The Glory That Was

Chapter Ten

Protagoras drew himself up to his full height (about that of Flin) and said, "My good men, you ask me to help set you up in competition with myself, and to divide with you the pupils I have attracted — or, I should say, who have at last recognized the worth of my teachings after my many years of neglect? And being, moreover, not even Hellenes, but Barbarians whose Greek I can barely understand? Are you mad? Be off with you! I have no time for lunatics."

A couple of the pupils of Protagoras, looking on, made matters even more painful by jeering.

Bulnes listened to the tirade with eyebrows raised in an expression of mild surprise. When it was over, he tossed the loose end of his himation over his shoulder and said, "Thank you, my dear Protagoras. Even if you cannot fulfill our request, you have give us free a valuable lessons in the greatness of soul to be found in Athens. Come, Philon."

And with a dignity surpassing that of Protagoras he turned his back and started off. This time the laughter was on the other side. -

"Gentlemen!" said a soft voice.

A young man, who had been sitting behind one of the pillars, now spoke to Bulnes. He looked to be about thirty, with a fuzzy young beard and a nervous smile playing around his mouth.

"Something?" said Bulnes.

"Yes, if you — ah — if you really do not mind," said the young man. "I realize of course that I have no right to force myself upon you ..."

"Come to the point, my dear sir," said Bulnes.

"Well — ah — if you will forgive me, I overheard your exchange with Protagoras — not that I would say aught against the great Protagoras — but — ah — I know not how to say it ..."

Bulnes said, "Come, come — begin at the beginning. There are no need to be shy with us."

"That is good of you, but what I am trying to say is that if you are the Tartessian philosophers and are seriously looking for pupils, I — ah — would you consider me? I realize that you are men of importance, but then I have studied under Protagoras and Leukippos, and have spent seven years in Egypt, so you will not find me utterly unworthy of your efforts, I hope."

"Gladly," said Bulnes, masking his joy. "If you would care to come with us back to our inn, we will discuss terms and hours."

"Demokritos!" cried the voice of Protagoras behind them. "By Herakles, where have you been?

Nobody in Athens has seen you. When did you get here?"

"Oh," said the young man. "Truly, I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you, O Protagoras, but I did not wish to burst in on one of your invaluable lectures."

"But why have you not made yourself known to Sokrates or Diogenes or our other colleagues?"

Demokritos dug patterns in the dirt with the toe of his sandal. "I — I could not force myself upon them. They are godlike men of established reputation ..."

"Nonsense! You are as wise as any, however you try to dissemble the fact. What are you doing with these Tartessians?"

"I thought — that is to say — they are offering courses and have kindly consented to enroll me."

"The hawk takes flying lessons from the chicken. Well, strangers, any time you find the Greek language too much for you and wish to share with me the money you will extract from Demokritos, I will consider brushing up your speech. After all, it is I who first classified the parts of speech and formulated the rules of grammar. Meanwhile, rejoice!"

Protagoras went back to his pupils, while Demokritos, beaming, walked away with Bulnes and Flin. The latter said, "We're going to teach Demokritos? Gah!"

"What of it, if he can pay?"

"It's like teaching Newton or Einstein! This modest lad has one of the greatest brains of all time!"

"My dear Wiyem, only last night we learned he's not Demokritos at all, but a modern man impers —"

"Nothing of the sort! Vasil could have found some way of warping time to bring Periklean Greece forward instead of sending us back! One's no more incredible than the other."

"You're an incorrigible rationalizer, Wiyem. Personally, I've never been convinced of either. I think it's all a hoax."

"Oh, no! Not that! Perhaps — d'you know the theory of alternate time streams? We might be in another time stream which follows the same course as our own, but three thousand years later. So this world has only evolved as far as the Periklean Age, whereas our own ..."

"Suit yourself, comrade." Bulnes turned to the Greek. "My colleague and I were discussing what sort of course to give you. Perhaps you would like lectures on Tartessian theories of the shape and motion of the earth?"

"That were most exciting!"

"Or the nature of matter?"

"Better yet!" cried Demokritos, and to the astonishment of Bulnes seized his hand and kissed it. "You gentlemen are much too kind. Perhaps it will interest you to compare your theory with that which I received from my master Leukippos, and to which I have made a few trifling additions of my own."

