Go Tell the Spartans

I kind of lifted this story from Herodotus, I don't think he'll mind.

Banished from our home of Samos, those survivors of Attica’s aggression turned to Sparta for help, hunger eating away at our bodies and exhaustion at our souls. We set out for the city and my brother, the one chosen to present our cause to the Spartans, prepared a speech to sway them to our cause and provide us aid. Though hard, the Spartans are fellow Greek and our trusted allies, and I have faith they will not abandon us or ignore our plight. Sparta holds sanctuary for us all, and we shall yet have justice for the wrongs committed against us.

Upon our arrival the Spartans greeted us, ushering us into their amphitheatre with no fanfare. The Spartans gathered to hear us speak as was custom, and my brother stood forward to oblige. The sullen eyes of these hundreds of Spartans scared me more than any force Athens sent against us, and I felt a chill climb up my back. My brother must have felt the same, his whole body wanting to shake but he keeping it to his left hand hidden behind his back, and as such he launched into his speech with courage and conviction.

“Spartans, we humbly thank you for taking us into your city and showing us the hospitality one shows their neighbors. A city as powerful as yours must receive countless requests and demands from friends and enemies alike, yet you take time to listen to us poor Samians and for this we cannot be thankful enough. As you all know our two peoples stood by one another as allies, ready to fight for one another when the need arose. Today we do not fight for our city or honor but for our very lives, and we beg you to stand by us in this time of need.”

My brother paused a moment to gauge his audience, the sense of boredom and impatience reflected in hundreds of glazed eyes and voiced in a symphony of coughs and sneezes, this feeling of melancholy concentrated onto the point where my brother stands. He breathed deep and prepared to break the poor Spartan mood.

“History is filled with the good deeds and valor of Spartans, not the least of which is her aid to our defense against our common Athenian foes. We struggle to meet your greatness and return what is given to us, but one day we can return the favor. Continue to stand by us, we remain loyal to you. Listen to our story so that you may know our hardships and better understand what needs to be done.”

My brother continued, recounting a tale of valor and woe, of Athens’s unprovoked attack upon us and their merciless destruction of our island and its beautiful city. He told the Spartans of death and misfortune, how children wander among the corpses of their parents and how the smell of fire and burning flesh follows us even to this peaceful city, Sparta. Not even those who sought shelter in sacred temples were spared, so depraved was the attack upon us. My people wept at the portrait my brother painted, the memories of war still fresh, and many of us still shaking in fear, jumping at shadows from the horrors we suffered. But the gods saw fit to spare us, and they shall see fit to watch Athens burn by Sparta’s hand, so my brother told them. The Spartans can understand this plight; they can share our pain and help us to rebuild all that was lost.

The speech my brother gave came to an end. There was no applause, not so much as a sound from the Spartans, and though nothing was said much was communicated. My people despaired at our failure to secure the help of the Spartans while our hunger and pain bit deeper with the thought we would have to leave the city empty handed. My brother on the verge of tears turned to me and said, “We’re lost. What hope do we have if the Spartans do nothing?”

Just then one of the Spartans stood and addressed us, he said, “We forgot the first half of your speech, and we could make nothing of the remainder.”

All of us Samians were dumbfounded, and it was then I alone realized our mistake, the folly of forgetting the nature and customs of our hosts. A new tinge of hope filled me with warmth and excited every fiber of my being, pushing me forward to speak. I took from under my tunic an empty bag meant to carry the aid to receive from Sparta and gave my own speech, one suitable to Spartan ears. Thrusting the bag forward towards the audience I said, “The bag wants flour.”

The standing Spartan looked at me and smiled, he said, “You needn’t have said ‘the bag’ but you’ll have aid.”

Outwardly we remained stoic in the faces of our wonderful allies and friends the Spartans, but in our hearts we rejoiced. We ate and drank well that night.