“Are you sure you’d have been able to fit another course in?” Klio teased.
“It would have been a lot more use than German,” he said, and laughed. “Well, bless Athene for giving us the workers anyway, even if I wish she’d included some manuals and information on how they really work. Without them we’d be doing a lot of backbreaking work.”
“It is working, isn’t it?” Axiothea said. “Mostly sort of, like you said. But we are making it work. We’re proving Plato right.”
We grinned at each other and raised our cups in a silent toast.
18
SIMMEA
The games came first. I didn’t get through the heats except in swimming, where I came in third. Laodike won the long distance race for running in armor. I cheered so hard I almost lost my voice. Then Axiothea, who was next to me, pounded me so hard on the back she almost cracked a rib. Her good friend Klio of Sparta hugged both of us, and then hugged Laodike when she came up panting with the ribbons from her crown falling in her eyes. “A girl to win the race for running in armor,” Klio said, and her eyes were damp.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Why not indeed?” asked Axiothea. “Some people say men are stronger.”
“They often are, but women tend to have more endurance,” Laodike panted. “Running in armor is at least as much endurance as strength.”
The next day was the festival of Hera. I was up before dawn to help make flower garlands. The workers had brought masses of flowers down from the hills and piled them in each hall. In Florentia they were piled downstairs in the courtyard. Six of us twined them into seventy headdresses and thirty-five garlands, and we were barely done in time. Anemones have terrible stems, and hyacinths drop little bits everywhere—thank Demeter for long sturdy daisies and twining roses that look wonderful together, especially with a few violets tucked in. By the time everyone arrived for breakfast, we were finished and congratulating ourselves. I was famished and ate two bowls of porridge, a big handful of cherries and an egg. Maia hugged me on my way out. “Good luck,” she said.
I was afraid the festival was going to drag out like the festival where we were all named, but they had learned something and it did not. There was music and dancing, and names were drawn ten at a time and announced in bursts, maybe every ten minutes or so. Then we’d all dance again as those ten went up the temple steps in their headdresses to have garlands bound around their wrists as they were married for the day.
Dancing is always fun, and dancing with friends to music and without set patterns is even better. I had a strange nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach and I tried to dance it down. One hundred and twenty-six male golds, any of whom I could end up married to. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to have a baby. I looked cautiously at the black stone statue of Hera, facing the great seated ivory and gold Zeus across the temple steps. “Give me the good for which I do not know to ask,” I prayed.
I avoided both Pytheas and Kebes. I didn’t want to think about either of them. Kebes was called early and matched with Euridike from Plataea. Ficino bound the wreath around their wrists and Kreusa called out the blessing. Euridike was blushing, which really showed up on her fair skin. I danced more vigorously. Pytheas hadn’t been called yet. I could see him over on the far side of the agora in another dancing circle.
When my name was called my stomach clenched so hard I almost bent double. I let go of Klymene’s hand and walked towards the steps with my friends calling after me—wishes of luck and happiness. I was paired with Aeschines, from Ithaka. I knew him only slightly. He was very dark-skinned with big lips, a Libyan like my grandmother. We stood together shyly as Ficino bound the garland around our wrists. It was not one of the ones I had made; every hall had brought a supply. This one had poppies and anemones twisted in a white ribbon. I stared at it to avoid meeting Aeschines’s eyes. We walked down the steps carefully, and off through the crowd. I kept my eyes on the ground. I did not want to see or speak to anyone, most especially not Pytheas.
We crossed the square and walked down the street of Demeter, wrists together. The crowds were thinner here, and as we went on and came away from the sound of music we found ourselves almost alone. When we came to the plaza where the street of Demeter crosses the street of Dionysos, Aeschines stopped. “There are chambers down here,” he said, gesturing with his free hand.
“All right,” I said. We turned to the left. “Did they tell you about this?”
“Ikaros, one of the masters from Ferrara, explained it to all the boys of Ithaka and Ferrara,” he said. “I expect one of your masters explained it to the Florentines.”
“I wish Maia had explained it to me,” I said.
“Why, are you nervous?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I suppose it’s just because this is the first time and I don’t know enough about it. I saw my mother raped, and then more women were raped on the slave ship.” That had been the stuff of nightmare for years. “So I have some uncomfortable feelings.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“Thank you.” I looked at him. He was tall and earnest and his brow was furrowed now as he looked down at me. He wasn’t flawless Pytheas, my best friend and secret beloved. But if I had hoped for that, I had also known that the odds were a hundred and twenty-five to one.
“Here,” he said. There was a low hall which I had used before. It was full of practice rooms where people learning the lyre could sit in bad weather. Some of the doors lay open and others were closed. In the open ones I could see mattresses covered with blankets. We went into one and closed the door.
“Are all the practice rooms going to be used for this?” I asked, trying not to look at the bed.
“I don’t know. Ikaros said this was where we should go.” He unwound the garland and rubbed his wrist. “That was a bit tight.”
I smiled. “This is a horribly awkward situation.”
“It would almost be better if we were complete strangers and could introduce ourselves.”
“I’m Simmea,” I said.
He laughed. “I know. And you’re a Florentine, and one of Sokrates’s pupils, and you did a painting of some girls racing. That’s all I know about you.”
“That’s more than I know about you,” I said. I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think I’ve seen you with Septima?”
“She’s a good friend,” he said. “She knows so much.”
“I had a great conversation with her the other day about why the gods can’t change history,” I said. He took off his headdress and stood holding it awkwardly in both hands.
“There’s nowhere to put things,” he said, looking around. “I don’t want to drop this on the floor. Somebody must have spent a lot of time making it.”
“I made ones for us this morning,” I said. “They don’t take long, once you get the hang of it.” I took mine off and showed him the construction. “These big daisies make everything easy.”
Aeschines took my headdress and put them both down gently in the corner of the room. Then he came back over to the bed and sat down next to me. “Are you afraid?” he asked.
“More nervous and awkward and ignorant,” I said.
He put his arm around me and moved his face slowly towards mine. He then kissed me tentatively. “How was that?” he asked.
I laughed, because he sounded so much like somebody beginning a philosophic inquiry. “I think that was quite nice,” I said. “The problem is that there are all these things I’m trying not to think about—the slavers on the ship, and what happened to my mother. And I’m not quite sure what I am supposed to be thinking about.”