"It is notorious that I am the stupidest man in Athens," said Sokrates, "or I should not find it necessary to ask so many questions. As for the origin of the universe, I think that a question of no great importance — since, whatever caused it, it happened long ago, and the problems of leading a good and virtuous life are more pressing.
"However, since you wish it, I will tell you a story I have heard from my Pythagorean friends. They argue thus: As all corporeal things are generated, so must the cosmos have been generated, which implies a generator or maker. This maker, for lack of more definite knowledge, we call 'the gods.' Thus, you see, they avoid the crass materialism of our scientific colleagues. And this maker must have constructed the universe of the four elements theretofore existing — earth, air, fire, and water, as Empedokles teaches — leaving over no single particle or potency of any one of these elements. And the maker intended that the universe should be a living creature, perfect and whole ..."
Bulnes, watching Archelaos, saw him stiffen, look wonderingly at Sokrates, and cry in modern Greek, "What's all this? I'm Eleftherios Protopapadakis, and I had just dismissed my class ..."
This time the uproar drowned the words of both Sokrates and Archelaos. Then the latter sprawled back on his couch as if nothing had happened.
"Let us continue," said Perikles. "Whatever these strange seizures be, they do not appear to last long or to have ill effects. If you will resume your talk, Sokrates?"
Bulnes, watching, saw Perikles scrutinize the sheet of papyrus in his hand and make a motion that looked like checking a name off a list. The party had now become so disorganized that it took five minutes for, Archelaos and Perikles to quiet the guests. Sokrates resumed:
"... so the gods, in their first attempt at creating intelligent creatures, constructed androgynous bodies each with four arms and four legs. But, these proving awkward, the gods in their kindness caused these creatures to fall asleep, and while they slept the gods split each of them lengthwise into two parts, one part being a human male and one a human female, and thus the two sexes came into existence ..."
There was more, about the mathematical proportions the gods had used in designing the universe, the supersouls of the earth and the stars, and the motions of the planets — all very involved and couched in jaw-breaking compound terms.
Antiphon muttered, "He may not be the stupidest man in Athens, but he can certainly be the biggest bore when he tries."
Bulnes shook his head in assent.
Antiphon persisted, "There is no doubt he is a just man, but by his very excess of virtue he commits an injustice."
"How so?"
"He insists on lecturing all comers gratis, comparing honest teachers like the Protagoras and myself to harlots because we ask a fair return for our labor. And in this way he discredits us and encourages our pupils to beat down our modest fees by threatening to go hear Sokrates instead. Which is depriving us unjustly of our livelihood."
As the sophist chuckled over his own cleverness, Bulnes, finding the ideas expressed by Sokrates not only difficult to grasp but so scientifically obsolete as to be not worth grasping, turned his attention again to Perikles.
The statesman was glancing at his papyrus and then up. Bulnes said to Flin, "Look — he's waiting for the next one."
"Looks to me as if he were wondering why the next one hasn't gone off. Notice how the blighter stares at Aspasia!"
It was true. The glances of Perikles at his consort became longer and more intense until Aspasia herself became conscious of them and showed signs of unease. She even leaned toward Perikles and whispered a question.
Sokrates droned on: "... and thus the gods made bone: They sifted earth until it was pure and smooth, kneaded it, and moistened it with marrow, and by alternately dipping it in fire and water, so wrought upon it that it was no longer soluble in either. Then on a lathe they turned out the spherical bone that forms the skull ..."
"Knut!" said Flin in an undertone. "Don't you think Perikles expects Aspasia to be the next to go?"
Bulnes nodded. "I wonder if she's an uncon —"
At that instant a scream cut through the monologue of Sokrates. Aspasia had leaped up from her chair and was backing away from Perikles, who had also risen.
"So," said Perikles, "you're the spy from Lenz, eh?"
"No — no ..."
"Then how is it that you speak English?" Perikles advanced menacingly. Gone was his quietly cordial, elder-statesman manner. The-guests stared open-mouthed.
Aspasia retreated toward the door into the court. As she neared it she spun round in a whirl of draperies and ran. Perikles drew a dagger from his chiton and ran after her.
