Paıdeía 33
to go about unbathed with one cheek shaven and the other not. Something of
the sort was apparently the fate of the two members of the three hundred who
missed dying at Thermopylae. One had been sent to Thessaly as a messenger:
on returning to Sparta, he found himself in such disgrace that he hanged him-
self. The other had a similar excuse, suffered similar reproach, and was ex-
pelled from his sussıtíon and deprived of his political rights. No Spartan would
give him a brand to kindle his fire; no one would speak to him; and echoing
Tyrtaeus’ description of those who sacrificed all virtue by wavering in battle,
the Spartiates called him “the trembler.” In due course, he, too, chose to com-
mit suicide. Within the field of vision of the entire army at Plataea, this man
thrust himself forward alone in front of the Spartan line against the spears of
the oncoming Persians.^84
The battle of Thermopylae was the most dramatic, but not the first such
occasion. Well over a half-century before Leonidas’ last stand, the Spartans
had sent out on a special mission another three hundred picked men (in all
likelihood, the hıppeîs this time as well). Their task was to defend the Lacedae-
monian claim to the borderland Cynouria against Argos by defeating a like
number of Argive warriors. At the end of this Battle of the Champions, there
was but one Spartan alive; and though his survival was the ground for Sparta’s
continuing claim to the disputed province, that very survival had rendered
him suspect of cowardice. The man apparently found insupportable the pros-
pect of living his life in disgrace, and he ultimately chose death instead.^85 At
Lacedaemon, a life without honor in the eyes of one’s fellow citizens was a life
not worth living.
This ethic was still very much alive early in the fourth century when a
regiment [móra] of Spartans suffered ambush in the Corinthiad near Lechaeum.
This much is made strikingly clear by a passing remark in Xenophon’s report.
Early in the skirmish, a number of Spartans were wounded by javelins hurled
by enemy peltasts; the polemarch immediately ordered that these men be car-
ried to safety by the helots who ordinarily bore their shields. The remaining
members of the móra were less fortunate: roughly two hundred and fifty hop-
lites lost their lives in the encounter, while only a handful managed to flee,
some by plunging into the sea and others by seeking refuge with the cavalry.
To the latter, Xenophon gives remarkably short shrift. In speaking of those
who had been wounded and then borne to Lechaeum, he observes, “In truth,
these were the only members of the móra who were saved.”^86 It mattered not
a whit that the battle had already been lost when the other survivors took to