"What theory is that?"

"I call it the atomic theory, from the 'atoms' or tiny indivisible particles of which we suppose things to be made. It is my notion that whereas some of these atoms are smooth, so that they slide freely past each other as in fluids, others are provided with hooks by which they become entangled in fixed masses, as we see in solids ..."

Later, when Demokritos had departed, Flin said, "Look here, Knut, there's no sense in having both of us hang around the inn while he's here. One's enough for lecturing."

"You mean you'd like to handle it alone?"

"No, no, on the contrary. You lecture while I hunt my wife."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, my friend. I can't speak the language well enough."

"Certainly you can. You know the modern language and have an extraordinary natural aptitude. Part of it must be that Spanish is phonetically similar to Greek."

"Oh, come. I can ask for a loaf of bread, maybe, but a lecture on the solar ..."

Flin rushed on, "You're perfectly competent. All you need is confidence, and you'll never learn to do by yourself while I'm here to translate. We'll run over the talk now, and everything'11 be top-hole."

"What have you in mind?" Against his better judgment Bulnes was disarmed by the flattery of Flin, who was usually readier with complaints and criticisms.

"We'll rough out the first lecture this evening, and tomorrow you'll take care of him while I search for Thalia."

"How will you do that if all the women are locked up?"

"It's not quite so bad as that. There are some occasions that bring them out: religious ceremonials, of which there are a good many, and the performance of tragedies. O Podokles!"

"You wish?" said the innkeeper.

"When we left the Peiraieus, they were just about to play the Dionysiac tragedies, and they told us these plays would be shown in Athens in a few days. When is that to be?"

Podokles pondered, counting on his fingers. "Today is the seventh of Elaphebolion ... Therefore the first one will be the day after tomorrow. By Sophokles, I am told."

"Are you going?"

"Yes, if nought befall that requires me at the inn."

"Would you like a companion?"

Podokles gave Flin one of his suspicious looks. "As a foreigner you would have to pay to get in."

"I know. Let us consider it a date, then. What happens tomorrow, if anything?"

"A special assembly of the citizens to ratify Perikles's new treaty. You cannot attend, you know."

"There you are," said Flin to Bulnes. "You lecture, I hunt. And don't feel badly about missing the play. You'd find it a weird business with those masks and stilts, anyway."

Bulnes, though he realized that he was the natural leader of the pair, felt lost without Flin when Demokritos showed up for his lecture. To one whose command of the language was still so imperfect, it was comforting to have the little man around when one got stuck.

Demokritos closed the session by saying, "Before I go, Bouleus, I — I thought perhaps you — ah — would consider another pupil?"

"Certainly. Whom?"

"Kritias Kallaischrou, the son of my host. When I applied to the proxenos having charge of visitors from Abdera, he arranged for me to stay at the house of Kallaischros."

"That sounds good."

"However — it embarrasses me to say it — there is one matter — I trust you will forgive my impertinence ..."

Bulnes sighed. "I forgive everything in advance, if you will — uh — only come to the point."

"The family, being among the richest in Athens, would not dream of entering an inn. You would have to come to the house of Kallaischros."

"That is agreeable. Will you conduct me there tomorrow?"

Demokritos assented and departed, and then Flin came in with an odd look on his face.

"Kritias Kallaischrou?" he said when Bulnes had told him the news. "That must be the 'Kritias' of Plato's dialogues — an uncle or cousin of Plato. Brilliant, but a frightful bounder in politics. However, he'll be only a young fellow now."

"What happened to you?" said Bulnes.

"Just had an odd experience. I spoke to Perikles."

"Do tell! What happened?"

Flin chewed his lip and stared into space. "Dash it all. I knew there'd be no women at the Ekklesia, but I wanted to see what I could so I went over to the Pnyx. Of course, since I didn't have a citizen's pass, the Scythians wouldn t let me in, but I hung around the entrance and heard much of what went on inside. Perikles put over his treaty, though the demagogues raised a row about knuckling under to Sparta. Then the president of the session adjourned the meeting, and out they came. I picked out a good-looking, gray-haired chap in the midst of the first lot. I had a feeling I'd seen him somewhere, and wondered what he'd look like without the shrubbery on his face. The others were all talking at once and waving their hands, but not this one — very quiet and composed.

