, the bridle was not in this way to be had, and in the end Chlidon's journey was stopped, and the message he had been asked to bear never reached the conspirators on their way. Accidents of this kind often frustrate the best-laid plans. In this case the accident was providential to the conspiracy.
And now, what were these seven men to do? Four men—Leontiades, Archias, Philippus, and Hypates—had the city under their control. But they were supported in their tyranny by a garrison of fifteen hundred Spartans and allies in the Cadmeia, and Lacedæmonian posts in the other cities around. These four men were to be dealt with, and for that purpose the seven had come. On the evening of the next day Archias and Philippus designed to have a banquet. Phyllidas, their secretary, but secretly one of the patriots, had been ordered to prepare the banquet for them, and had promised to introduce into their society on that occasion some women of remarkable beauty and of the best families in Thebes. He did not hint to them that these women would wear beards and carry daggers under their robes.
We have told, in a previous tale, the story of the "Seven against Thebes." The one with which we are now concerned might be properly entitled the "Seven for Thebes." That night and the following day the devoted seven lay concealed. Evening came on. The hour when they were to play their parts had nearly arrived. They were in that state of strained expectation that brings the nerves to the surface, and started in sudden dread when a loud knock came upon the door. They were still more startled on hearing its purpose. A messenger had come to bid Charon instantly to come to the presence of the two feasting polemarchs.
What did it mean? Had the plot been divulged? Had the timid Hipposthenidas betrayed them? At any rate, there was but one thing to do; Charon must go at once. But he, faithful soul, was most in dread that his friends should suspect him of treachery. He therefore brought his son, a highly promising youth of fifteen, and put him in the hands of Pelopidas as a hostage for his fidelity.
"This is folly!" cried they all. "No one doubts you. Take the boy away. It is enough for us to face the danger; do not seek to bring the boy into the same peril."
Charon would not listen to their remonstrances, but insisted on leaving the youth in their hands, and hastened away to the house of the polemarchs. He found them at the feast, already half intoxicated. Word had been sent them from Athens that some plot, they knew not what, was afloat. He was known to be a friend of the exiles. He must tell them what he knew about it.
Fortunately, the pair were too nearly drunk to be acute. Their suspicions were very vague. Charon, aided by Phyllidas, had little trouble in satisfying them that the report was false. Eager to get back to their wine they dismissed him, very glad indeed to get away. Hardly had he gone before a fresh message, and a far more dangerous one, was brought to Archias, sent by a namesake of his at Athens. This gave a full account of the scheme and the names of those who were to carry it out. "It relates to a very serious matter," said the messenger who bore it.
"Serious matters for to-morrow," cried Archias, with a drunken laugh, as he put the unopened despatch under the pillow of his couch and took up the wine-cup again.
"Those whom the gods mean to destroy they first make mad," says an apposite Grecian proverb. These men were foredoomed.
"A truce to all this disturbance," cried the two polemarchs to Phyllidas. "Where are the women whom you promised us? Let us see these famous high-born beauties."
Phyllidas at once retired, and quickly returned with the seven conspirators, clothed in female attire. Leaving them in an adjoining chamber, he entered the banquet-room, and told the feasters that the women refused to come in unless all the domestics were first dismissed.
"Let it be so," said Archias, and at the command of Phyllidas the domestics sought the house of one of their number, where the astute secretary had well supplied them with wine.
The two polemarchs, with one or two friends, alone remained, all half intoxicated, and the only armed one being Cabeirichus, the archon, who was obliged by law to keep always with him the consecrated spear of office.
And now the supposed and eagerly expected women were brought in,—three of them attired as ladies of distinction, the four others dressed as attendants. Their long veils and ample robes completely disguised them, and they sat down beside the polemarchs without a suspicion being entertained. Not till their drunken companions lifted their veils did the truth appear. But the lifting of the veils was the signal for quick and deep dagger thrusts, and Archias and Philippus, with scarcely a movement of resistance, fell dead from their seats. No harm was meant to the others, but the drunken archon rushed on the conspirators with his spear, and in consequence perished with his friends.