Bulnes saw nothing suitable for a weapon save the ladle with which the wine in the kraters had been mixed. He leaped from his couch, snatched it up, and ran after Perikles.
Aspasia vanished through the door, Perikles after her, and Bulnes after Perikles. At the middle of the andronitis Aspasia detoured around the altar. The slight check enabled Perikles to catch up with her and drive the dagger into her back.
Almost simultaneously Bulnes, with a leap of his long legs, reached Perikles and struck him with the ladle on the back of the head. There was a crunching sound and Perikles fell forward over the body of his mistress.
"Ea! What is this?" cried Protagoras from the doorway. "What a horror! A sight for Aischylos to describe! I am leaving. Boy, my shoes and cloak! Hurry!"
All the other guests began shouting for their slaves and their gear. They streamed past the group in the court, some carrying their sandals and himatia without bothering to don them, and rushed out through the front door, crying:
"The furies must have done this!" "A curse has lallen upon Athens!" "I was not even here this evening!"
Bulnes then heard exclamations among Perikles' own servants: "The master stabbed the mistress, and then the foreign gentleman broke the master's head ..."
In a few seconds, they, too, were running out. Bulnes knelt and pulled Perikles off the body of Aspasia. Both were alive. Bulnes examined the head of Perikles and discovered that the projecting back of the head was a false structure of plaster, covered with a wig, which he had broken with the ladle. Perikles was merely stunned; Aspasia was in worse case, blood dyeing her chiton.
Bulnes looked up. Flin and Sokrates stood beside him, but otherwise the house seemed empty.
Sokrates said, "Such a devoted couple, too! And now all their fair-weather friends have run, lest one should be accused of having a hand in this business."
"How about you?" said Bulnes.
"I care not. How are they? Dead?"
Bulnes gave his diagnosis.
Sokrates said, "The boy, their son. Some older friend must prepare him, and I seem to be the one chosen by the gods for the purpose. I shall be back presently."
He disappeared into the back of the house. The woman who had passed as Aspasia opened her eyes, stirred, and coughed up a little bloody froth. She said, "Get — message — to Lenz."
"Yes?" said Bulnes.
"Tell him — Vasil — suspects." She coughed. "If he — wants to seize — the machine — to use on the world — do it now."
"Why should Lenz wish to do that?" asked Bulnes.
"Power. Tell him — hurry."
"And what's the Emperor up to?"
"To make — people happy. He thinks — they were happiest — in time of Perikles. If he can make all the world — live that way — he ..." She went into a spasm of coughing.
"Why is he running this dress rehearsal?"
"He thinks — he can avoid — the mistakes — of the original Perikles. Bring back the Golden Age."
Flin said, "For God's sake, let's do something for her ..."
Bulnes waved him to silence. "Why," he asked Aspasia, "are you helping Lenz?"
"I work for him. He pays well — and Vasil's — a fool."
"Where can we hide until we can carry this message?"
"Try Kleon. Enemy of Perikles."
"How accurate is this re-creation of Athens? Has Vasil any special means of viewing the past?"
"No. His experts — read books and studied relics — like other people. Tell — Lenz ..."
Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed. Though her pulse still beat, she seemed to have lost consciousness. Bulnes said, "I don't know that there's much we can do for her, Wiyem. No modern physicians or medicine, and she'll probably die shortly."
"How about him?"
"Merely a slight concussion."
"By Jove, that puts us in a fix! We can't very well carry her through the streets — the moving would probably kill her anyway — and if we leave her here, he'll come to and finish her off."
Bulnes shrugged. "Unless I did him in now."
"Gad, not that!"
"You're probably right, but for the wrong reason. No use bumping Vasil when Lenz would turn the conditioning machine on the world. And as everybody knows we were the last to leave the house, he'll be able to figure out that we're unconditioned, too. So it won't do for him to find us here when he comes to."
Bulnes felt Aspasia's pulse again. It still beat feebly. He felt guilty about her, but he could see no other course.
"Sokrates is still around," he said. "He can do about as much as we can, which is damned little. Come on — we're going to Kleon's."