"Yes, sir," said President Damoteles. "That is what we have come to consult you about."
"Why?"
Damoteles was an experienced politician, not easily put out of countenance, but the glare of that terrible eye made him falter.
"Why? Well, sir—well, we were unable to come to an agreement with the Demetrios—"
"I know that."
"So we thought that could we but confer in person with you, O Antigonos, these misunderstandings—"
"By the gods and spirits!" roared Antigonos. "My son has full power to act in my name. He and I understand each other perfectly. If you wish an agreement with us, seek it with him. I have matters to think of other than the impudence of one little offshore island."
He turned and began to totter off on his shrunken shanks. Damoteles, not moving from where he stood, raised his voice in the manner of a trained orator. He said:
"Then, O Antigonos, are we dismissed? You will not receive the representatives of holy Rhodes?"
Antigonos turned back. He gave us a slight, mocking bow. "I forget. You are a free Hellenic republic and as such entitled to deference, even from me. Naughty old Antigonos forgets his manners." He snorted. "I have just lost my younger son, and his funeral will occupy me for some days. Apply to my ushers in another ten-day, and we shall see whether you mean business or wish merely to break wind by the mouth. Athenaios, see that they are quartered."
The bodyguard to whom Antigonos spoke, a stout, black-browed fellow in a gilded canvas corselet, found us tents. That night we messed in a large tent with a multitude of Antigonos' officers and officials and other envoys from afar. Athenaios, the bodyguard in charge of us, pointed out a group of trousered, bearded men at a neighboring table, with curious caps that came low over their necks and were gathered into bunches in front.
"Behold the fornicating Armenians!" shouted Athenaios, who like many of the Macedonians was noisy from heavy draughts of wine before the meal. He was eating like a Thessalian and drinking like a Byzantine.
"What are they here for?" I asked.
"The old dispute. Their king helped Ariarathes to seize our province of Kappadokia whilst we were busy fighting Seleukos. We demand that the Armenian withdraw support from this usurper, so that we can corner Ariarathes and mete him the same medicine that Eumenes dealt his scoundrelly father, ha!" The Macedonian drew a finger across his throat.
On the other side of me a bearded, middle-aged man in civilian dress spoke up: "The trouble is, you have no Eumenes to perform the task for you."
"Say you so?" barked Athenaios. "If the satrap would give me a good division, I would sweep Kappadokia clear in a month."
"You were not so successful against the Arabs of Nabataea," said the other.
"Harken to him who speaks! How about your great asphalt raid?"
"What is all this?" I asked. "I fear I don't follow."
Said Athenaios: "This so-called scholar"—he jerked a greasy thumb at the graybeard—"is Hieronymos of Kardia. He followed Eumenes until the Antigonos caught them both and put an end to Eumenes. Since, with the death of his fellow Kardian, Hieronymos was out of work, and as the satrap decided he was harmless and perhaps even useful, he joined our merry band.
"Well, later the young Demetrios and I led forays against the Nabataeans, without much success, because of the wild-ness of the land and the numbers and mobility of the barbarians. When we returned, Hieronymos taunted us and boasted how easily he, Hieronymos the Great, would rout these cowardly Arabs. So the Antigonos gave him command of a force to gather asphalt from the Asphalt Lake—or, as some call it, the Dead Sea—a lake of brine set amid dry and dreary hills on the margins of Judaea.
"Hieronymos gathered a fleet of boats and embarked his men, resolute to do their task, ha! But the Arabs who make their living from this asphalt came out in swarms on rafts of reeds. They showered our scholar-hero's force with such a storm of arrows that most of those in the boats were slain. Hieronymos escaped with the remnant, though with his repute as universal genius somewhat tattered. Be that not true, my learned historian?"
"At least," snapped Hieronymos, "I wasn't surprised asleep without proper watches, as you were."
"Why you god-detested temple thief—" cried Athenaios, fumbling ominously at his belt.
"Please, gentlemen!" I said. "You're both bigger than I, and if you fight in here, I shall be crushed between you like an insect. The moral would seem to be that Arabs are bad people to meddle with, ashore or afloat."
At least, I distracted Athenaios' anger for the moment. Shaking his finger under my nose like a schoolmaster, he rasped at me: "It is all a matter of adapting one's force to the task, young fellow. A properly outfitted force of light cavalry, with no foot to slow it down, could easily sweep away those lying, thieving, murdering savages."
An elderly man, who had been eating quietly, spoke up: "If the Arabs are thieves when they defend their asphalt pond, then what are you when you try to take it from them?"
"That is entirely different," said Athenaios, striking the table with his fist. "We serve the divine Alexander's empire; we therefore represent civilization. It is right and natural that we should rule the less cultured peoples, for their own good as well as for ours. If all these Arabs and Armenians and such-like scum would only submit quietly, they would find themselves the gainers in the long run. But then, one cannot expect you artists to understand matters of war and statecraft. You had better stick to your painting."
The Macedonian belched heavily and began exploring his mouth for a piece of roast that was stuck between his teeth.
"No doubt, no doubt," said the elderly one, with a faint smile. He turned to me. "Young man, I am Apelles of Kôs. May I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?"
A little awed—for I had heard much of this painter—I gave my name. He said: "You must be with the Rhodians, then. What is your position in the embassy?"
I told Apelles of the plans for the statue of Antigonos.
"A sculptor?" he said. "Then you must know my old friend Protogenes."
"Certainly, he's president of our Artists' Guild."
"You must remember me to him. I haven't seen him for years, though I was the one who gave him his start. When will you begin the statue of the satrap?"
"I don't know. The Antigonos told us not to trouble him for another ten-day, and nobody else will listen to us. I should like to get started soon. I intend to employ the new methods of my master Lysippos."
Apelles chuckled. "So you studied under Lysippos? Didn't you find him a somewhat thorny character?"
"At times, though I should prefer a difficult teacher of the first rank to an amiable mediocrity. Why, do you know him, too?"
"I used to, years ago, when we were both pursuing the wild young Alexander over hill and dale in Asia Minor and trying to make him hold still long enough to paint and model his portrait. Lysippos used to criticize me for painting Alexander hurling a thunderbolt."
"Why, sir?"
"Thunderbolts, he said, were meet only for gods; I should have depicted the Alexander with a spear, as he had done. This was before Alexander officially became a god, you see. But I did not mind. Lysippos is a great sculptor for all his crabbed ways." Apelles paused and gave me a meaningful look. "Let me have a word with you after dinner."
Athenaios, who had overheard, gave a shout of laughter. "Watch yourself, youngster! You know what these lonians do with pretty boys."
Apelles said: "At my age? You flatter me, Athenaios. And anyway, Koans are of Dorian origin."
After dinner I met Apelles on the parade ground. He spat.
"Macedonians!" he snapped. "I don't see how Hieronymos stands their Triballian swinishness, for he is a man of real intellect.
"However, that's not what I asked you here for. I am just finishing a portrait of the satrap and should like to depart, but merchantmen are few at this time of year. I should also like to see Protogenes again. If you can work things to get me passage back on your sacred ship, I will arrange with the satrap to have him pose for both of us at once."