There were two more of the tyrants to deal with. Phyllidas led three of the conspirators to the house of Leontiades, into which he was admitted as the bearer of an order from the polemarchs. Leontiades was reclining after supper, with his wife spinning wool by his side, when his foes entered his chamber, dagger in hand. A bold and strong man, he instantly sprang up, seized his sword, and with a thrust mortally wounded the first of the three. Then a desperate struggle took place in the doorway between him and Pelopidas, the place being too narrow for the third to approach. In the end Pelopidas dealt him a mortal blow. Then, threatening the wife with death if she gave the alarm, and closing the door with stern commands that it should not be opened again, the two patriots left the house and sought that of Hypates. He took the alarm and fled, and was pursued to the roof, where he was killed as he was trying to escape over the house-tops.
This work done, and no alarm yet given, the conspirators proceeded to the prison, whose doors they ordered to be opened. The jailer hesitated, and was slain by a spear-thrust, the patriots rushing over his body into the prison, from whose cells the tenants were soon released. These, one hundred and fifty in number, sufferers for their patriotic sentiments, were quickly armed from battle-spoils kept near by, and drawn up in battle array. And now, for the first time, did the daring conspirators feel assurance of success.
The tidings of what had been done by this time got abroad, and ran like wildfire through the city. Citizens poured excitedly into the streets. Epaminondas, who was afterwards to become the great leader of the Thebans, joined with some friends the small array of patriots. Proclamation was made throughout the city by heralds that the despots were slain and Thebes was free, and all Thebans who valued liberty were bidden to muster in arms in the market-place. All the trumpeters in the city were bidden to blow with might and main, from street to street, and thus excite the people to take arms to secure their liberty.
While night lasted surprise and doubt continued, many of the citizens not knowing what to do. But with day-dawn came a wild outburst of joy and enthusiasm. Horsemen and footmen hastened in arms to the agora. Here a formal assembly of the Theban people was convened, before whom Pelopidas and his fellows appeared to tell what they had done. The priests crowned them with wreaths, while the people hailed them with joyful acclamations. With a single voice they nominated Pelopidas, Mellon, and Charon as Bœotarchs,—a Theban title of authority which had for a number of years been dropped.
Such was the hatred which the long oppression had aroused, that the very women trod underfoot the slain jailer, and spat upon his corpse. In that city, where women rarely showed themselves in public, this outburst strongly indicated the general public rage against the overthrown despots. Messengers hastened to Attica to carry to the exiles the glad tidings, and soon they, with a body of Athenian volunteers, were in joyful march for the city.
Meanwhile, the Spartans in the citadel were in a state of distraction and alarm. All night long the flashing of lights, the blare of trumpets, the shouts of excited patriots, the sound of hurrying feet in the city, had disturbed their troubled souls, and when affrighted partisans of the defeated party came hurrying for safety into the Cadmeia, with tidings of the tragic event, they were filled with confusion and dismay. Accustomed to look to the polemarchs for orders, the garrison did not know whom to trust or consult. They hastily sent out messengers to Thespiæ and Platæa for aid, but the forces which came to their help from these cities were charged upon by the Thebans and driven back with loss.
What to do the Spartan commander knew not. The citizens were swarming in the streets, and gathering in force around the citadel. That they intended to storm it before aid could come from Sparta was evident. In fact, they were already rushing to the assault,—large rewards being offered those who should first force their way in,—when a flag of truce from the garrison stopped them in mid-career. The commander proposed to capitulate.
