Agne brightened. “My son!”
“Yes.”
“My son was in the Great Dionysia.”
“Yes, we know,” Diotima said patiently. “We’d like to ask about what happened after.”
Out of sight of her owner, the slave girl was jumping from one foot to the other in anxiety.
“We came home,” Agne said. She sounded sad.
“But your son returned to Athens,” Diotima said.
“Did he?” Agne asked, as if this was news. She suddenly sat up and smiled. On her ancient, ravaged face the effect was disturbingly skull-like. “I must have forgotten. Did he send you?” she asked, excited. “Is my son coming home?”
“Is there a reason why he might not?” Diotima countered. “Is there something that keeps him away?”
Agne was confused. “I … I don’t think I can remember,” she said. Agne looked to the slave girl, who turned away her head.
Diotima said, “What we want to know, Agne, is whether anything happened here in Rhamnus? Anything that might not reflect well on Lakon?”
Agne groaned. “No, that was a mistake. He didn’t mean it.”
“Mean what?” Diotima asked.
“There was so much blood.”
She began to cry.
“Agne, about your son-”
A sudden change came over Agne. She looked blankly at Diotima. “Who?” she asked.
Diotima tried for a long time, but it was no use. Agne had forgotten that she’d ever had a son. The pressure of the questioning had driven her back into whatever world she inhabited in her mind.
We had come on a fool’s errand. This poor old lady’s wits were completely addled. Even if she told us something that seemed to make sense, we could never trust it.
I was angry, deeply angry, with Lakon, for allowing his mother to live in such squalor. It was none of my business, but I intended to tear strips off him when I returned to Athens. I would shame Lakon in public if I had to, until he took proper care of his parent.
So much effort, so much travel, and it had all been for nothing. I wondered how I was going to explain this to Pericles.
“What’s your name?” Diotima asked the slave girl, after we had taken our leave of Agne. We spoke in the downstairs room. The girl hadn’t offered us refreshments. We understood why.
“Lysine,” she said.
“You look after this place all on your own?”
“Yes.”
That was why everywhere was neat and tidy, up to the point that she could reach.
“Aren’t you tempted to run away?” I asked.
I shouldn’t have said that to a slave, but it was patently obvious that Lysine could walk any time she wanted.
Lysine looked horrified. “And leave Agne to die? I couldn’t do that. Besides, I never want to leave here.”
I found that hard to believe. This was the most squalid farm I had ever seen.
I said, “What could be worse than looking after a demented old lady on your own?”
“My father sold me to a brothel when I was a child.”
“Oh.”
Lysine shrugged. “He needed the money. A few years later I ran away. The owner caught me and beat me black and blue. When I was healed I tried again. The owner chased me to this place. I was hiding in the barn when he found me. He swore he was going to kill me. Then this crazy old lady with a broom appeared and threatened him. It was Agne. She wouldn’t let him take me. She hit him with the broom until he gave in. She paid him coins, and he went away.”
“That was good of her.”
Lysine shrugged again. “She was old even then. I think she realized that soon she’d need someone to look after her. I didn’t mind.”
“This is outrageous,” I said. “I promise you, Lysine. I’ll make Lakon shoulder his share of the responsibility for Agne if it’s the last thing I do.”
“That’s impossible,” Lysine said softly.
“Why?”
“Shh! I can’t tell you here.” Lysine looked about. “I’ll show you.”
Lysine led us outside. She walked past the barn, going out the back. Lysine walked through the backyard, past the rotted posts that had once held up a fence railing. She took us another hundred paces, to a low hill that overlooked the sea far away.
Sculpted stones jutted out from the ground. On each was engraved a picture and some words. Lysine pushed away the weeds to reveal the closest one.
“Here it is,” she said. “This is the grave of Lakon.”
SCENE 29
“Sometimes she thinks he’s still alive,” Lysine said. “In her lucid moments she knows he isn’t. She’s happiest when her mind is gone.”
We sat upon the large stones that were scattered amongst the weeds of the field. It was uncomfortable, but Lysine insisted we talk far from the farmhouse.
“How did Lakon die?” Diotima asked.
I could tell from her tone of voice that Diotima had as much trouble believing this as I did. Yet there was no doubt about it, we had seen a funeral stele engraved with the name Lakon. Beside it was the gravestone of his father. This was the family plot, overgrown with weeds. There was even a bush growing out that must have been there for years.
“It happened long before I got here,” Lysine said. “Agne doesn’t like to talk about it. They tell me it was after Lakon died that she lost her mind. But everyone else in Rhamnus, they talk about it all the time. And-this is the terrible thing-they say that Lakon killed his own father with an axe. They say he slit his own throat.”
There was only one problem with Lysine’s statement. Lakon was alive and well in Athens.
“Are you sure he died?” I asked.
Lysine looked at me as if I’d asked a stupid question. “Didn’t I just say the tragedy was before I arrived? This happened decades ago. I don’t even know if I was born then.”
I had to concede that was a fair point.
Lysine said, “Look, if you want to know what happened you’ll have to ask someone who was there. Ask any of the old men. Ask Patro.”
“Are there any other men in the family?” Diotima asked. She was still searching for a way out of this paradox.
“None.” She waved her arms to encompass the entire property. “Look at this place. Does it look like there’s been a man here for decades?”
Diotima and I both shook our heads.
Lysine said, “One day there was Agne, her husband, and her son. The next day the son killed the father and then suicided.”
“You’re the true mistress here, aren’t you?” Diotima said.
“No,” Lysine said firmly. “That is Agne. I merely help her.”
“What will you do?” Diotima asked gently.
“I’ll look after her until she dies,” Lysine said. “The old men from these parts bring us food. It’s not much, but we get by. I have to grind up Agne’s food and feed it to her. But we get by.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know.” She looked about her, worried. “Last year Agne said I’m to be free, not a slave. She went to the local archon and declared it and everything. The archon said yes. Agne said to the archon that when she dies I’m to have her farm. I never want to leave here. But I don’t know anything about farms. Maybe some man who wants a farm will marry me,” she said. “We could grow food and maybe even have animals and we wouldn’t have to be hungry.”
Any man who married this girl would get something more valuable than a farm. I hoped for her sake that she could find a good man who wouldn’t misuse her.
“There’s the rest of the world,” Diotima said. She pointed to the sea beyond Rhamnus, to the island of Eboea on the other side, clearly visible.
Lysine shivered. “No. It’s terrible out there. Terrible.”
We thanked Lysine profusely. She had given us more than we had any right to expect. We declined the offer to say farewell to Agne; it was too uncomfortable, knowing what we did.
We returned to the agora at Rhamnus as fast as we could. Patro and his friends were exactly where we’d left them. I had the impression they never moved.