“Good,” Pytheas said. I couldn’t tell from his voice if he was disappointed or relieved. “Do you know that’s the first thing you’ve ever done that’s against Plato’s plan?”
“Whichever I’d chosen it would have been against it,” I said. “Or does he say it’s all right to copulate with your friend on the night before the festival?”
“He certainly does not. But I don’t think he was imagining the effect this would have on particular people at all. He knew about agape, but he didn’t think how it would mesh with these festivals. Or maybe he really couldn’t imagine agape between men and women, and he thought agape between men wouldn’t be affected by them going off to women at the festivals. Sokrates was married, and Aristotle, but never Plato.”
There was a great clatter at that moment as the worker pulled out a stone and several others fell. Pytheas got up and went over to the worker. “Joy to you. What are you doing?” he asked.
It wrote something on the path. “Making art,” Pytheas read aloud. “Good.” He patted it, then wandered back to me.
“Can they tell when you pat them?” I asked as he settled down again.
“I have no idea. But Sokrates does it, so I do it.”
We watched it for a while, pulling stones out of the wall and rearranging them. I couldn’t see an intelligible pattern, but then you might not see one in the middle of a fresco either. Then I started to feel sleepy. “I should go to bed. I have to be up early to make garlands in the morning.”
“Then we both have to mate with strangers in the afternoon.” Pytheas ground his teeth. “She’ll calm down. But she knows what I want now, and she has said no once, so it’ll be hard to ask her without reminding her why she refused. Maybe I could ask Ficino to cheat instead. He might be amenable to a eugenic argument if not a romantic one.”
“Maia might be amenable to a romantic one,” I said. “Though maybe not. She was so strict on not knowing our babies. I don’t think Axiothea would.”
“Eugenic,” Pytheas said at once. “And Atticus too. Funny how easy it is to tell. Too late for this festival tomorrow, but we can try that next time. We know they cheat. We can try to use that to our advantage.”
“What is the eugenic argument?”
“That any baby you and I had would clearly be superior in all ways and be a philosopher king, exactly as the city wants.” He hugged me suddenly. “It’s even true. She’d be a brilliant philosophical hero.”
“I’d rather not wait ten years,” I admitted. “How long will the silphium keep working?”
“This month, until you bleed again.”
He stood. I followed him up and took his hand. We walked back through the streets together. It was late and they were quiet, but not deserted. We saw a master striding along, and couples slipping back from the woods. There were also workers here and there, some of them engaged in engraving dialogue, others going about usual worker tasks. One of them slid in front of us as we passed the temple of Hestia. We stopped. It carved something by our feet. I had to angle myself to see it in the dim light of the sconces. “How many stars?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Too many to count,” Pytheas said.
It drew something else, something that looked like the number eight written sideways. “No,” Pytheas said. “A finite but very large number. And new ones are born all the time and old ones burn out, making them uncountable.”
The worker rolled away. “They’re wonderful,” I said. “Now that they’re talking, they’re thinking about everything. They’re naturally philosophical. I couldn’t have answered that.”
“Some of the masters could,” Pytheas said, absently. “Lysias knows that, I’m sure.”
“New stars are being born?” I looked up, as if hoping to see some, but saw of course only the old familiar constellations.
“Yes, very far away, in nebulae. They call them stellar nurseries. You can’t see them with the naked eye, and I’m not sure whether our telescopes are good enough. People will go out there and live among them—you will. Your soul, in whatever body it’s in at the time. I haven’t been out there yet, it’s a long way from home, and I know it’s silly, but I feel uncomfortable about leaving the sun. I will in time. One day, when people on new worlds call to me. Maybe you.”
“I won’t be me. I won’t remember.” It was a strange thought, bittersweet.
“No. But I will. You won’t remember, but you’ll call me and I’ll come.” He sounded very sure. I didn’t ask if it was foresight and an oracle. I just hugged him.
We should have expected it if we’d been thinking clearly, but of course we didn’t. My name was the second to be drawn, and matched with me was Kebes. I went up among the usual jokes and congratulations to have the garland bound around our wrists. Kebes was beaming, and I tried to keep my face under control, to take this like a philosopher. Pytheas had been wrong, this wasn’t aimed at me. It was meant to wound him, and it would. Athene didn’t care much about me or anything at all about poor Kebes. I kept my head high and tried to look straight ahead. I knew Pytheas was there, but I didn’t want to have to meet his eyes. It would be bad enough afterwards.
Once we were out of the square and the dancers I looked up at Kebes. “Who could have guessed?” he said. He was still smiling. “I haven’t been chosen at all since the first time, but I won the wrestling yesterday. I’m glad now that I did.”
I knew I had to say something, but couldn’t imagine what I could possibly say. I had seen him win the wrestling, and congratulated him at the time.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s a little awkward, that’s all.”
“What is?” He looked alarmed.
“Just it being you and knowing you so well. The others times it’s been people I barely knew.”
We came to the street of Dionysos and turned towards the practice rooms. “I was chosen with Euridike,” he said. “I know her slightly.”
“She’s very pretty,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, noncommittally.
We went inside and took a room—all the doors but one were open, so we went down to the far end. Kebes closed the door and unwound the garland. I felt shy and awkward as I took my kiton off. “I haven’t done it since the baby was born,” I said.
“But you’re all healed up?” Kebes asked. Then before I could answer, “You mean you haven’t done it with Pytheas?”
“Pytheas and I don’t—I’ve told you before! We’re doing agape, not eros.” The memory of his hand on my knee the night before came back, and with it an erotic jolt that felt disloyal to both of them.
“You don’t do that, maybe, but you’re doing something? He touches you? You suck his dick?”
“I do not! I never do that for anyone. On the ship—you were there.”
He looked blank. “On the Goodness?”
“The slave ship.” I still hated to think of it.
“I wasn’t on the same slave ship as you. I met you in the market.”
“One of the sailors forced my mouth, that’s all.” I sat down on the bed, suddenly cold.
“But you—Pytheas—you said he was your lover. Are you saying you don’t do anything at all?” He laughed. “I thought—”
“We talk,” I said, with as much dignity as I could manage. “We care about each other. Agape. That’s what I’ve always said. I don’t know why you care anyway.”
“Because as I was trying to say that day in Thessaly before Sokrates shut me up, you could do much better than him. You’re taken in by his pretty face and his fast talk, but he’s not genuine.” He dropped his kiton. His penis was awake, and as big as the rest of him. “I am. You’ll see now. Come on. I love you. I want you.” He took a step towards the bed.