All he asked was liberty to march out of Thebes with the honors of war. This was granted him, under oath. At once the foreign garrison filed out from the citadel and marched to one of the gates, accompanied by the Theban refugees who had sought shelter with them. These latter had not been granted the honors of war. Among them were some of the prominent oppressors of the people. In a burst of ungovernable rage these were torn from the Spartan ranks by the people and put to death; even the children of some of them being slain. Few of the refugees would have escaped but for the Athenians present, who generously helped to get them safely through the gates and out of sight and reach of their infuriated townsmen.
And thus, almost without a blow, in a night's and a morning's work, the city of Thebes, which for several years had lain helpless in the hands of its foes, regained its liberty. As for the Spartan harmosts, or leaders, who had capitulated without an attempt at defence, two of them were put to death on reaching home, the third was heavily fined and banished. Sparta had no mercy and no room for beaten men.
Thebes was free! The news spread like an electric shock through the Grecian world. A few men, taking a desperate risk, had in an hour overthrown a government that seemed beyond assault. The empire of Sparta, the day before undisputed and nearly universal over Greece, had received a serious blow. Throughout all Greece men breathed easier, while the spirit of patriotism suddenly flamed again. The first blow in a coming revolution had been struck.
Thebes was free! But would she stay free? Sparta was against her,—Sparta, the lord of Greece. Could a single city, however liberty-loving and devoted its people, maintain itself against that engine of war which had humbled mighty Athens and now lorded it over the world of Greece? This is the question we have to answer; how in a brief space the dominion of Sparta was lost, and Thebes, so long insignificant and almost despised, rose to take the foremost place in Greece.
Two men did this work. As seven men had restored Thebes to freedom, two men lifted her almost into empire. One of these was Pelopidas, the leading spirit of the seven. The other was Epaminondas, whose name was simply mentioned in the tale of the patriotic seven, yet who in the coming years was to prove himself one of the greatest men Greece ever produced.
Pelopidas belonged to one of the richest and highest families of Thebes. He was one of the youngest of the exiles, yet a man of earnest patriotism and unbounded daring. It was his ardent spirit that gave life to the conspiracy, and his boldness and enterprise that led it forward to success. And it was the death of Leontiades by his hand that freed Thebes.
Epaminondas was a man of different character and position. Though of ancient and honorable family, he was poor, while Pelopidas was very rich; middle-aged, while Pelopidas was young; quiet, patient, and thoughtful, while Pelopidas was bold, active, and energetic. In the wars that followed he was the brain, while Pelopidas was the right hand, of Thebes. Epaminondas had been an earnest student of philosophy and music, and was an adept in gymnastic training. He was a listener, not a talker, yet no Theban equalled him in eloquence in time when speech was needful. He loved knowledge, yet he cared little for power, and nothing for money, and he remained contentedly poor till the end of his days, not leaving enough wealth to pay his funeral expenses. He did not love bloodshed, even to gain liberty. He had objected to the conspiracy, since freedom was to be gained through murder. Yet this was the man who was to save Thebes and degrade her great enemy, Sparta.
Like Socrates and Alcibiades, these two men were the warmest friends. Their friendship, like that of the two great Athenians, had been cemented in battle. Standing side by side as hoplites (or heavy armed soldiers), on an embattled field, Pelopidas had fallen wounded, and Epaminondas had saved his life at the greatest danger to himself, receiving several wounds while bearing his helpless friend to a place of safety. To the end of their lives they continued intimate friends, each recognizing the peculiar powers of the other, and the two working like one man for Theban independence.
Epaminondas proved himself a thinker of the highest military genius, Pelopidas a leader of the greatest military vigor. The work of the latter was largely performed with the Sacred Band, a warlike association of three hundred youthful Thebans, sworn to defend the citadel until death, bound by bonds of warm friendship, and trained into the highest military efficiency. Pelopidas was the captain of this noble band, which was never overcome until the fatal battle of Chæronea, and then only by death, the Three Hundred lying dead in their ranks as they had stood.
