Just Myrto (7 page)

Thoughts and questions swirled in my mind as we walked home from the Agora. Unlike the morning journey, few traveled the road outside the city wall. Lamprocles alone spoke. His voice buzzed on in my ear about Plato and the Thirty Tyrants and Alcibiades.
What does any of this have to do with me as a woman?

“Alcibiades calls himself your student!” exclaimed Lamprocles. “People will say he learned his treachery from you. Plato calls himself your student, too!” Lamprocles continued. “What will people think?”

Socrates strolled along at a leisurely pace. “People will think what they want to think.” He looked at me and smiled. “They always do, you know.”

Lamprocles huffed and shook his head. “But you're turning everyone against you. And for what? It's not like they've paid you anything.”

Socrates shrugged. “I'm only interested in discovering Truth and Goodness. You can't buy that with money.”

“The truth is that the Thirty Tyrants want to kill you,” retorted Lamprocles. “And if they don't get the chance, the citizens of Athens will do it for them if they think you're in cahoots with Alcibiades.”

I waited for Socrates to dispute these accusations. He did not. Nor did he look the least bit concerned.
Can someone seeking Goodness acquire mortal enemies?

“Is what Lamprocles says true?” I finally asked. Still, my concern was my own. Socrates' death would leave me in an even worse place than my father's had. My brother Aristides might have no choice but to give me to Uncle or sell me into slavery.

Socrates raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course it's true!” cried Lamprocles. “Last week the Thirty summoned Father and four others to the hall and ordered them to bring Leon from Salamis to be executed. And do you know what Father did?”

I stared at Socrates who appeared as serene as ever. “No, I don't,” I replied.

“Tell her, Father,” insisted Lamprocles. “Tell your new wife of the danger you're in.”

A coldness overcame me. I pulled my cloak more tightly around my shoulders and waited to hear what Socrates would say.

Socrates cleared his throat. “I did what any just and pious person would do,” he replied.

“The other four men ran to Salamis to get Leon,” said Lamprocles. “They brought him directly to the Tyrants for execution.”

“Leon did nothing to deserve execution. His blood is on their hands, not mine,” said Socrates.

“No one seems to mind having Leon's blood on their hands,” said Lamprocles. “And now that you've directly disobeyed the Thirty Tyrants, they'll mind your blood on their hands even less!”

Socrates said nothing.

“Is he really in danger?” I asked Lamprocles. I tried to keep Socrates' calm, easy pace, but inside I was running with Lamprocles.

“What do you think?” Lamprocles snapped. “How long do you think the Tyrants will let someone live who directly defies them?”

Lamprocles turned to me. “And don't think people didn't notice that he's teaching young women now, too.” He looked to Socrates. “If they disapprove of your influence over the young men of Athens, what will they say about including young women among your followers?”

“She is my wife,” Socrates said sternly. “I may do with her as I please.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. Impiety of any sort could be charged as a crime punishable by death.
If something happens to Socrates, where will I go? What will become of me?

Socrates' face softened as he looked upon me once again. “It's not as bad as all that,” he said, taking my hand. “I fought face to face against Spartans, swords in hand and raised to kill me. During the campaigns in Amphipolis, Delium and Potidaea—I was in real danger then.” Socrates lifted my hand to his lips. “Yet here I am, alive and well, right here with you.”

My heartbeat quickened. Warmth returned to my body.

“Potidaea!” Lamprocles spat on the ground. “I curse that Corinthian colony where you saved Alcibiades. The traitor!”

“Ah, Lamprocles,” Socrates laughed. “Alcibiades did repay me by rescuing me from certain death in Delium.” His laughter was not unkind.

“He's still a traitor to Athens!” Lamprocles insisted.

Socrates shook his head. “Alcibiades is as brilliant as he is beautiful. Men and women alike have worshipped him and felt betrayed.”

“Alcibiades loves no one but himself,” said Lamprocles. “He betrays all who love him without remorse.”

“And that is precisely why he stands accused by both Spartans and Athenians,” Socrates conceded. “Perhaps he is a traitor or perhaps he is merely human like the rest of us, doubly cursed by talent and beauty.”

