Zenon was at my elbow. "Are you taking me to your cousin's house as you promised, O Chares?"
"Certainly. Come along."
The Phoenician tipped the watchman to ward his cargo against pilferage and followed us like some melancholy marsh bird. We picked our way among bales and bundles and jars of many shapes and hues, which littered the flagstones of the waterfront: oil, honey, and marble from Attika, pitch from Macedonia, salt fish from Byzantion, cheese from Bithynia, nuts and rare woods from Pontos, wool from Miletos, figs from Syria, dates from Babylonia, raw silk from India, spices from Arabia, and papyrus, linen, and wheat from Egypt.
We crowded through the fortified gate in the harbor wall and passed on into the city. A broad thoroughfare, wide enough for a four-horse chariot, led from harbor to marketplace. It was thronged by a mixed multitude: bearded Phoenicians in bright-hued kilts, jerseys, and little round caps; clean-shaven Egyptians in white linen; Syrians in tall spiral hats and shimmering robes; men with the long hair and flapping trews of the sunrise lands; slaves of all shapes and hues, from Keltic pallor to Ethiopian black. And, of course, the native Rhodians, in cloaks and shirts of sober hue, pacing sedately and punctuating their rolling periods with graceful gestures.
"Phy!" said Zenon. "I hate crowds."
"Oh?" said I. "I like them. I like anything with color and contrast."
Instead of heading straight for home, I went first, at Zenon's behest, to the house of my mother's cousin. Giskon and his brother Pymiathon, in Cyprus, were shipowners, in whose ships my father imported most of the copper and tin for his foundry.
We found Giskon amid his accounts. I said: "Rejoice, O Giskon! Do you remember me?"
My kinsman raised his busy black brows. "Certainly, Chares. Have you been away?"
He roared with laughter at my expression, jumped up, and came around the table to hug me like a great bald bear. "Don't take it so hard, boy. I knew you would be home soon. Let's look at you. It's a shame you never grew any larger."
I hid my vexation at this remark, for I was touchy about my size. Giskon went on:
"And handsome as a god! Watch yourself, or every boy-lover in Rhodes will be chasing you."
"Never fear. I don't care for those games."
"Thank the gods for that! But, with your size, you might not be the one to decide."
"Indeed?" I took his swart, hairy paw in mine. "I can handle most men of half again my own weight." I squeezed.
"Io!" he cried, wringing his hand. "Wrestling with clay and marble has given you a grip like that of the serpents of Laokoön."
"I've also been trained in the Argive mode of wrestling. It sometimes comes in useful with middle-aged admirers."
"Good boy! Will you tarry for a bite and a swallow of wine?"
"I thank you, but I must get on home. I only stopped to present Zenon of Kition, who asked to make your acquaintance."
"Rejoice!" said Giskon. "Whom in Kition do we know in common?"
"I am the son of Mnaseas the trader," said Zenon, "of the firm of Mnaseas and Demeas."
"My brother does business with them all the time," said Giskon. "Use my house as your own while you are here." He turned to me. "Chares, will you be free the evening of the day after tomorrow?"
"As far as I know. Why, what is doing, cousin?"
"My dinner club meets here that night, and I should like you to be my guest."
"You're very kind, Giskon. I shall be there."
As I departed, the voices of Giskon and Zenon rang out in the harsh sounds of the Punic tongue. They had spoken Greek out of politeness, although in fact I know enough Phoenician to get along with. I resented my Phoenician blood in a way, because it greatly diminished my chances of ever attaining full citizenship; although, paradoxically, I liked my Phoenician kinsmen better than my father's people. Punic influence has always been strong in Rhodes, ever since the settlements of Kadmos and other Phoenician chiefs before the Trojan War.
In the marketplace, as of yore, hucksters cried their wares from folding booths amid the statues and memorials; businessmen chaffered; politicians orated; sophists lectured; idlers gossiped; and charlatans beguiled. I paused to look once more upon Lysippos' great bronze of the sun god driving his four-horse chariot across a copper cloud. It was love of that statue, now green with the patina of years, that had led me to seek out Lysippos for my teacher.
We breasted the slope of one of the narrow cobbled streets that run back from the marketplace, where business establishments give way to a mixture of small shops and middle-class residences. The sounds of hammer and saw in the workshops mingled with the whir of querns and the clack of looms in the dwellings.
My route took me past the shop of Makar the stonecutter. Although other artists looked down upon Makar as a mere mechanic, I esteemed him, for he had taught me the rudiments of stonecutting and had set my feet upon the path to the practice of sculpture. He was there in the yard before his shop, a dwarfish brown figure, working on a kind of marble bowl. Another was being roughed out by one of his slaves, while a third, gleaming whitely, stood finished atop a marble post.
"Be of good health, O Makar!" I said.
"O Chares!" he cried. "Welcome home! When I heard you were apprenticing under Lysippos, I thought you'd sure stay on the mainland."
I smiled. "Why compete with the greatest sculptor of the age on his own grounds?"
"I would think he'd have taken you for his successor."
"No, Lysippos has three strapping sons, all sculptors, and he naturally favors his own kin. But now that I've mastered his methods, I will put them into practice here. The art shall be revolutionized."
"I suppose you're one of these new realists, who carves old beggar women instead of immortal gods?"
"More than that, O best one. Lysippos and his brother have invented a new method of casting. You'll be struck dead with astonishment when I tell you about it, but now I must get along home." I started to leave but paused to look into the finished marble bowl. Its milky inner surface was divided into zones by inscribed lines, and a bronze pointer jutted from one side out over the center of the depression. "What is this?"
"It's a new kind of sundial," said Makar. "I make them for a Babylonian refugee, who sells them to rich Rhodians."
"Very interesting; I must know this fellow. When does the Artists' Guild meet next?"
"Tomorrow evening, as it happens. Shall I put you up for membership?"
"I was about to ask you to. I have a letter of commendation from Lysippos', and I can explain the new method of bronze casting at this time. These ought to get me in, don't you think?"
"Oh, sure. Be at the Town Hall at sundown."
I plodded on up the hillside. Once I lost my way. Although I was born in Lindos, my father had removed to Rhodes while I was yet a small boy. Still, boyhood memories fade in seven long years, and there had been much new building hereabouts since the great flood, which had wrought much ruin three years before I left home.
"Is it that the young master does not know his own country any more?" said Kavaros. "Or have we come to the wrong city?"
"Hold your tongue, you impudent rogue!" I said.
"Now, sir, you will never—"
"I said to stop!" I shouted, aiming a cuff.
Kavaros jerked his head, so that the blow glanced off with little effect, and muttered something into his mustache. I cast about until I picked up the smoke plume from the foundry. From then on, the clang of the bronzesmiths' hammers guided me home.
My father had written that he had bought the house next door to the foundry, so that he no longer had to sleep over the smithy. It was an imposing dwelling, covered with fine white plaster and as large as those of many full citizens. I gave my name to the porter, who called: