The Goat of All Time

Thaddeus just shook his head as he watched the herd of wild goats while mentally reviewing the recruitment scroll he’d signed five years ago.

Nowhere in that document had it mentioned anything about goats. Combat? Yes. Glory? Absolutely. Facing down Persian armies? That was literally on line three. But goats? This was definitely not in the brochure AND definitely NOT what he signed up for.

On Mount Olympus, Ares nearly choked on his ambrosia as he watched the scene unfold below.

“Sister! SISTER! Come quickly! One of my Spartans is about to learn a valuable lesson about assuming all opponents walk on two legs!”

Athena appeared, drawn by her brother’s cackling.

“Isn’t that the one who prayed to me for wisdom last week?” She tilted her head, watching Thaddeus face down thirty or so wild goats blocking the narrow pass.

“Though I don’t recall him specifying wisdom about goat diplomacy.”

What neither deity had noticed was that King Leonidas and the advance guard had already arrived, hanging back around the bend.

The king held up his fist for the column to halt, his face a masterpiece of practiced stoicism as he watched his advance scout assess the situation.

Below, Thaddeus drew his sword with magnificent flourish—a move he’d practiced in front of his shield’s reflection for weeks.

The nearest goat—a grizzled old male with horns like gnarled olive branches—looked at the blade, yawned, and went back to eating thorny bushes with smug satisfaction.

“Should we… assist him, my king?” one of his captains whispered.

Leonidas held up a hand for silence, his beard twitching suspiciously at the corners.

“A true leader,” he managed with remarkable steadiness, “knows when to let his men… develop their own tactical solutions.”

“By the gods,” Thaddeus muttered, “they didn’t cover this in training.”

He cleared his throat.

“In the name of Sparta and King Leonidas, I command you to disperse!”

“His form is actually quite good,” Athena observed, as Thaddeus struck a heroic pose.

“Shame about his audience’s complete lack of appreciation for classical military bearing.”

“Watch this,” Ares wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“He’s about to try psychological warfare on a goat.”

Indeed, Thaddeus had begun an intimidating war dance, complete with shield-banging and spear-thrusting.

The goats responded by starting a small riot of head-butting contests among themselves, completely ignoring his performance.

Behind the rocks, Leonidas pressed his lips together so hard they nearly disappeared into his beard, turning what would have been a very un-kingly snort into a commanding cough.

“Perhaps,” he told his men, his voice only slightly strained, “we should document these… innovative techniques.”

A single tear of suppressed laughter rolled down his cheek, which he quickly blamed on the mountain wind.

“Fine,” Thaddeus growled, straightening his helmet.

“We’ll try the direct approach.”

He charged forward, shield raised, hoping to part the herd like the seas before Poseidon.

“Oh, sweet father Zeus, he’s not really going to—” Athena started.

“HE IS!”

Ares bounced on his throne like an excited child.

The old male goat simply lowered its head and met Thaddeus’s charge head-on. The impact rang through his helmet like Zeus’ thunder after a particularly wild party.

As he staggered backward, seeing several small Apollos circling his head, Athena sighed and ensured his wobbling legs didn’t send him off the cliff edge.

“For tactical purposes,” Leonidas announced to his troops, voice quivering with suppressed mirth, “we should allow this encounter to reach its natural conclusion.”

He gripped his spear tighter, using it to keep himself upright as his shoulders shook with what he insisted were “tactical breathing exercises.”

“You know,” Athena told her brother, “we really should help him.”

“Oh, we are helping!” Ares wiped away tears of laughter.

“We’re helping him learn valuable lessons about hubris and proper threat assessment!”

Below, Thaddeus had moved on to attempted bribery. He held out his precious lunch of olives and cheese, speaking in what he hoped was a goat-friendly voice.

“Look at these delicious treats! Surely they’re better than… whatever that rock-like thing is you’re eating?”

The old goat considered him for a moment, then headbutted the offerings right out of his hand.

