Chapter VII Thermopylæ
It was fortunate for the Greek cause that the council which met at the Isthmus after the withdrawal from Tempe had at its disposal the information necessary for forming a true estimate of the circumstances of the time. It knew that no help was to come from outside the mainland of Greece. It knew that Thessaly was lost, and that Bœotia, East Locris, Phocis, and Doris, and last, though not least, Eubœa, must be lost also, unless some prompt action were taken to save the situation in those parts. And so, says Herodotus, “the Greeks, on coming to the Isthmus, took counsel together, in view of what Alexander had told them, as to where and in what parts they should establish the defence.” The opinion which prevailed was, that they should guard the pass of Thermopylæ, which they thought was narrower than the pass in Thessaly, and nearer to their base. “They determined therefore to guard this pass, and so prevent the passage of the barbarian into Greece, and that the naval force should sail to Artemisium in the land of Histiæotis.”
There is no part of Greece where the strategical situation is so marked as in the line of defence which runs along Mount Œta. Malis is verily the entering in of the gate of Greece. The barrier of Mount Œta, the tremendous nature of which can only be appreciated by those who have seen it and traversed it, formed in a very real way the true boundary of the land, and was recognized as such by the Greek historians of this and after time. The Hellenism of the lands beyond it was a mere shadow of the reality. Thessaly, in that widest sense which included in the name all that lay between Œta, Pindus, and the Cambunian Mountains, was in respect to civilization a debateable land, in which the “barbarism” of the outer world to a great extent held sway. Nature had so ordained it by an immutable decree when she raised Œta to be alike a defence and a barrier to the Hellenism of the lands south of it.
Malis is separated from the plain of Thessaly by the range of Othrys. This line of mountains is not of a uniform character. It branches off from the backbone of Pindus in the West as a comparatively low range, through which numerous paths, practicable at any rate for an army without a large baggage train, lead into the upper valley of the Spercheios,—the upper plain of Malis. As a main line of communication, however, from the north, these paths are for two reasons comparatively unimportant. In the first place, the two great roads through Thessaly,—that from Larisa by way of Krannon to Thaumaki, and that from Larisa to Thebes in Phthiotis,—afford but an extremely circuitous route to their northern entrances; and, again, when these paths do reach the upper plain of Malis, they are not continued southwards by any direct routes across the chain of Œta; and it is necessary to traverse the whole length of the Malian plain to the neighbourhood of Thermopylæ before any practicable way leading south can be found. They could only have been of strategic importance in this campaign had the Greeks attempted to defend the eastern passes of Othrys, in which case the Persians, by using them, could without much difficulty have turned the defence.
The part of Othrys east of the longitude of Lamia is of a loftier and much more difficult character. It is rather a mass of mountains than a single range. Viewed from Thermopylæ it presents the appearance of a series of cones and ridges rising towards a central point, where it attains a height of over six thousand feet. There are only two passes through it which are practicable for an army with baggage; these may be called respectively the pass of Thaumaki, and the pass of Thebes in Phthiotis. MARCH OF THE PERSIANS. The pass of Thaumaki is a direct continuation of the great route by way of Krannon. At Thaumaki itself it is eminently defensible, as the rise from the Thessalian plain is abrupt, and the road traverses a narrow ravine. From that point southward the pass is not a difficult one. It enters the Malian plain at Lamia.
The second of the two passages is more or less of a coast road, skirting first the shores of the Pagasætic Gulf, and later those of the Euripus and Malian Gulf. It debouched on the Malian plain at Phalara, a small town which stood within half a mile of the modern Stylida and about six miles from Lamia, by which latter town also the road must have passed. It is possible that Lamia was not effectively fortified in 480. Still, the occupation of it could only have harassed, not stopped, the invading army, since, owing to the presence of the fleet, the real line of communication was on the sea.
H. vii. 196.
From two incidents mentioned in Herodotus it is evident that the Persians adopted both these lines of advance. H. vii. 196. He says that the numbers of the Persian army were so large, that of the rivers of Achaia even the largest, the Apidanos, barely sufficed for its purposes. This indicates the use of the Krannon-Thaumaki route.
The visit of Xerxes to Halos indicates that he, with part of his army, took the coast route.
It was after entering the Malian plain that the real difficulties of the campaign began. Xerxes and his army were face to face with Mount Œta. It may be well to realize in so far as possible the prospect which would meet his eye when, after completing the passage round Othrys, he arrived at Phalara From that point of view nearly the whole length of Œta would be extended before him as he faced southwards. Away to the south-west, at a distance of from twelve to fifteen miles, stands the highest and most imposing mass of the range, a great hummock crowned by four or five peaks. The hummock itself rises some five thousand feet almost sheer from the plain, and the peaks on it rise some fifteen hundred feet more. In full view from Phalara, too, would be that tremendous ravine, a dark, wedge-shaped cut in the side of the mountain, which a comparatively small stream has hollowed out to a depth of four thousand feet. As the eye travels eastward along the range there is a decrease in the actual height of it, the general level of the ridge being perhaps not more than four thousand feet. But the face towards the plain is marked by the broad black band of those famous rocks the Trachinian cliffs. They end suddenly towards the east, where a thin, perpendicular, black streak in the mountain side marks the exit of the great ravine of the Asopos.
It is a magnificent picture; but the background is as magnificent as the picture itself. High as the range is, there rises above it in the distance, behind the four-thousand-foot ridge, the great peak of Giona. Though it is one of the most impressive peaks in Greece, its ancient name is unknown. It is far away among the confused mass of the great ranges of Northern Ætolia; and yet it seems so near when it is lit up by the last rays of the setting sun, while all the foreground of the broad Malian plain, and even of Œta, is involved in the deep blue shadow of the eastern twilight. It rises from the east towards heaven in a long, gradually ascending ridge, becoming steeper in the final effort of its climb. Then, the highest summit once attained, it falls sheer down into a valley of misty gloom.
Immediately east of the Asopos defile the chain of Œta is at its lowest, barely three thousand feet high, and it is over this part of the range that the modern road is carried. The difficulties of passing it do not, however, decrease in proportion to its height, and no military way or path seems to have been practicable at this point.109 Farther east the range rises again into peaks of nearly five thousand feet, faced towards the north by the great cliffs which overhang the pass of Thermopylæ. MT. ŒTA AND THE ASOPOS RAVINE. Here the Malian Gulf and not the plain forms the foreground of the picture, across which, at a distance of eight or nine miles, a white line can be discerned at the base of the cliffs, the great sulphur deposit of the warm springs. This part of the Œta range was known as Kallidromos.
Away beyond Thermopylæ it extends towards the Euripus under the name of Knemis, gradually bending in a more southerly direction down the channel, until it is lost in the distance towards Atalanta. Behind it and above it rises the great grey mass of Parnassus.
This very difficult range is rather turned than pierced by the pass of Thermopylæ, the actual passage through the chain being many miles south of the pass itself.
There is one point with reference to it which is not always recognized. There was and is a second pass110 through it leading direct to the Dorian plain by way of the great ravine of the Asopos, a pass, too, of which the Persian army actually made use after Thermopylæ had been won. It would seem strange at first sight that the Persian generals, when they found Thermopylæ so hard to force, did not nullify the defence of it by marching into Doris this way.
The defile of the Asopos issues abruptly on to the Malian plain some three and a half to four miles west of the Western Gate of Thermopylæ. Its bottom is merely formed of the stony river bed, at first some fifty yards wide, but rapidly contracting, until a little farther up the chasm it is only twelve feet wide between absolutely sheer cliffs from seven to nine hundred feet high. This winding rift in the mountains continues for some three and a half miles from the entrance, and then suddenly broadens out into a wide upland valley, behind the range of Œta, from which there is a long but not difficult passage to the Dorian plain.111 This valley was, no doubt, the land of those Œteans whom Thucydides mentions in his account of the circumstances leading to the foundation of Heraklea Trachinia.
Another important point with regard to this route is, that it was not merely the direct road to Delphi from the north, but the only direct road. As such it must have been in frequent use, and, in the flourishing days of the Delphi-Thermopylæ Amphictyony, of considerable importance. It was, of course, by reason of its very nature, liable to interruption by even a slight rise of the Asopos; and the frequent storms which traverse the Malian plain even in summer render such a possibility perennial. But even so it is a strange thing that in Greek military history it is never used as a means of avoiding direct assault on Thermopylæ.112
THERMOPYLÆ AND ATREMISIUM.
The true significance of the step which the council at the Isthmus took in deciding to send a land force to Thermopylæ and the fleet to Artemisium can only be appreciated if the intimate strategical connection between the two places be realised. The dual nature of the Persian advance necessitated a dual form of defence. Had the invading force been merely a land army, the defence of the pass of Thermopylæ alone would have been sufficient; but it is evident that the Greeks fully appreciated the uselessness of attempting the defence of that pass, if the Persian fleet were left free to land a large body of troops in rear of it, and so turn the defence. Successful defence of Thermopylæ was then absolutely dependent upon successful defence of the Euripus.
DEFENCE OF THE STRAIT A NECESSITY.
But there were other reasons which pointed not merely to the necessity of defending the Euripus, but of establishing the defence of the channel at the point at which it was established—at Artemisium.
Paus. x. 21.
It was plainly important that the enemy’s fleet should be excluded from the Malian Gulf. The road eastwards from Thermopylæ runs by the side of the Gulf for a long distance after it has issued from the east gate of the pass; and it would have been fatal to the defenders had troops been landed there, since they would have been within short striking distance of the Greek position, and so have rendered any escape by way of the mountain path which leads by the modern Boudenitza to the Phocian plain at Elatea difficult, if not impossible. But there was a further possibility of which the Greek commanders must have been aware, and against which they would have to provide. If it was possible 200 years after this time for the Athenian galleys to sail close in shore and attack the flank of the army of Brennus when it was assailing the narrow part of the pass, there must have been a very much greater possibility of this being done in the year 480. On this rapidly advancing shore that which was done in 279 B.C. with difficulty, and not without danger, must conceivably have been a comparatively easy matter in 480.
There was a further danger to be feared, supposing the northern bend of the strait had been left open. Landing on the north coast of Eubœa, a Persian force might have made its way to Chalets, and so have turned Thermopylæ. In the wars of later Greece this was a measure recognized as possible and actually put in practice by combatants commanding this part of the strait. The Greeks were undoubtedly right in the choice of Artemisium. As a naval station it possessed two further advantages: the strait was comparatively narrow at that point, and, above all, it was within sight of Thermopylæ.
From the hillside above the road through the pass, only 150 feet above the level of the plain, the view extends right down this northern bend of the Euripus. From a point still higher up, some 1600 feet above the road, the whole channel is extended like a map. Signalling from one position to the other by means of the smoke and fire signals then used must have been quite easy, and it would be even possible from this higher position at Thermopylæ to observe the movements of large bodies of ships in the neighbourhood of Artemisium, though, owing to the distance, a single ship would hardly be discernible to the naked eye. It is quite clear that Herodotus was aware of the intimacy of the relation between the two positions.113
The strategic capacity of those who were responsible for the Greek plans in the war of 480 was never more advantageously displayed than in this design of the dual defence of the pass and the strait. Had it been carried out with equal wisdom, or even with more harmonious vigour, Greece might perhaps have been spared the losses and anxiety of the year that followed.