For the events with which we have now to deal we must leap over seven years from the freeing of Thebes. It will suffice to say that for two years of that time Sparta fought fiercely against that city, but could not bring it under subjection again. Then wars arose elsewhere and drew her armies away. Thebes now took the opportunity to extend her power over the other cities of Bœotia, and of one of these cities there is something of interest to tell.
We have told in an earlier tale how Sparta and Thebes captured Platæa and swept it from the face of the earth. Recently Sparta had rebuilt the city, recalled its exiled citizens, and placed it as a Spartan outpost against Thebes. But now, when the armies of Sparta had withdrawn, the Thebans deemed it a good opportunity to conquer it again. One day, when the Platæan men were at work in their fields, and unbroken peace prevailed, a Theban force suddenly took the city by surprise, and forced the Platæans to surrender at discretion. Poor Platæa was again levelled with the ground, her people were once more sent into exile, and her soil was added to that of Thebes. It may be well to say here that most of the Grecian cities consisted of the walled town and sufficient surrounding land to raise food for the inhabitants within, and that the farmers went out each morning to cultivate their fields, and returned each night within the shelter of their walls. It was this habit that gave Thebes its treacherous opportunity.
During the seven years mentioned we hear nothing of Epaminondas, yet we know that he made himself felt within the walls of Thebes; for when, in 371 B.C., the cities of Greece, satisfied that it was high time to stop cutting each other's throats, held a congress at Sparta to conclude peace, we find him there as the representative of Thebes.
The terms of peace demanded by Athens, and agreed to by most of the delegates, were that each city, small or large, should possess autonomy, or self-government. Sparta and Athens were to become mutual guarantees, dividing the headship of Greece between them. As for Thebes and her claim to the headship of Bœotia, her demand was set aside.
This conclusion reached, the cities one after another took oath to keep the terms of peace, each city swearing for itself except Sparta, which took the oath for itself and its allies. When it came to the turn of Thebes there was a break in this love-feast. Sparta had sworn for all the cities of Laconia; Epaminondas, as the representative of Thebes, insisted on swearing not for Thebes alone, but for Thebes as president of all Bœotia. He made a vigorous speech, asking why Sparta was granted rights from which other leading cities were debarred.
This was a new question. No Greek had ever asked it openly before. To Sparta it seemed the extreme of insolence and insult. What daring stranger was this who presumed to question her right to absolute control of Laconia? No speech was made in her defence. Spartans never made speeches. They prided themselves on their few words and quick deeds,—laconic utterances, as they have since been called. The Spartan king sprang indignantly from his seat.
"Speak plainly," he scornfully demanded. "Will you, or will you not, leave to each of the Bœotian cities its separate autonomy?"
"Will you leave each of the Laconian towns its separate autonomy?" demanded Epaminondas.
Not another word was said. Agesilaus, the Spartan king, who was also president of the congress, caused the name of Thebes to be stricken from the roll, and proclaimed that city to be excluded from the treaty of peace.
It was a bold move on the part of Epaminondas, for it meant war with all the power of Sparta, relieved of all other enemies by the peace. Sparta had conquered and humbled Athens. It had conquered many other cities, forcing some of them to throw down their walls and go back again to their old state of villages. What upstart was this that dared defy its wrath and power? Thebes could hope for no allies, and seemed feeble against Spartan strength. How dared, then, this insolent delegate to fling defiance in the teeth of the lord of Greece?
Fortunately Thebes needed no allies. It had two men of warlike genius, Epaminondas and Pelopidas. These were to prove in themselves worth a host of allies. The citizens were with them. Great as was the danger, the Thebans sustained Epaminondas in his bold action, and made him general of their army. He at once marched to occupy a pass by which it was expected the Spartans would come. Sparta at that moment had a strong army under Cleombrotus, one of its two kings, in Phocis, on the frontier of Bœotia. This was at once ordered to march against defiant Thebes.
