The Goddess of Buttercups and Daisies (5 page)

As he embarked on his night-time spying mission, Luxos passed by the Altar of Pity, a small, plain altar not far from the agora. This altar, while not dedicated specifically to any god or goddess, was a popular destination for those in dire need. During the plague, people had gathered there, praying desperately that their gravely ill relatives might recover. These days, mothers could be seen praying for news of their sons missing in battle. Luxos felt a vague desire to offer up a prayer himself, but resisted the urge. His life might not be going that well, but affairs had not yet reached such a crisis. He was still confident that Athena would help him.

He walked west towards the rehearsal space used by Aristophanes’ rivals, Eupolis and Leucon. Though the streets were dark, he’d been there often and found it easily enough. Things began to go wrong when he tried to sneak over the fence, caught his tunic and plummeted to the ground, landing painfully. He rose as quickly as he could, and hobbled on. He wasn’t certain if there would be a watchman on duty at the rehearsal grounds. Were theatrical props guarded at night? He didn’t know but didn’t want to be apprehended if they were. Aristophanes had given him enough money for a few good meals, and he was pleased about that, but he didn’t want to be caught trying to measure phalluses. It would be bad for his reputation which, Luxos acknowledged, was already poor. The young poet was not generally regarded as a valuable member of Athenian society.

He felt a twinge of sadness.
I shouldn’t have to be doing this. I’m a poet. I’m not cut out for secret missions. I never claimed to be any good as a spy.

He peered into several dark huts, looking for theatrical props. Why was Aristophanes so worried about penises for his chorus anyway?

You wouldn’t catch a real poet worrying about that,
thought Luxos
. I could entertain the Athenians without a lot of funny props if someone would just give me a chance.
But they’re all such a mean clique, the poets and their friends. They won’t listen to me. They wouldn’t read my poems even if I could afford to get copies made.

Athens’ most successful poets had their work copied onto scrolls and widely distributed, but that was expensive. Without a wealthy sponsor, Luxos’s poetry was never going to find its way into the best Athenian households.

The light from the moon was fairly bright and Luxos was still worried about being caught, but there didn’t seem to be any sort of security. Presumably Athens had more than enough worries at the moment without assigning valuable citizens the task of guarding props.

There they are.
Luxos eased his way into one of the huts and started rummaging around among several sacks full of comedy stage-penises.

They do seem quite big
.

Aristophanes had asked Luxos to measure them. That was difficult in the dark wooden hut. After a few minutes’ frustration, he loaded himself up with as many as he could carry, draping them over his shoulders and arms, and went back outside. There, in the bright moonlight, he walked straight into the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Or so it seemed to Luxos. There was also an intimidating woman with a sword.

The most beautiful girl in the world had big brown eyes and long black wavy hair. She wore a short white dress and delicate little sandals. Luxos stared at her in awe. For the first time in living memory, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He did realise that he was draped in a great bundle of funny phalluses. He regretted that. It seemed to be hindering conversation.

There was a long silence. Finally the intimidating-looking woman turned to her young companion.

‘I told you Athenians were obsessed with penises.’

With that they walked off. Luxos gazed after them, awestruck at the girl’s other-worldly beauty. He knew he was in love.

In the early morning light, Aristophanes was so wrapped up in bitter thoughts about his producer that he almost tumbled into the open sewer that ran past the statue of Solon the Wise. He avoided it at the last moment, only to bump into Nicias, also engrossed in his own thoughts. Aristophanes knew Nicias quite well, though the politician came from an older generation. He held him in reasonable esteem, regarding him as honest, if uninspired. Aristophanes had rarely mocked him in his comedies, and when he had, the ridicule had not been too severe. There had been one memorable scene in which the actor playing Nicias made such a boring speech that the entire assembly fell asleep. The real Nicias hadn’t made a fuss about it, acknowledging that he’d never been Athens’ most gifted orator, although privately he’d been rather offended by it.

‘Nicias. Shouldn’t you be wringing concessions from the Spartans?’

Nicias shook his head wearily. ‘The conference broke up.’

‘Broke up? How?’

‘In chaos. It was all I could do to prevent a brawl between the delegates. If I hadn’t got General Lamachus out of there he’d be facing an impiety charge for murdering a guest in our city.’

‘How could that happen? Everyone said it was going well.’

Nicias spread his hands hopelessly. Aristophanes noticed he was looking older. Soon his actors would need a new funny mask to represent him.

‘I don’t know how it happened. One minute we were close to agreement, the next a frightful row broke out. Everyone was accusing everyone else of lies and treachery, and every agreement we’d made was being torn up and trampled in the dust. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Nicias looked around at the small boys trotting along behind their tutors, the men pushing their carts of olives towards the market.