On the general question of Greek strategy let it be remarked at this, the outset of the story of the great events of the war, that it is unquestionably wrong to judge of it on the mere evidence of the direct statements made by Herodotus. What may be derived from him is rarely more than the mere narrative of events as related to him at the time, long subsequent to the events themselves, when he made the collection of material for his history. It is only too easy to imagine that the strategical motives underlying those events, which cannot, even at the time at which they were operative, have been known to many, must have vanished from the popular story, even if they ever had any place in it. It may also be doubted whether Herodotus would have been qualified to appreciate fully such motives had the record of them survived until his own day. What he has given to the world is the popular story of the Persian war, distorted, it may be, at times by imaginative additions, but, in so far as can be seen, drawn in the main from veracious sources. The historian himself wanted to get at the truth about the war. He brought to bear upon his material a certain amount of critical acumen which the extreme simplicity of his language has a tendency to conceal. HERODOTUS AND STRATEGIC QUESTIONS. In military history he seems to have been under the disadvantage of lack of practical experience; and consequently where he makes statements of cause they are often unconvincing, sometimes demonstrably wrong. But he made an honest endeavour to correct such errors as might arise from his own inexperience by visiting the scenes of the great events which he describes. His descriptions of the regions of Thermopylæ and Platæa are undoubtedly those of an eye-witness; Salamis he must, Mykale he may well have seen. He supplies consequently a vast accumulation of reliable facts which make it possible in many cases to reconstruct the design which lay behind them; and by that means it may be seen that the Greek Council of War, in spite of its divisions, in spite of half-hearted compromise of plans, was composed of men, some of whom, at any rate, were quite able to grasp the large strategical considerations involved in a war far greater than any of which they had had experience.
The general design, then, in accordance with which the Greek forces took up their position at Thermopylæ and Artemisium was in conception admirable. For one of those mysterious reasons which so often recur in Greek history, it was but half executed; and yet, in spite of this, it only just fell short of a great success.114
If any criticism of the Greek plan of holding Thermopylæ is to hold good, it must be based on the existence of the Asopos ravine, which, in spite of the making of the new road, is still used by the natives as a means of communication between the two plains.
Why did not Xerxes make use of this road?
The reasons for his not using it can only be stated conjecturally.
It is quite possible that he never discovered the existence of any sort of road that way until Ephialtes led his men up it to reach the path of the Anopæa. To one standing at the mouth of the ravine, it has all the appearance of a mere torrent bed leading up among the hills.
THE ASOPOS RAVINE.
It is in any case hardly conceivable that any considerable force could make its way through it with the commissariat train which would be its necessary accompaniment. There is only just room for a loaded mule amid the great boulders which block its bed. The Greeks were probably aware of this.
It is also probable that the supplies for the Persian army had run somewhat low. It had executed a march of many days without the possibility of direct communication with the fleet, and the taking of the coast road may have become a necessity. Xerxes may well have expected to be able to re-open communications with the fleet almost immediately. He evidently supposed that it would have no difficulty in forcing the channel of the Euripus.
In failing, then, to take measures for the defence of this ravine, as well as for the passage of Thermopylæ, it is possible that the Greeks were guilty of an error; but it was an error of a minor kind. The excellence of the general plan of adopting the Thermopylæ and Artemisium line is not affected by it.
From the little that is known of those who were responsible for the general conduct of the war, it would seem highly probable that this great design was the work of Themistocles,—a view which is confirmed by Herodotus’ account of the events which happened at Artemisium. This extraordinary man seems, according to the practically unanimous verdict of his own and after times, to have been endowed with unusual capacity, which, in so far as a judgment can now be formed upon the matter, appears to have consisted largely in a most marked and unusual power of insight into the nature of the ruling factor in a great situation. It was combined with an indomitable persistence in attaining the end in view. In the present instance he had to exercise this latter quality to the full.
The fact which stands out with most prominence in the general history of the war of 480–479, is that the Peloponnesian Greeks were ever hankering after the Isthmus as the line of defence against the huge Persian expedition. Not merely one, but apparently several fortified lines had been already begun there.
On the other hand, there existed a party in the Council, composed, it may well be imagined, almost wholly, if not exclusively, of the representatives of Athens on that body, who insisted on the necessity of adopting some stronger line, and one sufficiently far north to save the Northern States from compulsory medism. The advocates of this Northern policy made up for the smallness of their numbers by their vigour and intelligence; but the decisive factor in the situation was the Athenian fleet. The selfish Corinthian trader and the ignorant Peloponnesian farmer were, from sheer inexperience and want of knowledge, utterly impervious to any argument founded on even the most elementary strategic considerations, and do not even appear to have fully recognized what the withdrawal of Athens and her fleet from the defence would have meant to the patriot Greeks. Nothing within their own meagre military experience could have taught them the full significance of the dual nature of the Persian attack. THE PELOPONNESIAN POLICY. Warfare as they understood it meant putting on as much armour as a careful citizen could carry, and meeting a similarly equipped foe on some piece of level ground, where he was either ravaging or being ravaged. It was fortunate for the Greek cause and for the advocates of the Northern policy that the preponderant state in the Peloponnese consisted of a body of soldiers. Stupid and dull of comprehension as the Spartan was when compared with the quick-witted Athenian, yet even he must, from the very circumstances of his life, since he lived for the profession of arms, have acquired an elementary knowledge of the art of war, sufficient to render him a capable judge of strategic questions, where the issue was sufficiently plain. The Spartans were forced at this time into an unwilling recognition of the fact that without the Athenian fleet the defence must collapse; and the Athenians for their part made it perfectly clear that, unless some effort was put forth on behalf of Greece north of the Isthmus, Athenians and Athenian fleet alike would vanish from Greece.
The outcome of this contention of interests was the determination to defend Thermopylæ and Artemisium.
Drawing his history largely from Athenian sources, Herodotus brings the selfishness of the Peloponnesian policy into special prominence. Selfish, indeed, it must have seemed to the Greeks north of the Isthmus, who probably recognized the strikingly defensible character of the line formed by Œta, notwithstanding that their acquaintance with the region north of the Bœotian plain seems to have been of an imperfect character.115
But is it so strange that the Peloponnesian Greeks should have preferred a defensive line which they did know, and in which they believed, to one of which they had but imperfect knowledge? Some of them had just been involved in what they must have regarded as a fiasco,—that expedition to Thessaly.
Herodotus describes the decision to defend Thermopylæ as having been taken immediately after the return from Thessaly. Whether that was the case or not may be doubted. Herodotus himself, in another passage, seems to imply that an interval occurred, at any rate between the decision to defend Thermopylæ and the actual despatch of troops thither. He mentions again the decision, and then describes the despatch of troops from the Isthmus as having been made when the Greeks “heard that the Persian was in Pieria.” Xerxes was at Abydos when the expedition to Thessaly took place.116 It is probable that not a little time was spent in discussing the plan of defence. It is, at any rate, quite plain from Herodotus’ account of Artemisium, that a very large section of the Greeks there present longed to seize upon any excuse for a retreat to the Isthmus. Was it, after all, considering their knowledge at the moment, so selfish a policy to fix the defence at a line in which they had some sort of confidence, rather than at one where the chances of success were impossible of calculation? The game they were playing must have seemed so desperate, that the Peloponnesians may well have conceived it a wiser policy to try, with some hope of success, to save a part of the land, than to attempt to save all, with a prospect of disastrous failure. Selfish consideration of their own special interests would naturally contribute to the formation of their views on the strategical question; but, at the same time, they had what must have seemed to them some very sound general arguments in support of those views.
Herodotus shows quite clearly that there were times throughout the whole period of the war when the contest between the two policies was doubtful; times, too, when it seemed as if the Peloponnesian policy must win the day. That they were all but in equilibrium at the time of Artemisium, is evident. Cf. H. vii. 206, ad init. and Diod. xi. 4. The Northern policy had so far prevailed as to induce the Lacedæmonians to make a plausible effort for the defence of the Northern Greeks, who, if they thought themselves abandoned, would certainly refuse to join in the defence of the Isthmus, and remaining at home, would be forced to medize. UNREALITY OF THE SPARTAN EFFORT. On the other hand, some practical demonstration of the apparent hopelessness of defending Northern Greece, and of the apparent willingness of Sparta to make some sacrifice on their behalf, might conceivably induce them to aid in the defence of the Isthmus.
The tale of Thermopylæ is one of the strangest in the history of the world, as well as one of the most famous. It is not merely that some of the details of that most dramatic story are difficult to understand: the motive of the main plot of the tragedy is obscure. Why was not the defence of the pass a real effort on the part of those Greek states which contributed to it? Of the unreality there can be no doubt. Herodotus’ narrative makes it quite clear; and this is all the more remarkable, as the historian himself is apparently wholly unaware that what he relates will give this particular impression.
Thucydides had no illusions on the subject. In his account of the first congress of the Peloponnesian allies preceding the Peloponnesian war, he puts words into the mouth of the Corinthians which significantly show what view Greece in after-times took of the Spartan action at this period of the war:—
“The Mede, we ourselves know, had time to come from the ends of the earth to Peloponnese, without any force of yours worthy of the name advancing to meet him.”
The troops which were sent to the pass were:—
H. vii. 202.
Peloponnesians: 300 Spartans; 1000 Tegeans and Mantineans; 126 Orchomenians from Arcadia; 1000 from the rest of Arcadia; 400 Corinthians; 200 from Phlius; 30 Mykenæans.
Northern Greeks: 700 Thespians; 400 Thebans; 1000 Phocians; and the whole force of the Opuntian Locrians.
Leaving out of the calculation the indeterminate number of the Opuntian Locrians,—not a very serious deduction either as regards quantity or quality, if the general military history of this people be any criterion,—and adding the light-armed which would be present with the Spartan force, a total of 7300 is arrived at as the sum of the defenders of this all-important passage. Herodotus, whose narrative of Thermopylæ is conspicuously drawn from Lacedæmonian sources, is at considerable pains to emphasize the intention of the Peloponnesians to send reinforcements. H. vii. 203. The Opuntian Locrians are told that the force sent is merely an advance guard, and that “the rest of the allies might be expected any day;” and are further comforted, so Herodotus says, with a piece of philosophy after the historian’s own heart: “The invader of Greece is not divine but human; and there neither is nor will be the man who is not liable to misfortune from the day of his birth; moreover, the greater the man, the greater the misfortune.” This affords an unparalleled example of the effectiveness of proverbial philosophy in war.
H. vii. 206.
“The men with Leonidas the Spartans despatched first, in order that the other allies on seeing them might join in the expedition and not medise, if they heard that they were delaying. They intended later, the Carnean festival being the momentary obstacle, after celebrating the feast and after leaving a garrison in Sparta, to come up en masse with all speed.”
The historian accounts for the delay of the other allies by saying that they were celebrating the Olympian games; and, on the whole question, further adds that the Peloponnesians generally never supposed that the struggle at Thermopylæ would be so quickly brought to a decision. He proceeds:—
“The Greeks at Thermopylæ, when the Persian arrived near the pass, proceeded in their alarm to discuss the question of retreat. The other Peloponnesians thought it best to go to Peloponnesus and guard the Isthmus; but Leonidas, owing to the indignation of the Phocians and Locrians at this proposed policy, decided to remain where he was and to send off messages to the states, ordering them to come to their aid, as the numbers at present with him were not large enough to keep back the army of the Medes.”
DOUBLE POLICY OF SPARTA.
It can only be to these messengers, or to some despatched at a later date, H. vii. 230. that Herodotus refers further on in his narrative, where he gives an alternative version of the tale of Eurytos and Aristodemos. With reference to Aristodemos he says:—
“Some say that, when sent as a messenger from the army, he refused to return in time for the battle, though it was possible for him to do so, but saved his life by loitering on the way, whereas his fellow messenger came to the battle and met his death.”
It is possible to assume that the messengers which Leonidas is reported to have sent were the first which he despatched for assistance; and, if so, Aristodemos and Eurytos were either those messengers, or were despatched at a later time. The noticeable point about the tale is that they had time to return for the actual battle. If that be so, reinforcements might have been despatched; and though they might not have found it possible to arrive in time, yet, had they been despatched, that fact would hardly have been omitted from a tale of Spartan origin.117
The general circumstances of the time and the details of the Lacedæmonian story are such as to leave little doubt concerning the real history of the Spartan policy at this particular stage of the war. Sparta was acting under two impulses. She wished, on the one hand, to concentrate the defence at the Isthmus. Her Peloponnesian allies wished the same; and the difficulty of persuading them to any other design must have been very great. On the other hand, there were most important considerations which rendered the complete adoption of this design impossible. The works for the defence of the Isthmus were certainly not complete; and unless the Persian’s course was stayed, could hardly be forward enough to resist his attack. Athens also would not hear of such a policy; and Athens could not be ignored. The Northern States, too, would medize.
