I felt a moment’s surprise that she had been allowed to accept. But how not? It was her right by birth. Her mother would rejoice that the orphan had not been forgotten. Harmodios could not interfere, unless he told them everything; and why, after all, oppose it? It would bring her the chance of a better marriage. She had some of his beauty; indeed was becoming not unlike him. Young though she was, she was one of the tallest there. Like enough she would catch some young noble’s eye.
With fifty girls to train, I had not much time to notice her. She was quiet and grave, and did not need to be told things twice. Though there were two or three girls more beautiful, she had the virgin candor of the young Athene herself, and the grace of a willow wand. The mother wafted her fan without a care. It was clear that Harmodios had kept his counsel.
I did not trouble the girls at first with their offering-baskets; highborn girls learn as young as peasants to balance loads on the head, ready for these occasions, and they could practice at home. But I had them pacing the precinct as they sang, to get the beat in their blood. There is the little ceremony some days before the great one, when the chosen girls are presented to the goddess and bring her offerings. I would have them ready for that.
Soon after this, I saw Aristogeiton walking across the Agora; and watched him with curiosity, after all I’d heard. I had lately seen one man scorching his soul to a crisp; here, by the look of him, went another. Since he was younger and much fitter, his sleepless nights had made him fine-drawn and handsome. But what would he know of that? An implacable god!
Just then he stopped a passing man, and they walked on talking. Soon he drew him out of the crowd, towards the stall of a pot-seller. She started pointing to her wares, and showing the price on her fingers. She was deaf and dumb.
They paid her no heed, and after talking there awhile went off together. I did not know the second man; he had a sharp discontented face, and did not look cheerful company. As they walked my way, I saw approaching a certain Charias, whom I did know; one of the lesser Alkmaionid clansmen, not of enough consequence to have been exiled. He used to say, rather too often, that he took no part in politics. He and Aristogeiton just lifted a hand in greeting as they passed; after which the young man spoke with great earnestness to his companion. When I came near, they became as dumb as the pot-seller.
I did not think much about it. Men with a grievance will go about getting sympathy from their friends; and if their complaint is against the great, everyone concerned will show a certain discretion.
As I walked on, I was wishing that I knew him as a friend, to quiet his fears; for, if Bacchylides had been right about them, they were quite absurd. Ah well, I thought, next year the boy will be a man with a stubble on his chin; and to both these poor fools, Archon and commoner, all this anguish will seem like a dream gone by. We are all children of Time, however much we may wish to kill our father. I walked on smiling, thinking how Anakreon could have contained it all in one short bitter-sweet song.
I rehearsed my girls each morning. The temple guard is there to keep out men, but some will always watch from beyond the walls. Bacchylides came most days. He had learned all his schoolmaster could teach him, and I’d let him leave; it was time he should study music as a man. The Maiden’s Hymn, he had by heart the first day; as he still appeared, I took it he had begun to notice girls. Afterwards at our meal he would pass judgment on them, rather severely lest I should suspect him of it, but fairly on the whole.
“You can see at once which is Harmodios’ sister, she’s so like him. She gets everything right. He came to watch her today.”
“He should be pleased with her. She holds herself very well. They must use their baskets tomorrow; the Presentation is in three days’ time.”
“Glaukos, Leagros’ son, was standing next me. He hardly took his eyes off her. I think he’s serious.”
“That would be a good match,” I said. It was an old house with wealth and reputation; Glaukos was the eldest son, an athlete of some distinction. It was just the marriage a family needed, so shorn of menfolk by death. I wished the girl luck with it.
Next day they carried their baskets. One girl had been too lazy to practice, and let hers wobble. I threatened that if she was not perfect by next day, I’d turn her out. It was only to scare her, for of course I could not do it; everyone would have thought her maidenhood was in question, and the scandal would have followed her for life. However, the silly girl was duly terrified, and performed without fault thereafter.
I was pleased with them all, on the day of the Presentation. The sky was bright; so were the girls, each in her festal dress, the peplos damp-pleated into tiny clinging folds, and fastened on the shoulders with gold brooches; the himation draped across, often an heirloom, with borders of six months’ work; hair freshly washed and waved, combed down over back and breasts. Some had brushed their lips with the juice of geranium petals, but their faces needed no heightening. Rosy or pale, their light came from within.
They gathered in their order, on the terrace below the crowded precinct, looking up at the temple porch with the priests’ and archons’ thrones. Hipparchos was there, with Thessalos beside him. Hippias seldom came to these minor rites.
Bacchylides paced behind me, carrying the kithara. His hours at the palaestra had not been wasted; at his age I should have been glad of half his grace. At my signal he brought the instrument and held the sling for me. He had been well rehearsed, and did it with-out fumbling. I was about to sign for the flautist to begin, when I was aware of people turning, and saw that Hipparchos had lifted his hand, signaling me to wait.
I looked up, puzzled, trying to catch his eye. But it was fixed on the line of girls. I was not too far off to see where it had rested.
It’s the likeness, I thought; I daresay it’s the first time he’s seen her. But what is the man about? He will never make a show of himself before all these people; he can’t be so far gone as that
To my surprise he turned to Thessalos, as if saying, “Is that the one?” His brother pointed, nodding. Hipparchos beckoned one of the sacred heralds, and said something; he came down the steps, looking grave as became his office, but also like a man who has been given a shock.
After saluting me respectfully, he said, “Sir, the Archon commands that the daughter of Proxenos must withdraw.”
I stared at him, wondering if everyone had gone mad. Such a thing was unheard of. I just said, “Why?”
The man, who under his ritual dignity was clearly as shaken as I was, answered, “The Archon says the girl was never invited. She is not a proper person for the rite.”
By this time my stare had become a glare; or so Bacchylides told me later. I said, “I know nothing of this. All these girls have rehearsed with me. Of course they have been invited.”
“Sir,” said the herald—an unhappy man if I ever saw one—“the Archon wishes to speak to you about it. Will you please go up to him?”
I looked round at the girls. Till just now, their happy whisperings had been like the hum of summer bees. What I’d heard was their silence. All their eyes were turned one way.
With a widening space around her, the young Delias stood still as a sculptor’s block. Then her basket began to tremble on her head. She grabbed at it, wildly without grace, and stood holding it in her hands before her. In her face, which had gone chalk-white, I saw not guilt, but horror; and yet, a kind of knowledge, a little, even if not enough. She knew why this had been done to her.
The herald looked at me. I looked at the steps, and did not start to climb them. I was very angry, and wished to have it seen. The girl turned her desperate eyes on me, as if I had power to say, “Don’t be afraid; I shall not allow it.” She knew, as well as I, that I could do nothing. I was just the straw nearest her drowning clutch.