The Goddess Athena admitted that she didn’t. ‘Perhaps I’ll find some inspiration soon. Meanwhile, try not to let Laet destroy the city. And protect Aristophanes.’
Bremusa was startled. ‘Aristophanes? Why?’
‘Reports reach me from other worshippers that his play about peace might be influential in making up people’s minds.’
Bremusa nodded. ‘I see. There might be something in that. I have heard people talking about the play.’ She shook her head. ‘I hate the theatre. Particularly these ridiculous Athenian comedies.’
‘It’s good to laugh on occasion, Bremusa.’
‘Athenian comedies aren’t very respectful to the gods.’
‘It’s the Dionysia. They have licence to make fun of us.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Well, blame Dionysos. What else are you upset about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yes you are. I can tell. I can see that little frown line between your eyebrows.’
Bremusa tried to smooth her forehead, but realised she couldn’t fool the goddess about her moods.
‘I met Idomeneus,’ she muttered.
‘Idomeneus? Not Idomeneus of Crete? Isn’t he the one —’
Bremusa the Amazon nodded. Much as she hated to admit it, Idomeneus was the one who would have killed her if Athena hadn’t intervened, all those centuries ago.
‘How can he possibly still be alive?’
‘He’s employed as Laet’s bodyguard, so it must be her doing. She’s kept him alive for centuries. I didn’t realise she was so powerful.’
‘Neither did I,’ admitted Athena. ‘I’d no idea Idomeneus was still around. The glory of Crete has long since faded. I don’t want you to fight him, Bremusa.’
‘We already fought. He attacked me. Laet stopped it because she was bored and had a headache. We’ll meet again, I expect.’
‘You’re not to let your desire for revenge interfere with your mission,’ said the goddess.
Bremusa, not willing to argue with Athena but knowing quite well that she wasn’t going to back down from a fight with Idomeneus, remained silent.
Luxos
Luxos, bursting out of the shrine, ran right into Metris. He immediately embraced her, taking her slender body in his arms and hugging her tightly. Luxos, while slightly built and undernourished, was not quite as weak as he appeared. Much as he’d disliked it at the time, he had undergone military training with the rest of the Athenian youths. The effects of that had not yet worn off.
‘I was just praying I’d meet you again! Athena really worked quickly on this one! She’s such a great goddess!’
The nymph smiled. It was a warm night. A slight breeze made her short white dress flutter. There were silver threads in it that seemed to glow faintly, even in the moonlight.
‘I’ve been thinking about you, too. There must be some way of making Athens listen to your poetry. Isn’t the city full of wise people? Who’s the wisest?’
‘Socrates, I suppose.’
Metris took Luxos’s hand. ‘Then let’s go and talk to him.’
They walked off together, heading north into the dark streets of night-time Athens, where there were few lamps lit, oil being so expensive these days, and in short supply. A little later Bremusa emerged from the shrine. Finding no one there, she cursed in a language that was no longer spoken in the world.
‘Has that idiot Metris wandered off again? Does she have no concept of actually doing what she’s supposed to?’
Aristophanes
Aristophanes knew he’d been neglecting himself. He often did when he was putting on a play. He regretted it. It was the duty of every Athenian of fighting age to keep himself in reasonable shape. In those days the call to arms was never far away, and an unfit citizen was no use on the battlefield. Even if the march outside the city walls didn’t end in battle, as was sometimes the case, it was a miserable experience to be trudging along behind your fellow hoplites if you were badly out of condition. The spear, shield and armour of the Athenian warrior could be a weighty burden.
He’d have liked to visit the gymnasium. It would strengthen him and might even clear his mind. Unfortunately he just didn’t have the time. There were too many things wrong with his comedy. Shabby props and costumes weren’t his only problems. The chorus were singing poorly and urgently needed a better vocal coach. The musicians weren’t playing well, the choreography was lacking and the funny dances were less than amusing. As for the precise positioning of the actors on stage during each scene, they’d hardly got started. In the great Theatre of Dionysus Eleuthereus, the audience sat in a huge semicircle around the stage. It was vital that the actors worked together, moving correctly into position and standing in the right place at all times. Otherwise the drama would suffer and the jokes wouldn’t work. They’d now fallen so far behind with this that Aristophanes had been forced to call extra rehearsals, which hadn’t gone down that well with the cast.
‘It’s lucky I’ve written such a good script,’ he mused, as he walked through the pale light of dawn towards the rehearsal space. Or I’d lose all hope.
Aristophanes was seriously worried that they might not even make it to performance. Cancelling the play would be humiliating in the extreme, and could make it difficult for him to find a producer next year. Even so, it might be preferable to taking the shambles they had at the moment on stage. If he did, the Athenians would certainly laugh, but not in a good way.
Aristophanes kicked several stones as he walked. Recently he’d been feeling vaguely angry about everything, and particularly angry about his rivals Eupolis and Leucon. There was no denying it, he loathed them. He really couldn’t stand the thought of either of them winning first prize. He idly brushed his hand over the Herm at the corner of the street — Aristophanes had always liked these little statues on the corners of Athens, with their cheery faces and confident upright penises — and almost bumped into Socrates, coming briskly in the opposite direction. The morning air was chilly but the philosopher was dressed, as always, in a plain chiton, and hadn’t bothered to cover it with a cloak. Socrates never wore a cloak. He seemed immune to bad weather.
They greeted each other politely.
‘Good morning, Socrates. Off to the gymnasium for some exercise before a hard day’s philosophy?’
‘I am. And you?’
‘I’ve no time to exercise. I’m busy with rehearsals.’
‘Ah… Any jokes about me in your play this year?
‘Why do you say that?’
Socrates laughed. ‘Because you always make jokes about me.’
‘And I always admire how well you take them!’
It was true. Socrates did take it well, unlike the Athenian politicians. They might make a show of approving the way comic playwrights ridiculed them, because it demonstrated what a fine, free democracy the city was. In reality, they seethed in private, and sometimes sought revenge.
‘Socrates, are you going to Callias’s symposium tonight?’
‘I wasn’t planning to. Isn’t it meant to be for playwrights and actors?’
‘Mainly. But if I have to listen to Eupolis and Leucon droning on about how well their rehearsals are going I might do something I’ll regret. There will be others there too, you could come along. Callias likes to pretend he understands philosophy, Zeus knows why.’
‘How would my presence help?’