And so, distracted by conflicting considerations, among which the incompleteness of the works at the Isthmus cannot have been least, Sparta played a double game. She sent a small contingent of her own troops and of those of her allies to Thermopylæ, representing them to be merely the advance guard of a larger force. She hoped, no doubt, that the Phocians, Locrians, and Bœotians would accept this instalment as surety for the discharge of the whole obligation, and would contribute their share in full without delay. This hope was destined to disappointment. The gangrene of Medism had no doubt spread rapidly after the desertion of Thessaly; and it was not to be checked by half remedies. Even the Opuntian Locrians suspected the genuineness of the effort—a suspicion which, no doubt, the Bœotian and Phocian shared to a still greater degree. The smallness of the contingents which they despatched shows that they were distrustful of the Peloponnesian good faith.
Except the small contingent with Leonidas, not a single member of the Lacedæmonian land army seems to have set foot north of the Isthmus at this time.
It cannot, however, be supposed that Leonidas was deliberately sacrificed. There would be every reason to believe that if the worst did come to the worst, he would be able to withdraw his small force in safety. The Lacedæmonian authorities might reckon that even if the Persian fleet forced the straits and landed men behind the pass, there was a possibility of retreat by the mountain track which led by the site of the modern Boudenitza to the ancient Elatæa. The path of the Anopæa was a factor in the situation of whose existence they were quite unaware when they sent Leonidas to the pass. But, even had it been taken into the original calculation, Herodotus’ version of the events at Thermopylæ subsequent to its capture by the Persians emphasizes the fact that even then escape was possible; and this detail of that part of his story is peculiarly supported by the geography of the region.
The Carnean and Olympian festivals served the Spartans and Peloponnesians with an excuse for doing what they had all along intended to do, viz.—to stay inside the Isthmus. This design accounts for the ever restless desire of their Peloponnesian compatriots at Artemisium to retreat from the Euripus. If they had regarded the effort at Thermopylæ as serious, if they had supposed that their main army might be expected there, would they have continually suggested the desertion of a position whose retention was of vital importance to the defence of Thermopylæ?
In all this drama Leonidas plays an unrehearsed part.
TOPOGRAPHY OF THERMOPYLÆ.
Note.—Thermopylæ Past and Present.
Whatever view may be taken by any one who has visited Thermopylæ regarding the details of the battle as described by Herodotus, there is no reasonable doubt that the author’s exceedingly accurate description of the topography of the district could only proceed from the pen of one who had seen the place, and had examined it with some care. The region which formed the scene of the events connected with the battle is the ground at the foot of the northern slope of Mount Œta, extending from the eastern end of the Trachinian cliffs, that is, from the mouth of the Asopos ravine, for a distance of eight or nine miles, to a point about half a mile beyond what was the east gate of Thermopylæ. There were three “gates” or narrows in the pass, the West, the Middle, and the East, all of which are mentioned by Herodotus. The middle one was that to which the name Thermopylæ was especially applied, as the hot springs are there situated.
If we may judge from the order of Herodotus’ description, it would seen as if his examination of the district was made in the course of a journey from North Greece southwards; for his enumeration of the natural features takes them for the most part in order from west to east. This hypothesis is supported, curiously enough, by the one mistake which he makes as to the topography of the region. He wrote evidently under the impression that the road through the pass ran from north to south, for he describes various features on either side as lying east or west of it (vii. 176). Coming from Lamia across the plain, the road would be due north and south. In those days also it is probable that the bend towards the west gate of the pass was more gradual than at the present day; and the change of direction would not be so noticeable.
Speaking of the region generally, he makes reference to (vii. 198) the ebb and flow of the sea in the Malian gulf. This is connected with the peculiar local tide-phenomenon in the Euripus. At Chalkis, where the channel is contracted to a width that may be measured by feet, the current induced by it is so strong that the Greek steamers have at times to wait several hours before they can get through the narrow passage. At the head of the Malian gulf, where the shore is very low and flat, the phenomenon is peculiarly remarkable, and in making the survey of Thermopylæ it was rather a puzzling feature in the situation, rendering it difficult to fix the exact position of prominent points along the coast.
Herodotus speaks of the Malian plain (vii. 198) as being divided into two parts by the projection of the mountain at either side. The greatest and highest mass of Œta, west of the Trachinian cliffs, extends northwards towards Othrys, and marks off the upper plain of Hypati, the ancient Hypata, from the lower plain of Lamia. The breadth of the plain where it is broadest, [which he states to be at the city of Trachis,] he gives at a figure which has been corrupted in the text. The actual breadth from the exit of the Asopos defile to Lamia is about eight miles, or about four hundred plethra.
His account of the natural features of the district begins outside the limits of the region which formed the scene of operations. The rivers Dyras and Melas may be identified with sufficient certainty under the modern names of Gourgo-potamo and Mavra-neria.
Herodotus now enters upon the description of those features which did have an influence upon the events of 480 B.C. “South of Trachis,” he says (vii. 199), “there is a cleft in the mountain range which shuts in the territory of Trachinia; and the river Asopos, issuing from the cleft, flows for a while along the foot of the hills.”
The Asopos, at the present day, after issuing from the ravine, turns eastwards through an angle of at least 45 degrees, and proceeds for a distance of about two and a half miles in the direction of the north foot of the hills which form the west gate of Thermopylæ. There is a sort of bay in the range between the ravine and the west gate of the pass. Herodotus’ description of it as flowing along the foot of the hills would be applicable to its course at the present day. Its bed, a broad stony channel, thickly sown with bushes of oleander and plane, is one which is liable to alteration; but I could not find any trace or evidence whatever of its having largely diverged from its present course within recent times; and the modern maps of this district which represent the river as running far out into the plain before turning towards Thermopylæ are certainly wrong. No really reliable map of the region as a whole at present exists. The best I have seen is one in Hauvette’s Herodotus; and that contains several palpable errors.
ROUTE OF HERODOTUS.
Before reaching the hills at the west gate, the river takes a bend slightly northwards of its former course, and passes the end of this promontory of the range at a distance of about one-third of a mile. After passing underneath the Lamia-Thermopylæ-Atalanta road, it falls into the Spercheios a few hundred yards below the Alamana bridge. Any consideration as to the exact position of its mouth in former times is so much dependent on considerations connected with the Spercheios, that they had better be left until the conjectural former course of that river is described. This may, however, be said:—that the present course of the Asopos seems to resemble to a great extent its course in the time of Herodotus, though it must, in the interval, have passed through many modifications.
Of the Spercheios Herodotus tells us, unfortunately, very little. I venture, however, to think that it entered the gulf in those days at a point farther west than is represented in the modern maps which have conjecturally depicted the state of this region 500 years before Christ.
The description of Herodotus in Chapters 198 and 199 seems to be almost certainly of the nature of a verbal map. He is describing what he saw when travelling along a route from the north; and he begins his description, as it is his intention to describe Thermopylæ, at the Spercheios river. Whether the route he had traversed was that by Thaumaki or that by Thebes in Phthiotis, he must have passed by way of Lamia; for we know from Livy that that town blocked both those roads; in fact, the physical characteristics of the region were such as to render it practically certain that both must have passed that way. His knowledge of Macedonian history and also of the Vale of Tempe and of the sanctuary at Halos render it possible that he saw Thermopylæ in the course of a journey from Macedonia to Greece; he expressly says in Chapter 198 that he is describing the road from the point of view “of a traveller from Achaia.”
His route map of the region seems to have been somewhat as follows:—
| Anticyra—Near mouth of Spercheios. | |
| Circ. 2. m. 3 fur. | 20 stades. |
| R. Dyras. | |
| 2. m. 3 fur. | 20 stades. |
| R. Melas. | |
| 4 1⁄2 fur. | 5 stades. |
| Trachis (doubtful whether on, near, or not near road). | |
| Distance not given. | |
| R. Asopos. | |
| R. Phœnix. | |
| 1 m. 6 fur. | 15 stades. →Anthele somewhere here. |
| Thermopylæ. | |
RIVER SPERCHEIOS.
The fifteen stades from Phœnix river to Thermopylæ is the only one of these distances which we can test at the present day. The fact that it is very fairly correct makes for the presumption that the others are near the truth.
Anticyra.
Anticyra seems to have been on the road. Herodotus does not state that it was actually at the mouth of the Spercheios. The muddy, marshy shore of the gulf is not a place where a permanent dwelling would be established.
Rivers Dyras and Melas.
The detail which shows how very far the ancient line of road was up the present plain of the Spercheios is the statement of the distances between that river and the Dyras, and between the latter and the Melas. This last is identified, with all but complete certainty, with the Mavra-neria, or Black-water river. If this be so, the Dyras can be no other than the Gourgo-potamo, (Leake, “Northern Greece,” ii. 25). The fact that these streams were nearly two miles and a half apart at the points where the road crossed them, shows that it must have been necessary to make a great circuit in order to get round the then shore of the gulf and the marshes which no doubt bordered it. The mouth of the Spercheios must in those days have been several miles above the site of the modern bridge of Alamana, which is at the present day at least four or five miles from the present mouth of the river.
Even two hundred years after this time, the mouth of the river must have been at a considerable distance from the west gate of Thermopylæ. Had it been anywhere near the promontory which projects into the plain at that point, the Greek light cavalry force which was watching the river bank must have been cut off from the main army by the body of Gauls whom Brennus sent to cross the mouth of the Spercheios. Infantry might easily make their way over the low hills above this west gate; but I doubt whether cavalry would be able to do so (Paus. x. 20; 7, 8; 21; 1).
The rapidity with which the head of the Malian gulf has been filled up is very striking. This is chiefly due to the main river Spercheios. The amount of solid matter brought down by that stream when the water is high must be very large. The extraordinary length of the promontories formed by the deposit at its mouth shows it to be so. But as far as the plain in the neighbourhood of Thermopylæ is concerned, it seems to me, after examining the ground, quite certain that the little streams which come down from Œta have contributed more than half of the material which has accumulated in the neighbouring plain.
Site of Trachis.
Though not strictly bearing on the events at Thermopylæ, the description of the site of the city of Trachis is of considerable importance from the point of view of the general topography of this region in after-times.
Herodotus tells us that it is five stades, i.e. somewhat more than half a mile from the Melas river. He also says that the plain is broadest at this point, and that the Asopos ravine lies south of the city (H. vii. 199).
Does he mean that Trachis was actually on the road? His language is doubtful; but I venture to think that he does. He is, as we have seen, under the impression that in traversing not merely the plain, but even the pass of Thermopylæ, he was travelling south, whereas, after passing the Melas, he must have been going nearly due east Therefore, when he speaks of the Asopos ravine as being south of Trachis, he means probably that it was the next noticeable point on the journey to Thermopylæ. It would therefore seem probable that the Melas, Trachis, and the Asopos ravine are three points on his road. The road evidently crossed the Melas high up the stream, and the natural way from it to Thermopylæ would be along the firm ground at the foot of the Trachinian cliffs proper. It would thus pass certainly within two hundred yards of the mouth of the ravine. The determinants then in his description of the position of Trachis are (1) the distance from the Melas; (2) the position of the ravine with regard to it, for which we must read “east” for “south.”
Leake’s view, which has largely (e.g. in Stein, Rawlinson, etc.), though not universally prevailed, is that Trachis was identical with the lower part of that Heraklea whose ruins are on the mountain at Sideroporto. To one who has seen this region Leake’s description is very difficult to understand; and in the diary of his journey the time of arrival at various places which he sets down are in certain respects so incomprehensible as to lead to the suspicion that there is something wrong in his calculation.
