Idomeneus whirled round. When he saw Bremusa approaching he didn’t waste time in speech, he just flew at her with his sword raised. They engaged immediately and there was furious combat on the dark muddy street, the only illumination coming from an oil lamp which burned dimly in front of a small shrine nearby. Their swords clashed noisily and rapidly. Idomeneus of Crete was a very strong man, and a skilful fighter. He’d killed many enemies before the Trojan walls. He’d killed Amazons too. The memory of this infuriated Bremusa, and it was not just her own defeat for which she sought revenge. They fought a desperate battle in the dim light, till it happened that their swords clashed in such a way as to make them both take a step back.
Idomeneus glared at the Amazon. ‘Athena’s not here to help you now.’
‘And Laet’s not here to help you.’
They re-engaged, even more furiously. Bremusa matched him in skill but his strength began to drive her back. His blade slid over hers and she felt a sharp pain as it cut her shoulder. Completely enraged, Bremusa yelled out the battle cry of the Amazons and flung herself forward like one of the Furies, determined to kill him. So violent was her assault that she succeeded in driving him back. She wounded him too, a cut to the left arm that made him wince, though it didn’t slow him.
‘Die, you Amazon bitch,’ yelled Idomeneus, and advanced again, his sword flashing towards her. Bremusa blocked desperately as she was driven back. Idomeneus’s strength was beginning to tell. At that moment they were interrupted by the sound of whistles and pounding feet, very close.
Idomeneus paused, though he maintained his guard.
‘Scythian archers,’ he muttered. There was a second’s indecision, then he took off, disappearing into the darkness. Bremusa whirled round. Aristophanes was sitting on the ground. She dragged him to his feet.
‘Quickly, unless you want to get arrested.’
She dragged him past the shrine and through several small vegetable gardens, escaping the street before the Scythian archers arrived. Aristophanes was too intoxicated to move quickly, but didn’t protest as she shepherded him to safety. When they’d gone far enough to avoid detection, they halted.
‘Where do you live?’
‘I can’t remember,’ mumbled Aristophanes. There was a pause. ‘Take me to Theodota’s.’
‘Theodota? The hetaera? Won’t she have another client at this time?’
To Bremusa’s annoyance, Aristophanes sat down. He was still drunk, and now he looked depressed as well.
‘I don’t want to go home alone,’ he said. ‘Do you live somewhere?’
‘Yes, but you can’t go there. Tell me where you live!’
‘I can’t remember.’
Bremusa could hear voices, not far off. She wasn’t sure if the Scythian archers had given up looking for them or not. They might arrive at any moment. The Amazon didn’t know if arrest would have serious consequences for Aristophanes, but she couldn’t allow herself to be apprehended for causing a disturbance in the street. The Goddess Athena would be annoyed if she were careless enough to get arrested while on a mission for her.
‘Damn it,’ she muttered. She helped Aristophanes to his feet, put her arm round his shoulder to support him, then set off towards the tavern where she’d rented a room. She gritted her teeth as the wound in her shoulder began to sting.
‘Slow down,’ said Aristophanes, slurring his words.
‘We can’t slow down. Do you have to drink so much?’
Around Callias’s mansion the streets were beautifully tended. In the area where Bremusa had rented a room, they weren’t. They were cracked, muddy and treacherous. It made walking at night difficult, and potentially messy too, if you came across one of the open sewers. It took quite a long time to drag the intoxicated Aristophanes to the tavern. Bremusa’s mood, already bad, had worsened.
I don’t want to be looking after this fool. I want to hunt for Idomeneus.
Bremusa was heartened that she’d managed to wound him. She was aware, however, that as the fight progressed, he’d been driving her back. Though their fighting skill was equal, his strength gave him an advantage that she’d not been able to overcome. Despite this, she refused to contemplate defeat. I’ll still kill him next time we meet.
At least there was no one awake at the tavern to see her hauling Aristophanes up the stairs. Inside her tiny room there was a small bed and nothing else. She let Aristophanes go and he fell face down on the bed.
‘Thanks for the rescue, strange barbarian woman.’
Bremusa did not regard herself as a barbarian, though that was undoubtedly how those around her in the city would see her. Anyone who wasn’t a native Greek speaker was a barbarian. Zeus alone knew what they thought of her in the tavern, with her armour and sword, and her heavy accent. She looked at Aristophanes, drunk on the bed.
‘At Delphi there’s an inscription. “Nothing in excess”. You could learn from that.’
‘I will reward your assistance with free theatre tickets,’ mumbled the playwright.
‘Don’t bother.’
Aristophanes fell asleep. Bremusa stared at him with some dislike. Then she spread her cloak on the floor, made a pillow from her tunic, and lay down to sleep.
Luxos
Luxos arrived home, very depressed. ‘I was so close to having my poetry heard! A plague on Alcibiades and his aristocratic drunken revelry.’
He sat down heavily on one of the two rickety wooden chairs in his single room. ‘I’m going to complain to Aristophanes.’
Metris looked dubious. ‘That might not be the best idea. I think he was annoyed because everyone thought he invited you to the symposium.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Luxos.
‘I heard him say “Now everyone thinks I invited that idiot Luxos to the symposium”.’
‘Oh.’
‘At least we got food,’ said Metris brightly, emptying the bag of supplies they’d filched from the party.
Luxos slumped in his chair. It had been a relief to eat, after a long period of hunger, but that pleasure had now worn off. ‘Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a poet. No one’s ever going to listen to me.’
‘Could you put on your own play?’
Luxos shook his head. He was normally an optimistic youth but his optimism had been crushed by the evening’s events, and by the pervasive cloud of unhappiness that now lay over Athens. The presence of Laet was having a baleful influence on everyone.
‘You need money to pay for the chorus and the costumes and everything. The city only gives you funds if you’re the right sort of person.’
‘Right sort of person?’
‘Not the grandson of a slave and son of an oarsman.’
‘Oh.’
They sat in silence. In the peace of the night they could hear the tide lapping around the harbour outside. Metris smiled. Uniquely in the city, the nymph was unaffected by Laet. Her good humour had not dimmed.
‘It would be so good if you could do the reading before Aristophanes’ play. Maybe you could ask him again?’
Luxos shook his head. ‘He’ll never give me that spot. He’s already offered it to Isidoros.’
‘Then what about one of the other comic poets? They might let you read before their play is staged. Or maybe Eupolis needs a good lyric interlude?’
Luxos looked thoughtful. His frown eased. ‘That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I’ve been wasting my time with Aristophanes. He is a fellow Pandionis, but it’s not like he’s ever been that helpful. I should offer my services to Eupolis and if he says no I could try Leucon and Cratinus.’
Metris ran her fingers through his tousled blond hair.
‘Why did you do that?’ asked Luxos.