Slowly the boy gazed from man to man. Slowly a crimson flush spread from his chest, dyeing his clear skin up to his brow. He remained quite silent.
Now, thought Demosthenes, we may learn something to the purpose. One thing was certain—the thought thrust in, even while he pondered his next move—he had never seen a handsomer boy. The blood showed like wine poured into alabaster and held up to the light. Desire became insistent, disturbing calculation. Later, later; everything might hang upon keeping one’s head now. When he had found out who owned the boy, he might try to buy him. Kyknos had long since lost his looks, and was merely useful. One would need to take care, use a reliable agent…This was folly. He should have been pinned down in his first confusion. Demosthenes said sharply, “And now tell me the truth, no lies. What did you want with Aischines? Come, out with it. I know enough already.”
He had paused too long; the boy had collected himself; he looked quite insolent. “I don’t think you do,” he said.
“Your message for Aischines. Come, no lies, what was it?”
“Why should I tell lies? I’m not afraid of you.”
“We shall see. What did you want with him?”
“Nothing. Nor with you, either.”
“You are an impudent boy. I suppose your master spoils you.” He went on to improve on this, for his own satisfaction.
The boy had followed the intention, it seemed, if not the Greek. “Goodbye,” he said curtly.
This would never do. “Wait! Don’t run off before I have finished speaking. Whom do you serve?”
Coolly, with a slight smile, the boy looked up. “Alexander.”
Demosthenes frowned; it seemed to be the name of every third well-born Macedonian. The boy paused thoughtfully, then added, “And the gods.”
“You are wasting my time,” said Demosthenes, his feelings getting the better of him. “Don’t dare go away. Come here.”
He grasped the boy’s wrist as he was turning. He drew back the length of his arm, but did not struggle. He simply stared. His eyes in their deep sockets seemed to grow first pale, then dark as the pupils opened. In slow Greek, with fastidious correctness, he said quietly, “Take your hand off me. Or you are going to die. I am telling you.”
Demosthenes let go. A frightening, vicious boy; clearly some great lord’s minion. No doubt his threats were empty…but this was Macedon. The boy though released still paused, brooding intently on his face. A cold creeping moved in his bowels. He thought of ambushes, poison, knives in dark bedrooms; his stomach turned, his skin chilled. The boy stood motionless, gazing from under his mane of tousled hair. Then he turned, vaulted the low wall, and was gone.
From the window, Aischines’ voice boomed in its lowest register, and soared, for effect, to a pure falsetto. Suspicion, only suspicion! Nothing one could pin to an indictment. The soreness climbed from Demosthenes’ throat to his nose; he gave a violent sneeze. Somehow he must get a hot tisane, even if some ignorant fool would make it. How often, in his speeches, he had said of Macedon that it was a land from which it had never yet been possible even to buy a decent slave.
Olympias sat in her gilded chair carved with palmettes and roses. Noon sun streamed from the window, warming the high room, lacing the floor with shadows of budding branches. A small table of cypress wood was at her elbow; on a stool by her knees sat her son. His teeth were clenched, but low gasps of agony now and then escaped him. She was combing his hair.
“The very last knot, my darling.”
“Can’t you cut it off?”
“And have you ragged? Do you want to look like a slave? If I did not watch you, you would be lousy. There; all done. A kiss for being good, and you may eat your dates. Don’t touch my dress while your hands are sticky. Doris, the irons.”
“They are too hot still, madam; hissing-hot.”
“Mother, you must stop curling it. None of the other boys have it done.”
“What is that to you? You lead, you do not follow. Don’t you want to look beautiful for me?”
“Here, madam. I don’t think they will scorch now.”
“They had better not! Now don’t fidget. I do it better than the barbers. No one will guess it’s not natural.”
“But they see me every day! All but the…”
“Keep still, you will get a burn. What did you say?”
“Nothing. I was thinking about the envoys. I think after all I’ll wear my jewels. You were right, one shouldn’t dress down to the Athenians.”
“No, indeed. We will look out something presently, and proper clothes.”
“Besides, Father will wear jewels.”
“Oh, yes. Well, you wear them better.”
“I met Aristodemos just now. He said I’d grown so much he’d hardly have known me.”
“A charming man. We must ask him here, by ourselves.”
“He had to go, but he presented another man who used to be an actor. I liked him; he’s called Aischines, he made me laugh.”
“We might ask him too. Is he a gentleman?”
“It doesn’t matter with actors. He told me about the theater, how they tour; how they get their own back on a man who’s bad to work with.”
“You must be careful with these people. I hope you said nothing indiscreet.”
“Oh, no. I asked about the war party and the peace party in Athens. He was in the war party, I think; but we’re not like he thought. We got on well.”
“Don’t give any of these men the chance to boast of being singled out.”
“He’ll not do that.”
“What do you mean? Was he familiar?”
“No, of course not. We only talked.”
She tilted his head back, to curl the locks above his brow. As her hand passed his mouth he kissed it. There was a scratch upon the door.
“Madam, the King sends to say he has had the envoys summoned. He would like the Prince to enter with him.”
“Say he will be there.” She stroked out the hair lock by lock, and looked him over. His nails were trimmed, he was freshly bathed, his gold-studded sandals stood ready. She found him a chiton of saffron wool, with a border she had worked herself in four or five colors; a red chlamys for his shoulder and a big gold pin. When the chiton was on, she clasped round his waist a belt of golden filigree. She was leisurely; if he were early, it would be with Philip he would wait.
“Isn’t it finished?” he asked. “Father will be waiting.”
“He has only just summoned the envoys.”
“I expect they were all ready.”
“You will find the afternoon quite long enough, with their tedious speeches.”
“Well, one must learn how things are done…I’ve seen Demosthenes.”
“That great Demosthenes! Well, what did you think of him?”
“I don’t like him.” She looked up from the golden girdle, raising her brows. He turned towards her, with an effort she noticed. “Father told me, but I didn’t listen. He was right, though.”
“Put on your cloak. Or do you want it done for you like a baby?”
Silently he threw it round his shoulder; silently, with untender fingers, she drove the pin through the stuff, which gave too quickly. He made no movement. She said sharply, “Did I prick you?”
“No.” He knelt to lace his sandals. The cloth fell away from his neck, and she saw blood.
She held a towel to the scratch, kissing his curled head, making peace before he went to meet her enemy. As he went towards the Perseus Room, the smart of the pin was soon forgotten. For the other, it was like a pain he had been born with. He could not remember a time when it had not been.
The envoys stood facing the empty throne, with the great mural behind it of Perseus freeing Andromeda. At their backs were ten ornate hard chairs; it had been made clear, even to the most ardent democrats, that they would sit when, and not before, the King invited them. The leader, Philokrates, looked demurely about him, straight-faced, at pains not to seem at ease. As soon as the order and matter of the speeches had been determined, he had made a brief digest and sent it secretly to the King. Philip was known to speak extempore with force and wit, but would be grateful for the chance to do himself full justice. His gratitude to Philokrates had already been very solid.