The diary reads as follows:—
| 8.15. | Coming from Franzi across Gourgo-potamo. |
| 8.25. | Alpospata a quarter of a mile on right. |
| 8.32. | Near round hill, which looks like site of ancient acropolis; man told L. that it was not so. |
| 8.41. | Vardhates half a mile to right. |
| 8.46. | Branch of Mavra-neria. |
| 8.52. | Foot of Trachinian cliffs. |
| 8.59. | Sources of Mavra-neria. |
| 9.03. | Catacombs in rocks. (Delay five minutes). |
| COLONEL LEAKE’S ROUTE. | |
| 9.08. | Start from catacombs. |
| 9.22. | Crossed Asopus, half mile below ravine. |
| 9.48. | Road to Dhamasta, half a mile to right. Delay three minutes till— |
| 9.51. | |
| 10.04. | Beginning of west pass of Thermopylæ. |
| 10.08. | Phœnix river. |
| 10.11. | Salt spring. |
| 10.20. | End of pass: salt spring (i.e. at Turkish barracks). |
| 10.30. | Cross torrent of Anthele (sic). |
| 10.40. | Beginning of sulphur deposit. |
The total result is that Leake did about thirteen and a half miles over a rough and confused track, with, presumably, baggage mules in his train, in two and a quarter hours. I can only say this, that what he took thirty-nine minutes to do (9.22 to 10.04, with three minutes’ delay) took me fifty-five minutes of fast walking on two occasions, the distance being three and a half miles, and the track difficult, for the most part on the stony bed of the Asopos. Nor can I understand how Leake, or any one else, could, between 8.46, or 8.59 and 9.03, get from the Mavra-neria to the place in his map where he indicates the position of the tombs. The statement is quite incomprehensible. Leake’s map is hopelessly incorrect; but that does not wholly explain the difficulty. As to the argument from the tombs, I can only say that the whole face, not merely of the Trachinian cliffs proper, but even of the rocky hillside which lies east of the Asopos ravine, is honeycombed with them. A large number were discovered in the making of the new road. My very strong impression is that Leake has placed the Trachis of Herodotus several miles east of its true site, and that, though it is not far from the Heraklea at Sideroporto, which may or may not have been the Heraklea of the Peloponnesian war, yet that it was not in any sense a lower part of that town. I am disposed to think that the identification of the site with the remains on the steep, flat-topped hill three miles west of Sideroporto, near the hamlet of Konvelo, will, whenever the ruins are excavated, prove to be correct.
Strabo (428) gives the distance between Heraklea and Trachis as six stades. If any reliability be attached to the statement, it can only proceed from the assumption that after the establishment of the hill fortress by Sparta, the population of one of the towns which it was founded to protect either removed itself or was removed to the immediate neighbourhood of its protector.
River Asopos.
The junction of the Asopos with the Spercheios is at the present day, as has been said, a few hundred yards east of the bridge of Alamana, off the west end of the west gate. In Herodotus’ time it entered the sea independently, and it seems from his description as if its mouth must have been near the point where it now joins the main river. In the first place he expressly tells us that the Phœnix river joins it. That river, so called, is to be identified with a little stream which issues from the rocks of the west gate, whose bed is of a ruddy brown colour, owing, no doubt, to its being impregnate with oxide of iron. This fact alone shows that the Asopos mouth must have been at some point off, that is, north of the west gate.
The site of Anthele.
The historian also tells us that it entered the sea near village of Anthele, which he describes as having been between the Phœnix and Thermopylæ proper. Leake in his sketch map places Anthele on the great accumulation of débris which is brought down by the stream which issues from the great ravine just about half a mile west of the hot springs. The site is impossible. This heap is traversed in every direction by ever-shifting branches of the torrent, and anything built upon it would be soon carried away. Such a site, on what is practically a huge stream-bed, would also be excessively malarious. Herodotus describes the situation almost unmistakably when he says (vii 200), “There is a broad piece of land about it in which are the temple of Amphictyonid Demeter, and the seats of the Amphictyons, and a temple of Amphictyon himself.” This must be the fairly level piece of land just inside the west gate, under the old Turkish cavalry barracks. The latter stand at the extremity of a steep-sided shelf which projects from the hill which forms the west gate; and I am strongly inclined to think that one or both of the temples, and the seats of the Amphiktyons, were on this somewhat commanding site, looking down upon Anthele.
The West Gate.
Coming to the actual pass itself, along the line which Herodotus followed, we enter it by the west gate. Herodotus says (vii. 176) that the pass is not narrowest at Thermopylæ itself, i.e. at the middle gate, but before Thermopylæ and behind it, meaning by the latter, as his next words show, the east gate. It will be seen that by using the words “before Thermopylæ,” of the west gate, he again indicates the route by which he visited the pass. THE WEST GATE. “In front,” he says, “by the Phœnix river, near the city of Anthele, is another place where only one waggon at a time can pass.” The road at the present day does not traverse the whole of the west gate. Crossing the bridge of Alamana, it arrives at the actual foot of the cliff at a point somewhat east of the stream which is identified with the Phœnix. In former days, coming from the west it would pass along the whole of the foot of the steep slope or cliff in which this low promontory of Œta ends towards the plain.
The total length of the passage, from the west end to the site of the Turkish barracks, which I am inclined to identify with that of the Amphiktyonid temples, is just under one mile,—about 1670 yards. To the right, or south of the line of road, the hill rises either very steeply, or in the form of a cliff, to a height of between two and three hundred feet; above which the slope is gentle. The total height attained by the promontory is not great, only varying between three and four hundred feet above the level of the plain. The road was in 480 artificially constructed at this point, as is indicated by Herodotus’ use of the word δέδμηται (H. vii. 200). It can only have been a few feet wide. At the present time, the ground between the left or north side of the road and the Spercheios is in winter time marshy throughout; and even in the month of August, 1899, the eastern portion of it, extending from the road to the river, was impassable, though there had been a long drought. In Herodotus’ time it would seem to have been for the most part a marsh between the cliffs and the Asopos river, though it may well be that the sea actually came up to the road towards the east end of the gate. No passage is possible between the road and the modern river; much less can it have been so in B.C. 480.
Leake speaks of the pass as “the false Thermopylæ,” and seems never to have dreamt of its being a possible site of the battle of 480. It would be quite indefensible to any force which was not large enough to occupy and defend the wide, and, to a light-armed man, easy passage of the hills above it. In some of the best known guide books the battle is described as having taken place in this gate. I do not know the authority for this statement. Apart from its indefensibility against superior numbers, Herodotus makes it quite clear that the battle took place near the hot springs in the middle gate.
On issuing from the west gate underneath the old barracks, the land on the right is fairly level, the hill-side retiring somewhat. This is, as I have already said, almost certainly the site of Anthele. On the left of the road the marshy land still continues for a space. But within a few hundred yards the road ascends in the form of a long gradual hill, to descend further in like manner to the great lime and sulphur deposits of the hot springs. This rise in the road is caused by the intervention of a mass of stream débris, which has poured out of a great chasm to the west of the hot springs and has extended far out into the plain. Its magnitude is enormous absolutely, and, relative to the mean magnitude of that torrent which has produced it, astounding. On issuing from the ravine it forms a fan-shaped mass, one mile in length from the chasm to the plain, with an extreme breadth of three quarters of a mile. Its apex is over three hundred feet in perpendicular height above its base. It is formed for the most part of large material, the finer stuff having gone down to form the new land of the plain. This is what Leake calls the plain of Anthele. East of this great chasm this mass of débris is edged by the great face of Kallidromos, which rises almost sheer to a height of three thousand feet above it. The hot springs. The eastern part of this great cliff overhangs the deposit at the hot springs, a white, glistening mass of lime impregnated with sulphur, which covers an area of ground five and a half furlongs in length from east to west, with an average breadth of one furlong; that is to say, about fifty-five acres of land. The hot springs rise in the side of Kallidromos on the edge of the great mass of débris which has been described; and the water from them is carried along an artificial channel, immediately at the foot of the steep side of the mountain, for more than half a mile. The stream first enters the baths, and then turns a mill, which may be called the upper mill; after this it crosses the road and is carried by a solid stone aqueduct to turn a second mill in the plain. The springs are very copious. In the artificial channel the water rushes along rapidly in a stream three feet broad by about eighteen inches deep, and is of that bright clear green which Pausanias describes. The Middle Gate. The original middle gate of the pass was undoubtedly under the steep hill-side between the baths and the upper mill. Herodotus makes that quite clear. Of the mountain overhanging it, he says that it is “untraversable and precipitous, lofty, extending to Œta” (vii. 176). Of the middle gate he says, “Again the entrance to Greece, through Trachis, is at its narrowest point half a plethron in width” (vii. 176). THE MIDDLE GATE. “To the east (really the north) of the road the sea and the marshes begin.” “There are also in this entrance warm baths, which the natives call the caldrons, and an altar of Herakles is built above them. A wall had been built at this passage, and in old days there were gates in it. The Phocians built the wall for fear of the Thessalians when these came from Thesprotis to settle in the Æolid territory which they now possess. In case of the Thessalians attempting to subjugate them the Phocians took this precaution, and at that time they turned the hot water on to the passage, so that deep channels might be formed in the ground, using every device to prevent the Thessalians invading the country. This old wall had been built a long time before, and the greater part of it had fallen down with age” (vii. 176). “This place is called by most of the Greeks Thermopylæ, but by the natives, and by those who dwell in the neighbourhood, Pylæ” (vii. 201). “The Greeks with Leonidas, as though going to meet their fate, now advanced into the broader parts of the neck much more than before. Hitherto they had held their station within the wall, and from this had gone forth to fight where the path was narrowest” (vii. 223). Herodotus says that the Spartans “retreated to the narrow part of the way, and, crossing the wall, came and took up their positions on the mound, all of them in a compact body, except the Thebans. The mound is in the pass where stands the stone lion in honour of Leonidas.” The Three Gates. The fact that this was regarded as “the gates” par excellence is shown by the passage in vii 201. The contour lines of the map of the pass as it is at the present day illustrate in a very remarkable way the description of it given by the ancient historian. The curves of the five-yard contour line are most noticeable. It is at the three gates of the pass as described by Herodotus that it approaches most closely to the hill slope. At the west and east gates it reaches the actual base of the mountain. At the middle gate it all but does so; but the accumulation of matter from the hot springs has somewhat pushed it back.
The old coast-line.
It cannot amount, of course, to more than a rough calculation, but I am disposed to believe that in the cases where stream débris has been pushed forward into the plain, the ten-yard contour, and elsewhere the five-yard contour, represent pretty closely the coast line as it was in the last few centuries before Christ.
In 480 there appears to have been deep water close to the road, for Herodotus in his account of the final attack of the Persians on the pass speaks of many of them falling into the sea and perishing (vii. 223). The truth of this detail is strongly supported by Pausanias’ description (x. 21, 4) of how the Athenian fleet two centuries later attacked the flank of the Gauls when they were assailing the middle gate. I am inclined to think that the deep water must have been at the base of the two mounds which stand at the east end of it. The marshes spoken of (vii. 176) would be those formed at the point where the hot springs reached the shore, probably several hundred yards west of where they now come down to the aqueduct.
The breadth of half a plethron, or fifty feet, is evidently to be applied to that part of the pass which extended from the first mound westward in the direction of the modern baths (vide Plan). South of this the mountain side rises at a very steep angle, and, apart from its steepness, is practically untraversable, owing to the nature of the rock-strewn slope, and the thick brushwood which covers it.
The Phocian Wall.
The question as to the exact position of the Phocian wall is a somewhat difficult one to solve. At the same time, I see strong reason to think that the existing remains of wall foundations on the neck by which the first mound is attached to the mountain side are relics of a wall which, if not identical with, is identical in site with the one which the Phocians built.
