The Glory That Was

Chapter Seventeen

Late that afternoon, they were sitting in the inn of Podokles and working up the next few days' lectures, when Dromon the slave came in.

"Sirs," he said, "a message from my master Sokrates. Perikles is giving a dinner and symposium tonight at his house, whither he has invited all the philosophers of Athens. He asked my master to round up any he, Perikles, might be unacquainted with, wherefore Sokrates sent me to seek you men of Tartessos."

Bulnes exchanged looks with Flin, asking, "What's this?"

Flin said, "That's out of character. The real Perikles wasn't a very sociable chap — seldom entertained and seldom appeared in public except on state business. D'you think he'll try to smoke us out the way he did the militia this morning?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. But, being forewarned, we sould be able to cope with it."

"You mean when the others go off their rails, we do likewise?"

"Precisely."

"Dash it all, it seems like taking a frightful risk. Why don't you go and leave me?"

"What did you say?" said Bulnes, glowering.

"But — I mean — you could say I had a headache ..."

"It'd be an even worse risk to refuse. You're going. Dromon, what do we do now?"

"Follow me. My master will lead you to the house of Perikles."

Sokrates greeted them cordially at the Agora. He evidently could not stay angry long with anybody who looked like a promising antagonist in an argument. Bulnes had tactfully worked the philosopher around to the subject of becoming their prostates when they arrived at the house of Perikles.

The Strategos greeted them with grave cordiality inside the door. Bulnes took a sharp look at the Athenian statesman. There was no doubt that the man was the Emperor. Meanwhile, Perikles-Vasil was looking just as keenly at Bulnes. He said, in the manner of one making polite conversation, "It is interesting to meet one of the fabled Tartessians. Are you of the race of the Keltoi, said to inhabit the westernmost parts of Europe?"

"No, Perikles."

Flin spoke up. "We are the autochthones of Iberia, and cultivated the arts and sciences there centuries before the coming of the barbarous Kelts."

"Your name is Philon, my dear sir?" said Perikles.

As Perikles turned his head, Bulnes noticed the remarkable length of his skull, which projected backward to a conspicuous degree. Had he made a mistake? Vasil IX had no such bulge.

Within the andronitis, Bulnes found all the philosophers he had already met — Protagoras, Demokritos, Anaxagoras, and Meton — and several others he did not know. Nobody bothered with introductions; all were too busy with converse. Meton, for instance, was explaining his proposed calendar reform to somebody and railing at the stupidity of the masses who insisted on using an obsolete and irrational system of time reckoning from sheer force of habit. Flin said, "That one with the squint is Diogenes."

"The fellow who lived in a barrel?"

"No, you're thinking of the Cynic philosopher, who wouldn't be born yet. This is a scientist. And that's Prodikos, the one with the theories about the nature of myth, just back from Italy ..."

Prodikos was telling Protagoras: "... and I stopped at Thourioi and saw Herodotos."

"How is the old fellow?"

"Still amazingly vigorous — working on a history of Assyria, and hopes to visit Athens next year ..."

Anaxagoras was upbraiding young Demokritos, who tried to hide behind pillar: "... so you come all the way from Abdera to study philosophy, and never think to seek out poor old Anaxagoras? What a heedless generation it is ..." Demokritos was stammering apologies.

"Dinner, gentlemen," said Perikles. The crowd padded barefoot into the andron..

Bulnes murmured to Flin, "I could surely use a double Martini!"

He found himself paired with Antiphon the sophist, a youngish man about the age of Demokritos. Flin reclined on the next couch. Bulnes, watching him, had to admit that the little schoolteacher adapted himself to the Athenian style of eating more adroitly than he himself did. A slave appeared with a towel and a basin and began to wash Bulnes's feet.

Antiphon looked at Bulnes with a sneer and said, "So Perikles, far from giving me the place of honor, puts me with a foreigner! That shows his true opinion of the better sort of people. No offense meant to you, my good man — after all you cannot help where you were born."

The interior of the house of Perikles was little different from the other houses Bulnes had seen; less sumptuous than that of Kallaischros, but perhaps a little neater and roomier than Meton's. The Athenians' genius certainly did not express itself in interior decoration of private houses. A young woman who, Bulnes thought, would have been better for a good wash, sat on a stool and tweetled away mournfully on a thing like a clarinet. The monotonous little tune reminded Bulnes of a Gregorian chant.

Antiphon, his mouth full of endives, said, "Man of Tartessos, judge not all Athenian banquets by this one. Our Long-Pate Zeus is too serious-minded for party giving. You should attend one of those of our livelier spirits, like the young Alkibiades ..."

