There was only one thing missing.
There were no guests.
“What happened?” I whispered to my father.
“We were never able to resolve all the arguments,” Sophroniscus whispered back. “Say nothing, son, for the insult to Pythax is severe, and I don’t wish to make it worse.”
Severe indeed, and Father didn’t need to explain. The respectable families-the friends of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete-had refused their invitations to the home of an ex-courtesan whose new husband was a former slave. The friends of Pythax … well, he had no friends among the citizenry, and all his old friends were slaves.
The door of the women’s quarters opened. All we men-my father, Pythax, Socrates, and I-instinctively looked up to see Diotima standing there, in a dress of flowing red silk. It was the satin she and I had brought back with us from Ionia. Upon her head was a fine yellow veil. Diotima came carefully down the steps, I took her hands, and she smiled at me through the veil. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought her eyes were red.
The courtyard seemed empty with only the seven of us. Every time we spoke, the sound echoed off the walls. It reminded us there were no guests, which no one was brave enough to say, but everyone was thinking. It made us all the more reluctant to say anything at all. Euterpe seemed close to sobbing. She knew the embarrassing no-shows were because of her dubious reputation.
We sat and ate and drank in silence. Very little, for no one had an appetite, except for Pythax, who drank the wine.
Pythax knocked back the last of his wine. “Well,” he said in the echoing room. “You may as well get going.”
I stepped from the house, to check that all was ready. Awaiting us right at the door was the wedding chariot-actually, it was Blossom and his cart-fresh-painted in white with blue facings and decked out in flowers. Holding the reins, ready to transport my bride to her new home, was Timodemus. He favored his good leg, but he was more than able to manage the steady drive. He gave me a broad grin.
The donkey’s mane had been combed and tied in ribbons. The donkey gave me a sour look as I stepped out the door, as if to say his embarrassment was all my fault.
But then I myself stood, stunned. For there, standing in two lines before the donkey, ready to lead the procession, were the Little Bears of Brauron. All of them, decked out in their finest dresses, and since they came of the wealthiest families of Athens, their finest was fine indeed. They’d woven flowers into the braids of their hair, and the moment I emerged they began to sing panegyrics in praise of Artemis.
For the first time ever, the Little Bears had come to lead one of their own to her wedding.
Doris stood to the side.
“You arranged this,” I said to her.
“It was the least I could do,” Doris said.
Standing along both sides of the road was a crowd to admire the spectacle. A sizable crowd that stretched down the street, full of people I didn’t recognize. Then it hit me: the parents of the Little Bears had come to watch their girls, as they should. Euterpe had got her wish: the best families of Athens were here to attend her daughter’s wedding.
Phaenarete stared in amazement at the assembled personages. My mother clenched her hands and said in dismay, “We can’t possibly feed all these people.” I thought she might be about to cry.
“I’ve seen to that,” said Callias, the richest man in Athens. He stepped out of the crowd. He sported a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, which couldn’t hide the massive lump beneath.
“The city owes Nicolaos a debt, and so do I. He put to rest a personal agony that’s plagued me all my life. When you come to your home, Phaenarete, you’ll find the best food my estates can provide. Also extra slaves to serve.” He paused. “I’m afraid there wasn’t enough room in your courtyard, fine though it is. I ordered my staff to block off the street so the party can spill out.”
“Won’t the archons object?”
“That’s them over there.” Callias nodded in the direction of three harried-looking men and their plump wives. “They won’t say a thing. Not if they want to eat tonight.”
One of those archons saw me. The Basileus waved in my direction and called his best wishes across the heads of the crowd. I waved back.
The door opened again. Diotima stood waiting. Pythax handed her out into the street to be admired. Then Pythax, too, saw what awaited us, and stared in amazement, before a slow smile crossed his face.
Diotima seemed barely to notice; she was too busy being the center of attention. It was the first time the women of Athens had ever seen silk. Female gasps could be heard from all over the crowd. From the looks on the men’s faces as they stared at Diotima, I knew that for months to come, complete strangers would be stopping me in the street to congratulate me on my good fortune.
Leading the Little Bears was Ophelia on the left, and on the right, a girl who I knew for sure was not a Bear. Speechless, I walked over to her.
“Hello, master,” said Asia.
“I’m not your master. What are you doing here?”
For Asia was the survivor of a previous adventure. After what she’d been through, I’d thought she’d never want to see me or Diotima again. Yet here she was, to wish us good fortune.
Asia glanced over to where Diotima was being admired by the crowd.
“She’s lucky,” Asia said. “And so are you.”
“Yes.”
“Go back to your bride, master.”
So many friends.
Pythax took Diotima by the wrist and led her to me. He said, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the many people about us, “Before these witnesses, I, Pythax, give this woman, Diotima, to you, for your wife.”
Did I hear a catch in his voice?
Pythax offered Diotima’s wrist to me. I took her wrist to lead her to the cart. I handed her up onto the back, where she would stand for the coming journey, for all of Athens to see.
The Little Bears led the way. As they walked they sang the traditional praise of marriage.
“Io Hymen! Io Hymen! Hymenaeus Io!”
Timodemus took Blossom’s reins. Not that Blossom needed any guidance; he knew the way to his new home already. He set off in an easy glide before Timo had a chance to move him.
I walked behind. I passed up to Diotima a quince, which she ate, as custom demands. People we passed wished us good luck. Our guests followed.
When we arrived at our home, Socrates and Timodemus unhitched Blossom while I handed Diotima down. I raised her veil then, for she had come to her new home, and set the thin material back over her head, to see that she’d been crying beneath the veil. I smiled at her, probably like an idiot, and she smiled back and was lovely. I presented my bride to my parents, officially. They stood by the entrance to our home. Sophroniscus opened the door. Phaenarete invited Diotima within.
I took the axe that had been left conveniently by the front door. No one who watched knew it, but this was the axe that Aposila had used to dispatch Glaucon. This I hefted, and in a series of hard swings used it to destroy the cart, so that it might never be used for any lesser purpose than to bring my wife to me. Also so that Diotima couldn’t change her mind and go back home.
I threw the dismembered axle to Socrates, who put it on the waiting bonfire. As the night wore on, he would feed the rest of the cart into the fire, to give the guests light by which to party.
Which they proceeded to do.
It seemed like half of Athens was at our home. The Little Bears ate in a group isolated from the rest, under the highly protective eye of Doris. At least, when Socrates tried to chat them up, she sent him running. Other young men eyed the Bears from a safe distance. The girls knew it and giggled and played up to them in their pretty dresses. With all the parents present, I wondered how many negotiations might be underway before the night ended.