Of this wall I noted the following details. The general line of it is distinct. It can be traced seventy or eighty yards south from the summit of the mound along the neck of the ridge, and it seems to have been carried down the north slope of the mound towards what is now the sulphur deposit but which was in former times the sea. The detail of its plan is somewhat indistinct, largely owing to its having been very much cut about in constructing rifle pits for the expected defence of the pass in the recent war with Turkey. It seems to have been planned as a series of angle bastions projecting westwards, connected by curtains a few yards long.
It is from three to three feet six inches thick, and formed of stones, some of which are roughly squared, and have an average dimension of fifteen inches by ten.
The significance of its position will best be understood when the course of the ancient road through this part of the pass is described. There can be no question as to the line of it. Coming from the west across the great mass of débris formed by the stream from the great ravine, it must have passed close to the site of the present baths. THE PHOCIAN WALL. Thence it must have run along the foot of the mountain slope until it reached the point where the first mound projects into the plain. As the sea must at that time have washed the north foot of this mound, the road must have climbed the west slope of it, which is not peculiarly steep, and must have passed over the neck which connects it with the mountain. Hence it would be blocked by this wall, which runs along the neck, and which was probably carried higher up the mountain slope to the south. I could not find any traces of its south end; that is to say, it certainly went farther up the mountain side than I could trace it. I have no reasonable doubt we have here the line, if not the actual remnants, of the wall of 480. The position is a very strong one, such as a small body of men could defend against largely superior numbers.
It seems fairly clear that the Phocians used the water from the hot springs to damage the road between this mound and the modern baths. The stream itself is not, and I do not think can have ever been, of sufficient magnitude to form a serious obstacle in itself. The defence would simply consist in making the narrow passage awkward, if not impossible for cavalry.
This suggested position of the wall accords with the details of the last struggle given in vii. 225. The Greeks fall back from the broader part of the pass (probably near the baths) to the narrow part (between that and the mound). Then they cross the wall and take their position on the mound. Furthermore, the fact mentioned at the end of the chapter, that in the assault on the mound the Persians pulled down the wall, shows pretty clearly where the latter must have been, i.e. on the mound itself.
On this mound certain stone graves have recently been found. I am afraid the discovery was made when the rifle pits were being constructed. I could only get a vague account of their position and none of their contents, if any.
One word of warning. Viewed from the side of the road, the first mound looks like an integral part of the mountain slope, and the existence of the deep little valley which separates it almost completely from Kallidromos can only be ascertained by ascending the mound itself, or by going up the valley between the first and second mounds of which the little valley is a branch.
The line of wall which lies to the north of the present road among the bushes west of the aqueduct to the lower mill has been suggested as a remnant of the Phocian wall. The lime and sulphur deposit upon it, similar to that on the present aqueduct, shows that it carried at one time the stream from the hot springs to a mill which must have existed at its extremity.
The country between the Middle and East Gate.
The distance from the east end of the west gate to the middle gate at the first mound is one mile five furlongs. From the middle gate to the east gate is one mile three furlongs. Adding to this the length of the long passage of the west gate, which is nearly one mile, we find that the total length of the whole pass is four miles. Taking into account the necessary windings of the ancient road, the length of the pass was probably four and a half miles at least to one travelling through it.
After crossing the stream from the hot springs, the modern road is flat for a few hundred yards. At this point it passes on the right a salt spring, which forms a pond beneath the third mound.
After this the road begins a long ascent up the side of another fan-shaped mass of stream débris similar to that found west of the hot springs. In this case, however, the mass is the combined work of a number of small torrents which come down from the mountains and issue on the plain at a short distance from one another. The great line of cliff which overhangs the middle gate now recedes. It continues indeed, but high up the mountain side, and from its base a series of bastions and rounded ridges come down towards the plain, separated from one another by the deep ravines which the streams have cut.
As you ascend the hill on the road you pass, on your immediate right, four more mounds or hillocks. The last, or sixth mound, is at the top of the hill, and is a prominent object when viewed from the hot springs. Shortly after passing it the road begins to descend again; and about half a mile farther on you arrive at what was the east gate of the pass. Here the passage was narrow and short. It was formed by a somewhat lofty projecting ridge of the mountain slope, round the end of which the road passed. The five-yard contour makes a sudden bend inwards at this point. Herodotus tells us that, like the western gate, it afforded passage to but one waggon, and that it was near Alpenos (vii. 176). At the end of the same chapter he speaks of Alpenos as being “very near the road,” and as being the place from which the Greeks reckoned to supply their commissariat. THE EAST GATE AND WALL. Site of Alpenos. I think that the site of Alpenos is to be identified with the remains of a walled acropolis on a hill which stands out into the plain from the ὑπωρέη or lower slope of the mountain, about half a mile beyond the east gate. Between it and the east gate there must have been a bay of the sea, or harbour, to which, no doubt, the Greek provision ships went. Leake places Alpenos quite close to the middle gate (vide his map), but that is quite inconsistent with H. vii. 176. The incomprehensibility of the eastern part of his map of Thermopylæ makes one suspect that either he had never visited the east end of the pass, or, if he had, had done so very hurriedly.
From the east gate there runs up the ridge towards the high mountain the remains of a remarkable wall (vide map). I cannot find in history any trace or hint of its origin. It was evidently a defence against an enemy advancing from the westward; for the whole way along its west front there is a steep fall in the ground. It goes up the hill for half a mile in a south-west direction, and then, in order to keep along the ridge, it bends through an angle, and may be traced going S.S.E. to a point near the foot of the line of cliffs near the summit of the mountain. It would afford a very strong defensive position to a large force. I am inclined to think that it cannot be a mediæval work, because by mediæval times the sea must have retired from the east gate at its foot. The stones of it are of medium size. I fancy the outside courses were of squared material, while the interior was of unsquared stones set in mortar. Its width seemed to vary from eight to ten feet. The defence of the line of the wall would be a necessary adjunct to the defence of the east gate. It will be seen, therefore, that the latter did not afford a position where small numbers could have faced an enemy in great numerical superiority.
In entering upon the details of Herodotus’ account of the battle of Thermopylæ, it is necessary to bear in mind that it is a story written by a man who was indeed excellent as a topographer, but who seems to have absolutely lacked, in so far as can be seen, that practical or theoretical knowledge of war which alone could have enabled him to judge of the probable truth or falsehood of the various motives of events given in the sources, whether verbal or written, from which he drew his story. Special circumstances in connection with the battle made it more than likely that the real history of it would be officially concealed. The only people who knew the whole story of the events leading up to the great catastrophe were the authorities at Sparta. They can hardly have anticipated a disaster such as actually happened; but, after it had taken place, they had every interest in putting a complexion upon it such as would absolve them, in so far as possible, from blame. The result in Herodotus’ narrative is similar to what we find in other like passages in his history: on the pure question of facts he is reliable; but when he attempts to give the motives lying behind facts, he is only too apt to produce unreliable statements from his sources of information. He must not be judged too hardly in this matter. It is probable that neither he nor any other historian writing after 450 could have arrived at the truth concerning the motives underlying the events of 480. It is not merely a question of the absence of reliable records. He must have been influenced by the view of the past taken by the men of his own day; and there is only too much evidence in history of the extent to which the Greek permitted his imagination to take liberties with facts. The very caution, too, which he displays as an historian is evidently a prominent characteristic of the man,—a characteristic which would almost inevitably lead him to shun a collision with the views of those of his fellow-men with whom he was most intimately connected in life and sentiment. But his silence is sometimes eloquent. In the Thermopylæ narrative he mentions Leonidas’ demand for reinforcements: he states that the intention of sending them existed; but he never hints that even a show of carrying out the intention was ever made. The inadequacy of the reasons which he gives for the omission to send help,—the occurrence of the Carnean and Olympian festivals, and the alleged miscalculation made by the Spartans as to the time at which the Persians would arrive before the pass,—is patent on impartial examination. He himself clearly shows that the Greeks had information as to the movements of the Persian army; for he says that Leonidas was despatched to Thermopylæ “when they heard the Persian was in Pieria.” FACT AND MOTIVE. Leonidas and his band were then in good time. Nor was any such mistake made in despatching the fleet to Artemisium.
And when it is all over, what is the alleged cause of Leonidas’ death? It is represented as an act of self-sacrifice. An oracle had declared that one king must die, that Spartan liberty perish not. And so Leonidas immolated himself on the altar of Patriotism.
This is a motive which would directly appeal to the piety of the historian. But some contemporary sceptic might well have asked why, under the circumstances, the hero of a deed of such splendid self-sacrifice should have thought it right to involve therein the Thespian and Theban contingents. That Leonidas’ act was one of the most glorious recorded in history there is no reason to doubt: the question is as to the motive.
How can the motive be judged of at the present day? Herodotus himself supplies the apparatus of criticism by his narrative of the incidents which occurred at Thermopylæ, which, when statements of motive are excluded, is in nearly every single detail capable of verification on the spot at the present day. The modern world possesses in it a sound basis for an induction of the causes which produced the events. The motives alleged here and in other parts of his history of the Persian War are little more than hypotheses for the verification or disproof of which the genuine honesty of the historian often supplies the means.
H. vii. 201.
Xerxes, on arriving at the Malian plain, pitched his camp in Trachinia, commanding the country as far as Trachis. The Persian encampment would seem to have stretched from the river Melas, or thereabouts, to the entrance of the west gate of the pass. The Greek encampment was in the middle gate, probably behind the first mound, either on the ridge beyond the valley, or on the stream débris over which the modern road passes. The numbers of the Greek army must have been about eight thousand, including the unstated numbers of the Opuntian Locrians. Of these, however, one thousand Phocians were set to guard the path of the Anopæa, more than three thousand feet above the gate. Leonidas was in command. H. vii. 204. Even before the battle brought him undying fame he seems to have been a man whose character excited great admiration. The three hundred men whom he took with him from Sparta were the royal bodyguard, picked men all, and fathers of families, so Herodotus says. The historian evidently implies that in so desperate a venture Leonidas considered it unadvisable to take with him men whose death would blot out their name from the land of the living. Is this detail quite consistent with the presumed intention to send reinforcements? It is possibly a graphic touch added by Spartan tradition after the event.
The Theban contingent was four hundred in number. Herodotus’ account of all relating to it is so full of disputable motives that it has been suggested that he followed a tradition which developed either under the influence of the bitterness of feeling called forth by the attitude of Thebes later on in the war, or of the violent enmity which sprang up between Athens and Thebes in after-time, and which was at its height at the time when Herodotus wrote. He represents Leonidas as taking the Thebans with him under a sort of compulsion, because he suspected them of a tendency to medize. There are several reasons urged for doubting this version of the story of the Theban participation in the campaign.
1. It is doubtful whether Leonidas with so small a force as he had with him could have coerced so powerful a State as Thebes.
Diod. xi. 4.
2. Ephoros says these Thebans were of the party opposed to medism.
3. If they were not, Xerxes committed a gross error of policy in branding their prisoners after Thermopylæ.
Plut. Herod. Mal. 31–33.
4. Plutarch, a Bœotian himself, emphatically denies the truth of Herodotus’ story.
Plutarch’s statements, in brief, are as follows:—
(a.) The fact that Thebes sent five hundred men to Tempe is proof that up to the time of Thermopylæ Thebes supported the Greek cause.
(b.) Leonidas had no suspicions against Thebes. He was treated with special honour there.
THE THEBAN CONTINGENT.
(c.) If these Thebans were traitors to the Greek cause, why did Leonidas retain so dangerous an element with him in the last fight at Thermopylæ?
(d.) The chief of the Theban contingent was not Leontiades, but Anaxandros.
The objections to the Herodotean version are by no means decisive in character.
1. As far as coercion is concerned, Thebes had to reckon not merely on Leonidas and his band, but on the whole Greek force at the Isthmus.
2. Ephoros’ story is of later date, but really contributes the strongest piece of evidence adduced against Herodotus.
3. The Theban prisoners had just been fighting against Xerxes in the pass. He was not likely under the circumstances to discriminate them as friends among foes.