The cheese went rolling down the mountain, followed by several excited young goats who had decided this was a brilliant new game.

Leonidas turned to his captain and declared with perfect solemnity, “Note this in our military records: Wild goats… apparently… prefer… tactical mobility… over… sustenance.” Each pause was punctuated by a suspicious cough.

In a final desperate gambit, Thaddeus attempted to sing to the goats, having heard somewhere that music could soothe wild beasts.

His rendition of an old Spartan battle hymn, however, seemed to have the opposite effect. The goats began bleating along, creating a cacophony that echoed through the mountains.

This was the final straw for Leonidas. His laughter, when it came, was so sudden and powerful that several birds took flight.

He quickly tried to disguise it as a series of battle commands, shouting random numbers and formations between gasps for air.

“By position… FOUR… *wheeze* maintain… SEVEN… tactical formation… OH GODS, THE GOATS ARE HARMONIZING!”

“My king?” Thaddeus called out hopefully from his new position in a thorny bush.

“How long have you been—”

“Long enough,” Leonidas managed, wiping tears from his eyes, “to witness the most… unique military engagement of my career.”

On Olympus, Ares was literally rolling on his throne.

“That goat has better timing than most of my war generals!” he declared between fits of laughter.

“And better strategic positioning,” Athena added, hiding her own smile as she subtly redirected another rock that would have given Thaddeus an un-heroic concussion.

“Perhaps,” Leonidas suggested once he could breathe normally again, “we should take the other pass.”

“The other pass?” Thaddeus squeaked, still picking thorns from his cape.

“Yes, about half a mile back. It’s slightly longer but,” Leonidas glanced at the goats, who had now formed an even more impenetrable wall of fur and attitude, “significantly less… musically inclined.”

That evening, as the army made camp, the soldiers composed increasingly elaborate songs about “The Great Battle of Goat Pass.”

By midnight, there were no fewer than twelve different versions of “The Ballad of the Goat Brigade,” three epic poems about “Thaddeus the Goat-Whisperer,” and the crowd favorite, “That’s Not How I Herd It.”

On Olympus, Athena turned to her still-chuckling brother.

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m commissioning a divine tapestry! Moving threads that show every tumble in eternal repeat!” Ares wiped away fresh tears.

“Oh, and I’ve blessed that entire goat bloodline to guard that pass for the next thousand years.”

“You didn’t.”

“I absolutely did. That old goat had better tactical sense than most of my warriors!”

Back at the camp, Thaddeus stood his guard duty—specifically watching for aggressive mountain wildlife—when he spotted the old goat watching him from a ridge above, its beard blowing majestically in the wind like a tiny, four-legged general surveying his domain.

Leonidas appeared beside him, having finally mastered his composure.

“You know, Thaddeus, sometimes the greatest warriors are those who know when to… reconsider their approach.”

“Is that your way of saying I should stick to naval battles, my king?”

“Let’s just say that in my experience, wild goats rarely attack ships.” A suspicious cough.

“Though you might want to avoid port cities. I hear the dock goats can be particularly aggressive.”

Thaddeus raised his water skin in salute to the old goat.

“Well played, you woolly tyrant. Well played.”

The goat bleated once, almost smugly, before disappearing into the gathering dusk.

And if anyone noticed that Thaddeus gave a wide berth to every goat they encountered for the rest of the campaign—or that Leonidas had to excuse himself whenever someone bleated near the advance scout—well, they were kind enough not to mention it.

Much.

Years later, Thaddeus would become known as one of Sparta’s finest warriors—who just happened to develop a sudden intense interest in sea warfare.

Though sometimes, on quiet nights, travelers through that mountain pass would swear they could hear the distant sound of divine laughter mixing with triumphant bleating on the wind.

And somewhere in the craggy mountains, a certain goat, the most blessed animal in all of Greece, was passing down to its descendants the sacred duty of keeping Spartan egos in check, one head-butt at a time.