There were over a dozen couches in the dining room. Callias’s symposium was on a larger scale than most. Some of the guests who’d arrived early were reclining together on the couches, some were still standing. Socrates was there, in the corner, sitting quietly. Servants were bringing in platters of food, meat and fish, and Callias was bragging about how he’d personally visited the market that day, to make sure only the best produce was used.
‘I’ve hired the finest cook in Athens! You won’t believe what he does with pastry. Eupolis, I met Simonides at the market, he’s your producer this year, isn’t he? He was buying a huge amount of paint from that new Theban stallholder, was that for your scenery?’
‘Yes, we’ve got a lot of expensive decoration going on,’ replied Eupolis. ‘I had to hire three new painters this week.’
‘Is there a wine shortage?’ demanded Aristophanes. ‘Some people could really use a drink.’
No one heard him. He decided to take matters into his own hands. It was polite to wait till everyone arrived, and the correct ceremonies had been conducted, before you started drinking, but Aristophanes wasn’t in the mood for ceremony. He cursed Callias under his breath as he headed for the kitchen.
What sort of fool invites playwrights to their house and doesn’t give them wine as soon as they arrive?
As Aristophanes entered the kitchen there was a commotion going on. The newly hired chef was shouting at someone. Chefs were notoriously temperamental.
‘You young ruffians. Have you been stealing my food?’
Aristophanes looked beyond the chef to where two young figures were looking rather guilty: Luxos and a young woman he’d never seen before. Pretty girl, he noticed, though rather embarrassed at the moment, probably because of the loaf of bread poorly concealed about her person.
‘Luxos! What are you doing here?’
‘I’m part of the entertainment!’ said Luxos.
‘Entertainment?’ cried the chef. ‘They’ve been stealing from the kitchen! I’m going to have them arrested.’
Aristophanes shook his head. Luxos was annoying, of course, and apparently not above pilfering food, but he didn’t want to see him locked up. If nothing else, he’d done good work on the spying mission. And he was a fellow member of the Pandionis tribe, unfortunately.
‘It’s all right. The eh… entertainers… are entitled to a meal. I’m sure Callias said it was fine.’
‘Well, get them out of my kitchen,’ roared the chef. ‘I’ve got enough to do without looking out for thieving flute players and hungry poets.’
Luxos and the girl wasted no time in fleeing the kitchen. Aristophanes pursued them into the hallway.
‘What’s the idea of forcing your way into this house?’
‘We’re the entertainment,’ said Luxos.
‘No you’re not! Depart immediately or people will think I invited you. They know we’re in the same tribe.’
With the kitchen now hostile territory, thanks to the imbecilic Luxos, Aristophanes was forced to return to the dining room, still without a goblet of wine. He cursed under his breath. He should have known to fortify himself before setting out.
General Lamachus and the statesman Nicias were reclining on adjacent couches. Nicias looked far older than the general, though the age difference could only have been seven or eight years. The general was a tough, grizzled man who led by example on the battlefield, and showed no sign of his powers diminishing with the passing years. Lamachus had his opponents, and Aristophanes didn’t like him, but no one could ever accuse him of hanging back when there was fighting to be done, or sending others to die in his place. He leaned over to speak to Nicias.
‘I hear you couldn’t get the Spartans back to the negotiating table.’
‘I couldn’t get anyone back to the negotiating table. The Athenians are acting just as badly as the Spartans.’
‘I wouldn’t say we were acting badly. We’re simply not ready for peace. What’s wrong with that?’
‘What is wrong is that it will destroy the city.’
‘Really? I’d say we’ve had the upper hand in the fighting recently.’
‘Recently?’ said Nicias. ‘Perhaps. But it wasn’t long ago that the war was going badly. Then we’d have been pleased with an honourable peace. But as soon as things improve a little, Athens starts thinking maybe we can win the war.’
Aristophanes nodded absently. What Nicias said was true. The phenomenon had been commented on widely enough. When the Athenians gained an advantage, they didn’t want peace. They wanted to press on with the war. Soon enough, the Spartans would gain the advantage. That made the Athenians think that peace might not be such a bad idea, but by then, the Spartans were no longer willing to negotiate. The cycle kept repeating, as it had for the past decade.
‘If we don’t make peace now, we’ll both be destroyed,’ said Nicias. Aristophanes didn’t hear the general’s reply, being diverted by the sight of Leucon and Eupolis sharing a couch. For rival playwrights, they made a show of getting along well. When the titles of the comedies in this year’s Dionysia had been announced — Peace by Aristophanes, The Flatterers by Eupolis, and The Clansmen by Leucon — his two competitors had made a great show of wishing each other luck. Aristophanes loathed all his rivals so comprehensively that he could hardly imagine wishing any of them luck. Callias bustled over and motioned for him to take the next empty couch.
‘I’m sure you three comedy writers have a lot to talk about! I’m hoping Euripides will be here soon, you know he’s presenting a tragedy this year.’
Euripides was a famous, if controversial, figure. Neither Eupolis nor Leucon seemed impressed by the prospect of his attendance.
‘I don’t set a lot of store by today’s tragedies,’ said Leucon.
‘Neither do I,’ agreed Eupolis. ‘The standard has gone down dreadfully in the past few years. I’ve always thought that comedy is much harder to do.’
‘I do agree! The common citizen doesn’t realise how hard it is to make people laugh.’
Aristophanes gritted his teeth. He was starting to think the wine was never going to arrive. He ignored the couch next to the playwrights and joined Socrates on his.
‘I hate these theatrical types.’
‘That must make your life awkward,’ said Socrates.
‘Has Callias got something against drinking?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘He hasn’t served any wine yet. I’d have thought you’d have noticed that, being such a famous intellectual. What’s the delay? The man owns his own vineyard, dammit.’
‘He’s probably just waiting for our garlands; look, here they are now.’
Four young men appeared in the room with garlands of flowers for each guest to wear. They were pleasant garlands, fresh and colourful. As the guests put them on their heads there was general appreciation shown towards their host. Callias beamed.
‘And now it’s time choose our symposiarch.’
The symposiarch acted as toastmaster for the evening, and decided how strongly the wine should be mixed.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Aristophanes, immediately.
Callias looked at him, and then round at the others.
‘Any other volunteers?’
‘I said I’ll do it!’ Aristophanes turned to the nearest servant. ‘Bring the wine and make it strong!’
Bremusa
The moon was obscured by clouds and the night-time streets were very dark. Even with her superior night-vision, Bremusa couldn’t see far in front of her. She wondered where Metris had got to.