“I hope not, Mides. One needs always to assume that one does not know the whole truth of an issue, any issue. Once one believes that, one ceases to think.”
“I see. I hope, Kleides, that you do not consider me such a one.”
“Indeed not. I have heard you argue before the assembly. You defend your positions persuasively. As a supporter of democracy, I do not agree with them. I think the common man more capable of making sound judgments than you seem to think him. But I do not underestimate the force of the arguments you use to insist that the wealthy and the educated are the most qualified to support and direct the state. But right now, I am interested in how you might obtain a cart for us.”
Mides looked appreciatively at Selkine. “I know a local farmer from whom I rent carts here in Delphi. And,” he said, leaning toward me to prevent the innkeeper from hearing, “I could get you a better room in a good farmhouse, a room your companion deserves.”
“A tempting offer, Mides, for which I thank you. But I believe the inn will suit us fine.”
Selkine looked a bit annoyed at my rejection of Mides’ offer, but I rather enjoyed the conversation of a tavern’s customers, generally practical, honest, and direct. “I would, however, be grateful if you could get that cart.”
Mides nodded. He waved away the cup of wine the innkeeper had poured for him. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll see to it.” He left.
I had the feeling that he’d lost interest in us.
We went up to our room and rested. Late in the afternoon, we got up to make our first visit to the sanctuary. We carried our offerings for the gods and headed for the Castilian Spring to cleanse ourselves in its sacred waters.
We made our way into the rectangular paved structure of the spring and took seats on the stone benches that ran along the walls, awaiting our turn to approach the bronze lion heads from which the waters flowed.
I leaned back against the limestone wall, still tired from our two-week journey from Athens, fretting that I had left my city. Tension was still high over Sparta’s and Corinth’s war challenges. But the problem at hand was to resolve my relationship with Selkine. I knew the status quo could not hold.
My head lolled in the warmth the sun bathed on it, but the mountain air was just cool enough to keep me awake. Through my drowsiness, almost like a mist covering my eyes and seeping into my brain, I watched a young man on his knees before one of the lion heads. He had a terra-cotta cup in one hand, and with it he scooped up water and poured it over his head. His dark curls lengthened with the weight of the water. He lifted up his face on which the water shone in the sunlight. He looked up at the shining rock crags of Mount Parnassus, cliffs from which those deemed by priests to be violators of the sanctuary were thrown.
It occurred to me that a goodly number of people would find pleasure in seeing me, a Sophist and friend of the likes of Socrates and Protagorus, flung off that cliff.
The young man rose, placed a small gift to the gods in a niche in the wall, and turned to leave. I closed my eyes.
Selkine jabbed my side. “We can approach the fountain now and make our offerings.”
The young man stopped by us. He looked admiringly at Selkine, then nodded to me. “You are Kleides of Athens, are you not?”
“I am.”
“I am Parmades, also of Athens. I have listened to you lecture on arriving at knowledge by examining opposite ideas: thesis and antithesis. You are quite brilliant, Kleides.”
“Thank you. But there is an antithesis to your statement. Some regard me as quite immoral, others as quite a fool.”
“I don’t think you are a fool. I think, perhaps, you understand human beings and what makes them do what they do. Perhaps, Kleides, we might talk before the day is finished. There may be danger here at Delphi for us Athenians.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We are at the inn of Tedar. We will be there tonight if you wish to talk then. Or we can talk now if you wish. Selkine and I have not yet heard from the priests regarding our turn to approach the oracle. I don’t know how good our chances are in the lottery since there seems to be a goodly number of pilgrims here.”
Parmades nodded. “We will talk this evening then. But be careful at the inn of Tedar. I do not wish to accuse without further evidence, but it may be that all is not as it seems. In the meantime, I am hoping that my name comes up in the lottery this afternoon.” He lifted up the small statue he carried. It gleamed in the sun: an exquisite gold statue of Apollo. “My father asked me to give this statue to the priest who will lead me to the oracle.”
Selkine gasped. “Oh, but it is truly beautiful. Was it cast in Athens?”
“In the shop of Phidias.”
“Ah,” I said. “A true work of art then, of inestimable value, like the great gold and ivory statue of Athena inside the Parthenon.”
“My father had Phidias cast this small statue as a gift to the god for healing my mother who was ill for some time. She is getting better now. If possible, she and my father will wish to come to Delphi soon themselves to thank the god.” Parmades frowned. “I have asked a farmer about carts for them when they arrive. At the farmer’s, I saw something that disturbs me. I must have your opinion, Kleides. Now I must see if I can see the oracle. If not, I will visit one of the small local shrines, then seek you out later.”
I nodded.
Parmades returned my nod and left.
I watched him go. I wondered what he wanted to talk about. Parmades did not have a reputation as a deep thinker or debater. He was an ordinary young man, enjoying hetaerae, wrestling at the gym, drinking a little too much on occasion, learning to farm his father’s lands efficiently.
“He is solemn for a young man; he is most uneasy,” Selkine said.
“Perhaps just the solemnity of the place.”
“Perhaps. Let’s make our offering.”
We made our offering, Selkine placing her terra-cotta statue into a niche in the wall and me placing my offering of wine, which I assumed the priests would much appreciate.
We sat for a while, breathing in the cool mountain air and the smell of pines, then left the spring, Selkine pulling her cloak closely round her shoulders to ward off the chill in the air. We walked through the sanctuary, passed a few wanderers, most of them heading for the treasury buildings of their cities to make an offering there to Apollo, a bribery, as it were, in exchange for the god’s prediction of the future or for sage advice for their problems. I noticed the ill-clothed man from the tavern who had shown more interest in his wine than in Selkine. He glared at me. I wondered if he were another traditional Athenian upset at my scientific and sophistic outlook. No matter. I had made enemies before and would, no doubt, do so again, but at least not as many as Socrates had or Euripides, our young iconoclastic playwright.
I directed our path toward the Lesche, the great hall erected by the people of Cnidus, a meeting and discussion place. As always, I was interested in what issues might be under discussion, but I knew too that Selkine wanted to see the famous painting by the great Polygnotus.
Inside, I took a seat on the bench that ran along the walls, while Selkine walked up the great hall to view the paintings.
I heard one of the men next to me mutter “freedom for all Greeks, not just Athenians.” The man next to him nudged him and jerked his head toward me. The first man turned, looked at me, then back at his companion. The two rose and walked out of the Lesche.
A tall thin man who had watched the two men leave came over and sat next to me. “Athenian?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Thades, from Corcyra Island. We owe you Athenians thanks for sending your warships to defend us against attack by the Corinthians.”
“The assembly voted to help Corcyra. You’re an ally, after all.” I smiled. “And besides, we certainly did not want your own fleet of triremes going over to the Corinthian navy.”