The Goddess of Buttercups and Daisies (3 page)

General Lamachus didn’t enjoy being involved with politics in Athens. It had always been troublesome; since the franchise had been extended to almost every man in the city, he’d found it intolerable. He said as much to Euphranor, when they met in the Pegasus barber shop.

‘We have a chaotic, ineffective government that can barely make a decision. When they do, it’s liable to be wrong. Do these people think they’re free? As far as I can see they follow the herd. Whoever shouts the loudest, and promises the most reward for the least effort, gets their votes.’

The general warmed to his theme. ‘I hate the Spartans but I envy them too. They have two kings, and some ephors, and they make all the decisions. None of this consulting the entire population, with the endless slanging matches we have in our assembly. Every petty demagogue saying whatever suits him best, never mind what the city needs. I hate to be involved with these people.’

Euphranor nodded. He’d been a strong warrior in his time. Now he was grey-haired and overweight, and he wore a chiton a little too fancy for a man of his age. Nonetheless, he was still a powerful character. His weapons factory had made him one of the richest men in Athens. ‘It’s unfortunate, but we need to be involved. We can’t let the peace conference succeed.’

The general scowled. ‘It’s demeaning for men like us to be associated with a loud-mouthed rabble-rouser like Hyperbolus.’

‘I know. But there’s no one like him for stirring up the crowd.’

Their conversation paused as the barber and his slave attended to Euphranor’s beard. Lamachus wondered what General Acanthus and his Spartan delegation were doing at this moment. Not sitting in a barber’s, that was certain.
Long-haired Spartans.
He was sure he could lead Athens to victory over them, if only he was given the chance.

‘So what’s the feeling in the rest of the city?’

‘Still mixed,’ said Euphranor. ‘I’ve given Hyperbolus and his party plenty of silver to spread around, but even so there are a lot of people pushing for peace.’ He paused, and looked momentarily awkward. ‘I paid a visit to Kleonike.’

‘Her again?’ General Lamachus was exasperated. ‘We don’t need help from some renegade priestess.’

‘No harm in covering all the angles. Kleonike is a clever woman. And fond of money, as it happens.’

The silver mines at Laurium had brought a lot of wealth to Athens. Themistocles used the money to pay for two hundred triremes, setting them on the road to power. Athenian coins were used all over the civilised world. It was highest quality silver. The priestess Kleonike regretted that she’d never seen any great share of it. As a loyal Athenian priestess of thirty years’ standing, she thought she might have been better remunerated. When Euphranor, who had more than his share of Athenian silver, visited the temple with some specific requests, backed up by some solid currency, she didn’t mind accommodating him.

Euphranor was a fool, of course. No one but a fool would ask an Athenian priestess to summon Laet.

She knelt in front of the altar. Egyptian incense swirled around her head. ‘Come to Athens, Laet, bringer of discord. Come to Athens, and let the strife continue.’

Bremusa had noticed they didn’t have that many emergencies on Mount Olympus. Fewer than they used to anyway. There didn’t seem to be so many semi-divine adventurers in Greece these days, causing problems. However, from the Goddess Athena’s expression as she flew out of the private shrine in her mansion, she knew something bad had happened.

‘Bremusa, I just received terrible news from Delphi! Some corrupt priestess in Athens has summoned Laet!’

‘Who’s Laet?’

Athena gave her a rather angry glance. ‘How can you not know who Laet is?’

‘You have so many of these semi-divine figures. I lose track.’

‘You have been here for more than seven hundred years,’ said the goddess. ‘I thought you’d know them all by now. Laet is the granddaughter of Eris, goddess of strife, discord and war. You remember the trouble she caused with that golden apple. And if that’s not bad enough, Laet is also the daughter of Ate, the spirit of delusion, infatuation and reckless folly.’

‘Some parentage. Who’s her father?’

‘No one knows. But if he was unwise enough to fall for Ate, I doubt he’s still around.’

‘So what’s this Laet like?’

