"But there ought to be ..." began Demokritos.
"Besides," continued Kritias, "it is logical that we Hellenes, who alone of the peoples of the world combine valor with intelligence, should rule the stupid northerners and the cowardly southerners. However, I will concede that in an individual case, like that of our Tartessian friend, the seizing of a person seems an undeserved hardship. But what is to be done?"
Bulnes said, "First, he is in jail on bail of five mnai, which I do not have."
Demokritos and Kritias looked at one another. The former said, "I am sorry, but when I planned this trip to Athens, I did not allow for such an unexpected expense. However, it is otherwise with you, O Kritias."
"We do not after all know these Tartessians very well."
"Oh, I think we can trust Bouleus. He stands to gain more from his lecture course than by letting his friend jump bail."
"Fair enough," said Kritias. "If you will remind me when you appear for the lecture tomorrow, Bouleus, the money shall be given you."
Bulnes said, "Thanks you, my dear friends. However, while I dislike exceedingly to seem ungrateful, my poor colleague am still in the House with a fetter on his leg, and there he will stay until bailed. You have not the sum with you, have you?"
"My dear man," said Kritias, "I do not carry the family patrimony on my back as an invitation to . every footpad in Athens. And as I do not wish to leave my exercise here, you will have to wait till tomorrow."
"I see," said Bulnes. "Perhaps you could advise me what to do next, as I am not familiar with your laws?"
Kritias said, "Your best chance, I should say, would be to persuade the complainant to withdraw his complaint. Said you he was Euripides the poet?"
"Yes. Where is he to be found?"
He has a house in the Peiraieus, but most of his time he spends on Salamis. The man is said to be a worse recluse that Timon. Rejoice!" And Kritias strolled off, singing:
The sun had sunk low when Bulnes knocked on the door of the house of Euripides in Peiraieus. It had taken him over an hour to walk down from Athens, and another half-hour to locate the house by incessant questioning, for most streets had no names, and house numbers had not even been thought of. He had put aside the temptation to wander down to the waterfront to look at the boats and ships, for, as a yachting enthusiast, he was much more interested in these objects than in many-columned Greek temples.
Bulnes resolved, if he ever got out of this alive, to spend a month on the Dagmar II just drifting and never walking more than five steps at a time.
If he continued to dwell in Periklean Athens, perhaps he could someday procure a horse — or no, that would not do. A burro or a mule would more likely be within his means. Moreover, never having ridden an animal of any sort, he did not care, in a stirrupless age, to begin his riding career quite so far from the ground as the back of a horse.
He also worried about Flin, who would have kittens if he did not get a progress report. However, Bulnes could not spend half his time trotting back to the Oikema. Perhaps, as Kritias in his crude way had implied, a night in the calabozo would do the little man good.
The spy hole opened. "No, the master is not in."
"When do you expect him?"
"I do not know. Who are you?"
"Bouleus of Tartessos."
"What do you want?"
"I should like to discuss the regrettable incident of this morning at the Dionysia."
"You mean when the barbarian tried to kidnap the mistress?"
"Yes," said Bouleus.
"You will have to come back later."
Bulnes said, "Look, I have just walked down from Athens. May I at least come in to rest for a few minutes?"
"No, I cannot admit anybody in the master's absence. Go away!"
Bulnes was about to stagger off when he heard voices raised in argument. Then the same slave's face appeared again at the hole. "The mistress says you may come in."
Que esta? thought Bulnes. Much as he wanted a place to rest, people who invaded one of these quasi-Oriental harems in the absence of the sheikh were likely to regret it. On the other hand, so tired and footsore was he that if the Devil had thrown open the door to Hell and asked him in, he would have taken him up on it.
The mistress of the house awaited him in the andronitis. Bulnes looked hard at her as he came forward. It was Thalia, all right, perfectly recognizable despite her long chiton and the silver tiara on her glossy-black hair — a woman in her mid-thirties, still attractive in a lush, full-blown way. Although he had not disliked Flin's wife, back in England, he had never taken much to her, either. She was quite intelligent, but a garrulous and gossippy female, and definitely the dominating half of the couple. However, a childish personality like that of Wiyem Flin no doubt needed domination.
He looked her in the eye for any spark of recognition, but saw none. Instead, she gave him the hand wave, with the back of the hand outwards, that here took the place of a handshake. She said, "Rejoice, good Bouleus. Euripides will be home in an hour or so, and meanwhile there is no point in your wandering the Peiraieus like the ghost of an unburied corpse. Sosias, fetch a stool for the gentleman and a small stoup of wine. (See his frown — he thinks your presence here will compromise me.) And rout out Euages to take the ferry over to Salamis and tell the master he has a visitor." She turned back to Bulnes. "I understand you have come on behalf of the other Tartessian, he who accosted me this morning?"
"Yes," said Bulnes, sitting down gratefully. "Whatever possesseth man to act so? Tell me — I am all agog to know. Is he mad? Is he in rut and cannot wait a few days for the Aphrodisia?"
"The first guess were nearly right, madam," said Bulnes, and told Thalia-Melite the same tale he had told his pupils.
"The poor fellow," she said. "I am sure that under this circumstance Euripides will withdraw the complaint. My husband has a good heart if you can get him down from the clouds long enough."
"I am told," said Bulnes, "that Euripides spends most of his time on Salamis?"
"Yes, the old dotard! Every morning before dawn he and Kephisophon take their boat across the channel, with one of the slaves to row, and there they spend the day scribbling. He claims he cannot concentrate in a house full of wives and children and slaves, which is ridiculous. As if his wretched plays were more important than his own household!"
"Who is Kephisophon?"
"His secretary. The Euripides is becoming one of the standard sights of Athens, along with the Akropolis and the ship of the divine Theseus. I am told that guides harangue visitors about him: 'And there, gentlemen, is the island of Salamis, scene of the great sea fight against the trousered Mede, and there is the cave of the eminent poet Euripides. If you row out a few furlongs, you can see Euripides himself in the entrance, no doubt working on some sublime new drama.' And if I complain of neglect he says, 'I am really doing it all for you, my dear,' which does not deceive me in the least."
"A man thoroughly absorbed in his work?" said Bulnes.
"Absorbed! Why, he will not take the time to buy food for the house, which every man in Athens does as a matter of course, so the slaves swindle us right and left. Personally, I think little of these Attic customs, but must not one conform to some degree?"
"You are not an Athenian?"
"Yes and no. My parents were, so I rank as a citizen, but my father was ostracized and spent his exile in hollow Lakedaimon, where I was reared. There women are personalities in their own right and not playthings locked in a chest when not in use."