4. Plutarch’s evidence, being that of a Bœotian, is liable to suspicion. His evidence, too, taken in detail, is open to criticism.
(a.) Plutarch’s argument is weak, because, as has been seen, the contagion of medism spread in the North for the most part after Tempe, and probably in consequence of the fiasco there.
(b.) There exists no means of judging of the truth or falsehood of his assertions with regard to Leonidas.
(c.) Leonidas’ action is comprehensible on the supposition that he wished to definitely embroil Thebes in the defence against the Persian.
(d.) It is quite possible that the Bœotian Plutarch has discovered a genuine mistake of Herodotus with regard to the name of the Theban commander.
Two theories are possible: either that these Thebans were taken as hostages for their fellow-countrymen’s behaviour; or that they joined the expedition with a patriotism which stood the test of the extremest danger. Perhaps the most telling piece of evidence against them may seem to be the smallness of their contingent when compared with that of the minor town of Thespiæ. But here again the explanation may be that they shared the evident distrust with which the Northern States regarded the Peloponnesian effort at Thermopylæ, and were ready to fulfil their share of the obligation whenever they saw Sparta willing to undertake hers.
The evidence is not of a kind which renders it possible at the present day to decide between the truth of the respective versions. The motives which Herodotus attributes to Leonidas and to the Thebans at this time may not bear the stamp of conclusive truth; but they convey, when examined by the side of the contrary evidence, a stronger impression of truth than of falsehood.
Xerxes’ first measure on taking up his encampment was to send a scout to examine the Greek position.118 He could not see the whole Greek force, because those within the wall were hidden by it.119
Part, however, of the Spartan force was outside the wall, the men being engaged in exercise and in combing their hair. Having ascertained their numbers, the scout returned to Xerxes with his report. His description of what was going on surprised the king, who appealed to the Spartan Demaratos for an explanation. The latter told him that it was the national custom of the Spartans to adorn themselves before facing the danger of death in battle, and warned him that he must expect a stubborn resistance. H. vii. 210. The king, it is said, did not credit this, and allowed four days to pass “expecting ever that they would run away.” Xerxes’ motive for the delay was probably somewhat different from that given by Herodotus. THE FIRST ATTACK. The king thought, no doubt, that his fleet would within a few days force the passage of the Euripus, and that, the position of the Greeks being thus turned, they would have to retreat, and would thus save him the inevitable losses which must result from an attempt to force a pass so strong.
On the fifth day his impatience got the better of him, and he began a fierce assault with his Median and Kissian troops. After the Persians, the Medes enjoyed the greatest reputation in the army. In spite of the disparity of numbers, it was an unequal contest. Numbers were indeed of little avail, the passage being very narrow,—only fifty feet in width—and the Greeks having either flank protected by the mountain and the sea. But it was in respect to actual arms that the disparity was greatest. The Greek hoplite, with his heavy defensive armour and longer spear, was far more than a match for the Mede, who practically lacked defensive armour, and whose weapons of offence were of an inferior character.
The battle lasted all day; H. vii. 211. for when it became clear that the Medes could effect nothing, Xerxes sent his picked Persian troops, the Immortals, to the assault. Even these signally failed to make an impression on the Greek defence.
The excellence of the Lacedæmonian drill and discipline seems to have been remarkable. They employed tactics which very few troops in the world could employ in a narrow space in face of immensely superior numbers:—an advance; then a pretended retreat, to draw the enemy on; and then once more a right-about-face to the attack. The object of this was, no doubt, to keep the enemy at close quarters. Xen. Anab. iii. 3, 9. The one thing they had to fear was that the lighter armed foe should confine himself to an attack with missiles, in which form of fighting they must have suffered severely, without being able to retaliate in adequate fashion.
The attack was repeated next day. The Persians hoped to win the pass by sheer weight of numbers, knowing that they could afford to lose ten men for every one of the enemy whom they placed hors de combat. But again the attack failed.
The king’s position at this time must have been very critical. Neither army nor fleet had forced a passage, nor had they been able to resume touch with one another. They maintained a communication, no doubt, by the coast road running along the north shore of the Malian gulf; but the transport of supplies to the army, whether by that route from the fleet, or from the Thessalian plain by the way of Thaumaki, must have been a work of such difficulty and magnitude that it is hardly possible to believe that it could have been adequately maintained.
The failure to reinforce the garrison at Thermopylæ was the most disastrous mistake which the Greeks made in the course of the war. Even with the ridiculously small force which was sent, the defence came very near being a success. Had an army only half the size of that which fought at Platæa been there, neither pass nor path could ever have been forced, and the fleet at Artemisium, or at least the Peloponnesian section of it, would have fought with a very different spirit to that which it actually displayed. Their stake at Thermopylæ was too small, and their stake at the Isthmus too great to render them aught but vacillating defenders of the channel. Had the stakes been reversed, had the safety of their compatriots at the pass been largely involved, the fleet would have been inspired with unanimous courage. And had it been so, the advance of the Persians, in spite of their superior numbers, might have been definitely checked. It is not probable, judging from the results of the fighting which did actually take place, that either side could have gained a decisive advantage over the other. Though the Greek fleet suffered severely in the final combat, the Persians were not successful in forcing the strait; and to them failure in both strait and pass would have meant failure of the expedition.
Thuc. i. 69.
Men said in Greece in after time that the Persian was the rock on which he himself made shipwreck. That expressed but half the truth. It was true in the sense that the success in the war was not owing to good management on the part of the Greeks. THE PATH OF THE ANOPÆA. It was not true in the sense that the Persian’s mistakes were the main factor in his failure. The main factor was conspicuously the superiority of the Greek weapons in close fighting, a form of combat which the Persian as the assailant could not avoid. It was a lesson which the European Greek took long in learning. Aristagoras the Ionian had pointed it out to Kleomenes when he visited him at Sparta in the first year of the fifth century. And yet it was not until the early years of the next century that the Greeks of Europe came to appreciate to the full the effectiveness of their national panoply as compared with that of the Persian. The incidents of the strange adventure of the 10,000 which Xenophon recorded at last convinced them of the real nature and magnitude of their strength when matched with the great Empire of the East.
By Malian treachery and Phocian cowardice Xerxes was saved from the desperate position in which he found himself after the failure of the two days’ assault on the pass.
The tale runs thus in Herodotus:—
H. vii. 213.
“When the king was now at a loss to know what to do in the circumstances in which he found himself, Epialtes, a Malian, came to speak with him, thinking he would get some great reward from the king, and told him of the path leading through the mountain to Thermopylæ.... H. vii. 215. Xerxes approved of Epialtes’ proposal, and being much pleased thereat, immediately despatched Hydarnes and those he commanded.”
H. vii. 211.
Herodotus says in an earlier chapter that these were the Immortals.
“He started from the camp about the time of the lighting of the lamps. Native Malians discovered this path, and, after doing so, led the Thessalians by it against the Phocians, at the time when the latter, after blocking the pass with a wall, were under cover from attack. Ever since that time the path has been put to an ill use by the Malians. The path is as follows: it begins from that part of the Asopos river which flows through the defile.”120
“The mountains here and the path are both called by the same name, Anopæa. This Anopæa extends along the ridge of the mountain, and debouches at the city of Alpenos, which is the first Locrian town as you come from Malis, and by the stone called Melampygos, and at the seats of the Kerkopes, where it is narrowest. Such is the nature of the path along which the Persians, after crossing the Asopos, marched the whole night long, having the mountains of Œta on their right, and those of Trachis on their left. Day was dawning when they arrived at the summit of the mountain. At this part of the mountain, as I have already shown, a thousand Phocian hoplites were on guard, protecting their own country, and watching the path. For the pass below was guarded by the troops I have mentioned; but the path through the mountains Phocian volunteers undertook to guard for Leonidas. H. vii. 218. It was not until the Persians reached the summit that the Phocians discovered their presence in the following way. Owing to the mountain being covered with oak forest, the Persian ascent had been unobserved. There was no wind, but inasmuch as considerable noise was inevitably made by the trampling of the feet upon the leaves, the Phocians proceeded to run up and put on their armour. The Persians came up immediately. When they saw men putting on their armour they were amazed, for, never expecting that any one would appear and oppose them, they had come upon an army. Hydarnes, then, fearing that the Phocians were Lacedæmonians, questioned Epialtes as to the nature of the force; and on hearing the truth, he drew up the Persians in fighting order. The Phocians, however, assailed by a thick shower of arrows, betook themselves in flight to the peak of the mountain, thinking at first that they were the main object of attack, and prepared to defend themselves to the death. Such was their intention; but the Persians with Epialtes and Hydarnes paid no regard to the Phocians, but proceeded to descend the mountain with all speed.”
Leake gives what is, in so far as it goes, a fairly accurate description of this path (“Northern Greece,” vol. ii.); but he does not say that he actually traversed it. I am inclined to think that his information was derived from the natives of old Drakospilia, which seems to have been in existence in his time. When at Thermopylæ in July–August, 1899, I was able to traverse the path from beginning to end. On the first day I had no difficulty in tracing that part of it which lies above the actual pass of Thermopylæ. I intended to follow it to its end that day; but, at a monastery on the hills above the plain west of the pass, we got upon a wrong track, leading straight down into the plain about two miles east of the Asopos ravine. On the next day I went up that ravine to try and discover a path, if any, leading eastwards from it. It took an hour and a quarter to pass through the ravine at a fairly fast walk. It is, as I have already mentioned, a magnificent chasm, with perpendicular sides ranging from seven hundred to nine hundred feet in height. Its width, never great, is in one place contracted to twelve feet. Just as we were about to issue upon the great upland valley of which I have before spoken, a small valley opened out on the left of the ravine, i.e. eastward, and up this a path led. I went up the path, which was a rough one and steep, for several miles, until I reached the new main road, high up on the mountain. On the next day I traced the path from that point to near the monastery of the Panagia, whence on the first day we had inadvertently diverged from it. For nine-tenths of the whole distance from the east end of Thermopylæ to the Asopos ravine, it is absolutely certain that this is the original path of the Anopæa, for the very good reason that it traverses the only line which can be traversed in that very difficult country. In the neighbourhood of the monastery the monks have caused new paths to be constructed, and it is therefore not possible to say with certainty which was the original line of the track. In mentioning distances, I can only speak approximately for the latter two-thirds of the road, as I could get but few compass bearings to points in my map, and these were all in the eastern third of the way. I do not think that I have exaggerated the distances given, as I have made allowances for the fact that in traversing an extremely rough track, a large part of which runs through thick forest, distances seem greater than they really are. The scenery throughout is most beautiful, finer, I think, than anything I have seen in Greece. As the track leads through a country inhabited, in so far as it is inhabited at all, by semi-civilized Vlach shepherds, it would be unadvisable to attempt to traverse it, at present, at any rate, save with a fairly large party.
I append a detailed description of the path.
Beginning at the mouth of the Asopos ravine, it goes through that chasm almost to its far extremity, a distance, I should say, of two and three-quarter or three miles. For a man or loaded mule the track is not difficult, and is still greatly used in spite of the making of the new road. The new road involves a terrific climb. The bottom of the ravine ascends but slowly; and it is possible to reach the Dorian plain from its southern extremity without attaining any high elevation.
After passing through this ravine, you begin to ascend a valley whose sides are dotted, if I remember rightly, by a scanty covering of small fir-trees. You ascend this valley in a general direction eastwards, until you emerge, after going from two to two and a half miles, on the new road, at a height of perhaps two thousand feet. Crossing that, you proceed through a more or less wooded country for some two miles, to the monastery of the Panagia, along a very rough track. The monastery is about two thousand to two thousand five hundred feet above the plain. From it a steep ascent begins through low, thick forest on the north side of the ridge of Œta, which at this point rises about one thousand feet above you on the right, i.e. on the south. The forest is largely composed of oak, but there are many fir-trees and some planes. The track is so narrow that you are obliged to walk in single file. About three miles from the monastery, when the height attained cannot be less than three thousand two hundred feet, the forest alters in character, and large fir-trees now predominate, which appear to the non-botanical eye to be what are called Scotch firs.