"Some other man brushed past and shouted something about his having betrayed the interests of the people, and there'd have been a jolly good row if the Scythians hadn't broken it up. But from what they said I knew the dignified chap was Perikles, and the other, a big fat individual, was Kleon the Tanner, one of his left-wing opponents.

"I took my courage in my hands and stepped up to him, saying: 'Perikles Xanthippou, may I have a word?' 'Speak,' he said. 'I'm told,' I said, 'that a group of the radical opposition are planning to attack you through your friends. They're going to trump up charges against Anaxagoras, Pheidias, and Aspasia.'

"He looked me up and down and said, 'Who are you?' 'Philon of Tartessos,' I told him. He said, 'You seem well-informed for a foreigner. Be assured that I also keep track of current affairs.' And off he went, leaving me feeling foolish. Then the rest of the crowd came pouring out and swept me along with them. It sounded like what your American friends call the brush-off. I'd expected him to be more affable. And I still can't get over that feeling I know the man. Blast it, I begin to think you're right, that this is all a masquerade. I could cry, I'm so disappointed."

"Cheer up, my dear colleague," said Bulnes. "Suppose this were the real Periklean Athens. Then, even if you found your Thalia, what could you do then? How could you get back to your own time? Assuming you wish to, of course."

"You may assume," said Flin gloomily. "I've seen enough of Periklean Athens in the raw to last me some time. I say, you haven't a cig — There, see what I mean?"

The house of Kallaischros proved larger and better appointed than that of Meton, though laid out on the same general plan. Demokritos said to Bulnes, "This is your new pupil, Kritias, and this is my host, the noble Kallaischros."

"Rejoice!" said Bulnes. "This are — is — a great pleasure."

"How like you our violet-crowned city?" said Kallaischros.

"Magnificent!" said Bulnes. "Its institutions, also, I find most advanced and interesting. Perhaps we could — uh — apply some of them to advantage with Tartessos."

Kallaischros snorted. "Not if you know what is good for you. Democracy! Pah!"

"The regime of Perikles, then, does not meet with universal approval?"

"That man in the Odeion!" shouted Kallaischros. "Why anyone reared in one of our best families with every advantage should turn traitor to his class in order to curry popularity with the base ignorant rabble ..."

"Do not get excited, Father," said Kritias, a fuzzy-faced youth with a pet monkey on his shoulder. "It is bad for you."

"... to experiment with our sacred constitution, to waste the Delian treasury on an extravagant program of unnecessary public works ..."

"Father!"

Bulnes said, "But, sir, I should think that you, as a Eupatrid, would approve this new agreement with Sparta."

"The treaty I approve, but without condonation of its author. If Perikles thinks he can crawl back into the good graces of the better sort of people by a last-minute repentance ..."

"Father!"

"You are right, son. I should not even think of politics, this vulgar demagogy makes me so furious. It was not like this when I was young ... But to your lessons."

Bulnes found the way wearing. While Demokritos, though brilliant, was a docile, modest, and sweet-tempered pupil, Kritias proved a scholar of a different sort — a bumptious, argumentative, sharp-tongued youth who took delight in embarrassing his teacher. When Bulnes fell afoul of the complexities of Classical Greek, Kritias would solemnly tell his monkey, "He mixes his case endings just like a milk-drinking barbarian, does he not?"

And the monkey would wag its little head in a Greek affirmative.

By noon, when the lecture ended, Bulnes was glad to get back to the inn of Podokles to sprawl on a bench and drink a pint of wine with his lunch. He was feeling slightly drunk when a shabby youth came in. Bulnes thought he looked familiar, but could not place him until the newcomer, approaching, said, "My master sends me ..."

"Oh, you are Dromon, the slave of Sokrates?"

"That is right. Sokrates sends me to tell you that your friend, the other Tartessian, is in the House."

"In what house?"

"In the desmoterion, of course."

"What is that?"

Dromon sighed his exasperation. "A place where evil-doers are kept before they are tried."

"In jail?" Bulnes jumped up. "In the name of Zeus, why?"

"I do not know. He made some disturbance at the play, and the Scythians carried him off."