My emotions tossed to and fro between Lamprocles' anger and Socrates' tranquility. I wanted to believe Socrates, but I feared Lamprocles was right. If not about me, at least about Alcibiades. I pushed thoughts of Plato from my mind.
So many thoughts. So many feelings. The floodgates have opened. Rushing waters carry me downstream. I gasp for breath.

I must have gasped aloud. Socrates and Lamprocles both stopped. They looked at me.

“Are you all right?” asked Socrates.

I nodded.

Socrates took both of my hands in his. “What are you thinking?” His full attention filled me with courage.

“You both say different things, but you both sound like you're telling the truth. How can that be?”

Socrates put an arm around my waist and a hand on Lamprocles shoulder. The three of us walked on. Socrates was not ignoring my question. Instead, the three of us pondered it as we walked.

Socrates spoke first. “I am a man,” he said. He paused as if this were somehow the answer to my question. “Is that a true statement?”

“Yes,” I replied. Lamprocles voice echoed mine.

“Are you both quite certain?” Socrates persisted.

“Yes,” Lamprocles and I answered in unison, our voices filled with confidence.

“Very well,” replied Socrates. He turned to me. “Now you say it. Make the same statement I just made.”

“I am a man,” I offered. I suddenly felt foolish and ashamed.

“Now, Lamprocles,” said Socrates. “Is that a true statement?”

Lamprocles sighed. “No. That is not a true statement.”

Socrates nodded. “Now you repeat the statement, Lamprocles.”

Lamprocles inhaled deeply. “I am a man!” he proclaimed.

Socrates turned to me. “Is this statement true?”

I looked at Lamprocles. He clenched his jaw and awaited my judgment. I took a deep breath. “If it is not, it most certainly will be soon,” I replied gently.

Socrates nodded, and Lamprocles gave me his first smile.

“Myrto,” said Socrates. “Even when I do my best to tell you and Lamprocles the truth, you cannot simply repeat what I say as truth for yourself. If you wish to tell the truth, you each must speak your own words from your own experience.”

We walked on in a comfortable silence. As we neared the house, Lamprocles asked, “What is black with three heads and two arms and doomed to die at sunset?”

“An excellent riddle, my boy!” said Socrates, sliding his hand off Lamprocles' shoulder and patting him on the back.

I imagined a monster with the heads of three black panthers and the arms of Achilles, sword in hand, poised to kill or be killed.

“What do you think, Myrto?” asked Socrates.

“I cannot imagine,” I replied.

“Nor can I,” agreed Socrates, “but it reminds me of the Sphinx's riddle that only Oedipus could solve. Do you know that riddle?”

I nodded. Everyone knew the story of Oedipus the King. “What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?” I said.

“Exactly,” said Lamprocles. “And the answer to that riddle can be a clue to my riddle.”

“The answer to the Sphinx's riddle was man,” I said, “because he crawls as a child, walks upright as an adult and requires a cane in his old age.”

“Does that give you a clue to Lamprocles' riddle?” asked Socrates. His eyes twinkled with delight.

I pictured the Sphinx with three heads and a pair of arms hanging out of one mouth as she devoured the poor souls who failed to solve her riddle. I shook my head. “I'm afraid I still don't know,” I confessed.

Socrates turned to Lamprocles. “Do tell us. What is black with three heads and two arms and doomed to die at sunset?”

Lamprocles grinned. “The shadow of an old man, a young man and a young woman,” he said pointing east, to the long shadow traveling beside us.

Tears of happiness and sadness combined and rolled down my cheeks. This was the best day ever, coming to a close.

Bright red and orange banners streaked the evening sky welcoming us home. Leda, Korinna and Iris greeted us and washed the dust from our feet. A table set for three offered cheese and bread, olives and fruit for dinner.

“Where is Mother?” Lamprocles asked Leda.

“She and Praxis took Melissa to her new home,” said Leda. “I don't expect them back for a while yet.”

Thank you, Athena.
I ate hungrily and crawled off to bed. A deep, dreamless sleep overcame me the instant I rested my head on the pillow.

