Leonidas fastened the cloak about his shoulders, readying himself for the journey out of the palace. He was stalling for precious moments to allow his child to gain some strength; if it grew stronger, the man on the cliffs would allow it to live. He looked over at the babe.
He had put it on their bed and for a moment he watched as it writhed beneath the wool shawl. Its arms and legs were moving, as if the babe was thrashing against the restraint. He shook his head; Androcles had told him that, so soon after birth, the babe had no true control over its body. It would wiggle and writhe constantly until it gained a better sense of itself.
"Leonidas, do not try to prevent what is to come."
He turned to find Androcles in the doorway to the royal bedchamber. Cadmus and attending servants were behind him, further back into the corridor. Leonidas said nothing, for he knew that his father was right; nothing he could do would prevent what was to come. If he tried anything mad, such as refusing to take the babe to be inspected, the child would be taken from him and he would face untold punishments- and Gorgo? There was no telling what would befall upon her.
Leonidas nodded to his father and gathered the babe in his arms. He was thankful that it had stopped crying; the sound was grating on his ears. Androcles stepped aside to make room for the king as he stepped out of the royal chambers.
It was time.
The night was still.
The moon hung low in the sky, bright and round. Leonidas was thankful for the silver shine that lighted his way as he walked the long path to the cliffs. He paused to look behind him and saw Sparta far back down the hill. The palace held light while the city surrounding was dark. The fields of wheat waved in the wind while he simply stood in the center of the road. Gorgo was within the palace, waiting for him. She was in pain, exhausted, but Leonidas knew her well. She would not sleep until he returned to her either with or without their child.
Leonidas looked down to the tiny bundle he'd been carrying with all care. It occurred to him that in all the hectic excitement, he had no idea whether Gorgo had born him the son he had longed for. He carefully loosened the shawl, just long enough so that he could be sure. He smiled at the proof of an heir.
"My son," he relished the words, so long waited to be spoken out loud.
Leonidas tucked the wool shawl back into place as a quick, cool wind blew over them. He didn't want his son to be cold.
The king turned back to the road, moving quickly. He wanted it to be over, one way or the other. The dread of what was to come had abated slightly. His son was not mishapen; his eyes were bright and clear, he had all fingers and toes, his voice was healthy and loud. There had been nothing inferior to be seen, as far as Leonidas could see- but this was his child, his son. He was biased, more inclined to declare his son as perhaps the strongest, most intelligent and noble of all Spartan infants.
I must go present my son to the man who waits upon the cliffs, and I will return him to Gorgo...
He moved quickly, treading the same path that his father had, and his father before him. It was a path tread not only by those in the ruling house, but by generations of advisors and peasants; no Spartan was spared inspection at birth.
The knowledge that he was not, and never had been alone in this private dread did not ease his mind. Leonidas strode faster as the path took a turn toward the distant mountains, where the inspector awaited all Spartans.
The walk took several hours, as it was difficult to navigate the way once the packed flat footpath gave way to a gravel trail through a small woods and then a steep, rocky climb up to the cliff where the man awaited him. Leonidas was thankful that his son had not began to cry again; his night had been difficult enough.
Finally, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, lighting the way once more.
The king had reached the site where his son was to be weighed and measured against their oldest standards and traditions. He saw the hovel shelter and called the old man forth for the prince.
A mound that Leonidas had assumed to be a pile of discarded, moth-eaten cloth rose up at his call and shuffled forward. "What child is this?" the stooped man rasped.
"The prince of all Sparta, born hours ago." Leonidas said.
The man nodded and turned his head to look up at him. "You are the king, then?"
Leonidas nodded.
"I never remember the commonfolk, but a prince is always a special occasion. I do not know you, my king. I haven't seen a prince in...it must be over thirty years. There were three princes, which are you?"
"I am Leonidas, king of Sparta. The third son of Androcles. My brothers did not survive their trials in the agoge." He said plainly. He did not wish to give in to nostalgia; he had never met his brothers, they had been entered into their trials when he had been born. Unlike the dimming memories of his mother, Leonidas had no memory at all of the two dead sons of Sparta.
Despite his dread for his wife and son, Leonidas wanted to press forward and return to Sparta.
The old man reached forward to take the bundle from him, leaving Leonidas with a pounding heart and a barely contained, silent rage at the man.
My son is strong, he will live, he will live, if you dare to hurt him it will be you to die on the jagged rocks!
For the second time that night, Leonidas was helpless, rooted to the spot and forced to watch as the child that his queen had carried, kept safe and born for him, was manhandled. He was distantly reminded of having had to watch as Gorgo had herself gone through a rough inspection at the hands of the Ephors.
Naturally, his son began to cry in anger as his shawl was stripped away, leaving him naked in the night's chill.
As it was, Leonidas could only watch as the gnarled old man, this assuming stranger, inspected his screaming son as he would a body of livestock. The man tested the mobility of the boy's fingers, wrists, elbows and shoulders before placing a careful hand over his skull to test its shape and then turning the babe onto his stomach so that his spine could be felt for any imperfection.
Leonidas felt the ground tilt beneath his feet as the man suddenly raised his son high over his head.
No! Do not throw him!
Panicked, the king started forward, ready to charge at the inspector, to kill him if it would save his son...but the man carefully lowered the boy and then turned to Leonidas. "The gods favor this boy, king of Sparta." He said simply, handing the babe back to him.
Leonidas wrapped him again in the wool shawl and tucked him against his chest to stave off the chill and to muffle the boy's screaming. He moved as quickly as he was able to while carrying such a prize, eager to get back onto the paved path that would lead him, triumphanly, back to Sparta.
Once he cleared the woods, Leonidas looked into the face of his child. His relief was obvious in his stance, and he walked quickly so that he might share this joy with Gorgo.
"My son, my son. All of Sparta is yours."