A servant appeared, beckoning them through to a dining room which faced south, and was always light and airy. Theodota, now dressed, was sitting at a table laden with bowls of fruit and bread. An amphora of wine was resting on a smaller table. Aristophanes greeted her as naturally as he could, but in truth he was apprehensive. He’d come on a delicate matter, and finding Zeuxis and Socrates here had put him off his stride. At least Zeuxis seemed to have departed. He wondered if either Zeuxis or Parrhasius had managed to catch the blue of Theodota’s eyes properly. No one had eyes as blue as Theodota.
Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that Socrates was here. He could be tactful, when required. If it all went humiliatingly wrong with Theodota, he’d probably manage to say something to make things less awkward. He had on one occasion rescued Aristophanes from an embarrassing moment concerning Nicias’s wife, when the playwright had put his foot in it with a comment about the poor quality of the wine on offer. He hadn’t known her father owned the vineyard.
‘So, Aristophanes.’ Theodota smiled. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today.’
Aristophanes wondered if either painter had managed to capture her smile. He doubted it. Theodota’s smile could not be reproduced.
‘Theodota, I wanted to ask you something, but… eh… the thing is… hmm… it’s a little embarrassing…’
Theodota looked amused. ‘Feel free to speak your mind, Aristophanes. I started in my profession at a young age, and it would be very difficult to shock me.’
‘I need to borrow a lot of money.’
Greatly shocked, Theodota had a coughing fit as some wine went down the wrong way, and she had to be assisted by her servants. There was quite a long delay while she was patted on the back and brought back to life. A young servant was sent off to fetch soothing oils.
Aristophanes shrank in his seat. That went worse than I expected. I’ve almost killed her.
Finally Theodota regained the power of speech. ‘You want to borrow money? Aren’t you wealthy?’
‘I was, before the war. These days I’m poor like everyone else. My choregos Antimachus is starving me of funds. He doesn’t like that I’m writing about peace. He doesn’t want a comedy about the war ending to be successful.’
Aristophanes looked hopefully at Theodota. ‘But you, as an intelligent woman, will be eager to see an end to the fighting.’
‘Why? It’s good for my business. When the rich men of Athens realise that they’re liable to get killed any day, they tend to turn to me for comfort.’
‘That may be the case. But it’s not good for the people who get killed, and the people who have their farms and businesses ruined.’
‘True,’ said Theodota. ‘But as no one permits me, or any other woman in Athens, to have a say in politics, you can’t blame me for making the best of the situation.’
She mused for a moment, then turned to Socrates. ‘What do you think? Would backing Aristophanes’ play really help end the war?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Socrates. ‘It might influence the population. The situation is finely balanced.’
Theodota nodded. She motioned to one of her young attendants, the attractive young Mnesarete, and whispered in her ear. Mnesarete departed. Theodota sipped a little wine, rather carefully after her recent distressing experience.
‘Aristophanes, you remember I told you I’d been writing in my spare time?’
Mnesarete returned. She was carrying a scroll, which she handed to Theodota.
‘My first draft of a comedy,’ said Theodota. ‘I call it Lysistrata. You might like it. It’s rather anti-war, just like your work. Though in my play the women of Athens have a lot more say in things.’
Aristophanes was puzzled by this development, and wary. ‘I’d be… pleased to read it some time.’
‘I’d like you to put it on stage. Not right away, of course. At some future festival.’
‘What? I can’t do that!’
‘Then I won’t lend you the money.’
‘This is outrageous. Socrates, she wants me to put on her play! Tell her it’s impossible.’
Socrates sometimes wore a mocking little smile which Aristophanes found particularly annoying. He was smiling now. ‘I don’t know that we could say it’s impossible, Aristophanes. There’s no logical reason why it couldn’t be done.’
‘There are plenty of reasons.’
‘None of them insurmountable. It would have to be produced under your name, of course, but it could be done.’
‘Stop supporting her!’
‘It’s only a first draft,’ said Theodota. ‘We could rewrite it together. I’d need final say, of course. And the heavy end of the box office.’
Bremusa
With Athens becoming more factious by the hour, and the signing of a peace treaty less likely every moment, Bremusa wondered if it was worth using Metris’s cheerful aura to try and counteract Laet. While the nymph didn’t have her mother’s powers of dispelling all negative energies, it did seem to Bremusa that she had a way of improving people’s moods. Not Bremusa’s mood — she still found her infuriating — but other people seemed to like her. When she was happy, the nymph exuded warmth. She’d certainly cheered up the children she’d met, and other people seemed happier when she was around.
‘Let’s just walk through the agora and see if you can lighten the mood.’
Metris was doubtful. ‘I can’t counteract Laet. She’s too powerful.’
‘I know. But children like you. Maybe you can cheer up the market workers and make them all stop arguing. We have to do something. The goddess told me to use my initiative and I can’t think of anything else.’
Metris was willing to try, but she was distracted. Bremusa knew why.
‘The goddess didn’t send you here to waste your time on poets of dubious talent.’
‘Luxos has plenty of talent!’ cried Metris.
‘Talent? Ha.’ Bremusa quickly changed the subject, worried that Metris might be as knowledgeable about poetry as she’d turned out to be about other Athenian arts. If the nymph started lecturing her on Homer she’d have to kill her. ‘If we pay attention, we might be able to find out where Laet has been, and try improving things there.’
‘I think she’s been over there,’ said Metris.
‘Why?’
‘Because that house is on fire.’
Suddenly there were Athenian citizens everywhere, rushing around with buckets, jars, amphoras, anything that would carry water.
‘I told Polykarpos not to roast a whole sheep in his bedroom!’ cried an elderly man. ‘It was bound to go wrong.’
‘We need more water!’
The amount of water the Athenians were able to produce seemed hopelessly insufficient. The flames took hold. Bremusa turned to Metris, only to find that she was no longer at her side. She’d walked over towards the firefighters. As the Amazon watched, the nymph discreetly pointed a finger. Their buckets and amphoras instantly began to fill up with water. Bremusa pursed her lips.
I suppose having a river goddess as your mother does have its advantages.
‘Where did all this water come from?’ cried one of the firefighters.
‘Never mind, put the fire out!’
Metris rejoined Bremusa and they watched as the Athenians quickly damped down the flames, assisted by the endless supply of water that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Metris looked smug.
‘All right,’ said Bremusa. ‘I admit you’re not so useless. Producing all that water was very effective.’
She noticed that the area around the dampened house was now blanketed with a great field of buttercups and daisies.