At one point at this part of the track you emerge on a rocky platform at the top of the rocks marked in my map as the Great Gable. The traveller through the pass can see them from the road, if he looks up the great ravine. They rise a little to the right of the line of the ravine, and are a prominent object against the sky horizon of the high range. THE STATION OF THE PHOCIANS. From this point the track leads southwards to turn the upper part of the chasm of the Great Ravine, at a point several miles from its exit near the hot springs. The view down that ravine, with a foreground of giant firs and plane-trees, the great flat plain of Malis in the middle distance, and the range of Othrys in the background, is of extraordinary magnificence. After descending into the ravine and ascending the far side of it, you arrive at the site of Palaia-Drakospilia, a deserted village. From here you ascend for a short distance through a primæval fir forest, to arrive at an open space on the ridge which runs back from the great hill above the hot springs at Thermopylæ. Half a mile away to the north, i.e. towards the summit above the pass, is an old φρούριον, which evidently guarded the path in former days. There can be little doubt that this is where the Phocians were stationed. It is at the true summit of the path, a height of certainly three thousand two hundred and probably of three thousand five hundred feet. It accords with the little Herodotus tells us of the scene of the surprise, save that the trees hereabouts are not oak, but firs. His mention of the oak-trees may, however, be taken to apply to the oak forest through which you pass before arriving at the Great Gable. From this point the path begins to descend. It is very narrow; often steep and rocky. It goes down an upland valley filled with dense primæval fir forest, between the ridge which rises above the pass, and the main ridge of Œta, which rises to a considerable height on the south, and is known by the name of Saromata. This continues for several miles,—I cannot say how many, but I should think not less than five; probably more, as it took us several hours to traverse the distance. This section of the track ends at Upper Drakospilia, a village visible from the road at Thermopylæ, and some one thousand five hundred feet above the plain. From this place there is at the present day a choice of roads down to the plain. The easier leads down to a point near the east gate of the pass, near the site which I believe to be that of Alpenoi. The other is a steep path descending to the plain at a point about half-way between the middle and east gates.
I reckon that the total distance from the Asopos ravine to the little town of Alpenoi cannot be much less than seventeen miles.
The account given of the seizure of the path is a perfectly comprehensible one. There is no question that, had the Phocians not been caught unprepared, the Persians could never have got through. Numbers would have been of little avail on a track that for the most part allows only the passage of one, or, at most, two men at a time. The fact that the defenders were, from the indications given in Herodotus’ account, caught on what is at the present day practically the only open ground after the monastery of the Panagia is passed, affords but little excuse for them. They had committed an enormous blunder in being taken unprepared; and this blunder was probably made greater by their having deposited their arms in the fort, which is not on the road, but half a mile away from it. Had they had their weapons at hand they could have fallen back on the thick forest to the east of the open space; and, had they done so, it is difficult to conceive how the Persians could possibly have forced a passage. The allegation in Herodotus that they allowed the enemy to pass under the misapprehension that they were themselves the object of attack is probably a mere cloke to a mistake in which cowardice played no small part—an excuse invented by their friends in after-time. H. vii. 217. The Persians seem to have arrived at this point while it was still dark, or at any rate, in the dimness of the dawn. They started about 7.30 in the evening, and must have reached this point before 4.30 next morning. That would give them nine hours in which to accomplish the twelve or thirteen miles from the mouth of the Asopos ravine. This is about the time which they might have been expected to take over a path of the character of that which they had traversed. At this rate of progression they would probably take three hours more at least to arrive at the point from which they would for the first time overlook the pass, the site of what is now Upper Drakospilia. But when they had arrived there, it would take much time for the long straggling column to come up; and it may well have been many hours before they were in a position to venture down the hill into the pass itself. Of the two paths which at the present day descend from Drakospilia to the road, it is most probable that only the easier one, which would lead them down to a point just outside the east gate, existed at that time. A FORLORN HOPE. The other seems to have been created by the needs of the modern Drakospilia for direct communication with Lamia and its district. It is very precipitous, very narrow, and easily capable of defence, whereas the other is not.
So far the tale of Thermopylæ is borne out in the most conspicuous way by the evidence. The remainder of the story, however, presents features which, though in accord with the purely topographical circumstances of the present day, raise problems of peculiar difficulty.
H. vii. 219.
The news that the Persians had discovered the existence of the path, and had despatched a body of men to seize it, was brought to the Greek camp by deserters during the night; its actual seizure seems to have been reported after dawn by scouts, who probably made their way down from the Phocian position by the precipitous mountain slopes east of the middle gate. The tale of what ensued is thus told by Herodotus:—
“On hearing this news, the Greeks consulted together; and their opinions were divided. Some were against deserting the position, others of the opposite view. After this they separated, and some went off, and, dispersing, went each to their several cities, while others prepared to remain where they were with Leonidas. There is another tale to the effect that Leonidas sent them away, in his anxiety to save their lives, telling them, however, that it did not stand with his honour and that of the Spartans present to leave the post they had originally come to guard. I myself am most inclined to think that Leonidas, when he saw that the allies were dispirited and unwilling to share the danger, ordered them to depart, but thought it ignoble to do so himself. For if he remained at his post, a great and glorious name awaited him, and the prosperity of Sparta would not be blotted out.”
H. vii. 220.
The explanation of the last words is given in the tale which Herodotus then proceeds to tell, to the effect that the Pythian oracle had announced to Sparta, quite at the beginning of the war, that either Sparta would be destroyed by the barbarians, or that its king would perish. Herodotus thinks that it was because Leonidas remembered this oracle, and wished to gain glory for the Spartans alone, that he sent the allies away. He is more inclined to believe this than that the allies, owing to a quarrel with him, went after so undisciplined a fashion.
He regards as evidence in favour of this view the fact that Leonidas ordered the seer Megistios, an Acarnanian, who had the previous night warned them of the coming disaster, to depart; which he refused to do.
H. vii. 222.
“The allies, then, who were dismissed, went away and obeyed Leonidas, save the Thespians and Thebans, who alone remained with the Lacedæmonians. Of these the Thebans stayed against their will, and not wishing to do so, for Leonidas kept them in the guise of hostages. The Thespians showed every will to remain, refusing to leave Leonidas and those with him and depart. So they stayed with them and shared their death. Their leader was Demophilos, the son of Diadromos.”
This is a very remarkable incident in the narrative of an episode which is itself undeniably one of the most remarkable in history. It contains but little of that reliable element in Herodotus,—fact; it contains much of the unreliable element,—motive. The facts are plain, and there is no reason to doubt them. The Spartans, Thebans, and Thespians remained and took part in the final struggle; the rest of the allies departed. Who were the latter? By reference to the list of those present in the pass it will be found that they were Tegeans, Mantineans, other Arcadians, Corinthians, Phliasians, Mykenæans Paus. ii. 16, 5; x. 20, 2. (though Pausanias mentions a tradition to the effect that they remained), and the Opuntian Locrians. The calculation can only be an approximate one, but, excluding the Phocians, who were up on the path, and the Opuntian Locrians, whose number we do not know, 3500 remained, and 2800 departed.121 This division is a somewhat significant one.
The central motive in Herodotus’ story is undoubtedly the reported oracle delivered to Sparta “quite early in the war.” It is unfortunate, from the historical point of view, that the tradition assailed the historian on his weakest side. He was incurable in this respect. DIFFICULTIES IN THE NARRATIVE. Even the most glaring cases of oracular dishonesty, to which he could not shut his eyes, such as the tampering of the Alkmæonidæ with the oracle at Delphi in order to bring about the expulsion of the Peisistratidæ, never killed his faith in oracular responses in general. But in cases where, as in the present instance, an oracle came to point a moral and adorn a tale, he completely surrendered his critical faculty. The whole of Herodotus’ narrative hangs by this oracle. He rejects the story that half the army deserted the defence of its own free will, in order, in accordance with his prime motive, to produce a story to the effect that Leonidas dismissed them, knowing that he himself had to make the great act of self-abnegation, and not wishing to involve them therein. And yet Leonidas keeps the Thebans with him, and the Thespians remain of their own free will; and, apparently, he allows them to do so.
If this account be true, what was the position of those three thousand five hundred Greeks who remained to face the Persian attack on front and rear? It is not said that they sacrificed themselves to give their friends time to escape, nor is there the slightest cause to suppose that there was any reason whatever for their doing so. The scouts from the top of the mountain must have been down in the camp at least two hours before the Persians could arrive at the site of Upper Drakospilia; and, even arrived there, the latter could not possibly have descended into the pass before their numbers had gathered. It must have been late in the morning before they came down, and probably past midday before they began to assail the rear of the Greek position. Those who escaped had only a mile and a half to go before they were out of the pass at the east gate; and, once outside, they were in an easy country, over which they could travel rapidly.
Taking the story as it stands, there is no possible strategic motive for remaining to defend the middle gate; there is rather every reason for not doing so. And the men who remained there must have been perfectly aware that by remaining they merely sacrificed their own lives without really contributing anything to the defence of their fatherland. The intense sense of discipline among the Spartans may, in so far as they are concerned, of itself account for an act otherwise inexplicable. But what of the Thebans? Were they likely to allow themselves to be forced to face certain death in a case where none save a sentimental result could be attained, without displaying a feeling such as would make them most undesirable participants in the defence? And the Thespians? They must have amounted to a very large proportion of the total available fighting force of their little town. Were they likely to sacrifice themselves, as has been suggested, in the hope that if the Greek cause prospered, they might become the head of the Bœotian confederacy? How could they hope to attain such a result by deliberately placing seven hundred of their citizens in a position whose only issue was the gate of death? What measure of gratitude could they expect from a people who were responsible for their great betrayal at Thermopylæ?
It is plain that there must have been some reasonable and strong motive which induced the Thespians to remain, and made it possible for the Thebans to be retained with Leonidas. The reason given by Herodotus is inadequate to the last degree. Some other must have existed. It is probable that, as is often the case under such circumstances, part of the true reason is present in some form in the statement of the imagined motives. Two tales existed, so Herodotus says: one that the allies went away; the other that they were sent away. Possibly each of them contained a fraction of the truth. What was the situation on that eventful morning? The news of the Persians having passed the summit came not long after dawn. Leonidas must have known, if he had, as must be supposed, taken any measures to get knowledge of the path, that the Persians could not be in force at Upper Drakospilia, to use the modern name, for some hours after the news reached him; and three thousand men in the tangled forest which begins just outside the village might stop the whole Persian army. He would thus be able to maintain the pass, if he could hold his end of it. DEPARTURE OF HALF THE GREEK ARMY. Is it not possible, then, that he divided his force into what, as has been seen, was, roughly speaking, two halves, and “sent away” the one half to seize the forest path before the Persians had time to debouch from it in any strength? On the question of time it may be said that from the middle gate to Upper Drakospilia is an hour and twenty minutes by the direct but more difficult path, and about twenty minutes longer by the easier path which comes down near the east gate.
It seems an essential factor in the situation that Leonidas believed in and was able to persuade the Thespians and, it may be, the Thebans too, of the possibility of still maintaining the pass. Had the division sent to meet Hydarnes done its duty with energy, it is highly probable, judging from the history of the previous fighting, that the event would have justified his confidence. What happened to that division of two thousand eight hundred men will never be known. It may be that for some reason it arrived too late, and found the Persians in too strong a force at Drakospilia. It may be that it never attempted to carry out the orders, and retreated straightway through the east gate, and so to Elatæa. Probably the latter was the case. Had there been a reasonable excuse for their conduct it would have survived in history. But was there no excuse for their vanishing from the scene? They were face to face with a fearful danger, greater even than the danger which had faced them for a week past, great though that had been. They must have been suffering under a bitter sense of desertion, left to their fate, as it were, by those who sent them from the Isthmus. And who but Sparta was responsible for this? “Had they not done enough?” they may have argued. Were they to blame if, deserted themselves, they deserted others? And who were those “others?” Spartans, men of the race which had wished to sacrifice them; Thebans of suspicious loyalty; Thespians, who were—well, not Peloponnesians. And so they could go off with half a conscience, if not a whole one. Such reasoning would not do them honour; but men, if dishonourably treated themselves, are but too apt, in their bitter resentment, to lose the finer sense of honour.