The goddess made a face. ‘With Strife as a grandmother and Reckless Folly as a mother? Laet is the very embodiment of utter foolishness. She’s the spirit of choosing the worst option on every occasion. She has a baleful influence on all who encounter her. Which means…’

‘She’s not the kind of person you’d want at a peace conference?’

‘Exactly.’ The Goddess Athena looked troubled. ‘If she enters Athens unchecked, there will be chaos. The peace conference will fall apart.’

Somehow Bremusa couldn’t see this as such a great crisis. ‘They’ve been fighting for ten years anyway.’

‘Bremusa, I want peace! My cities need respite.’

‘You’ve participated in a lot of war in your time… Athena Promachos, leader in battle.’

‘Well now I’m acting as Athena Polias, protector of the city. And I want peace.’

The goddess drummed her fingertips on a gilded table, causing the golden bowls of grapes to vibrate.

‘I’d stop Laet myself if Zeus didn’t prevent Olympians entering the cities during festivals. There’s nothing else for it, Bremusa – you’ll have to stop her for me.’

That was a suggestion the Amazon liked. She drew her sword. ‘I’ll make short work of her.’

‘Put your sword away. Laet can’t die in Athens. Her malevolent spirit would curse the city. I need you to stop her tactfully.’

Bremusa didn’t like that so much. ‘Tactfully? How?’

‘Outwit her.’

‘That’s never been my strongest point.’

‘I have faith in you,’ said Athena.

‘Can’t I just chop her head off? I’m good at that.’

The goddess pursed her lips. ‘I’ll find someone to help you with the outwitting.’

Luxos hadn’t really expected that Aristophanes would let him write lyrics for his plays, though he did hold out some hope that he might allow him the valuable position of reciting to the audience before the plays were staged. While Aristophanes had dismissed the suggestion out of hand, Luxos didn’t give up hope. He had a naturally optimistic spirit. Besides, he had other avenues to explore, and wasn’t finished with Aristophanes yet.

‘I hear you’re going to a drinking party at Callias’s house.’

‘We call them symposiums. What of it?’

‘It will be full of literary people. Take me with you.’

Aristophanes seemed surprised. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Why not? Callias is the richest man in Athens. It will be full of influential people. You could invite me to recite my poetry.’

‘The evenings are meant to be enjoyable.’

‘My poetry is enjoyable! I’m sweeping away the old conventions! If these smart people heard me they’d be impressed, I know it.’

Aristophanes sighed. He did that a lot when he was talking to Luxos. ‘And give you a spot at the festival, I suppose?’

‘Yes!’

‘Luxos, we’ve been over this already. The Dionysia festival is for established names only. They don’t have a beginner’s section.’

‘I’m not a beginner! I’ve been writing and singing and playing for years!’

‘Busking at the harbour doesn’t count. Athens invites all the best poets from all over Greece, Luxos. They’re not going to let you on the same stage as them. I’m not giving you the lyric poetry spot before my play, it’s for established names only.’

‘How will I ever get established if no one will give me a chance?’

Aristophanes looked momentarily sympathetic, but behind him his assistant was talking loudly to someone, distracting him.

‘Really, Luxos, I don’t have time for this. If you’re so keen to perform at the theatre, shouldn’t you be talking to the festival curators? They decide who’s allowed to enter.’

‘I tried. They won’t talk to me. Nor will the paredroi.’

There were ten curators taking charge of the festival. Above them were two important officials, the paredroi. Luxos had attempted to see them all. Most times he didn’t make it past their assistants, and when he did, he was met with indifference and annoyance.

‘How come Athens is meant to be so democratic about everything, but when it comes to poetry you don’t have a chance unless you’re rich? It’s not fair. Let me come to the symposium.’

‘No. It’s invitation only. For superior artistic intellects.’

‘And flute girls.’ The symposiums held by the upper classes tended not to be entirely intellectual affairs.

‘A few flute girls may be in attendance,’ admitted Aristophanes.

