His inquiring mind took him rambling about the city and the countryside, in what time he could spare from music; but I made him go to the gymnasium at least one day in two. He lived in Athens and must learn the carriage of a gentleman, whether or not he wished to become an athlete. He went obediently, and did his exercises; but, as he told me cheerfully, the best part of the palaestra was hearing all the gossip. Having no love affairs of his own he had no bashfulness, and chattered freely about those of his companions. I was amused by his mixture of shrewdness and simplicity; it made a good sauce to our midday meal.
“Harmodios was there today,” he said, soaking his bread in soup. “He came without Aristogeiton.”
“Why, have they parted?” I began to attend.
“Oh, no. Aristogeiton has to go out to his farm. Harmodios has more land, but he can afford a steward. And you know, Uncle Sim, if you can believe it, Hipparchos had another try at him?”
I nearly choked on my food. I don’t know why I had expected the boy to have heard nothing; no one had longer ears; but I sometimes forgot his childhood was well behind him. “I never knew he had been so open. It is unlike him.”
“Why, doesn’t he talk to you about it? I made sure he would.”
“No, indeed. I’m amazed that it’s common knowledge.”
“Well, I don’t know about the city. But it is in the boys’ palaestra. People would laugh, if it were anyone else. But I expect he could put us in prison.”
“The gymnasiarch would make you sorry. But you don’t mean to tell me the Archon pays his court on the wrestling-ground?”
“Well, almost. He stands staring. At first he used to just walk up and down with friends, only stealing glances; you know how, it always looks so silly. But now he stands and watches, as if he were a regular erastes waiting for his eromenos. Harmodios hates it. People look, you know. Today when it started, he simply broke off his bout and left the other man standing, and walked out. And Hipparchos followed him.” Seeing my startled face, and remembering I’d not been to school in Athens, he said, “Things like that often happen.”
“Not to him. Bacchylides, don’t gossip about this. I mean it. This is serious.”
“Yes, I know.” Indeed, his face had sobered. “I went to see.”
“Did he see you?” I was surprised by my own alarm.
“No fear. I looked out of the privy window. Harmodios had to wash down before he dressed, so he went to the fountain. He’d come by himself with no one to sluice him down; and Hipparchos went and picked up the jug to do it. I couldn’t hear all they said because of the fountain-spouts splashing. Harmodios said thank you, but it was too great an honor and he’d sooner do it himself. I couldn’t hear Hipparchos, he spoke too quietly. But he stood the jug on the curbstone, and started to put his hand on him. Harmodios shook him off, like—like a spider. I really thought for a moment he was going to hit him. But he didn’t; he snatched up the jug, and stood with it, ready to throw the water. So then Hipparchos went.”
I was too shocked to speak. There are people to whom such things are never done; everyone knows it to be impossible.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Sim. I didn’t tell the others. Just for your sake I kept back this very good story, which you are the first to hear. It would have made a better one still, if Harmodios had emptied the jug on him. He had his hair in curls across the front, and a robe with three-color borders. I would have liked to see him all wet.”
“I doubt you would.”
“Well, maybe not. I saw his face, as it was … And Aristogeiton won’t laugh, either.”
“If Harmodios is wise, he will not tell him.”
“He’ll have to do that. For all he knows, someone saw. Like I did. If he doesn’t tell, and Aristogeiton gets to hear, he might think he listened.” He nodded gravely, a citizen of his world. “Look who Hipparchos is, and what he owns. Harmodios must tell … But he’d do it anyway.”
“Yes. I fear that you are right.”
I knew it, next time I saw the two together. They were going about the city upon their business; Harmodios had a kind of sparkle upon him, and I saw what the boy had meant, when he likened him to the young Achilles at Aulis. Aristogeiton looked darker. I thought, That man is afraid. What of? He never looked like a coward. Though it was not likely they would talk of it, I knew how gossip seeps down through the gymnasium from older to younger; so presently I remarked to Bacchylides that Aristogeiton seemed oftener in the city than he used to be.
He answered at once, “Oh yes, he is. He comes to watch over Harmodios.”
“Well, there’s sense in that. It would be better still to take him out of town.”
“He’d never go. He’s the head of the family. Uncle Sim, do you think the Archon would ever carry him off? I think that’s what Aristogeiton is really frightened of.”
“Carry him off?” I could hardly credit my ears. It was too absurd for anger; I simply laughed. “A man like Hipparchos doesn’t run mad for love, like someone in a song. And he’d need be mad, to do that. Harmodios’ family is one of the oldest in Athens.”
“Yes, I know. But his father’s dead, and he hasn’t any brothers … They do say Hipparchos carried off a boy.”
“Not for long. Except for the slave; and that was little more than a prank.”
With his elbow on the table beside his bowl, he propped his chin on his hand and looked at me, thinking. I can still see his eyes, under those dark brows which now are starting to grey. Soft and thick they were, in those days.
“You are right,” I said. “It was an act of hubris, and unjust. You could say it was unworthy of a gentleman, let alone a ruler. But things are less simple when you know a man.”
“And he’s been good to you, too.” He meant just what he said, not more. He trusted me.
“That’s so. We are eating his bread this moment. But it’s not his gold that keeps me here. I don’t think we’d come to want if we took the road. You’d enjoy it, I daresay; at your age, I did.”
“I’d have enjoyed Ionia, I know that. But it’s gone, now. In those days Athens was just one city; but now it’s the center of the earth.”
In no time, I thought, he will be a man, and I’d best remember it. “That’s the root of the matter. Solon and Pisistratos brought the Muses to Athens. But only one man keeps them here. Without him, they’d fly away like birds scared out of a field. It takes more than gold to whistle them to your hand; more, even, than being a gracious giver. To keep them, you must understand their song.”
“Yes,” he said gravely. “You’re his friend; you really know him, and I’ve only seen him when he’s been making a fool of himself. Plenty of other men do it too, over boys who just make fun of them.”
“But they can afford it better. Well, only the gods are without a flaw. All one dares ask of any man is that he does more good than evil. And that he does no evil of free choice.”
I could see him getting that by heart, like a song. From loving the boy, I was beginning to love the man.
Presently he said, as he finished his watered wine, “It’s the Great Year. It will soon be the Panathenaia. I’ve only seen one. What hymn will you be doing?”