The story of their shame but half-survived; Herodotus caught some echo of it. Those who lived to tell it had most interest in concealing it. The dead men at Thermopylæ could tell no tales; and the Thebans were too much discredited to obtain credit. There was a conspiracy of silence. The inaction of the Spartan authorities had borne terrible fruit,—far more terrible, it may be believed, than the authorities ever expected it would bear. Leonidas had been deserted and had died with his brave band. It was no good blaming the allies who deserted him, even had it been possible under the circumstances to establish the fact of their desertion. These, too, could have retaliated with a tale which would have brought discredit, or even infamy, on those who were really responsible for the disaster.
Thus it was possible to conceal the truth, and the field was open for invention. It was not difficult to supply a motive for a courage so grand as that which Leonidas had displayed,—the motive of self-sacrifice. That was absolutely the only motive which could account to the world for the extraordinary circumstances of his death; and it had the merit of being true.
He was represented as a victim self-immolated on the altar of his country’s weal. The oracle had said that the king must die for his people. And he did die, but a victim to the dishonour of a country which left him and the brave men with him to their fate.
After the departure of the Peloponnesian allies, the last scene in the tragedy began. H. vii. 223. Herodotus describes it in the simple but beautiful language of a master-artist who seeks to do justice to the grandest story of his time. Xerxes after making libation at sunrise, waited until the time when the Agora is wont to fill, and then began the attack; such being the instructions of Epialtes.122
“For the descent from the mountain is quicker and the distance much shorter, than the way round the hills.”123
THE LAST FIGHT.
“So the barbarians under Xerxes advanced; and the Greeks with Leonidas, as though going to meet their death, came out much more into the wider part of the pass than they had done hitherto”124
“Up to this time they had held their station within the wall, and from this had gone out to fight where the path was narrowest.”125
“On this occasion, however, the battle took place outside the narrows, and numbers of the Persians fell. For the commanders standing behind the companies with whips in their hands lashed on every man, continually urging them forward. Many of them fell into the sea and were drowned, and a still larger number were trampled to death; but no one heeded the dying. For as the Greeks knew the fate which awaited them at the hands of those who were making the circuit of the mountain, they displayed with recklessness and fury the most desperate valour against the barbarians.”126
“By that time the spears of most of them were broken, but they slaughtered the Persians with their swords. In this melée fell Leonidas, the bravest of men, and other famous Spartans with him, whose names I found out, for they deserved record; in fact, I discovered the names of all the three hundred.”127
The losses of the Persians were not confined to the rank and file of the army. Many of their prominent men fell, among others two sons of Darius.
“Over the body of Leonidas there was a fierce struggle between the Lacedæmonians and Persians, until the Greeks by their valour rescued it, and drove back the enemy four times. This battle lasted until those with Epialtes came up. When the Greeks heard of their arrival, they changed their plan of defence. For they retreated to the narrow part of the pass-way, and, retiring even behind the cross wall, came and took up their position all in a body, save the Thebans, on the hillock. This hillock is in the pass where now stands the stone lion set up in honour of Leonidas.”128
“In this position, while such as had swords, still defended themselves with them, and even with their hands and teeth, they were buried by the barbarians beneath showers of missiles; some assailed them in front and pulled down the wall; some went round and attacked them on all sides.”
From the tales which Herodotus tells of the personal incidents in connection with the battle, there is but little to be gathered which can be said to contribute to the history of the time.
H. vii. 229.
In the tale of the two men Eurytos and Aristodemos there is a purely incidental detail which is, in its way, of significance. They had been sent away from the camp by Leonidas, and lay at Alpenoi, “in the last stage of ophthalmia.”
THE TOMB OF THE FALLEN.
At the present day the reed-cutters in the marsh at the west gate suffer from this disease.
H. vii. 233.
The Theban contingent did not take any part in the last battle on the mound. When the Greeks retreated from the broader part of the pass, the Thebans remained behind and surrendered. It is significant to note that this surrender was made at the time when the Greeks were made aware that the division of Hydarnes was going to attack them in the rear.
It was probably years afterwards, when Herodotus visited the scene of the battle, that he made a copy of the inscription which was engraved on the monument raised on the mound to the memory of the Peloponnesian Greeks who had fallen. Its words summarized, no doubt, the impression which the battle had made on the Greek world as a whole.
Their memory is recorded in the lines:—
“Here, with three hundred myriads, once fought
Four thousand men of Peloponnese.”
The next lines quoted by Herodotus refer to the Lacedæmonians alone:—
“Stranger, unto the Lacedæmonians tell
That here we lie obedient to their laws.”
The epitaph of the seer Megistios followed, written by his friend the poet Simonides.
It is remarkable that in the lines recorded by Herodotus there is no mention of the Thespians or other allies who came not from Peloponnese. It seems, however, from what Strabo says, Strabo, 425. that five memorial pillars were erected on the spot, one of which recorded the memory of the Locrians who perished; Anthol. Pal. Append. 94. and an epigram of the Megarian Philiades on the fallen Thespians is also extant, which was very possibly that engraved on one of the stelæ on the mound.
To contemporary Greeks, and to Greeks of after time, Thermopylæ seemed, if not the most important, the most impressive page in the history of the race. It was regarded as an act of pure self-sacrifice, whose splendour was such as to place it outside the range of any logical discussion as to its practical strategic value. The sole motive which was attributed to the gallant band who fought the last fight was a stern, unyielding sense of duty, such as might serve as a pattern to all after-time. There can be no doubt that this popular view had an enormous moral effect. It gave the Greek a higher ideal of his national character at his best; and in the history of any nation any sacrifice which can have that effect is but a small price to pay, even if the purely practical result of the sacrifice be small.
Before attempting any estimate of the real nature of the sacrifice, it will be well to realize how it happened that the Greek world generally came to adopt what was, in certain important respects, a mistaken view of it. Herodotus’ narrative shows clearly the cause of this phenomenon. The circumstances of the disaster were such that the Spartan authorities were left in a position to impress their own explanation on the facts that came to light. Herodotus gives what was, no doubt, the authorized version. Its origin is plain. It is from beginning to end drawn from Lacedæmonian sources. The Spartan is not merely the protagonist in the tragedy; he is practically the only actor who appears on the stage in the final act, except the unfortunate Theban, the villain of the piece. The whole story was calculated to elevate the idea which the Greek world held of the Spartan character. In one sense it had its effect. It is impossible to doubt that from that day forward the Spartans were credited with an heroic courage which knew no yielding. How strong, how thorough, how lasting was this conviction in the Greek mind is shown by the tremendous impression produced more than fifty years later by the surrender of the Spartans on Sphakteria, the desperate nature of the position in which they found themselves failing to save the shock to their national reputation. But is it not strange that the Thespians did not share the reputation? In certain respects the part which they played at Thermopylæ had been even more glorious than that of Leonidas and his men. THE LAST HOURS AT THERMOPYLÆ. The seven hundred citizens by whom they were represented constituted to them an infinitely greater stake in the perilous game than the three hundred Spartans and their attendant Helots did to Sparta.
But in one important respect the official Spartan version failed conspicuously to have the effect which it was doubtless intended to convey. The Greek did not at this or any other time allow his admiration of the national character of the Spartan to warp his judgment with regard to the Spartan government. He was perfectly well aware that the personal bravery of the Spartans in the field stood in strong contrast to the pusillanimity of the policy of their rulers. If he had any illusions on the subject at the beginning of the war, the events of the war itself were strikingly calculated to disillusion him. There can be no possible question as to the personal bravery of the Spartans in every action, whether on land or sea, in so far as pure fighting qualities are concerned; there can be no question as to the greatness of the Spartan contribution to the final result; but Sparta got little credit for the result in after-time.
It is impossible to close this chapter without making some attempt to form an estimate of the mental attitude with which Leonidas faced the situation in which he found himself involved on the morning of the final struggle in the pass. It is necessary, in examining the popular story, to remember that Leonidas’ conduct is not represented as a sacrifice to the stern duty imposed by Spartan discipline, but to one of the alternatives put forward on the authority of an oracular response. There was possibly a tinge of fatalism about the character of the man which lent a colouring to the tale of his death current at the time. He died, so it was said, to save his country, not from actual, but from predicted disaster. If this was the case, it is quite comprehensible that his Spartan bodyguard should be involved in the fate of their master. To them Spartan law and custom made the consequences of desertion worse than death. But, leaving the Theban contingent out of the question, what, under the circumstances, could possibly have induced the Thespians to involve themselves in the fate of one who was sacrificing himself to a prediction which did not concern them? What possible feeling, sentimental or practical, could have prompted them to share the fate of a self-doomed man? That was the weak spot in the Spartan version of Thermopylæ. No attempt was made to explain it. The hypothesis which lay at the root of the story made it inexplicable. Nor does it seem to have struck those who invented this story, that under the theory put forward by them, Leonidas, without any motive whatsoever, deliberately allowed 700 devoted men of a little Bœotian city to share a doom which was his and his alone.
Leonidas died a nobler death than that. It was with the grander courage of reason that he faced the terrible odds against him on that last day of his life.
The fighting of the previous days had shown him the strength of the position which he held at the middle gate. It was a desperate risk; but there was just the possibility that by detaching half his force to stop the encircling body of the foe in the difficult path which they were travelling, he might still be able to maintain the pass, and if he did maintain it he would do his country an inestimable service. It was thus with half his little army that he deliberately chose to face an enemy one hundred times his own numerical strength. He took a risk of whose magnitude he must have been well aware, to win, in case of success, a prize of incalculable greatness. He cannot have deluded himself, he may be pardoned if he deluded his allies—as to the overwhelming nature of the chances against them. He might have retreated. There is an exaggerated tendency to assume that Spartan discipline at this time forbade a commander, under any circumstances, to withdraw from a position once taken up. Artemisium and, above all, Platæa, prove this not to have been the case. He was under no such compulsion. What he did dare to do was to face odds such as men had never faced before and never have faced since, because by so doing he had a possible prospect of conferring a service of enormous value on his country. He did this, too, in spite of that bitter feeling of his countrymen’s desertion which must have been present in his mind. Nor was the nobility of his death marred by a useless sacrifice of the lives of devoted men. ORIGIN OF HERODOTUS’ VERSION. Great as was the risk, the greatness of the end to be attained in case of success justified his associating others with himself in the desperate venture.
I have laid aside this account of Thermopylæ for some months, in order to consider whether any other more reasonable explanation of the circumstances might be drawn from Herodotus’ narrative of facts. I do not, however, see any possibility of arriving at any other conclusion from them, when taken in combination with the topographical evidence, which happens in this case to be very clear. There was certainly a possibility of defending the pass, even after Hydarnes had forced the path. It may have been remote; but it existed all the same.
There were, however, too many people interested in concealing the truth of what happened. The Spartan authorities had good reason for so doing, and the very fact of two wholly different traditions being in existence in Herodotus’ day with regard to the conduct of those who did not remain with Leonidas until the end, shows that the latter were able to exercise a concealment which was in all probability much to their interest to exercise. A not very unreasonable excuse for their conduct might well be that the circumstances on that last day were absolutely desperate, owing to the omission of Sparta to send reinforcements. It would be an ugly tale for the Lacedæmonian Government, and all the more so as the only person who might have denied it with authority had died in the battle.