The Goddess of Buttercups & Daisies Page 7

  On Mount Olympus, the Goddess Athena was impatient. She took a cup of wine from an attendant, but held it in front of her without drinking.

  ‘What’s keeping Bremusa? She should have reported by now.’

  The goddess was monitoring one of the altars in her mansion. It was directly connected to the small shrine near the harbour in Athens.

  ‘There’s someone entering the shrine now,’ said her attendant. As they watched, the door to the rather small, dark space opened.

  ‘Finally,’ said the goddess. ‘Open it up so Bremusa can see me through the altar there.’

  The figure lit a candle.

  ‘It’s not Bremusa!’ cried the goddess. ‘It’s that idiotic young poet! Quickly, close it down! Don’t let him see me.’

  The attendant hurriedly spoke a few words, lowering a mystical barrier, ensuring that Luxos could not see all the way to Olympus. Unaware that he was being observed by Athena, Luxos faced the altar in front of him and bowed to the small statue of the goddess.

  On Mount Olympus, Athena frowned. ‘I hope this doesn’t go on too long. I want to talk to Bremusa.’

  Luxos was talking quite animatedly. ‘… and I wrote this great piece of lyric poetry which would fit right into the final scene of Aristophanes’ play but he won’t even listen to it! And then I asked if I could read some of my poetry before his play starts, because that’s a really good spot, the whole of Athens would hear me. I’ve got some new metrical innovations which would really shake things up. I could revolutionise poetry in Athens! But Aristophanes says that spot is reserved for a well-known poet so he’s giving it to Isidoros. I’d be much better than him! And then I asked if I could come to his drinking party because all these wealthy people will be there that might want to sponsor me but he says I can’t come. Aristophanes is really mean… He could help me get my poetry heard if he wanted.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘But that’s not really why I came to talk to you tonight, Goddess.’

  ‘There’s more?’ sighed Athena.

  ‘I met this wonderful girl! She’s beautiful and nice and friendly and she likes my poetry and everything! But of course I didn’t have any money to buy her food or anything, because I’m so poor. But she didn’t seem to mind. She was so lovely. I was wondering if you could help me find her again, and maybe put in a good word for me? I think she might be some sort of nymph. Well, she was good at making daisies anyway. I really need to find her again.’

  At that moment, as the goddess and her attendant watched, Bremusa poked her head into the shrine.

  ‘Are you going to be in there all night? Other people want to pray, you know!’

  ‘Hey,’ cried Luxos. ‘Don’t interrupt other people’s prayers. It’s impious. Oh, wait, you’re the woman that was with Metris! Are you her friend? Is she here now? Wow, I’ve never had a prayer answered so quickly!’

  Luxos turned eagerly back towards the altar. ‘You brought her here already! Thank you, Goddess Athena. Look, I brought you some daisies!’

  With that Luxos rushed from the small shrine. Back on Mount Olympus, Athena’s attendant was raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Daisies?’

  ‘It’s all he can afford,’ said the goddess, rather stiffly.

  ‘No chance of him roasting an ox, I suppose.’

  Inside the shrine, Bremusa was looking a little flustered. She hadn’t expected Luxos to be there, and wasn’t sure if the goddess was in attendance or not. Suddenly Athena’s face appeared in the altar.

  ‘Goddess, you’re here.’

  ‘Yes, I saw you come in. But I was hiding from Luxos. I couldn’t let him see me, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Bremusa. ‘For a mortal to see a goddess directly is terrible impiety.’

  ‘I was thinking more of the tedium I might suffer if he started reciting his poetry. But yes, it’s impiety too. I’d have been obliged to turn him into a tree or something. So, tell me what’s happening. Did Metris help you find Laet?’

  Bremusa looked disgusted. ‘Metris couldn’t find the sea if you took her to the beach. She lied about having powers.’

  ‘Really? Can’t she dispel Laet’s negative influence?’

  ‘She can’t do anything except make daisies and buttercups. I’ve never encountered a more useless nymph.’

  Unexpectedly, the goddess smiled. ‘I presume she’s the one with whom Luxos has fallen in love?’

