Pythax said, “It’s not that big, Diotima. There’s enough to feed one family, but not two.”
Sophroniscus nodded. It was the only time the two men had agreed on anything. “Such arrangements never work,” he said. “It always leads to fighting and court cases at harvest time.”
Pythax said, “I got nothing against your boy, Sophroniscus, but I got to say you’re overrating him. What would you ask for if you didn’t know my girl was an heiress? Nothing like what you’re demanding from me, I’ll bet. The house on its own is more than you’d get from any other father.”
Pythax had a point. An average dowry between two artisan families might run to a year’s wages, say, four hundred or five hundred drachmae. I had no idea what it cost to buy a house, but it must surely be many times that.
“We must acknowledge the obvious fact that the girl’s family is not an asset,” Father said.
I suppressed a groan. I’d expected Father would raise this, but hoped he wouldn’t. In Athens, a marriage is as much a union of families as a union of two young people. The wife’s family is expected to bring to the party prestige and advantage.
“You can’t say that,” Pythax protested. “The girl’s dad was a great statesman.”
“Forgive me, Pythax, I would not raise the subject except that it’s an essential point, but I must point out the girl’s mother was a hetaera.”
Pythax controlled his temper most admirably. “Not anymore.”
“Granted, but it’s the family history that people remember. The girl was born illegitimate-”
“Not any longer; they made her legitimate so she could inherit.”
“Granted again.”
“And you’re in no position to complain, Sophroniscus. If your boy marries my girl, he’ll become the heir.”
“That’s why all the property must come to him.”
There was no point in going on. The meeting broke on inability to agree about the farm. I knew Father’s need for money. I knew he couldn’t accept less. All Pythax had to do was say yes, and Diotima and I would be married. I was so frustrated I wanted to scream. Why wouldn’t Pythax release what was Diotima’s?
Sophroniscus and Pythax agreed to consider their positions and talk again-back in Athens after the Olympics.
I left the tent in a daze. Diotima followed, and I think she suppressed a sob. I held her tight, and didn’t give a curse what any passing man thought. She said in my ear, “We came so close, Nico. So close.”
Over Diotima’s shoulder I watched Pythax’s back retreat, an angry and insulted man. He stamped down the muddy path that was lined with burning torches, lit so that the Olympic party could continue all night.
“Pythax!” I called.
He stopped and turned. I said to Diotima, “Wait for me here,” then ran to Pythax.
We stood together in the mud. I said, “Pythax, I’m sorry about what happened in there.”
“So am I, little boy,” he said sadly. “I’m gonna do the best for my girl, and Diotima wants you. Gods know why. There’s not much meat on you.”
“Thanks a lot, Pythax.”
“Well, look at yourself, lad. You look like you ain’t got a muscle in your body.” He grabbed my upper arm and pinched it. I winced. “You’re way too skinny to be my son-in-law. You better put on some meat, or I’ll be embarrassed to be seen with you at the gymnasium.”
Pythax gloried in the gymnasium as few men did. When he was a slave it had been forbidden to him. Now, he expressed his citizenship by frequenting the place as often as he could.
“But I gotta be honest, little boy. If your father don’t change his mind, it ain’t gonna happen.”
“My father is unreasonable,” I said bitterly.
Pythax sighed. “No, little boy, he ain’t. Your dad’s doing exactly what he ought to, and he’s got right on his side. Diotima inherited the house and the farm from her dad; she’s got every right to take it with her when she marries. I know that.”
“Then … er …”
“Why won’t I release it?” Pythax was shamefaced. “It’s like this, lad. When I was a slave, I didn’t need to worry about where I would sleep or what I would eat, or how I would pay for it. Right?”
“Sure.”
“Then I became a free man, and a citizen. Free men don’t get nothing for free. And I got a house now, and a wife.”
“Oh.” Suddenly I realized what the problem for Pythax must be.
“I don’t know how to make money,” Pythax said. “Never had to. That farm Diotima inherited from her dad, it’s the only income I got.”
Diotima’s mother had very expensive tastes. She was used to the best, and Pythax was too besotted to deny her.
“Don’t tell anyone, all right? It’d destroy me if men knew I couldn’t support my own family. They’d say it was because I used to be a slave. They’d say I wasn’t a real citizen.”
I knew what a big admission this was for Pythax. For a man of his pride, for what he’d achieved and how he’d risen, it must have been painful beyond words.
“I understand, Pythax. Keep the farm. I don’t need it.”
“Yes, you do. Your dad’s right about that, too. But I ain’t got no choice. I tell you, nobody better get in my way today, or-”
“Yaah!”
“Yaah!”
Two Heracles imitators in lion skins jumped in front of us and swung their clubs.
Pythax grabbed their necks, smashed their heads together, and tossed their unconscious bodies to the side of the path.
“Or I might get angry,” he finished and strode off to the Olympics, a desperately unhappy citizen.
The aborted marriage negotiation left me very depressed. It would require godlike powers of persuasion to reconcile everyone’s differences. Maybe Pericles could have talked his way through, as he had so many times with the people of Athens, as he had with the judges to get Timo back in the Games, but Pericles would never involve himself in our domestic dispute.
If only I possessed the honeyed tongue of Pericles. But Pericles had told me when we first met that I had a poor voice. Even the great Pindar only yesterday had derided my speech, and he should know, because he was a professional.
Pindar!
My rhetoric might be poor, but my investigation skills were top-notch. I tracked Pindar down at an extended late night dinner party beside the sacred altar, which was already decked out in flowers for the festivities to come the next morning. I knew I could rely on Pindar being wherever the biggest audience was to be found.
I said, “Pindar, when last we spoke, you said you could teach me tricks of flattery. Did you mean it?”
“Perhaps.” He sounded evasive in the face of my enthusiasm. I hopped from one foot to the other.
“Would you teach me? You see, I have a problem.” I explained the situation with Diotima and my father and Pythax. I didn’t explain it well; I came to a confused halt.
Pindar buried his chin in his chest and thought. “I see. Affairs of the heart, a family in dispute, yes, this is the stuff of poetry. It lacks only a ten-year-long war to reach Homeric proportions, or perhaps a murder in the family. I don’t suppose you have a close relative that you’re willing to sacrifice?”
Socrates was a temptation, but … “Sorry, I’ll have to disappoint you there.”
“A pity. Nevertheless, that only affects the aesthetics, not the solution, which is simplicity itself.”
“It is?” I blinked. Could the answer to my problems be so easy? “Tell me what to do!”
“Not you. Me. I will write a praise song in your honor.”
I laughed. “That’s impossible, Pindar. I’ve done nothing that qualifies for a song.” Praise songs are always in honor of war heroes and sports victors.
“Not so. You’re a contestant in these Olympics, are you not? I distinctly heard the Chief Judge take the oath from you. When you catch this killer, then you, Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus, will be an Olympic victor.”
It hit me like a fist. Pindar was right; I could win at the Olympics!
“Dear Gods, Pindar, you’re a genius!”
“Yes, I know. When your father and prospective father-in-law hear your name sung in praise before the assembled Hellenes, all your difficulties will vanish in their pride of being the father of an Olympic victor, whose song is sung by the greatest poet since Homer,” he said modestly.