‘Aristophanes, have you noticed anything strange recently?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know exactly… But people are starting to act oddly. It’s like there’s something in the air. Something bad.’

‘Ten years of war will do that.’

‘I know, but…’ Nicias gazed wistfully at the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, in front of the law court at the edge of the agora. The city could do with more heroes like them. ‘People are acting out of character. It’s like the plague all over again.’

Aristophanes shuddered. It wasn’t that long since the terrible disease had ravaged Athens: only six or seven years since the last outbreak. They had been grim years, and he knew what Nicias meant about citizens acting out of character. There had been times, when the dead were strewn around unburied in the streets, and the dying lay helpless and alone in their houses, when all normal standards of decent behaviour seemed to have deserted Athens.

‘Please, Nicias, I saw my parents die. I don’t like to remember it. Things aren’t that bad yet.’

‘No, it’s not that bad. But it’s heading that way. Half the people I’ve talked to today seem to have taken leave of their senses.’ Nicias shook his head. ‘Maybe it is just the war. I hope your play is going well?’

Aristophanes shrugged, not wanting to describe his many theatrical worries. Nicias, however, seemed unusually interested in his progress, and pressed his enquiry.

‘It might be very helpful if you put on a great comedy dedicated to peace.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Certainly.’

Aristophanes was flattered. He’d never heard an important politician imply that his comedies might be of any importance. He regretted that he couldn’t give Nicias better news.

‘To be honest, it’s not going well. In fact we’re close to disaster.’

‘A successful comedy promoting peace might be just what Athens needs at this moment.’

‘I know. But it’s still a disaster.’

Bremusa had excellent night vision. It was an Amazon trait. Even as the moon began to disappear behind the clouds, she successfully avoided the pitfalls of the Athenian streets, guiding herself and Metris to the foot of the acropolis.

‘This should do, we’re close to the centre of the city. Time for you to act.’

Metris looked blank. ‘Act? Am I meant to act?’

‘I mean it’s time for you to locate Laet.’

The nymph continued to look blank.

‘Find Laet. That’s what the goddess sent you here for.’

‘Right.’ Metris looked at her sandals. She had small, delicate feet.

‘Well?’ Bremusa grew impatient. ‘Use your nymph magic to locate her.’

There was a long silence.

‘You do have powers of locating, don’t you? Like your mother?’

‘Well… not exactly,’ said Metris.

‘What do you mean “not exactly”? You said you had your mother’s gifts.’

‘I didn’t inherit absolutely all of them.’

Bremusa glared at Metris. ‘Are you telling me you can’t magically locate her?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘If we can’t even find Laet, how can you use your soothing nymph-powers to dispel her negative energy?’

The nymph shifted uncomfortably under Bremusa’s glare. ‘About that…’ She looked up. ‘Oh look, you can just see the Parthenon. Isn’t it lovely?’

‘Never mind the Parthenon! Are you telling me you can’t dispel negative energy?’

‘Not for powerful beings like Laet, no. Though I’m good with children. And cats always like me.’

‘Don’t talk to me about children and cats! You were sent here to perform a task and now you can’t do it! Have you been lying about everything?’

‘Of course not. You might just have got the wrong impression about a few things.’

Bremusa growled in frustration. ‘You can’t do the things you were brought here for! That’s not a wrong impression! That’s you making things up. I don’t believe you’re even the daughter of a river spirit. You probably just made that up too.’

‘I did not! I was Metricia’s favourite daughter. Second favourite. Third at the very least.’

Bremusa glared at her in the way she’d once glared at enemies on the battlefield. ‘Did you inherit any of your mother’s powers?’

‘Of course!’

‘Like what?’

‘I can make daisies and buttercups grow really quickly. Look!’

Metris waved her hand. Quite magically, a host of daisies and buttercups appeared at their feet. Standing amongst a small sea of flowers, the nymph seemed pleased with herself.

‘Aren’t they lovely?’

‘Lovely? Is that your only power? What use is that to anyone?’

Metris smiled cheerfully. ‘It always brightens things up.’

‘You idiot! No one cares about buttercups and daisies! That’s not going to save Athens. Why did you lie about your powers?’

‘I wanted to come to the festival… it’s draughty in my temple since it got ruined.’

‘I’ll ruin you, you —’

The Amazon broke off as four Scythian archers walked by; the night patrol, keeping order in the city. They looked over suspiciously, though their expressions softened when Metris smiled at them and gave them a cheerful wave.