Cleombrotus lost no time, and with a military skill which Spartans rarely showed he evaded the pass which Epaminondas held, followed a narrow mountain-track, captured Creusis, the port of Thebes, with twelve war-ships in the harbor, and then marched to a place called Leuctra, within an easy march of Thebes, yet which left open communication with Sparta by sea, by means of the captured port.
The Thebans had been outgeneralled, and were dismayed by the result. The Spartans and their king were full of confidence and joy. All the eloquence of Epaminondas and the boldness of Pelopidas were needed to keep the courage of their countrymen alive and induce them to march against their foes. And it was with much more of despair than of hope that they took up at length a position on the hilly ground opposite the Spartan camp.
The two armies were not long in coming to blows. The Spartans and their allies much exceeded the Thebans in numbers. But Epaminondas prepared to make the most of his small force by drawing it up in a new array, never before seen in Greece.
Instead of forming the narrow line of battle always before the rule in Greek armies, he placed in front of his left wing Pelopidas and the Sacred Band, and behind them arranged a mass of men fifty shields deep, a prodigious depth for a Grecian host. The centre and right were drawn up in the usual thin lines, but were kept back on the defensive, so that the deep column might join battle first.
Thus arrayed, the army of Thebes marched to meet its foe, in the valley between the two declivities on which the hostile camps were placed. The cavalry met first, and the Theban horsemen soon put the Spartan troop to flight. Then the footmen came together with a terrible shock. Pelopidas and his Sacred Band, and behind them the weight of the fifty shields, proved more than the Spartans, with all their courage and discipline, could endure. Both sides fought bravely, hand to hand; but soon Cleombrotus fell, mortally hurt, and was with difficulty carried off alive. Around him fell others of the Spartan leaders. The resistance was obstinate, the slaughter terrible; but at last the Spartan right wing, overborne by the heavy Theban mass and utterly beaten, was driven back to its camp on the hill-side above. Meanwhile the left wing, made up of allies, did little fighting, and quickly followed the Spartans back to the camp.
It was a crushing defeat. Of seven hundred Spartans who had marched in confidence from the camp, only three hundred returned thither in dismay. A thousand and more Lacedæmonians besides were left dead upon the field. Not since the day of Thermopylæ had Sparta lost a king in battle. The loss of the Theban army was not more than three hundred men. Only twenty days had elapsed since Epaminondas left Sparta, spurned by the scorn of one of her kings; and now he stood victor over Sparta at Leuctra, with her second king dead in his camp of refuge. It is not surprising that to Greece, which had felt sure of the speedy overthrow of Thebes, these tidings came like a thunderbolt. Sparta on land had been thought irresistible. But here on equal ground, and with nearly double force, she had been beaten by insignificant Thebes.
We must hasten to the end of this campaign. Sparta, wrought to desperation by her defeat, sent all the men she could spare in reinforcement. Thebes, too, sought allies, and found a powerful one in Jason of Pheræ, a city of Thessaly. The Theban leaders, flushed with victory, were eager to attack the enemy in his camp, but Jason gave them wiser advice.
"Be content," he said, "with the great victory you have gained. Do not risk its loss by attacking the Lacedæmonians driven to despair in their camp. You yourselves were in despair a few days ago. Remember that the gods take pleasure in bringing about sudden changes of fortune."
This advice taken, Jason offered the enemy the opportunity to retreat in safety from their dangerous position. This they gladly accepted, and marched in haste away. On their journey home they met a second army coming to their relief. This was no longer needed, and the whole baffled force returned home.
The military prestige held by Sparta met with a serious blow from this signal defeat. The prestige of Thebes suddenly rose into supremacy, and her control of Bœotia became complete. But the humiliation of Sparta was not yet near its end. Epaminondas was not the man to do things by halves. In November of 370 B.C. he marched an army into Arcadia (a country adjoining Laconia on the north), probably the largest hostile force that had ever been seen in the Peloponnesus. With its Arcadian and other allies it amounted to forty thousand, or, as some say, to seventy thousand, men, and among these the Thebans formed a body of splendidly drilled and disciplined troops, not surpassed by those of Sparta herself. The enthusiasm arising from victory, the ardor of Pelopidas, and the military genius of Epaminondas had made a wonderful change in the hoplites of Thebes in a year's time.
