I stepped around the sacred pond, careful to give it a wide berth-if I fell in now, no one would find my body till at least the morning, maybe not for days-and that was when I noticed torchlight within the Temple of Artemis.
At this time?
It flickered, and the movement of the shadows told me someone was within.
I crept, slowly, careful not to disturb whatever was happening. I edged up to the entrance and peered around the corner, not knowing what to expect.
There, with her back to me, standing before the statue of the Goddess, was Diotima. Her arms were raised, and she intoned a prayer to Artemis.
I stood up and walked in, not bothering to hide my steps, which echoed in the nighttime silence.
I was only three steps across the small temple when Diotima turned and said, “Help me, Nico.”
Lying at her feet were three balls of different colors; two drawing slates of the kind used by children, on which a child’s pictures were still drawn in fading chalk; a wooden pull-along toy of a puppy, the wheels of which had seen long use; a doll; and, in a brightly painted box, a set of doll’s clothes.
I stopped alongside her and held her hand. She gripped me back and held on hard. She whispered to me, “I collected them from my cupboard when we were back in Athens.”
She spoke to the Goddess.
“I am Diotima, the daughter of Ephialtes, the stepdaughter of Pythax. I stand before you, Artemis of the Sacred Spring, before my wedding, to dedicate to you my doll and her pretty clothes, my bouncing balls, and the slates on which I drew so many pictures; my gift to you, Goddess, before I am a married woman.”
Diotima let go my hand. She picked up each toy and placed it on the wall beyond the statue, where hung hooks to accept offerings. When she came to her doll, she hugged it tight, and there were tears in her eyes. But she placed the doll, too, upon the wall, and with a final gesture smoothed down the doll’s tiny dress.
Then my fiancée took my hand once more, and together we left the temple.
“The usual formula is to say it’s a virgin’s gift,” she said to me. “But it’s a bit too late for that.”
“Better late than never. The Goddess won’t mind.”
“No, I don’t think she will. I feel better, but sad, Nico. Very sad.”
I didn’t return to my bed that night, and nor did Diotima. We spent the night in each other’s arms, on the soft grass beside the Sacred Spring.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Now it’s back to school for me,” said Socrates mournfully. He’d have sounded more cheerful if someone had sentenced him to death.
“Don’t you like school?” Diotima asked.
“I like learning. I don’t like school. The two things are totally different. School’s boring. It’s a drag having to wait for the teacher to catch up with me.”
“The solution to that’s easy,” said Diotima. “I’ll teach you, Socrates.”
“You?” I said, astonished.
“I’d appreciate it if you said that with some more confidence. Why not? I’m better qualified than all those clapped-out soldiers who take up teaching, aren’t I?”
“Well, yes, of course. But-”
“It’s not like I won’t be around the home. We’re living in the same place now. He won’t have to travel to school.”
I could already see Socrates scheming to get around her.
“Don’t think this means you get to slack off,” she told him. “The difference between Karinthos and me is, I know what you can do, and I expect you to do it. If I catch you working one bit below your ability, my brother-in-law, I’ll have the slaves beat you.”
“Terrific,” Socrates muttered.
“Do you know your Homer?” she demanded.
“Of course,” Socrates said confidently.
“Excellent. Then we can move on to the good stuff. I think we’ll start with Sappho.”
“Sappho?” Socrates said, aghast. “You want me to learn girlie poetry?”
“All of it.”
“It’ll be good for you, Socrates,” I said, grinning. “It’ll help you later with the girls.”
“Then why don’t you learn it?”
“I don’t need to. I’ve already got a girl,” I told him.
He glared at me.
“Your idea’s brilliant, Diotima,” I said. “I’ll talk to Father about it as soon as possible.”
Diotima rubbed her hands in anticipation. “This is going to be fun.”
Diotima and I drove Aposila to her brother’s farm, to the far northeast. She’d said her goodbyes to Malixa back in Athens, and also to her sons, who by law remained with their father; and so Aposila left with us to begin her new life as a divorced woman.
With Glaucon dead, and with all the talk of who killed Hippias finally dying down, the elections would be free and fair. Pericles was already talking about next year’s vote, making noises about standing again.
It was hard, stony land we rode through. The farms we passed looked as if they could barely scratch a living. When we came to the farm of Theoxotos, I saw it was no different.
I led Blossom into the yard that surrounded the farmhouse. Naked children ran about, the owner’s children and the slave children together. They chased the chickens, which squawked and flew away, and the children laughed. Men and women toiled at their tasks about the yard. They looked up as we arrived. They’d been expecting us.
A man rubbed his hands against his tunic and walked over from where he’d been threshing corn. He stopped before me and said, “I’m Theoxotos, the brother of Aposila.”
“Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus. I bring you your sister.”
Theoxotos handed down Aposila from the cart. Aposila smiled at me, at Diotima, but said nothing. She walked into the farmhouse.
Theoxotos watched her go in, then said, “We’ll care for her. I know this place doesn’t look much, but no one goes hungry.”
The laughter of the children had told me that. I said, “I know.”
“It was you who helped my sister get her divorce, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You did her a great service. How much do I owe you?” he asked.
These people were so poor, I didn’t have the heart to take his money. They were poorer than my own family. But like my father, I knew Theoxotos would be a proud man. If I refused to be paid, he’d be more insulted than if I overcharged him.
I searched about the yard desperately for something that might expunge the debt without crippling the owner. Over the other side, I noticed the chicken coop, and stacked beside it, canvas sacks. I had a fair idea what was in those sacks. It gave me an idea.
“Could I have a few of those, please?” I said.
Theoxotos followed my pointing finger.
“You want to be paid in chicken feed?” he said.
“Maybe a few chickens, too, if you can manage it. You see, I’ve started a farm.”
Theoxotos turned to his head slave, whose thin frame stood naked but for a tiny loincloth, his skin burnt by the sun. “Give this man as many sacks of grain as will fit on that cart, and all the chickens he wants.”
“Yes, master.”
He turned back to me.
“Thank you, Nicolaos.”
It was the night of a full moon, always a night of good luck, but this particular moon was especially lucky to me: it was the night I would get married. Married, that is, for the last, final, officially approved time.
My family went on ahead to the house of Pythax, while I remained with my friend Timodemus, who I’d asked to act as best man. His duty would be to drive my bride to her new home. Together we slowly drove the cart through the narrow streets of Athens, taking care to avoid the worst of the mud, to keep the cart clean.
By the time I arrived, my father, my brother, and Pythax were in the courtyard. Diotima and her mother, Euterpe, were upstairs in the women’s quarters. My mother, Phaenarete, had gone up to join them. We men waited for Diotima to make her appearance, and thus begin the ceremony.