‘The Goddess Athena is not going to be pleased with you,’ said Bremusa, when the archers had gone.

That didn’t seem to worry Metris. By now her attention had wandered to other matters. ‘I wonder why that young man was carrying all those penises?’

‘Probably because he was the local idiot.’

‘I thought he looked nice. Did you notice how nice his hair was? And he had nice eyes too.’

‘Stop saying “nice”. Nothing about him was nice.’

‘I hope we meet him again. He looked nice.’

Aristophanes was trying to sort out some problems in the chorus’s second-act choreography when young Luxos bounded into the rehearsal space, looking eager. Aristophanes left the chorus in the hands of Hermogenes and went over to talk to him.

‘Stop grinning at me in that offensive manner. What happened on your mission?’

‘I measured both your rivals’ phalluses. Leucon and Eupolis’s are much bigger. Good working order too, from what I could see. There’ll be some mighty erections on stage when they get going. Might be some sort of new record.’

The playwright scowled. It was bad news. Their producers were providing them with enough money for props, despite the hardships in Athens.

‘It’s because their plays are so bland. They get money because they never offend anyone. Damn them.’

Aristophanes hunted around for some coins to pay Luxos for his work. He noticed the young poet was still smiling. Aristophanes, burdened by worry, found this mildly irritating.

‘What are you so happy about?’

‘I’m in love.’

‘You’re always in love.’

‘This time it’s the real thing!’ gushed Luxos.

Aristophanes’ irritation increased. As if Luxos’s unceasing attempts to break into the refined world of Athenian poetry weren’t annoying enough, he was always falling in love as well, and he liked to talk about it.

‘Weren’t you already in love with Phryne the courtesan?’

‘That was only a passing fancy.’

‘You wrote a hundred-line elegy to her.’

Luxos brushed this aside. ‘I may have felt some temporary attraction. But this is the real thing. She’s the most beautiful girl in Athens!’

‘Really? How much does she charge?’

‘She’s not a courtesan!’

‘What’s her name?’

Luxos looked confused. ‘Eh…’

‘Where’s she from?’

‘Eh…’

‘Did you even talk to her?’

‘No,’ admitted Luxos. ‘But we shared some significant eye contact. I tell you, it’s the real thing.’

‘I’ve never thought you were that sane, Luxos. And don’t quote Homer at me.’

Aristophanes looked down at Luxos, who was not tall. At the sight of his smiling face, his shaggy blond hair and eager blue eyes, he felt his irritation growing. Athens was suffering and this young fool was going around smiling, telling people he was in love with a girl he’d never even spoken to.

‘Shouldn’t you be doing something useful, like rowing a trireme?’

‘Can I bring her to Callias’s symposium?’

‘Of course not. Can’t you get it into your head you’re not invited? If you show up at Callias’s drinking party he’ll have you brutalised by the Scythian archers.’

‘But she’s really pretty. I’m sure you’d like her. And I can recite my poetry while I’m there.’

‘Enough, Luxos. I need to see the prop-maker and get him to make our phalluses bigger somehow.’

‘Are they really that important?’

‘Of course. If Eupolis has bigger and funnier penises, why would the jury vote for my play?’

‘Because they’d still be in a good mood after I’d recited some great poetry before your play! Let me have that spot, it’ll really help you.’

‘I’ve already asked Isidoros.’

‘Isidoros?’ Luxos was aghast. ‘He’s an awful poet.’

‘He’s popular.’

‘That doesn’t mean he’s any good.’

There was something in that, but Aristophanes had had enough. He had too many problems to indulge Luxos’s flights of fancy. Already he could see his rivals being lauded at the festival while he was disparaged. Mocked, even. His plays had brought him many enemies. They’d like nothing better than to see him mount a shabby production and be derided by the audience. The Athenian audience could be very critical. The rough proletarian mass of Athenian oarsmen would not stand for an inferior comedy. Fruit and vegetables had been thrown. Aristophanes’ blood ran cold at the thought of his chorus being pelted with fruit.

The sun was climbing rapidly. The sheltered rehearsal space would soon be baking hot.

‘Luxos. I almost admire your ambition. And your relentless optimism. But can’t you understand that no one in Athens is ever going to listen to your poetry? You don’t come from the right class. You weren’t educated like a gentleman. You never had a proper teacher. You don’t have a patron, or any influential friends. Give it up. It’s hopeless. It’ll only make you unhappy. Here’s the money I owe you. Now go back to the docks where you belong, and try and make something of your life there.’

For the first time, Luxos seemed to understand what Aristophanes was saying. The light in his eyes dimmed a little. Aristophanes handed him his money, then returned to his choreography.