"It's not so bad as that," said my father, "even if you're pretty small for soldiering and lack the charm to make a good parasite. You know how to handle bronze. I taught you the elements years ago, and you've had practice with Lysippos. Now I need you. I have a contract for fifty mirrors and a hundred lamps, and the trader is pressing me for delivery."
"Otherwise?"
"Otherwise, out you go. Make up your mind."
I gave in, silently swearing never to forgive my father for thus humbling me; but my grudge against him lasted no more than a day. I awoke Kavaros, who was snoring in a corner of the court.
"Come along," I said. "We're bronze founders after all."
"Eh? But I am trained as a warrior, not as a smith!"
"Who spoke of smithing? There will be plenty of lifting and hauling."
He groaned: "Ah, the black shame of it, that the son of a chief should be worked like an ass!"
"Cats always like to sleep soft. If I can dirty my hands, so can you."
Besides myself and Kavaros and Proteus, the foreman, there were two free workers and four slaves. My father put me under Proteus' orders, warning me:
"Now, son, I will not have you bullying and bossing the slaves as you used to do."
"Did I really?" said I in amazement. My father whistled.
"Oh, all right," I said. "I'll be good."
"And no unauthorized experiments with my equipment, either!"
So I avoided putting on airs to the foundry workers, while they were not so rash as to try any tricks on the owner's son. As a result, we got along well enough; some, in later years, I came to regard as good personal friends.
In such low spirits was I because of my failures that I nearly stayed away from the meeting of the Seven Strangers. My father persuaded me to go, saying:
"When have we given up the war because of losing two skirmishes? Besides, the third try is said to be lucky."
At the end of the first day's toil I washed off the grime for the meeting. It took me so long that I arrived late. Giskon led me in, explaining:
"Any member may be president of the club by giving a dinner to all the other members, and it's my turn. The president may also invite guests. Mine, this time, are you and two of my fellow Punics. After the meal you shall be put to the question."
At my startled look he added: "Oh, you won't be tortured, at least not bodily, though the questions the Strangers ask have made some guests wish for the scourge and rack instead. They will do all they tan to embarrass you, and judge your worth by the good humor with which you bear their inquisition."
We reached the andron. Giskon threw a hairy arm about my shoulders and roared:
"Behold my cousin, Chares Nikonos! He's just back from apprenticeship under the greatest sculptor of the age. Or so he says, but you know what liars these Hellenes are. He'll talk your ears off about methods of sculpture, or horrify you with skeptical theories of the gods. We will start at the left. Chares, this is Berosos of Babylon, who makes sundials for birds to bathe in and reads your fortune in the stars."
The Babylonian was a short pudgy fellow a bit older than I, with liquid black eyes and soft brown features. He said:
"May your stars be propitious! Not quite the truth does our host impart, O Chares. If you wish to keep birds from bathing in one of my sundials, you need only to pull the plug from the bottom of the bowl."
"So you'd make me out a liar?" said Giskon. "Go howl! Next we have a man from Egypt, land of mystery and magic, as he never wearies of telling us. He is Onas of Sebennytos, gem cutter by trade and dabbler in the higher mysteries by avocation."
The Egyptian was a tall, powerful man, even darker than the Babylonian, with strong, coarse features. A string of beetle-shaped amulets hung around his neck.
"Life to you, O Chares!" he said. "This scoffing skeptic thinks that, because his mercenary mind is deaf to the deeper secrets of the universe, they do not exist."
"Next," said Giskon, "swilling away in Scythian fashion at my best Byblian, is Sarpedon, a Lykian. The fellow in the beard and the trousers is Gobryas of Synnada. He is a Persian who ruled an estate in Phrygia until Antigonos One-eye thought it would look better on one of his Macedonian officers. We all hate Gobryas because his wife has infected our wives with this passion for flower gardens.
"Next, this prim-looking person is Vindex of Rome—Quintus Iunius Vindex, a trader. They have some barbarous custom there of bearing three names apiece."
"That is in Italy, isn't it?" I said.
"So they tell me," said Giskon. "It seems that the Romans have lately extended their sway over much of the central peninsula, and even over the Greek city of Naples."
"Foreigners ruling Hellenes?" I said.
The Roman, a slight, bearded man, said: "Blame us not, O Chares. We are a peaceful little folk who only desire to be let alone, but we must defend ourselves. Nor am I really a foreigner. I had to prove my descent from Aineias of Troy ere your Board of Trade would grant my license."
Giskon continued: "Next we have Zenon of Kition, whom you already know, and Kallias of Arados, a visiting architect."
Kallias, Giskon's other Phoenician guest, was a man of about forty, with a mop of curly black hair flecked with gray; handsome in a florid, fleshy way. With a charming smile he said:
"I rejoice to meet you, O Chares. We must talk of your new methods of sculpture, for I am sure I can learn something of value from you."
He spoke Greek almost perfectly. Giskon continued around the circle until all had been presented. The Strangers did not look so exotic after all, for all but the Persian wore Greek dress, and most were clean-shaven. They spoke Greek, however, in a fascinating variety of accents. The club was mixed not only as to nation but also as to station. They ranged from a rich Rhodian citizen, Nikolaos, to mere mechanics in shabby cloaks and shirts.
However, none heeded rank. All were men of keen and eager minds, curious about everything under Helios. As Giskon served an appetizer of spiced wine and salt fish, the company was already merry.
I was drawn into a dispute between the Babylonian and the Egyptian. Each appealed to Zenon of Kition.
"Heed him not," said Onas. "Berosos means well but he is no Egyptian. We are the oldest race of mankind, to whom the gods directly gave words of wisdom ere they withdrew from the earth. Therefore we must be the wisest—"
"Rubbish!" cried Berosos. "Our records go further back than yours. And what do you with your wisdom? Mumble spells and incantations, concoct potions and poisons, appeal to demons and demigods that, for aught you know, exist not. We, now, are scientific. Records of the stars for thousands of years we have kept, to show how by the radiations of these divine bodies the world is governed. There is no chance in the world, no caprice. All—men, spirits, and gods alike—do obey the stars, like the parts of a well-oiled machine."
"A dismal concept," I said. "Why strive to master my art, if the stars decide beforehand whether or not I shall succeed?"
Onas: "He has a good point, Berosos."
"Not good at all," said Berosos. "If you strive, the reason is that the rays of the stars compel you, willy-nilly, to strive."
The sobersided Zenon had stood with eyes bulging, so that he looked even more like a prawn than usual. Now he said: "For my part, I incline to the beliefs of the Babylonians: that all is foreordained by the glittering stars. I find comfort in the thought that, behind the bloody turmoil of this frantic life, calm impersonal forces determine all in advance."