Had the Persian fleet reached Aphetæ without misfortune, they would have found the Eubœan strait evacuated by the Greek fleet and undefended, so that they would have come immediately into communication with the land army, and would have acted upon the rear of Leonidas and his division. But the storm completely altered this prospect, and revived the spirits of the Greek fleet at Chalkis. It was communicated to them by their scouts on the high lands of Eubœa, who even sent them word that the entire Persian fleet was destroyed: upon which, having returned thanks and offered libations to Poseidon the Saviour, the Greeks returned back as speedily as they could to Artemisium. To their surprise, however, they saw the Persian fleet, though reduced in number, still exhibiting a formidable total and appearance at the opposite station of Aphetæ. The last fifteen ships of that fleet, having been so greatly crippled by the storm as to linger behind the rest, mistook the Greek ships for their own comrades, fell into the midst of them, and were all captured. Sandôkês, sub-satrap of the Æolic Kymê,—Aridôlis, despot of Alabanda in Karia,—and Penthylus, despot of Paphos in Cyprus,—the leaders of this squadron, were sent prisoners to the isthmus of Corinth, after having been questioned respecting the enemy: the latter of these three had brought to Xerxes a contingent of twelve ships, out of which eleven had foundered in the storm, while the last was now taken with himself aboard.[159]
Meanwhile Xerxes, encamped within sight of Thermopylæ, suffered four days to pass without making any attack: a probable reason may be found in the extreme peril of his fleet, reported to have been utterly destroyed by the storm: but Herodotus assigns a different cause. Xerxes could not believe, according to him, that the Greeks at Thermopylæ, few as they were in number, had any serious intention to resist: he had heard in his march that a handful of Spartans and other Greeks, under an Herakleid leader, had taken post there, but he treated the news with scorn: and when a horseman,—whom he sent to reconnoitre them, and who approached near enough to survey their position, without exciting any attention among them by his presence,—brought back to him a description of the pass, the wall of defence, and the apparent number of the division, he was yet more astonished and puzzled. It happened too, that at the moment when this horseman rode up, the Spartans were in the advanced guard, outside of the wall: some were engaged in gymnastic exercises, others in combing their long hair, and none of them heeded the approach of the hostile spy. Xerxes next sent for the Spartan king, Demaratus, to ask what he was to think of such madness; upon which the latter reminded him of their former conversation at Doriskus, again assuring him that the Spartans in the pass would resist to the death, in spite of the smallness of their number; and adding, that it was their custom, in moments of special danger, to comb their hair with peculiar care. In spite of this assurance from Demaratus, and of the pass not only occupied, but in itself so narrow and impracticable, before his eyes, Xerxes still persisted in believing that the Greeks did not intend to resist, and that they would disperse of their own accord. He delayed the attack for four days: on the fifth he became wroth at the impudence and recklessness of the petty garrison before him, and sent against them the Median and Kissian divisions, with orders to seize them and bring them as prisoners into his presence.[160]
Though we read thus in Herodotus, it is hardly possible to believe that we are reading historical reality: we rather find laid out before us a picture of human self-conceit in its most exaggerated form, ripe for the stroke of the jealous gods, and destined, like the interview between Crœsus and Solon, to point and enforce that moral which was ever present to the mind of the historian; whose religious and poetical imagination, even unconsciously to himself, surrounds the naked facts of history with accompaniments of speech and motive which neither Homer nor Æschylus would have deemed unsuitable. The whole proceedings of Xerxes, and the immensity of host which he summoned, show that he calculated on an energetic resistance; and though the numbers of Leonidas, compared with the Persians, were insignificant, they could hardly have looked insignificant in the position which they then occupied,—an entrance little wider than a single carriage-road, with a cross wall, a prolonged space somewhat widened, and then another equally narrow exit, behind it. We are informed by Diodorus[161] that the Lokrians, when they first sent earth and water to the Persian monarch, engaged at the same time to seize the pass of Thermopylæ on his behalf, and were only prevented from doing so by the unexpected arrival of Leonidas; nor is it unlikely that the Thessalians, now the chief guides of Xerxes,[162] together with Alexander of Macedon, would try the same means of frightening away the garrison of Thermopylæ, as had already been so successful in causing the evacuation of Tempê. An interval of two or three days might be well bestowed for the purpose of leaving to such intrigues a fair chance of success: the fleet, meanwhile, would be arrived at Aphetæ after the dangers of the storm: we may thus venture to read the conduct of Xerxes in a manner somewhat less childish than it is depicted by Herodotus.
