Justice for Athena
Justice for Athena
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
For Steve
Chapter One
‘Honoured colleagues and beloved friends! I regret to announce that I must forgo the delights of your company for a few moments.’ The grey-bearded man rose from his seat at a table and raised a muscular arm. His resonant words silenced every other voice in the tavern.
Satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, he smiled broadly. ‘I will return as swiftly as I may. But if I am to continue to honour Dionysos, I must first make my obeisance to the nymphs of the Eridanos.’
His companions laughed as he swept his deep red cloak around himself in a fine dramatic gesture, and headed for the rear door.
‘What is he talking about?’ Telesilla was mystified.
‘He’s going to take a piss,’ I explained. ‘The Eridanos is a stream that runs through the centre of Athens. With all the visitors arriving for the Great Panathenaia, it becomes more of an open sewer. Any river deity of those particular waters would be well advised to take a break elsewhere.’
‘Can’t an epic poet do anything without making a performance out of it?’ Hyanthidas, Telesilla’s lover and my good friend, chuckled and raised his own cup to take another swallow of wine. He’d be heading out to the latrine himself before long.
I paused to think about that. Pee and poo make for a fertile field for a comic playwright. The poet’s line would get as big a laugh in the theatre as it had in this tavern, with a bit of tweaking. Where would a city nymph go for some clean air and bathing untroubled by unwelcome streams?
‘Philocles.’ My beloved Zosime nudged me, mildly reproving. ‘You’re on holiday.’
She knew me well enough to see some dramatic possibility had caught my attention.
‘It won’t be long before the new year’s Archons call their chosen playwrights to read for them,’ I protested. ‘I need some fresh ideas.’
Of course, I don’t only write plays. That alone won’t keep bread on our table. I write speeches for the law courts, elegies for funerals, celebrations for weddings, whatever someone without a talent for words might hire my pen for.
‘Do you think you’re in with a chance of being picked to write for the next Dionysia?’ Hyanthidas wasn’t just asking out of courtesy. As a talented musician, he could earn a handsome sum if he were hired to compose and perform the accompaniment for a comedy or a tragedy in the great drama competitions.
‘I did well enough last time, so we can but hope that’s earned me Dionysos’ favour,’ I said modestly.
The last thing I wanted to risk was any of the gods slapping me down with rejection as a rebuke for undue confidence. Divine favour is rarely as straightforward as it might seem. Having my comedies performed in the theatre these past couple of years meant my other services were in demand. I’d been struggling to find time to come up with new ideas for a really funny play.
‘It’ll depend on the new magistrates,’ I added. ‘I have no idea what might make the incoming Archons laugh.’
But Zosime was right. I’d delivered my last commission this morning, and I had been paid, so I could relax. I was on holiday now, and with two days to go before the festival started.
Hyanthidas shook his head. ‘I still can’t get used to the idea of the men who rule a city changing every twelve months.’
He wasn’t criticising, so I held back my instinctive retort. I had found plenty to baffle me when I visited Corinth where he was from, and discovered the stranglehold that the rich and powerful have over the city. But this wasn’t the time or place to debate that. Zosime was right. We were on holiday for the next ten days, and these good friends were our guests. Hyanthidas had made this journey to compete in the Great Panathenaia’s twin pipes competition.
I drank from my own cup and breathed a silent prayer of thanks to divine Athena that she had blessed our city with democracy while Corinth laboured under the crushing heel of its oligarchs. Not that the Corinthians had seemed overly bothered, I was forced to admit. As long as their city flourished and trade put silver in their strongboxes, they were happy enough.
Everyone around us was talking more and more loudly. I knew I risked waking up as hoarse as a donkey after spending this evening constantly raising my voice to make myself heard. That wasn’t a particular problem since I was on holiday, but I didn’t want Hyanthidas to wreck his chances by straining his throat before the festival had even begun. ‘Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter? I can hardly hear myself think.’
Before the musician could answer, there was a disturbance by the rear door as the red-cloaked poet returned. He staggered into a table, spilling a jug of wine. Offering his profuse apologies, he offered to pay to replace it.
‘At least the stains won’t show on his cloak,’ Zosime said, amused.
Telesilla fanned herself with an elegantly ringed hand. ‘I can’t believe he’s still wearing that in this heat. And the rest of his friends. What’s making them so thin-blooded?’
She wasn’t wrong about the heat. High summer in Athens must be a trial for a Corinthian. She and Hyanthidas would be used to cooling breezes from the seas that lap the harbours on both sides of the Isthmus. Given the choice, I’d be sitting outside, but those tables were all taken by the time we had arrived. So we were sitting inside sweating like cheeses, even wearing light tunics and short, draped dresses.
I grinned at Telesilla’s mystification. ‘Those red cloaks indicate they’ll have the honour of competing in this festival’s presentation of Homer’s Iliad. They want everyone who sees them to know it.’
Zosime