When Hermogenes rushed up with a report, the playwright turned to him with the sort of urgency commonly seen on the battlefield when a messenger arrived with news of enemy positions.

‘The prop-maker says he can get them up to fourteen inches. Any longer, they’ll go floppy.’

Aristophanes threw up his hands in frustration. ‘Fourteen inches? That’s nowhere near long enough! What’s the point of me writing the funniest dialogue if Eupolis has bigger penises? You know what the Athenian audience is like. They’re all morons.’

‘Even Socrates?’

‘He’s the worst of the lot. As for Euripides…’

Hermogenes looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we’re worrying unnecessarily. Everyone in Athens is short of materials. Eupolis and Leucon’s choruses might not have such big stage-penises either.’

‘That’s possible.’ Aristophanes frowned. He looked a little older than his years. When some of the people he’d attacked in his plays hadn’t taken it well, and prosecuted him in court, it had aged him.

‘Luxos, when did you last eat properly?’

The young poet was surprised at the question. He was always hungry, but he’d grown used to it.

‘Eh… I can’t remember…’

‘Do you want to earn some money?’

‘Yes!’

‘Then listen. I have a mission for you.’

Idomeneus of Crete never thought he’d end up as nursemaid to a semi-divine figure like Laet. There again, he never thought he’d live for eight hundred years. ‘Nursemaid’ wasn’t quite accurate. It wasn’t as if Laet didn’t have a lot of power. She had, but she wasn’t very practical. She didn’t know how to rent a room, or book passage at sea, or light a campfire, or anything like that.

Sitting in the Trident tavern, waiting for her to arrive, Idomeneus was listening to the conversations going on around him. It was a habit he’d picked up from his time with Laet. It amused him, because he knew what was going to happen if she decided to exert her powers. Everyone in the vicinity would do precisely the wrong thing. Anyone making a decision would make the wrong choice. He’d seen it happen hundreds of times, and it still amused him. At the next table, for instance, a solid-looking citizen was trying to persuade another, rather shabbier, citizen, to invest money in a merchant voyage to Libya. Though he was describing the potential profits in glowing terms, the shabby citizen was having none of it.

‘A trading voyage to Libya? With enemy warships everywhere? Forget it, it’s too risky.’

‘The Athenian navy will protect my ship.’

‘The Athenian navy will be busy ravaging Spartan lands. Your ship will go down to pirates, if it doesn’t sink in a storm.’

Idomeneus knew that the shabby citizen spoke wisely. A merchant voyage to Libya was a risk.

‘You’d better get out of here before she arrives,’ he muttered to himself.

The tavern was quiet, far quieter than Idomeneus had expected.

‘It must be true what people are saying,’ he mused. Athens is on its knees. Only a severe shortage of money could keep these degenerate Athenians out of their taverns.

The landlord had a hangdog expression, the sort a man wore when business was bad, with no prospect of things improving. When Idomeneus noticed his expression change abruptly to one of puzzlement and wonder, he knew Laet had arrived. She generally affected people like that. Laet was the sort of exotic beauty you didn’t see every day. The contrast between the paleness of her skin and the deep black of her hair and eyes was startling. Her features were perfect. Not only that, she projected the sort of aura that could render a man speechless. She wasn’t the sort of woman low-lives called out after in the street. When she swept by, they went quiet.

Idomeneus rose to greet her. Laet looked around at the plain tavern walls and the bare floorboards. ‘Is this the best you could find?’

‘It’s all we can afford till we get paid.’

Laet shrugged her shoulders, quite elegantly. She felt it was better for her image to be seen in wealthier surroundings, but she didn’t really care. She’d slept rough in the country plenty of times. Laet was tougher than she looked.

Conversation started up again at the next table.

‘Now I think about it, a voyage to Libya does sound like a good business opportunity. I’d be silly not to invest. I’ll go and dig up my savings from the garden.’

Idomeneus smiled.
Poor shabby citizen. He should have left before Laet arrived.

The spirit of bad decisions had arrived in Athens. That did not bode well for anyone.

