"What had you in mind, O Kallias?"
"With your education, you could be a double-pay man in command of a catapult. How say you?"
"That would be fine. Thank you, sir."
Lykon and I stood in Lykon's studio, with the bust of Homer before us and our materials around us. The audience comprised the three judges and most of the Artists' Guild.
When Protogenes said: "Go!" Lykon and I oiled our hands and sprang to our tasks. While our slaves cut slabs of clay to convenient size, we picked up these slabs and built up models on the armatures that rose from our workstands.
We worked in tense silence, save when we both tried to measure the original bust at the same time and got in each other's way. In a trice we were thrusting at each other with our calipers and shouting threats and curses. Lykon had dealt me a scratch in the forearm when Kallias and Nikolaos pulled us apart, and Protogenes admonished us.
"After this," he said, "he who gets to the bust first shall finish his measurements before the other may approach it. He who breaks this rule shall be disqualified."
I finished the core of my bust—a rough shape of sandy clay like the final head but a little smaller—while Lykon was still bringing his clay bust up to size; my revolving workstand gave me an advantage. Then Kavaros handed me a brush and a bucketful of melted red-tinted beeswax. The tedious task of painting on the wax let Lykon get ahead of me. Once I had built my wax to its final size, however, the process of shaving it down, inscribing the surface detail, and adding the sprues and vents went faster than Lykon's finishing his clay bust. I had almost caught up with him when he began laying on the clay slip he was using for his one-piece mold.
Then I constructed my mold of oily sand held in place by a flask of reinforced clay laid on around it. When my mold was built out, I secured it to the core by driving long bronze nails into it.
When both molds had set, Lykon turned his mold on its side and began digging out the clay, while Kavaros kindled a fire in the brick oven that Lykon used for baking his terra cottas. Meanwhile I turned my mold over and nailed a board to its base. Then Kavaros and I used the board to maneuver the mold into the oven.
Lykon continued to scrape the clay out of his mold. When that task was done, he began to build up his core, even and anon thrusting it into the mold to see how it fitted. After a while my stare made him nervous, for he jerked around and said:
"Why aren't you working on your mold and core?"
"They're all done. In a few hours, when the wax has melted out and the mold has dried, I shall be ready to pour."
Lykon threw his tool to the floor. "What sort of Thessalian wit is this?" he shouted.
"Nothing but Lysippos' lost-wax process, man. I once tried to tell you about it, but you wouldn't listen."
"There's no use trying to compete with such trickery!"
Protogenes spoke: "O Lykon, you agreed to the terms of this contest, knowing that Chares had a new method. Do you wish to be known as a poor sport?"
"I'll show you!" said Lykon. Without bothering to build his core further, he put it, and his mold, in the oven to dry beside my mold.
"Let us lunch while waiting," said Kallias.
The slaves brought food. As we ate, the tension relaxed, although Lykon continued to grumble and brood. Afterwards, over a jug of wine, we entertained one another with jokes and stories.
"This contest," said Kavaros, "reminds me of the time my great-grandfather contested with Agnoman the Ogre. This ogre was an unpleasant fellow, nine cubits tall, with long green hair all over and a pair of bat's wings growing out of his back, the which he could take off and hang up when they inconvenienced him. He lived in a cave on top of Mount Golameira, which is so high that if a young man fell off the top, he would be dead of old age before he got to the bottom.
"Now, this Agnoman flew far and wide over the lands of the Scythians and the Roxolanians and the Issedonians, raiding caravans and kidnaping princesses and having himself a rare old time. At last he kidnaped Nessia, the daughter of the king of the Tektosages. So the king called in my ancestor, as he always did when things got insurmountable. 'Gargantyos,' he said—for that was my forebear's name—'if you will rescue my darling Nessia, you shall have her and half my kingdom.'
"Well, my ancestor's first job was to get to the top of Mount Golameira. So he made himself a special chariot to be pulled by four-and-twenty eagles. He had a terrible time training the eagles, but at last, on a fine summer's evening, he took off and guided these birds over the plains of Getika and Scythia and the Rhiphaian Mountains until he came to Mount Golameira. So tall was it that my great-grandfather had to fly back and forth zigzag for hours to reach the top.
"My ancestor had been flying by moonlight, because, being a clever man, he had found out about the habits of Agnoman. The ogre did his hunting at night, returning to his cave at sunrise. So it was well before sunrise when my great-grandfather brought the eagles to a halt on the ledge outside the cave and went in.
"Agnoman must have been a Persian ogre, because he had most luxurious ideas. The cave was all fixed up with gold and jewels that the ogre had stolen, and there on a silken couch lay Nessia. Indeed and she was glad to see my ancestor, calling him her hero and savior and hugging and kissing him until the breath was fair squeezed out of him, and him a big strong warrior.
" 'That is fine, my dear,' said he at last, 'but soon the sun will be up and Agnoman will be back on those horrid bat's wings. So let us be going!'
"Nessia agreed. But then the difficulty arose, of what she was to take with her. My great-grandfather would have gone without taking anything, except perhaps a handful of gold and jewels such as a man could snatch up in a hurry. But Nessia must try on gorgeous silken gowns, one after another, until she found the most becoming one. And she must try on the earrings and necklaces and other gew-gaws to see which went best with which gown, and all the time my ancestor getting more and more nervous; not that he was a timorous man, you understand, but it seemed like spitting in the faces of the immortal gods to fool around so.
"Sure enough, the sun arose and Agnoman came back while Nessia was still trying on goodly gowns and glittering jewels. The ogre understood right away what was going on, being intelligent as ogres go, and bared the big teeth of him to eat my ancestor. But my forebear, backing up against the wall and holding Agnoman off with his sword, said: 'If you have any Keltic blood in your veins, Agnoman my lad, it is sporting blood, and you will not decline a fair contest.'
" 'What have ye in mind?' said Agnoman.
" 'I will fight you with broadswords, fair and square,' said my great-grandfather, 'and if I win I take the maid and such of your wealth as I can carry, while if you win you may eat me without resistance.'
"The ogre said: 'I am thinking there is a catch to that offer, as I can eat you anyway. Howsomever, I do like the spirit of you; so let us not quibble but have at it.' And he hung his wings up on the wall and went for my ancestor with his sword.
"Indeed and that was a gigantical fight. For three days and three nights they fenced, and so loud was the clatter that the king of Persia, a thousand leagues away, ordered out his army, thinking he was invaded. At the end of that time the swords of both were worn down to the hilts, and neither had laid a scratch upon the other.
" 'It is fools that we are,' said my great-grandfather. 'Since swords will get us nowhere, let us make a wrestle of it.'