I walked down the Panathenaic Way toward the Acropolis, checked out a few lamps from a dealer, then decided to walk over to the tent of Aphorus. He deals in flute girls, and one of them, a pretty girl named Phryne, had once been of some help to me in solving the murder of a lovely young woman. I wanted to see how she was.
I threaded my way past the tanners and cobblers, but before I reached Aphorus’ tent, I saw some friends by the street of the blacksmiths and forgers. It was Phidias, our great sculptor; Sophocles; and Tidius, the actor who was working with Sophocles for the festival.
“By Zeus,” Phidias said, “Kleides with a fresh haircut. Must be intending to worship Aphrodite tonight. Hardly recognizable, right, Sophocles?”
“Hardly, except for the glint of wisdom in the sophistic eye.”
Sophocles was always as charming and kind as Phidias was satiric and irreverent.
“Looking for the lovely young Selkine?” Phidias asked. “I thought I saw her and a servant heading for the fountain house at the South Stoa. Or, let me see, was it Aspasia you were looking for?”
“But,” I said, “why do you assume I was looking for either of them? Perhaps they heard about my handsome new haircut and were looking for me. Socrates and I have warned you again and again to watch your assumptions.”
Phidias laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “I assume you’ll go to the theatre with Pericles and myself tomorrow. Sophocles will, of course, be driving poor Tidius mad with frantic last-minute instructions on how he wants his plays presented.”
Phidias turned to Sophocles and Tidius. “Are you really going to shock us all by presenting a suicide enactment on stage?”
Tidius shook his great graying head and glared at Phidias. “I hope you aren’t telling everyone about this. The audience, of course, will know the story of Ajax going mad and killing sheep he thought were his enemies because he lost the honor to Odysseus of being declared the most valuable warrior in the Trojan War. Everyone knows the story of Ajax committing suicide over his disgrace, but how Sophocles and I will present that suicide should remain unknown until we actually perform it at the theatre.”
Phidias clapped his hand over his mouth in mock horror. “May the god of theatre and wine, great Dionysus, forgive me for this trespass.” He waved his hand about. “But if everyone in the agora knew exactly what you were going to do on stage, Tidius, they’d come eagerly anyway. We all remember your great performance, many years ago, in Aeschylus’ play about the Persians. We’ll never see its like again.”
I noticed Tidius stiffen and his head pull back. I was sure that Phidias had meant to mollify Tidius, but instead he had offended the great actor. Tidius’ age, I suspected, had become a sore spot. Our open-air theatres where actors had to project their voices to over fifteen thousand people required stamina and good, strong lungs.
“I count myself blessed by the gods indeed to have Tidius assigned to my play,” Sophocles said. “We shall, I think, Phidias, see a performance as great as Tidius gave in The Persians. And now that our actors are also given prizes in competition, Tidius shall receive his just recognition.”
“Persians? More talk of Persians?” Nicias came up behind Phidias and myself. He slipped between us and sidled up to Sophocles. “I do not understand this obsession some people have with our former enemies. After all, those days are over. Most of us have no further interest in the Persians or even in plays about them. The performances of old Aeschylus are gone too,” he said, turning to Phidias. “We have young and imaginative playwrights like Sophocles here. With the help of young actors, Sophocles will climb to glory. I myself think it is inevitable.”
Sophocles blanched.
Phidias made a choking sound. “Do pardon me,” he said. “I seem to have something stuck in my throat. Perhaps a bit of bad bread oversweetened with honey.”
I thought for a moment that Nicias might swing at Phidias, but the actor was too clever for that. He wouldn’t want to offend either Sophocles or Pericles by attacking their friend. “Well perhaps,” Nicias sneered, “the honey will help. They say it has curative powers for that which is sour.”
I laid a restraining hand on Phidias’ arm. “Well there you are,” I said, looking Nicias in the eye, “even drones with their honey are good for something then.” I considered ducking behind Phidias then but, like the quail, decided to hold my ground. Of course, I was more broad-shouldered than Nicias, so I can’t claim the honor, as the quail could, for standing up to an enemy larger than myself.
Phidias grinned at me, then announced that he had come to the agora in search of some talented artists to help with the sculpture for the Parthenon. “Since the only talents I see here,” he said, “are Kleides’ sophistic wisdom, Sophocles’ writing, and Tidius’ acting, I shall have to seek elsewhere. Unless, my dear Nicias...” He paused. “Unless you know some talented men among your Persian friends?”
Phidias turned and strode off.
I thought I heard Nicias mumble something about the taste of rotten eels. He turned to Sophocles. “You’ve been in the public eye ever since you were chosen to lead the dance of victory after we defeated the Persian navy at Salamis. You’ve been chosen for public offices in the democracy and are likely to be chosen for more. You know, as well as I do, the importance of forging ties to achieve victories. It is hardly a crime to see the Persians as possible allies, perhaps against Corinth. Why, we all know that one of the judges for the play and actor competitions is quite friendly with one of the Persian ambassadors.”
“You indeed have more knowledge than I have,” Sophocles said.
“Yes, well I believe that you know several of the judges just as I do,” Nicias said, “and Kleides here knows how important knowledge is.”
I considered decking the sniveling boar for his nasty implication about Sophocles. While I was debating the wisdom of that action, Nicias reached out to put an arm round my shoulder, but I sidestepped away rather neatly.
This didn’t bother Nicias at all. He went on smoothly. “I would certainly like to act in one of your plays soon, Sophocles. I think we could be successful together. You know the plays of Ion, even though I am acting in one this year, are increasingly dull.”
Sophocles had had enough. “I doubt that we could work together at all. Our principles are entirely different. Perhaps you might appeal to the Persians. I know that they do not practice our Greek invention of theatre, but they do have spectacles into which you might fit.”
I smiled. This was very sharp talk for the normally polite and charming Sophocles. Phidias would have been pleased.
“You will pardon me now,” Sophocles said to me. “Tidius and I must go the forgers’ area to secure a sword for the play.”
I was still thinking about leveling Nicias for his insidious implication about Sophocles. Sophocles was thoroughly honest and his talent too great to need influence with the judges. Reluctant to risk a black eye or bruised chin, since I intended spending the night with the nubile Selkine, I settled for a comment. “Cheer up, Nicias, perhaps at the next Great Dionysian Theatre Festival you can serve as Sophocles’ prop man. A man of talent like Sophocles shouldn’t have to waste his time securing props.”
Nicias glared. “Well, I must go now to the animal vendors in the agora to purchase a weasel. There are too many mice about in Athens, and I’d like to have the weasel get rid of a few.”
I stepped up to Nicias. “Waste of a drachma for you to buy a weasel. You could just catch the mice yourself.” It wasn’t that clever, but I was angry.