"Mistress! A man here says he is your son!"
My mother, a small, dark, birdlike woman, flew into my arms in a whirl of draperies, asking a hundred questions at once. She sent the porter to the foundry to fetch the master.
I was a little nervous about meeting my father, as our last correspondence had been far from friendly. However, his welcome was hearty enough. He was a big, brown-haired man, upright, sensible, determined, and hard-driving.
When I had freed myself from my parents' embraces and paid off the bearers, I followed my mother and father into the court. The house had a fine interior. The larger rooms opening on the court had windows with shutters in which were set sheets of Kappadokian talc, to let in the light even when the shutters were closed.
The court itself was filled by an elaborate flower garden, vivid with roses of scarlet and yellow.
"What's all this?" I asked, indicating the garden.
My father explained: "Oh, growing flowers is the latest fashion. A Persian woman brought it to Rhodes. Your mother won the prize last spring for the best display. You should see it when the violets and narcissi and hyacinths are in bloom. Is this fellow with the horrible red mustache the slave you insisted on buying?"
"Yes, sir. Kavaros is a Tektosagian from beyond the Istros. Don't ask him to do any task that calls for delicacy, for he doesn't know his own strength. Kavaros, these are my parents, Nikon and Elissa. Obey them as you would me."
Kavaros nodded with his lordly air. "It is pleased that I am to meet you, sir and madam. Indeed and your son is a fine young gentleman, and it has been a pleasure to save the life of him."
"When did you save my life?" I demanded.
"Do you not remember, master dear? The last time was on the ship, when we had the little bit of a storm, and I stood by to catch you if you were swept overboard."
I laughed. "Off to quarters with you. The porter will show you where to go."
I knew it would be useless to pin down Kavaros' lies one by one. If I explained that during the storm he had been too seasick to think of saving lives, he would bring up some other tale, equally false. Nor did beating seem to improve him.
"An impudent brute," said my father. "Kelts are better off in mines than in private houses. They're apt to get moody and slay themselves or their masters."
"I can manage him," I said. "If one appeals to his warrior's pride, his strength can accomplish wonders."
My father grunted. "I don't hold with this profligate modern idea that every middle-class youth should have his own slave before he's old enough to shave. I never had one when I was your age."
"As I told you, I need him in the practice of my art. I'm not big enough to move all those heavy weights by myself. Besides, at a pound and a half he was a good bargain. A whole war band was captured on the Macedonian frontier."
"More of that later. Now we must have a banquet to celebrate your return. How about tomorrow night?"
"The Guild meets then, Father. I told Makar I should be there, as I wish to get started at once in my profession."
My father's stern, strong-boned countenance darkened. "Are you determined to go ahead with this sculptural folly?"
I said: "You don't understand, Father. I have a mission."
"To reform the art of sculpture in Rhodes?"
"Why, that's part of it. How did you know?"
He gave me a wry smile. "At your age I wanted to reform the craft of bronze founding."
"Now you mock me. I will not only reform the art of sculpture; I'll do much more than that." I shook a fist. "Do you remember all those abandoned villains, Hippon and the rest, who tormented me when I was a puny little boy? They shall see who's the bigger man! And do you think we are forever barred from full citizenship because mother's mother was a Phoenician? Just watch!"
My mother said: "Chares, don't take life so hard!"
"I'll take it as I'm made to take it!"
My father, in tones of badly tried patience, said: "Let me explain, son. If you want to be accepted among the best people in Rhodes, having no ancient family to boast of, you need two things: money and well-placed friends. The business, well handled, will furnish you with money; but you'll have to spend years learning to run it. As for friends, you have shown little talent for making them; though, if you're as clever as you think you are, I suppose you can learn."
"I care nothing for money or friends," I growled. "Someday I will put up such a magnificent statue that people will have to respect me whether they wish to or not."
"That's an idle boast, I fear. You cannot compel people to like what they are determined not to like. However, we're forgetting our feast. Shall we set the following night then?"
"I'm sorry, Father, but I promised Giskon to attend a meeting of his club."
"Oh, to the crows with you! You fill your days with engagements before you even see your poor parents."
"I deeply regret it, Father. It wasn't very thoughtful of me."
"Never mind, I cannot be angry with you today. We'll make it tonight—you have no engagements tonight, I trust?"
"No, sir."
"Good! I'll send Sosias out with a list of my friends. Elissa, find out what the cook will need."
While my father waited for the slave to bring him writing materials, I asked: "What sort of eating club does Giskon belong to?"
"The Seven Strangers. Originally there were seven members of different nationalities. Although the group is larger now, it is still in the main a club of mixed foreigners. If your taste runs to tales of distant lands and exotic peoples, by all means go to the Seven Strangers."
Five of the six guests at the banquet were my father's long-time friends, as he was a man with a few faithful cronies rather than a wide circle of acquaintances. One was my mother's cousin Giskon, whom I had already seen that day.
Another was Genetor, of the Kameiran tribe, who owned a deposit of bituminous earth that was mined for the use of vine growers. He was a stout man, sumptuously clad, with a grave, formal manner. Though his big-jowled face was that of a man of sixty, he had a fine head of curly hair, as glossy black as my own, which closer inspection showed to be a wig. The lamplight winked on the golden rings upon his fingers.
Other guests were Tryphon son of Anax, a visitor who owned a silk factory in Kôs, and Damophilos, a full citizen and naval officer, just in from a cruise. Damophilos, a small, lean, beak-nosed man, was talking when I joined the group:
"We searched the coasts in both directions for a day's row and stopped a score of merchantmen, but no sign of them did we find."
"Excuse me, sir," I said, "but for whom were you looking?"
"The book thieves. Didn't you know? Three days ago there occurred a most daring robbery. The library was broken into and all its books stolen."
"Library?"
Genetor enlightened me: "Five years ago some of our citizens decided to build a public library. They assembled a nice collection, too: over two hundred scrolls, and they raised enough endowment to hire a full-time librarian. I may say that my contribution was not among the least."
"Last month," continued Damophilos, "a Phoenician ship put in, bringing goods to trade. On this ship were two men calling themselves booksellers. They went around to the houses of the richer citizens and sold them several rare volumes. These booksellers also visited the public library and asked many questions.
"When they had completed their business, they departed without arousing suspicion. Then came this burglary. The navy was ordered out, but to no avail."
Tryphon of Kôs spoke up: "I had not heard of this. Did you know that the same thing happened in Kôs, several ten-days earlier?"