I bore the shield of Polystratos the Joker at every muster. He was an army leader ten times and so I stood ten times in review with him.
A big man has a big shield. The men would see me, a little man holding up an enormous shield, and smile, and struggle to contain their laughter.
A gregarious master is exhausting. I let my exasperation show. I was fighting to hold up that great shield all the time, and I let it show. It made the men smile.
Polystratos would ignore my agony. He would meet each band leader to shake hands and fasten his friendships with them. They all knew Polystratos and trusted him. My master was accounted ten times by the dikasteria and they never found an obol missing. He was an honest man to a fault.
Such an honorable and noble man could never let his shield touch the ground, while I, being servant to such an honorable and noble man, could never dishonor him by setting the shield down for an instant.
“Tuck it under your chin,” Polystratos instructed me every time we held a muster. “So that your beard covers the rim. Look fierce.”
He removed his tall helmet and cinched it tight to my head. Now I was a truly ridiculous sight.
Then Polystratos quoted a dead Spartan poet, since those are the best Spartan poets. It think the name of this poet was Turdeus, or something like that? Anyway.
Polystratos recited: “So let each man bite his lip with his teeth and abide firm-set astride upon the ground.” And I did.
He looked at me and laughed from deep in his loins, somewhere. “Very good,” Polystratos said. “Now hold that pose all day. A simple job.”
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Osborne Ink to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.