  ‘Apparently. Isn’t Athens meant to be full of intellectual giants and great artists? How come I keep tripping over this ridiculous young poet?’

  ‘Have you heard any of his poetry?’

  ‘No. Metris likes it so must be bad.’

  The shrine was so small that Bremusa’s sword touched the wall, making a small metallic sound.

  ‘However, finding Laet is not really such a problem, Goddess. Just go where everyone is making bad decisions. You should have heard the arguments in the agora after she walked through this afternoon. Everyone was buying useless junk and then trying to get their money back, the place was in chaos. The woman’s a plague. She’ll ruin the peace conference for sure. I don’t know how I’m going to thwart her. Do you have any suggestions?’

  The Goddess Athena admitted that she didn’t. ‘Perhaps I’ll find some inspiration soon. Meanwhile, try not to let Laet destroy the city. And protect Aristophanes.’

  Bremusa was startled. ‘Aristophanes? Why?’

  ‘Reports reach me from other worshippers that his play about peace might be influential in making up people’s minds.’

  Bremusa nodded. ‘I see. There might be something in that. I have heard people talking about the play.’ She shook her head. ‘I hate the theatre. Particularly these ridiculous Athenian comedies.’

  ‘It’s good to laugh on occasion, Bremusa.’

  ‘Athenian comedies aren’t very respectful to the gods.’

  ‘It’s the Dionysia. They have licence to make fun of us.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Well, blame Dionysos. What else are you upset about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes you are. I can tell. I can see that little frown line between your eyebrows.’

  Bremusa tried to smooth her forehead, but realised she couldn’t fool the goddess about her moods.

  ‘I met Idomeneus,’ she muttered.

  ‘Idomeneus? Not Idomeneus of Crete? Isn’t he the one —’

  Bremusa the Amazon nodded. Much as she hated to admit it, Idomeneus was the one who would have killed her if Athena hadn’t intervened, all those centuries ago.

  ‘How can he possibly still be alive?’

  ‘He’s employed as Laet’s bodyguard, so it must be her doing. She’s kept him alive for centuries. I didn’t realise she was so powerful.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ admitted Athena. ‘I’d no idea Idomeneus was still around. The glory of Crete has long since faded. I don’t want you to fight him, Bremusa.’

  ‘We already fought. He attacked me. Laet stopped it because she was bored and had a headache. We’ll meet again, I expect.’

  ‘You’re not to let your desire for revenge interfere with your mission,’ said the goddess.

  Bremusa, not willing to argue with Athena but knowing quite well that she wasn’t going to back down from a fight with Idomeneus, remained silent.

  Luxos

  Luxos, bursting out of the shrine, ran right into Metris. He immediately embraced her, taking her slender body in his arms and hugging her tightly. Luxos, while slightly built and undernourished, was not quite as weak as he appeared. Much as he’d disliked it at the time, he had undergone military training with the rest of the Athenian youths. The effects of that had not yet worn off.

  ‘I was just praying I’d meet you again! Athena really worked quickly on this one! She’s such a great goddess!’

  The nymph smiled. It was a warm night. A slight breeze made her short white dress flutter. There were silver threads in it that seemed to glow faintly, even i
n the moonlight.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you, too. There must be some way of making Athens listen to your poetry. Isn’t the city full of wise people? Who’s the wisest?’

  ‘Socrates, I suppose.’

  Metris took Luxos’s hand. ‘Then let’s go and talk to him.’

  They walked off together, heading north into the dark streets of night-time Athens, where there were few lamps lit, oil being so expensive these days, and in short supply. A little later Bremusa emerged from the shrine. Finding no one there, she cursed in a language that was no longer spoken in the world.

  ‘Has that idiot Metris wandered off again? Does she have no concept of actually doing what she’s supposed to?’