T
HE
FAST,
RATTLING
song of a warbler awakened me before dawn. Socrates lay beside me in the bed. I rolled over on my side and moved closer to him. His body radiated heat in the cool darkness of morning. He turned over to face me. I had never lain so close to a man, yet I did not feel afraid.

He reached out and gently stroked my cheek. “Good morning, Myrto,” he whispered.

I captured his hand with mine, kissed it, and pressed it against my cheek. “Yesterday in the Agora I discovered my first desire,” I confided.

Socrates nodded. “And what is it?” he asked.

“I want to learn to read,” I replied.

Socrates rolled to his back and held my hand to his chest. “Then you shall,” he said. “You shall begin today.”

We dressed and readied ourselves for the day. We found Lamprocles already in the courtyard eating wine-soaked bread. He motioned for us to have some.

“Good morning, Lamprocles,” said Socrates. He scooped a large chunk of bread from the plate to his mouth. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What is it, Father?” asked Lamprocles.

“You will need your wooden tablet,” Socrates replied. “Do you know where it is?”

“Yes. Shall I get it now?” asked Lamprocles.

Socrates nodded. As Lamprocles left, Socrates pulled out a scroll and opened it before me. “What do you see, Myrto?” Socrates asked.

“I see a book,” I said.

“Look more closely at the writing,” said Socrates. “What do you see?”

“Nothing but lines and squiggly marks,” I confessed.

Socrates nodded. “The next time you look at this book, your eyes will see words that speak silently to your mind, yet deeply affect your thoughts.”

Excitement and anticipation churned within me, giving new life to my desire.

Lamprocles returned with the tablet. “I smoothed the wax,” Lamprocles said eagerly. He held a small pointed stick poised to write. “I am ready to write whatever you say, Father.”

“Write the alphabet, please,” Socrates requested.

Lamprocles looked puzzled. “Just the alphabet?”

“Yes, from alpha to omega, every letter,” said Socrates.

Lamprocles began writing. I watched, imagining myself sitting there swiftly marking down each letter of the alphabet.

When Lamprocles finished, Socrates asked, “Could you teach an intelligent person the entire alphabet in a single day?”

Lamprocles studied the tablet. “I could teach him to recognize each letter and the sound it represents,” replied Lamprocles. “It would take a little longer for him to be able to write each letter well himself.”

“Not himself,” said Socrates. “Herself.” He motioned toward me.

“Today while we are all in the Agora, I would like for you to teach Myrto the letters of the alphabet,” said Socrates.

I held my breath as Lamprocles looked from the tablet to me and back to the tablet. “I can do that,” he said finally, “on one condition.”

Socrates smiled. “And what might that be?”

Lamprocles handed me the tablet and stick, then crossed his arms sternly. “Myrto must agree to learn, and to work even harder at learning than I do at teaching.”

“Oh, I will!” I exclaimed. “I promise I will. I am grateful to have you as my teacher.”

“Very well then,” said Socrates. “It's settled. We can discuss the name and sound of each letter as we walk. Let us begin so that we can be in the marketplace by sunrise.”

We arrived at the Agora in no time. I marveled that all of the words we speak consist of only 24 basic sounds. And by our journey home that evening, I knew them all. Of course, it helped that the letters were the same words we used for counting and that the sounds seemed to come from the words themselves. Lamprocles agreed to continue teaching me, not just sounds and letters, but truly to read and write.

Socrates and Lamprocles had dinner with Xanthippe, but I took my plate to the bedroom and spent the rest of the evening with the tablet, carefully forming each letter of the alphabet I'd learned in the wax, repeating each sound as I wrote. I wrote until my hand throbbed and I could hardly grasp the writing stick in my fingers.

As we walked to the Agora the following day, Lamprocles and Socrates discussed my reading curriculum.

“You can practice names, words and sentences with the tablet this morning,” said Socrates. “By afternoon, I'll find you an actual text to begin reading.”

“Shall we start with Homer's
Iliad?”
asked Lamprocles. “That's where my school teachers started when I was a young boy.”