The Medes, whom Xerxes first ordered to the attack, animated as well by the recollection of their ancient Asiatic supremacy as by the desire of avenging the defeat of Marathon,[163] manifested great personal bravery. The position was one in which bows and arrows were of little avail: a close combat hand to hand was indispensable, and in this the Greeks had every advantage of organization as well as armor. Short spears, light wicker shields, and tunics, in the assailants, were an imperfect match for the long spears, heavy and spreading shields, steady ranks,[164] and practised fighting of the defenders. Yet the bravest men of the Persian army pressed on from behind, and having nothing but numbers in their favor, maintained long this unequal combat, with great slaughter to themselves and little loss to the Greeks. Though constantly repulsed, the attack was as constantly renewed, for two successive days: the Greek troops were sufficiently numerous to relieve each other when fatigued, since the space was so narrow that few could contend at once; and even the Immortals, or ten thousand choice Persian guards, and the other choice troops of the army, when sent to the attack on the second day, were driven back with the same disgrace and the same slaughter as the rest. Xerxes surveyed this humiliating repulse from a lofty throne expressly provided for him: “thrice (says the historian, with Homeric vivacity) did he spring from his throne, in agony for his army.”[165]
At the end of two days’ fighting no impression had been made, the pass appeared impracticable, and the defence not less triumphant than courageous,—when a Malian, named Ephialtês, revealed to Xerxes the existence of the unfrequented mountain-path. This at least was the man singled out by the general voice of Greece as the betrayer of the fatal secret: after the final repulse of the Persians, he fled his country for a time, and a reward was proclaimed by the Amphiktyonic assembly for his head; having returned to his country too soon, he was slain by a private enemy, whom the Lacedæmonians honored as a patriot.[166] There were, however, other Greeks who were also affirmed to have earned the favor of Xerxes by the same valuable information; and very probably there may have been more than one informant,—indeed, the Thessalians, at that time his guides, can hardly have been ignorant of it. So little had the path been thought of, however, that no one in the Persian army knew it to be already occupied by the Phocians. At nightfall, Hydarnês with a detachment of Persians was detached along the gorge of the river Asôpus, ascended the path of Anopæa, through the woody region between the mountains occupied by the Œtæans and those possessed by the Trachinians, and found himself at daybreak near the summit, within sight of the Phocian guard of one thousand men. In the stillness of daybreak, the noise of his army trampling through the wood[167] aroused the defenders; but the surprise was mutual, and Hydarnês in alarm asked his guide whether these men also were Lacedæmonians. Having ascertained the negative, he began the attack, and overwhelmed the Phocians with a shower of arrows, so as to force them to abandon the path and seek their own safety on a higher point of the mountain. Anxious only for their own safety, they became unmindful of the inestimable opening which they were placed to guard. Had the full numerical strength of the Greeks been at Thermopylæ, instead of staying behind for the festivals, they might have planted such a force on the mountain-path as would have rendered it not less impregnable than the pass beneath.
