Nicias was immediately alarmed. This was all territory they’d covered before, at length. These problems were meant to have been solved. Before he could point this out, other voices were raised all round the courtyard as Spartans and Athenians fell to arguing with each other, quite violently. People were yelling, there were accusations of treachery and duplicity, all of them relating to matters that were supposed to have been settled during their discussions.
Nicias looked around hopelessly. The ageing statesman couldn’t understand what had happened. It was as if a collective madness had suddenly gripped the peace conference.
Metris, Wood or Water Nymph
Bremusa the Amazon and Metris the nymph began their journey to Athens. It wouldn’t take long. The goddess Athena would hasten them on their way, allowing them to cover the distance quickly. Bremusa had never been a talkative woman, and marched in silence. It made her companion’s constant chatter all the more annoying.
‘It was so exciting to meet the Goddess Athena! It just shows you never can tell what’s going to happen. Only yesterday I was telling Pholus the centaur that I was sure things were going to pick up soon, and now I’m going to the festival in Athens!’
Bremusa did not look like a woman on her way to a festival. She carried a long sword on her back and wore leather armour the like of which had not been seen in the world for several hundred years. Around her neck was a necklace made from boars’ tusks, something else rarely encountered in the world these days.
Metris waved to a couple of naiads through the trees, then spotted her friend Pholus.
‘Hey, Pholus! I’m off on a secret mission for the Goddess Athena!’
The centaur nodded, and looked impressed.
‘I’m going to the Dionysia! I’ll bring you back something nice!’
‘Be quiet,’ hissed Bremusa. ‘Our mission is secret. No one’s meant to know.’
‘Pholus won’t tell anyone. Maybe a few naiads, no one else. Naiads are quite discreet, when they’re sober anyway. It was so exciting meeting Athena! If I succeed on this mission do you think she’ll invite me to live on Mount Olympus?’
‘No.’
‘Not that I don’t like my little temple. It’s a lovely little temple. But it’s sad the way it got ruined in the war.’
They walked on. Metris fingered the small flute that hung daintily around her neck.
‘Would I get my own temple?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bremusa.
‘If I went to live on Mount Olympus?’
‘You’re not —’
‘A nice big one. With lots of room for statues. I like statues.’
‘You’re not getting a temple.’
‘The goddess said I’d be rewarded. She might invite me to live on Mount Olympus! I suppose I’d have to start being a bit more responsible. But you still have some good times there, right? Drinking, dancing, that sort of thing?’
‘Mount Olympus is no concern of yours.’
The nymph wasn’t put off by Bremusa’s unfriendly tone. She had a lot of questions for her. It wasn’t every day that you met someone from the home of the gods.
‘What’s Zeus really like? Is he scowly like his statues? Or is he more friendly? Did Athena really get born from his head? Is it true she doesn’t get on well with Hera? What about Aphrodite? I’ve always wanted to meet her. Is she really that beautiful? Pholus says she’s the most beautiful goddess ever. Is she prettier than Athena? Athena was really pretty.’
Bremusa came to a halt and stared at her companion, rather angrily.
‘Be quiet! Stop this inane chatter!’
‘Don’t you like to talk?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. I like to talk. Have you ever met Ares the God of War? Is he really fierce? What did Aphrodite see in him? Why are you clutching your brow like that? Are you not feeling well?’
They walked on down the grassy hill. It was a bright, lovely day.
Luxos
As he embarked on his night-time spying mission, Luxos passed by the Altar of Pity, a small, plain altar not far from the agora. This altar, while not dedicated specifically to any god or goddess, was a popular destination for those in dire need. During the plague, people had gathered there, praying desperately that their gravely ill relatives might recover. These days, mothers could be seen praying for news of their sons missing in battle. Luxos felt a vague desire to offer up a prayer himself, but resisted the urge. His life might not be going that well, but affairs had not yet reached such a crisis. He was still confident that Athena would help him.
He walked west towards the rehearsal space used by Aristophanes’ rivals, Eupolis and Leucon. Though the streets were dark, he’d been there often and found it easily enough. Things began to go wrong when he tried to sneak over the fence, caught his tunic and plummeted to the ground, landing painfully. He rose as quickly as he could, and hobbled on. He wasn’t certain if there would be a watchman on duty at the rehearsal grounds. Were theatrical props guarded at night? He didn’t know but didn’t want to be apprehended if they were. Aristophanes had given him enough money for a few good meals, and he was pleased about that, but he didn’t want to be caught trying to measure phalluses. It would be bad for his reputation which, Luxos acknowledged, was already poor. The young poet was not generally regarded as a valuable member of Athenian society.
He felt a twinge of sadness. I shouldn’t have to be doing this. I’m a poet. I’m not cut out for secret missions. I never claimed to be any good as a spy.
He peered into several dark huts, looking for theatrical props. Why was Aristophanes so worried about penises for his chorus anyway?
You wouldn’t catch a real poet worrying about that, thought Luxos. I could entertain the Athenians without a lot of funny props if someone would just give me a chance. But they’re all such a mean clique, the poets and their friends. They won’t listen to me. They wouldn’t read my poems even if I could afford to get copies made.
Athens’ most successful poets had their work copied onto scrolls and widely distributed, but that was expensive. Without a wealthy sponsor, Luxos’s poetry was never going to find its way into the best Athenian households.
The light from the moon was fairly bright and Luxos was still worried about being caught, but there didn’t seem to be any sort of security. Presumably Athens had more than enough worries at the moment without assigning valuable citizens the task of guarding props.
There they are. Luxos eased his way into one of the huts and started rummaging around among several sacks full of comedy stage-penises.
They do seem quite big.
Aristophanes had asked Luxos to measure them. That was difficult in the dark wooden hut. After a few minutes’ frustration, he loaded himself up with as many as he could carry, draping them over his shoulders and arms, and went back outside. There, in the bright moonlight, he walked straight into the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Or so it seemed to Luxos. There was also an intimidating woman with a sword.
The most beautiful girl in the world had big brown eyes and long black wavy hair. She wore a short white dress and delicate little sandals. Luxos stared at her in awe. For the first time in living memory, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He did realise that he was draped in a great bundle of funny phalluses. He regretted that. It seemed to be hindering conversation.
There was a long silence. Finally the intimidating-looking woman turned to her young companion.