Hyperbolus frowned. ‘I know. But Aristophanes isn’t giving up. What if he gets funds from somewhere else?’
‘I don’t suppose there’s much we can do about it. The plays at the Dionysia are sacred, even Aristophanes’ obscene comedies. We can’t be seen to be interfering with it. We’ll just have to trust Antimachus to ruin it.’
‘I suppose so.’ Hyperbolus would like to have taken stronger action, but he knew Euphranor was right. The Dionysia was sacred. It wouldn’t do to be caught interfering with it. Charges of impiety could follow. Athens was full of informers. You never quite knew who you could trust. They walked on under the gaze of Hephaistos and Hera, god and goddess, carved on the east pediment of the great temple. There they stood for a moment, discussing other matters, but fell silent as an unfamiliar woman walked by. Tall and dark. Beautiful, though strangely dressed. Certainly not a native of the city. Moments after she’d gone, Hyperbolus turned to Euphranor.
‘You know, why take chances? Why don’t we just kill Aristophanes and get it over with?’
Euphranor’s eyes opened wide. ‘Kill Aristophanes? That’s a brilliant idea. Why didn’t we think of it before?’
‘We could hire someone to do it tonight.’
On the steps of the Parthenon, Laet halted and looked back at the two plotting politicians. She smiled to herself.
It never takes much.
She went inside the temple to look at the frieze which, she had heard, was one of the finest works of art in the city.
Luxos
Luxos and Metris watched as two slaves carrying amphoras of wine entered Callias’s house via the alleyway at the back.
‘I’ve never seen such a big house,’ said Metris.
‘Richest man in Athens, so they say.’
Another wagon-load of supplies trundled past. Seeing the size of the house, the stream of luxury goods being carried inside, and the number of slaves and servants in attendance, Luxos and Metris took a step back, temporarily intimidated.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Luxos.
Wisdom outweighs any wealth — Sophocles
‘We can outwit them.’ He marched confidently along the alley, his lyre in his hand. ‘The party will be full of influential people and I’m going to give them some poetry they’ll never forget.’
The door at the back was opened by a servant, a woman well-versed in keeping out freeloaders. Her face set grimly at the sight of Luxos and Metris, as likely a pair of freeloaders as she’d seen for some time.
‘What do you want?’
‘Flute player, dancer and poet reporting for duty,’ announced Luxos. ‘Part of tonight’s entertainment.’
The servant eyed Metris. With her pretty face and a flute round her neck, she could be a hired musician. As for Luxos, she wasn’t convinced.
‘You’re a dancer?’
‘Yes. And a talented poet to boot.’
‘Poets,’ grunted the servant, in a tone which suggested she wasn’t a devotee. ‘The house is already full of them.’
‘Old-fashioned, past their prime, no doubt. I’m here as part of the new generation.’
‘And to fill yourself up with as much food as your stomach will hold, I expect,’ said the servant, shrewdly. She was on the point of refusing them entry when she noticed Metris smiling at her. There was something about the nymph’s smile that was hard to resist. It felt as if she was transferring some primal form of happiness.
‘Fine. Come in. Entertain the crowd. But keep out of our way in the kitchens.’
Laet
At the edge of the agora, Laet pointed out the Altar of Pity. ‘Rather an important shrine.’
Idomeneus was unimpressed. ‘It looks like a useless old piece of rock. Why is it important?’
Laet stood beside the ancient altar, examining it carefully. It was worn down, so eroded with age as to be almost featureless. ‘It’s the place of last resort. Athenians come here when everything else has failed. When you’ve been to all the temples, and asked every god for help, and your hope has gone, you can come here. There’s no special prayer to say. No particular offering has to be made. You just ask for pity.’
She placed her hand above the small altar. ‘Can you feel it?’
‘Feel what?’
‘All the desperate pleas of Athenians down the ages.’
Idomeneus couldn’t feel anything. He remained silent. Laet’s eyes glinted. She laid her hand on the altar. There was a sharp crack as it split in two and fell in the dust. Without another word, she walked away. Idomeneus hurried after her.
‘Did you just destroy the Athenians’ last hope?’ he asked, catching up with her.
‘I believe so.’
‘Isn’t that more than Kleonike asked you to do?’
‘Probably. It’s never really wise to engage my services. If people are foolish enough to do so, they must live with the consequences. I do like to do a very thorough job. Which reminds me — Aristophanes now has a price on his head, if you’re interested.’
Aristophanes
At Callias’s house there is much pleasure
For he has crabs for dinner, rays besides,
and hares, and women with light twinkling feet
Eupolis, The Flatterers
There were torches on the porch, illuminating the entrance to Callias’s house, and rows of oil lamps inside. Few people could afford to burn so much lamp oil these days; Callias was not averse to displaying his wealth. Aristophanes trudged inside in the wake of Eupolis and Leucon, whom he’d met in the street outside. He’d managed to remain civil, though if it had been a longer street, he’d probably have started an argument.
Callias greeted them in the hallway. He was a stout man, though not outrageously so, given his enormous fortune and healthy appetite. His parents and grandparents were important Athenians, statesmen with rich connections to the silver mines. Callias wasn’t a statesman, or even a renowned man of business. He was mainly known for spending money.
Though he does still have some aspirations to be regarded as a thinker, reflected Aristophanes, noticing the statue of Solon the Wise in the hallway. I’ve seen him hanging round Socrates, pretending he knows what the philosopher is talking about.
‘Eupolis! Leucon! Aristophanes! Our three comic geniuses! You honour me by coming to my house. I do hope none of you are going to satirise me this year!’
Aristophanes imagined he’d like nothing better than to be lambasted from the stage. It was a sort of fame; even a mark of honour. At least it meant you were important enough to be talked about. Politicians didn’t enjoy it, but a man like Callias would take it in good part. Cleisthenes, a well-known Athenian with many theatrical connections, always laughed uproariously when Aristophanes mocked his effeminacy.
Callias led them through into his main dining room, which was vast, and illuminated by more oil lamps than any of the diners had ever seen lit at one time in a private dwelling.
‘I know you’ll have us all laughing after we’ve eaten!’
Eupolis and Leucon laughed easily in Callias’s company. That was the right thing to do. There was no sense in not laughing with the rich man when you were in his house, eating his food. Unfortunately for Aristophanes, he was in too poor a temper to join in.
‘Are they serving wine yet?’ he asked, but no one heard him. Callias was spluttering at some joke from Eupolis. Eupolis was young, like Aristophanes. He’d started in the theatre early, like Aristophanes. They had a lot in common. Aristophanes was disliking him more every minute.