Hydarnês, not troubling himself to pursue the Phocians, followed the descending portion of the mountain-path, shorter than the ascending, and arrived in the rear of Thermopylæ not long after midday.[168] But before he had yet completed his descent, the fatal truth had already been made known to Leonidas, that the enemy were closing in upon him behind. Scouts on the hills, and deserters from the Persian camp, especially a Kymæan[169] named Tyrastiadas, had both come in with the news: and even if such informants had been wanting, the prophet Megistias, descended from the legendary seer Melampus, read the approach of death in the gloomy aspect of the morning sacrifices. It was evident that Thermopylæ could be no longer defended; but there was ample time for the defenders to retire, and the detachment of Leonidas were divided in opinion on the subject. The greater number of them were inclined to abandon a position now become untenable, and to reserve themselves for future occasions on which they might effectively contribute to repel the invader. Nor is it to be doubted that such was the natural impulse, both of brave soldiers and of prudent officers, under the circumstances. But to Leonidas the idea of retreat was intolerable. His own personal honor, together with that of his Spartan companions and of Sparta herself,[170] forbade him to think of yielding to the enemy the pass which he had been sent to defend. The laws of his country required him to conquer or die in the post assigned to him, whatever might be the superiority of number on the part of the enemy:[171] moreover, we are told that the Delphian oracle had declared that either Sparta itself, or a king of Sparta, must fall a victim to the Persian arms. Had he retired, he could hardly have escaped that voice of reproach which, in Greece especially, always burst upon the general who failed: while his voluntary devotion and death would not only silence every whisper of calumny, but exalt him to the pinnacle of glory both as a man and as a king, and set an example of chivalrous patriotism at the moment when the Greek world most needed the lesson.
The three hundred Spartans under Leonidas were found fully equal to this act of generous and devoted self-sacrifice. Perhaps he would have wished to inspire the same sentiment to the whole detachment: but when he found them indisposed, he at once ordered them to retire, thus avoiding all unseemly reluctance and dissension:[172] the same order was also given to the prophet Megistias, who however refused to obey it and stayed, though he sent away his only son.[173] None of the contingents remained with Leonidas except the Thespian and the Theban. The former, under their general Demophilus, volunteered to share the fate of the Spartans, and displayed even more than Spartan heroism, since they were not under that species of moral constraint which arises from the necessity of acting up to a preëstablished fame and superiority. But retreat with them presented no prospect better than the mere preservation of life, either in slavery or in exile and misery; since Thespiæ was in Bœotia, sure to be overrun by the invaders;[174] while the Peloponnesian contingents had behind them the isthmus of Corinth, which they doubtless hoped still to be able to defend. With respect to the Theban contingent, we are much perplexed; for Herodotus tells us that they were detained by Leonidas against their will as hostages, that they took as little part as possible in the subsequent battle, and surrendered themselves prisoners to Xerxes as soon as they could. Diodorus says that the Thespians alone remained with the Spartans; and Pausanias, though he mentions the eighty Mykenæans as having stayed along with the Thespians (which is probably incorrect), says nothing about the Thebans.[175] All things considered, it seems probable that the Thebans remained, but remained by their own offer,—being citizens of the anti-Persian party, as Diodorus represents them to have been, or perhaps because it may have been hardly less dangerous for them to retire with the Peloponnesians, than to remain, suspected as they were of medism: but when the moment of actual crisis arrived, their courage not standing so firm as that of the Spartans and Thespians, they endeavored to save their lives by taking credit for medism, and pretending to have been forcibly detained by Leonidas.