And now a new event in the history of the Spartan commonwealth was seen. For centuries the Spartans had done their fighting abroad, marching at will through all parts of Greece. They were now obliged to fight on their own soil, in defence of their own hearths and homes. Dividing his army into four portions, Epaminondas marched into rock-bounded Laconia by four passes.
The Arcadians had often felt the hard hand of their warlike neighbors. Only a snort time before one of their principal cities, Mantinea, had been robbed of its walls and converted into open villages. Since the battle of Leuctra the villagers had rebuilt their walls and defied a Spartan army. Now the Arcadians proved even more daring than the Thebans. They met a Spartan force and annihilated it.
Into the country of Laconia pushed the invaders. The city of Sellasia was taken and burned. The river Eurotas was forded. Sparta lay before Epaminondas and his men.
It lay before them without a wall or tower. Through its whole history no foreign army had come so near it. It trusted for defence not to walls, but to Spartan hearts and hands. Yet now consternation reigned. Sparta the inviolate, Sparta the unassailable, was in imminent peril of suffering the same fate it had often meted out freely to its foes.
But the Spartans had not been idle. Allies had sent aid in all haste to the city. Even six thousand of the Helots were armed as hoplites, though to see such a body of their slaves in heavy armor alarmed the Spartans almost as much as to behold their foes so near at hand. In fact, many of the Helots and country people joined the Theban army, while others refused to come to the aid of the imperilled city.
Epaminondas marched on until he was in sight of the city. He did not attempt to storm it. Though without walls, Sparta had strong natural defences, and heaps of earth and stones had been hastily thrown up on the most open roads. A strong army had been gathered. The Spartans would fight to death for their homes. To attack them in their stronghold might be to lose all that had been gained. Repulse here would be ruin. Content with having faced the lion in his den, Epaminondas turned and marched down the Eurotas, his army wasting, plundering, and burning as it went, while the Spartans, though in an agony of shame and wounded honor, were held back by their king from the peril of meeting their enemy in the field.
In the end, his supplies growing scarce, his soldiers loaded with plunder, Epaminondas led his army back to Arcadia, having accomplished far more than any foe of Sparta had ever done before, and destroyed the warlike reputation of Sparta throughout Greece.
But the great Theban did not end here. He had two other important objects in view. One was to consolidate the Arcadians by building them a great central city, to be called Megalopolis (Great City), and inhabited by people from all parts of the state. This was done, thick and lofty walls, more than five miles and a half in circumference, being built round the new stronghold.
His other purpose was to restore the country of Messenia. We have already told how this country had been conquered by the Spartans centuries before, and its people exiled or enslaved. Their descendants were now to regain their liberty and their homes. A new city, to be named Messenia, was ordered by Epaminondas to be built, and this, at the request of the Messenians, was erected on Mount Ithome, where the gallant hero Aristomenes had made his last stand against his country's invaders.
The city was built, the walls rising to the music of Argeian and Bœotian flutes. The best architects and masons of Greece were invited to lay out the plans of streets and houses and of the sacred edifices. The walls were made so strong and solid that they became the admiration of after-ages. The surrounding people, who had been slaves of Sparta, were made freemen and citizens of the reorganized state. A wide area of land was taken from Laconia and given to the new communities which Epaminondas had formed. Then, in triumph, he marched back to Thebes, having utterly destroyed the power and prestige of Sparta in Greece.
Reaching home, he was put on trial by certain enemies. He had broken the law by keeping command of the army four months beyond the allotted time. He appealed to the people, with what result we can readily understand. He was acquitted by acclamation, and he and Pelopidas were immediately re-elected Bœotarchs (or generals) for the coming year.