Bremusa didn’t like that so much. ‘Tactfully? How?’
‘Outwit her.’
‘That’s never been my strongest point.’
‘I have faith in you,’ said Athena.
‘Can’t I just chop her head off? I’m good at that.’
The goddess pursed her lips. ‘I’ll find someone to help you with the outwitting.’
Luxos
Luxos hadn’t really expected that Aristophanes would let him write lyrics for his plays, though he did hold out some hope that he might allow him the valuable position of reciting to the audience before the plays were staged. While Aristophanes had dismissed the suggestion out of hand, Luxos didn’t give up hope. He had a naturally optimistic spirit. Besides, he had other avenues to explore, and wasn’t finished with Aristophanes yet.
‘I hear you’re going to a drinking party at Callias’s house.’
‘We call them symposiums. What of it?’
‘It will be full of literary people. Take me with you.’
Aristophanes seemed surprised. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Why not? Callias is the richest man in Athens. It will be full of influential people. You could invite me to recite my poetry.’
‘The evenings are meant to be enjoyable.’
‘My poetry is enjoyable! I’m sweeping away the old conventions! If these smart people heard me they’d be impressed, I know it.’
Aristophanes sighed. He did that a lot when he was talking to Luxos. ‘And give you a spot at the festival, I suppose?’
‘Yes!’
‘Luxos, we’ve been over this already. The Dionysia festival is for established names only. They don’t have a beginner’s section.’
‘I’m not a beginner! I’ve been writing and singing and playing for years!’
‘Busking at the harbour doesn’t count. Athens invites all the best poets from all over Greece, Luxos. They’re not going to let you on the same stage as them. I’m not giving you the lyric poetry spot before my play, it’s for established names only.’
‘How will I ever get established if no one will give me a chance?’
Aristophanes looked momentarily sympathetic, but behind him his assistant was talking loudly to someone, distracting him.
‘Really, Luxos, I don’t have time for this. If you’re so keen to perform at the theatre, shouldn’t you be talking to the festival curators? They decide who’s allowed to enter.’
‘I tried. They won’t talk to me. Nor will the paredroi.’
There were ten curators taking charge of the festival. Above them were two important officials, the paredroi. Luxos had attempted to see them all. Most times he didn’t make it past their assistants, and when he did, he was met with indifference and annoyance.
‘How come Athens is meant to be so democratic about everything, but when it comes to poetry you don’t have a chance unless you’re rich? It’s not fair. Let me come to the symposium.’
‘No. It’s invitation only. For superior artistic intellects.’
‘And flute girls.’ The symposiums held by the upper classes tended not to be entirely intellectual affairs.
‘A few flute girls may be in attendance,’ admitted Aristophanes.
When Hermogenes rushed up with a report, the playwright turned to him with the sort of urgency commonly seen on the battlefield when a messenger arrived with news of enemy positions.
‘The prop-maker says he can get them up to fourteen inches. Any longer, they’ll go floppy.’
Aristophanes threw up his hands in frustration. ‘Fourteen inches? That’s nowhere near long enough! What’s the point of me writing the funniest dialogue if Eupolis has bigger penises? You know what the Athenian audience is like. They’re all morons.’
‘Even Socrates?’
‘He’s the worst of the lot. As for Euripides…’
Hermogenes looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we’re worrying unnecessarily. Everyone in Athens is short of materials. Eupolis and Leucon’s choruses might not have such big stage-penises either.’
‘That’s possible.’ Aristophanes frowned. He looked a little older than his years. When some of the people he’d attacked in his plays hadn’t taken it well, and prosecuted him in court, it had aged him.
‘Luxos, when did you last eat properly?’
The young poet was surprised at the question. He was always hungry, but he’d grown used to it.
‘Eh… I can’t remember…’
‘Do you want to earn some money?’
‘Yes!’
‘Then listen. I have a mission for you.’
Idomeneus of Crete
Idomeneus of Crete never thought he’d end up as nursemaid to a semi-divine figure like Laet. There again, he never thought he’d live for eight hundred years. ‘Nursemaid’ wasn’t quite accurate. It wasn’t as if Laet didn’t have a lot of power. She had, but she wasn’t very practical. She didn’t know how to rent a room, or book passage at sea, or light a campfire, or anything like that.
Sitting in the Trident tavern, waiting for her to arrive, Idomeneus was listening to the conversations going on around him. It was a habit he’d picked up from his time with Laet. It amused him, because he knew what was going to happen if she decided to exert her powers. Everyone in the vicinity would do precisely the wrong thing. Anyone making a decision would make the wrong choice. He’d seen it happen hundreds of times, and it still amused him. At the next table, for instance, a solid-looking citizen was trying to persuade another, rather shabbier, citizen, to invest money in a merchant voyage to Libya. Though he was describing the potential profits in glowing terms, the shabby citizen was having none of it.
‘A trading voyage to Libya? With enemy warships everywhere? Forget it, it’s too risky.’
‘The Athenian navy will protect my ship.’
‘The Athenian navy will be busy ravaging Spartan lands. Your ship will go down to pirates, if it doesn’t sink in a storm.’
Idomeneus knew that the shabby citizen spoke wisely. A merchant voyage to Libya was a risk.
‘You’d better get out of here before she arrives,’ he muttered to himself.
The tavern was quiet, far quieter than Idomeneus had expected.
‘It must be true what people are saying,’ he mused. Athens is on its knees. Only a severe shortage of money could keep these degenerate Athenians out of their taverns.
The landlord had a hangdog expression, the sort a man wore when business was bad, with no prospect of things improving. When Idomeneus noticed his expression change abruptly to one of puzzlement and wonder, he knew Laet had arrived. She generally affected people like that. Laet was the sort of exotic beauty you didn’t see every day. The contrast between the paleness of her skin and the deep black of her hair and eyes was startling. Her features were perfect. Not only that, she projected the sort of aura that could render a man speechless. She wasn’t the sort of woman low-lives called out after in the street. When she swept by, they went quiet.
Idomeneus rose to greet her. Laet looked around at the plain tavern walls and the bare floorboards. ‘Is this the best you could find?’
‘It’s all we can afford till we get paid.’
Laet shrugged her shoulders, quite elegantly. She felt it was better for her image to be seen in wealthier surroundings, but she didn’t really care. She’d slept rough in the country plenty of times. Laet was tougher than she looked.
Conversation started up again at the next table.
‘Now I think about it, a voyage to Libya does sound like a good business opportunity. I’d be silly not to invest. I’ll go and dig up my savings from the garden.’