  Aristophanes

  Aristophanes knew he’d been neglecting himself. He often did when he was putting on a play. He regretted it. It was the duty of every Athenian of fighting age to keep himself in reasonable shape. In those days the call to arms was never far away, and an unfit citizen was no use on the battlefield. Even if the march outside the city walls didn’t end in battle, as was sometimes the case, it was a miserable experience to be trudging along behind your fellow hoplites if you were badly out of condition. The spear, shield and armour of the Athenian warrior could be a weighty burden.

  He’d have liked to visit the gymnasium. It would strengthen him and might even clear his mind. Unfortunately he just didn’t have the time. There were too many things wrong with his comedy. Shabby props and costumes weren’t his only problems. The chorus were singing poorly and urgently needed a better vocal coach. The musicians weren’t playing well, the choreography was lacking and the funny dances were less than amusing. As for the precise positioning of the actors on stage during each scene, they’d hardly got started. In the great Theatre of Dionysus Eleuthereus, the audience sat in a huge semicircle around the stage. It was vital that the actors worked together, moving correctly into position and standing in the right place at all times. Otherwise the drama would suffer and the jokes wouldn’t work. They’d now fallen so far behind with this that Aristophanes had been forced to call extra rehearsals, which hadn’t gone down that well with the cast.

  ‘It’s lucky I’ve written such a good script,’ he mused, as he walked through the pale light of dawn towards the rehearsal space. Or I’d lose all hope.

  Aristophanes was seriously worried that they might not even make it to performance. Cancelling the play would be humiliating in the extreme, and could make it difficult for him to find a producer next year. Even so, it might be preferable to taking the shambles they had at the moment on stage. If he did, the Athenians would certainly laugh, but not in a good way.

  Aristophanes kicked several stones as he walked. Recently he’d been feeling vaguely angry about everything, and particularly angry about his rivals Eupolis and Leucon. There was no denying it, he loathed them. He really couldn’t stand the thought of either of them winning first prize. He idly brushed his hand over the Herm at the corner of the street – Aristophanes had always liked these little statues on the corners of Athens, with their cheery faces and confident upright penises – and almost bumped into Socrates, coming briskly in the opposite direction. The morning air was chilly but the philosopher was dressed, as always, in a plain chiton, and hadn’t bothered to cover it with a cloak. Socrates never wore a cloak. He seemed immune to bad weather.

  They greeted each other politely.

  ‘Good morning, Socrates. Off to the gymnasium for some exercise before a hard day’s philosophy?’

  ‘I am. And you?’

  ‘I’ve no time to exercise. I’m busy with rehearsals.’

  ‘Ah… Any jokes about me in your play this year?

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Socrates laughed. ‘Because you always make jokes about me.’

  ‘And I always admire how well you take them!’

  It was true. Socrates did take it well, unlike the Athenian politicians. They might make a show of approving the way comic playwrights ridiculed them, because it demonstrated what a fine, free democracy the city was. In reality, they seethed in private, and sometimes sought revenge.

  ‘Socrates, are you going to Callias’s symposium tonight?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to. Isn’t it meant to be for playwrights and actors?’

  ‘Mainly. But if I have to listen to Eupolis and Leucon droning on about how well their rehearsals are going I might do something I’ll regret. There will be others there too, you could come along. Callias likes to pretend he understands philosophy, Zeus knows why.’

  ‘How would my presence help?’

  ‘Just say something clever if you see me reaching for my weapon.’ Aristophanes chuckled. ‘“Reaching for my weapon”. Rather a good line. Must remember it. Audiences always love a good double entendre.’

  Socrates laughed too. In the past, he’d appreciated Aristophanes’ clever wordplay. ‘Like when your actor playing Euripides was hunting for an argument in his bag, saying he was going to pull out something “strong and meaty”?’

  ‘That was a good one! The audience roared.’

  ‘They did. Though the real Euripides looked rather grim, as I remember.’

  ‘Well, he has a poor sense of humour. Just look at his plays.’

  Aristophanes walked on. The streets were still quiet. The morning bustle would start soon, though the morning bustle in Athens was not what it had been. There used to be a scramble for the best places in the agora. Merchants and their servants could be seen at all hours, vying for the best spot. That didn’t happen now. There weren’t enough goods to sell.

