Phlius

Listen first. Wind moves through rows of vines, and somewhere a tractor hums across the valley floor. The ground under your feet is dry, pale soil, scattered with broken pottery and loose stone. Low hills close the horizon on every side. It feels like farmland, and mostly it is. But you are standing in the territory of an ancient Greek city, one that philosophers, poets and generals once knew by name.

This is Phlius, an old city-state of the northeastern Peloponnese, the large peninsula that forms southern mainland Greece. It sat in a small, enclosed valley, watered by a river the ancients called the Asopos. The valley was fertile and well defended by hills. That made Phlius modest in size but stubborn in spirit. Today the town of Nemea lies close by, and the countryside around you belongs to one of Greece's best-known wine regions.

That wine is not a modern accident. Ancient writers already praised the wine of Phlius. So when you look at the vineyards stretching across the valley, you are looking at a very old tradition. Many local vines today are Agiorgitiko, a red grape linked closely with Nemea. The plants, the soil and the summer heat connect the present landscape to the city that once stood here.

Now turn your attention to the hill. Phlius had an acropolis, a fortified high point, like most Greek cities. The Greek traveller Pausanias visited in the second century after Christ and wrote a guide to Greece. He described a sanctuary on this acropolis dedicated to a goddess of youth. The Phliasians called her Ganymeda, while elsewhere in Greece she was known as Hebe.

Here is the first surprise. According to Pausanias, this sanctuary offered asylum. People who fled here as suppliants could find protection. He also wrote that prisoners who had been set free came to the sanctuary and hung their chains on the trees of the sacred grove. Imagine that grove — branches hung with iron fetters, each one a small story of release. It is one of the most unusual images any ancient source gives us.

Pausanias noted something else. The goddess at this sanctuary had no statue. He said the Phliasians kept the reason secret, though they told a sacred story about it. Many temples in Greece were built around a famous image of a god. At Phlius, the centre of worship was an empty space and a quiet grove. That absence was part of the meaning.

The second surprise involves a word you probably use often. An ancient tradition says that Pythagoras, the philosopher and mathematician, once spoke with Leon, the ruler of Phlius. Leon asked him what he was. Pythagoras answered that he was a philosopher, a lover of wisdom. Later writers, including the Roman orator Cicero, repeated this tale. It is a legend rather than a proven fact, but this small valley may hold a claim to the birth of the word.

Phlius has another link with philosophy, and this one comes from a famous text. Plato's dialogue called the Phaedo describes the last day of Socrates. In the dialogue, a man named Phaedo tells the story to a listener called Echecrates. Echecrates came from Phlius. The city seems to have had a circle of Pythagorean thinkers, and Plato chose one of them to hear the account of Socrates' death.

Theatre also has a Phlius connection. The poet Pratinas came from this city and worked in the late sixth and early fifth centuries before Christ. Ancient sources credit him with an important role in the satyr play. This was a comic, rowdy drama with a chorus dressed as satyrs, wild half-human followers of the wine god Dionysus. A wine valley producing a poet of Dionysus — that seems fitting.

Politics at Phlius were often difficult. The city lay between larger powers, including Argos and Corinth, and it was usually an ally of Sparta. In the fourth century before Christ, internal conflict brought a Spartan army to its walls, and the city endured a long siege. The Athenian historian Xenophon wrote about Phlius with real admiration. He praised the citizens for their loyalty and courage, even when they faced hunger and danger.

What survives today is far less than what the ancient writers saw. Archaeologists have explored the site at several points over the past century, and they have uncovered remains of the ancient city. One of the most interesting features is a theatre built into a slope. Work here has continued over the years, so what you can see may depend on recent excavation and conservation. Look for curved lines of stone that follow the shape of the hillside.

As you walk, notice how the site lies within the land, not above it. There is no single great temple on the horizon. Instead, there are foundations, scattered blocks and fragments of pottery among fields and olive trees. This is typical of many smaller Greek cities. Their life was local, agricultural and close to the earth. The soil you walk on holds traces of it.

The light here changes the place. In the early morning, the hills look soft and blue. By midday, the stones turn bright and the heat rises from the ground. In the late afternoon, long shadows show the shape of walls and terraces more clearly. If you can, stay long enough to see the valley at more than one hour. The ruins can look very different.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment and look across the valley once more. Picture a grove on the hill, hung with chains. Picture a ruler asking a stranger what he was, and receiving a new word in reply. Then look at the vines again, the dust on your shoes and the road back toward Nemea. Phlius never became a great power. But its stories travelled much farther than its armies.