“He seems a bright lad.”
Two women entered. One of them was Diotima.
“How did I do?” Euterpe asked breathlessly. She took off her mask to reveal that the goddess Athena was in fact my mother-in-law.
Sophocles turned to me. “A woman?” he said, shocked. “You allowed a woman to act?”
“She did a good job,” I pointed out. “She fooled everyone.”
Sophocles considered that. “It’s true,” he admitted. “Even I was taken in for a moment.” He said to Euterpe, “I must say, madam, that had you been a man you might have made a fine actor.”
Euterpe glowed with the praise. She said, “Did you really like it? I can also do a fake orgasm-”
“Thank you, Mother,” said Diotima firmly.
“Congratulations, young man,” Aeschylus said to me. “You’ve joined the ranks of theater people.”
“I didn’t do a thing,” I said. “I only arranged for everyone else to play their parts.”
“Yes,” Aeschylus clapped me on the back. “That’s what a choregos does, you know. By the way, who wrote those lines?”
“A fellow named Euripides.”
Aeschylus looked blank. “Who?”
“A wannabe,” Sophocles explained. “You might have seen him around. He’s a little weird. You know the type.”
“Ah,” Aeschylus said, and nodded. Apparently he did know the type.
“What happens to Theokritos?” Petros asked.
“Trial for impiety,” Aeschylus said. “Followed by death. He can’t avoid it now. Not with every man, woman, and child in Athens present at the confession of the winemakers.”
“What of them?”
“They’ll get off,” I said. “Nobody wants to run out of wine. The vintners did it to kill the competition. But Theokritos led them into it because he’s a religious fanatic.” I turned a hard look to Maia. “That’s not a good idea around here.”
Maia looked solemn and said, “I understand you, Nicolaos. Sabazios will no longer attempt to convert the Athenians.”
SCENE 40
I survived the wrath of the archons better than I hoped. Which was to say, they didn’t actually draw their daggers and knife me where I stood. But if words had edges then I would have died a thousand times. Pericles admitted to me later, as the people brought down the decorations and prepared to resume normal, post-Dionysia life, that it had been easy to placate the official visitors.
“They enjoyed your show,” Pericles told me. “Several of them asked if we could do the same again next year.”
That left Pericles happy. He was satisfied as long as nothing disturbed his grand strategy. What he had in mind I didn’t know, but whatever it was, the psyche of the Great Dionysia hadn’t interrupted his plans.
There were only two last points to see to. I went to talk with Lakon.
I found him in his courtyard, where he quietly celebrated a triumph. Not of the theater, but of his personal survival. Lakon invited me to sit and offered me wine. I accepted both and got to the point.
“Lakon, you’re not a murderer, but you’re guilty of the crime of fraud. You’ve lived off the name of the real Lakon for decades, and never given his family a thing in return.”
He sipped his wine and said, “I could hardly do that, could I?” He leaned back in his dining couch. It was clear he felt comfortable now that the crisis was over.
I said, “I didn’t reveal your secret to the others, when I accused Theokritos.”
“I will be forever grateful, believe me.” Lakon sounded sincere. I believed him.
“There’s to be no official trial for you, Lakon, so I must be your judge,” I said. “My judgment is this: that there is restitution to be made. I sentence you to play the part of Lakon to his mother. That poor old lady is in a terrible state. Her mind is gone. When she sees her son returned, she’ll be overjoyed. You will make her last days restful. You will be the most dutiful son a mother ever had.”
“I see.” Lakon toyed with his wine cup. “You know, I’m not the monster you think I am.”
“Prove it.”
“I will.”
“And another thing. There’s a girl there named Lysine. She will inherit the family’s farm.”
“Fine. I don’t want it.”
“You will treat her like a cherished sister. You will spend whatever it costs to fix up the place. You will give her slaves to work the farm. If she wants to marry, you will dower her. You will scrupulously check over her choice of husband like a brother should.”
He held up his hands in defeat. “I’ve got the idea. You’ll have no cause for complaint.”
I had better not. Or Lakon the Actor would be exposed as a fraud to his admiring fans. I hadn’t voiced the threat, but I didn’t need to with Lakon.
Lakon’s house lay not far from Diotima’s. It was only natural that I should stop by, to see how the Phrygians were getting on.
The house was in pristine perfect condition. The Hand of Sabazios was returned to its place in the courtyard. The beer vat out back had disappeared.
The Phrygians treated me like an honored guest. They installed me on a fine couch-I decided not to ask where it had come from-and they brought me wine and food of the highest quality. Petros sat beside me and we talked as we ate.
I said to Petros, “After that performance you’ll be able to win more roles.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit it into my schedule,” he said. “We have more work than we can cope with.”
“You do?” I said, confused.
“After the funeral of Romanos we attracted much attention,” said Petros. “We put on a show that was tasteful and elegant, much better than the usual hysterics that our customers demand. We showed Athens how a funeral should be done. Next day, we had a couple of men at our door-your door, rather, Diotima’s house-”
“I understand.”
“It seems people liked what they saw. They wanted advice on how to stage funerals for their own relatives. Of course, we charged them for our expertise.”
“Of course.”
“We’re very good at burying people. Every day we have more customers lined up outside your house. They want us to manage the funerals of their parents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters.”
Which meant Diotima’s house was being filled every day with people in a state of ritual pollution. The neighbors were going to love me for this.
“We’ve upgraded from being mere professional mourners,” Petros went on. “We think of it as burial consultancy. People come to us for all their funerary needs. We arrange the jars for the ashes-I’ve done a deal with some potters in Ceramicus-we can get some excellent alabaster. We supply the mourners and build the pyre and sweep up the mess afterward. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the show.”
“I’ll keep your services in mind. Are your rates affordable?”
“Oh, we’d bury you for free!”
“You’re very kind.”
“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us,” Petros said. “If it hadn’t been for you, we might already be on our way back to Phrygia. I can’t help but feel, now that we’re making money, that we should be paying you rent. Would the going rate suit you?”
“I accept,” I said at once.
There’s a bright side to everything.
GLOSSARY
Aeschylus
First of the three great tragic playwrights of the ancient world. The other two were Sophocles and Euripides. Aeschylus wrote the oldest known play to survive to this day, The Persians. For that reason he’s considered the founder of modern theater.
Agora
The marketplace. Every city and town in Athens has an agora.
Amphitheater
The meaning hasn’t changed in three thousand years.