The devoted band thus left with Leonidas at Thermopylæ consisted of the three hundred Spartans, with a certain number of Helots attending them, together with seven hundred Thespians and apparently four hundred Thebans. If there had been before any Lacedæmonians, not Spartans, present, they must have retired with the other Peloponnesians. By previous concert with the guide, Ephialtês, Xerxes delayed his attack upon them until near noon, when the troops under Hydarnês might soon be expected in the rear. On this last day, however, Leonidas, knowing that all which remained was to sell the lives of his detachment dearly, did not confine himself to the defensive,[176] but advanced into the wider space outside of the pass; becoming the aggressor and driving before him the foremost of the Persian host, many of whom perished as well by the spears of the Greeks as in the neighboring sea and morass, and even trodden down by their own numbers. It required all the efforts of the Persian officers, assisted by threats and the plentiful use of the whip, to force their men on to the fight. The Greeks fought with reckless bravery and desperation against this superior host, until at length their spears were broken, and they had no weapon left except their swords. It was at this juncture that Leonidas himself was slain, and around his body the battle became fiercer than ever: the Persians exhausted all their efforts to possess themselves of it, but were repulsed by the Greeks four several times, with the loss of many of their chiefs, especially two brothers of Xerxes. Fatigued, exhausted, diminished in number, and deprived of their most effective weapons, the little band of defenders retired, with the body of their chief, into the narrow strait behind the cross wall, where they sat all together on a hillock, exposed to the attack of the main Persian army on one side, and of the detachment of Hydarnês, which had now completed its march, on the other. They were thus surrounded, overwhelmed with missiles, and slain to a man; not losing courage even to the last, but defending themselves with their remaining daggers, with their unarmed hands, and even with their mouths.[177]
Thus perished Leonidas with his heroic comrades,—three hundred Spartans and seven hundred Thespians. Amidst such equal heroism, it seemed difficult to single out any individual as distinguished: nevertheless, Herodotus mentions the Spartans Diênekês, Alpheus, and Maron,—and the Thespian Dithyrambus,—as standing preëminent. The reply ascribed to the first became renowned.[178] “The Persian host (he was informed) is so prodigious that their arrows conceal the sun.” “So much the better (he answered), we shall then fight them in the shade.” Herodotus had asked and learned the name of every individual among this memorable three hundred, and even six hundred years afterwards, Pausanias could still read the names engraved on a column at Sparta.[179] One alone among them—Aristodêmus—returned home, having taken no part in the combat. He, together with Eurytus, another soldier, had been absent from the detachment on leave, and both were lying at Alpêni, suffering from a severe complaint in the eyes. Eurytus, apprized that the fatal hour of the detachment was come, determined not to survive it, asked for his armor, and desired his attendant Helot to lead him to his place in the ranks; where he fell gallantly fighting, while the Helot departed and survived. Aristodêmus did not imitate this devotion of his sick comrade: overpowered with physical suffering, he was carried to Sparta—but he returned only to scorn and infamy among his fellow-citizens.[180] He was denounced as “the coward Aristodêmus;” no one would speak or communicate with him, or even grant him a light for his fire.[181] After a year of such bitter disgrace, he was at length enabled to retrieve his honor at the battle of Platæa, where he was slain, after surpassing all his comrades in heroic and even reckless valor.
Amidst the last moments of this gallant band, we turn with repugnance to the desertion and surrender of the Thebans. They are said to have taken part in the final battle, though only to save appearances and under the pressure of necessity: but when the Spartans and Thespians, exhausted and disarmed, retreated to die upon the little hillock within the pass, the Thebans then separated themselves, approached the enemy with outstretched hands, and entreated quarter. They now loudly proclaimed that they were friends and subjects of the Great King, and had come to Thermopylæ against their own consent; all which was confirmed by the Thessalians in the Persian army. Though some few were slain before this proceeding was understood by the Persians, the rest were admitted to quarter; not without the signal disgrace, however, of being branded with the regal mark as untrustworthy slaves,—an indignity to which their commander, Leontiadês was compelled to submit along with the rest. Such is the narrative which Herodotus recounts, without any expression of mistrust or even of doubt: Plutarch emphatically contradicts it, and even cites a Bœotian author,[182] who affirms that Anaxarchus, not Leontiadês, was commander of the Thebans at Thermopylæ. Without calling in question the equivocal conduct and surrender of this Theban detachment, we may reasonably dismiss the story of this ignominious branding, as an invention of that strong anti-Theban feeling which prevailed in Greece after the repulse of Xerxes.