  Round the next corner Aristophanes ran into Hyperbolus. He tried to ignore him but Hyperbolus stood in his way. He was a large man, strong, and heavily bearded.

  ‘Hyperbolus? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be practising your shouting?’

  Hyperbolus glared at him. ‘Aristophanes, you make me sick. You and your rich friends. You can’t stand it that an ordinary man like me has some influence in this city. You’d like to go back to the time when rich people ran everything.’

  ‘I’d like to go back to a time when Athens wasn’t run by self-serving buffoons.’

  Even when he wasn’t addressing the assembly, Hyperbolus had a very loud voice. It boomed out over the quiet streets. ‘If you keep insulting the city that way, you’re going to be in trouble.’

  ‘For such a determined democrat, Hyperbolus, you’re not very keen on considering other people’s views.’

  ‘Not if their views are traitorous.’

  ‘Hoping for an end to the war isn’t traitorous.’

  ‘It is if it means giving in to these filthy Spartans.’

  By now they were almost nose to nose. Hyperbolus was a far larger man but Aristophanes didn’t intend to back down.

  ‘I’ve fought for Athens more times than you have, Hyperbolus. But it’s time to end this war. You and General Lamachus like conflict. It’s good for your careers. Everyone else is sick of it.’

  ‘Everyone else is sick of you, you and your vile, unpatriotic, insulting plays. I’m warning you, Aristophanes, if you keep harping on about peace there’s going to be trouble. What’s your new play called?’

  ‘Peace.’

  ‘Then I predict trouble.’

  Socrates

  Socrates usually exercised in the morning. At forty-nine, he was still a strong man. He’d grown up as a stonemason, helping his father hew rocks, and since then he’d never neglected his health. He left the Lyceum with friends, Menexenus and others. Not teaching, though talking, as always, of philosophy.

  ‘I just don’t understand this,’ said young Menexenus. ‘You say knowledge is contained inside people? And learning is merely a process of remembering? I can’t see that at all.’

  Socrates nodded as they passed beyond the boundary of the Lyceum. He was fond of young Menexenus, an Athenian of good character. They paused under the three olive trees, a familiar landmark.

  ‘I could demonstrat
e my meaning, if someone with little knowledge appeared,’ said Socrates.

  Abruptly there was a dull thud, followed by a cry of pain. The philosopher and his followers looked round to see a figure sprawled in the dirt, comically spreadeagled, face down.

  ‘It’s young Luxos,’ said Menexenus. ‘He’s fallen over that small twig.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Socrates. ‘Luxos, would you care to help me with a demonstration?’

  A young woman in an unusually short dress was bending over Luxos, soothing his hurt and helping him to his feet. The young poet clambered upright, embarrassed at his display of clumsiness so close to the training grounds. Luxos generally avoided the city’s gymnasiums, not being very good at any sort of physical activity.

  ‘Not right now, Socrates,’ he said. ‘We’ve come to you for advice.’

  There was a general lack of interest in this from the group, though Socrates paid polite attention.

  ‘We thought you might be able to help,’ said the girl, and smiled.

  Socrates nodded. ‘Does Luxos want to know how to get his poetry heard by the Greek masses?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the girl, and looked impressed. ‘You really are wise.’

  ‘The subject has come up before.’ Socrates smiled.

  Nearby there was the sound of discuses landing, thrown by athletes in the Lyceum. Metris, rather cleverly, had by now manoeuvred them a few paces back from Socrates’ companions, where they could talk without being overheard.

  ‘I don’t think I can help you,’ said Socrates. ‘I would if I could, but I can’t see any way for you to attract a rich sponsor.’

  ‘Are you going to Callias’s symposium tonight?’ asked Luxos.

  ‘I am… rather unwillingly…’

  ‘Could you get me in?’

  Socrates pursed his lips. ‘Callias is not that enlightened when it comes to inviting penniless poets to his drinking parties.’

  Luxos was immediately disheartened. ‘It’s so unfair.’

  The philosopher turned to Metris. He noticed the small flute she wore on a string around her neck.