In desperation, Aristophanes hunted down his producer Antimachus. He knew he’d find him at the Lyceum gymnasium, where he was friends with Gelus, one of the gymnastae responsible for training the athletes. It meant a long walk, and he couldn’t really spare the time, but his play was now so short of funds that something had to be done.

The Lyceum was east of the city walls, north of the River Ilissus. As Aristophanes approached he caught sight of a group of naked teenage boys practising their discus-throwing, just beyond the grove of olive trees that marked the outskirts of the Lyceum. It struck him that he hadn’t been here in over a year, though he used to visit often; exercising, meeting with friends, listening to the occasional philosopher discourse. The three gymnasia outside the walls were popular meeting places, but with writing and rehearsals he just hadn’t had the time. As Aristophanes passed the lithe, athletic, naked youths, he suddenly felt much older than a man of thirty should. He used to be active like them, but now… He sighed and shook his head. Being a playwright in Athens was a stressful business. When Kleon had prosecuted him, his health had suffered. At least Kleon was gone now. Killed in battle. Best thing the Spartans ever did, in Aristophanes’ opinion.

He found Antimachus sitting in the shade of an olive tree, watching his friend Gelus teach wrestling moves to a group of eighteen-year-olds. The young wrestlers, also naked, looked even more athletic than the discus-throwers. Again Aristophanes felt out of condition. That wasn’t something Antimachus worried about; he was one of Athens’ larger citizens. He saw Aristophanes coming and didn’t bother to pretend to be pleased.

Aristophanes knew there was no point in making a tactful approach. ‘Antimachus, I’ve got no scenery, no props and I can’t afford to hire a decent choreographer. You have to give me more funds.’

Antimachus shrugged. Though he was sitting in the shade, he was sweating as profusely as the athletes. He dabbed his face with a fancy piece of cloth.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘My rivals both have bigger budgets! Eupolis and Leucon are recruiting all the best talent!’

‘Maybe they’re just better playwrights than you?’

Aristophanes glared at him, and once again cursed the day he’d been assigned as his producer. It was all meant to be done randomly, by drawing lots, but he had his suspicions.

‘Antimachus, ever since you were selected as my choregos, you’ve put obstacles in my way. I don’t understand why. Wealthy citizens are usually proud to produce a comedy. The post of choregos is meant to be an honour.’

‘Then I’m honoured,’ said Antimachus. ‘But you can’t have any more money. I can’t afford it.’

‘You were pleased enough to put on your best clothes and take part in the opening procession! You didn’t mind the applause then, did you?’

‘I was simply doing my duty after being selected,’ said Antimachus. ‘That doesn’t mean I can provide you with endless funds.’

‘Is this all because I once mildly criticised you in a play?’

Antimachus growled. The languid expression he’d been attempting to maintain vanished. ‘Mildly criticised? You ridiculed me in the vilest of terms. Your actors pointed at me from the stage and threatened to throw dung at me! I was a laughing stock. Too bad for you I ended up as your producer this year.’

There was a cry from one of the wrestlers as he was thrown heavily to the ground, followed by a sharp reprimand from Gelus the gymnastis, telling him to get up and stop complaining.

‘If my play looks cheap on stage it will reflect badly on you.’

‘Really?’ A cunning look spread over Antimachus’s florid features. ‘I think a lot of people might be pleased that I didn’t support your play. It’s called
Peace
, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. What of it?’

‘There are important citizens in Athens who won’t look kindly on a playwright asking the city to make peace.’

‘Important citizens? Like your friend Euphranor with his weapons factory?’

‘Him, and plenty of others. You should stay out of politics, Aristophanes. If you get too involved, you never know what harm you might come to.’

Aristophanes left the Lyceum seething with the injustice of it all. He scowled at the discus-throwers on his way out. Citizens generally appreciated the strength and beauty of the naked, oiled athletes, but by now he was finding them depressing. He managed a respectful nod towards the shrine of the Muses as he left, but other than that he walked home depressed, completely absorbed by thoughts of failure.