As the fare was spare and simple, the actual eating did not take long. The clatter of argument among the philosophers almost drowned out the music of the auJos.

Perikles cleared his throat, and said, "Gentlemen, ere we begin the symposium, may I bring Aspasia in to listen?"

When nobody objected, Perikles spoke to a slave, who went out. Antiphon said to Bulnes behind his hand, "That is one advantage of a concubine. You cannot decently bring a legal wife into such a gathering. And the funny thing is that Perikles cannot marry her because of a law he caused to be passed years ago, forbidding unions of citizens with foreigners ..."

Aspasia swept in — a tall, handsome woman of about Bulnes's own age. "Gentlemen!" she said. "It is most kind of you to permit me ..." She sat on a chair instead of reclining.

Antiphon said, "Wait till they get under way. She will tie some of their fine theories into knots. Woman though she be, the Milesian has a shrewd and penetrating wit."

A pair of slaves lugged in three big bowls and set them on the floor in the middle of the horseshoe in which the couches were arranged, while others carried out the teetery little tables on which the food had been served. Bulnes, watching this process, felt his chiton twitched from behind. There stood a slave holding out a fistful of straws.

Taken aback, Bulnes glanced around, observing that several others had each drawn one. He drew one also.

Perikles presently announced, "The short straw has been drawn by the good Archelaos, who is hereby appointed Master of Ceremonies. Do you take command, O Archelaos."

The graybeard across the horseshoe from Bulnes rose and commanded, "Mix the wine in the proportion of two to one."

Bulnes thanked his stars that the lot had not fallen upon him. As the slaves poured the contents of one wine jar and two water jars into the big bowls, Antiphon said, "We should have Kratinos the comedy writer in charge. He would mix one to one and then drink half a krater himself."

Archelaos scooped some of the diluted wine out of one of the bowls with a ladle, said something about "the Olympian gods," and poured the wine on the floor. He poured two other libations: "To the Heroes," and "To Zeus the Savior," and sprinkled incense on the altar.

Bulnes realized that those about him were singing to the tune of the clarinet. He listened, trying to catch the words:

"Now," said Archelaos, "the subject for this evening will be the origin of the universe."

Antiphon emitted a groan, echoed by several others.

"I knew it!" moaned the sophist. "One might as well die under Spartan spears as expire of boredom. The Anaxagoras will go on all night about his theory of primal seeds. But perhaps you foreigners like this sort of thing?"

Archelaos frowned at Antiphon and continued, "I shall first call upon our young friend from Abdera. Speak, O Demokritos!"

Demokritos turned a bright red above his fuzzy beard. "I — uh — er — I do not really know — ah — uh — I am unworthy — uh — I pray, do not ..."

"Come, come, have either cape or cloak," said Archelaos.

Demokritos smiled nervously. "Well — ah — Leukippos taught me that first there were atoms and the void, and — uh — after all I am nobody compared to the distinguished men here — but as these atoms fell through the void, we think — ah — the differences in their weights would cause some to fall faster than others, thus setting up eddies — uh — er — and these eddies condensed into solid particles ..."

While Demokritos stumbled along, in obvious torment, Bulnes shot a glance at Perikles. The latter was looking at Demokritos with a faint and not unsympathetic smile, then down again to a piece of papyrus in his hand. Could that, Bulnes wondered, contain a list of those present, so that Perikles-Vasil could check them against the card files of his pseudo-Greeks?

"I say, Knut! Watch Meton!" It was Flin, whispering from the next couch.

Bulnes saw that the astronomer was undergoing the same process that he had observed on the drill field that morning. He swung his feet down from his couch and sat up, staring wildly, and exclaiming in modern Greek: "Where am I? What is all this? Are you people pretending to be ancient Greeks, or what?"

Demokritos broke off, staring like the rest. Meton started to rise, then looked down as his sole garment, an unpinned chiton thrown carelessly around his body, began to fall to the floor. Meton clutched wildly.

Antiphon said, "By Herakles, that is the same seizure that is said to have smitten the soldiers on the drill field this morning! Is Athens undergoing an epidemic of universal madness?"

"Damn it," cried Meton, "say something! Doesn't anybody understand me?"

Then Meton looked around a little foolishly, and resumed his couch. Anaxagoras cried, "What ails you, O Meton?"

"Why?" said Meton in Classical Attic, "What do you mean? I had a slight feeling of dizziness just now and found myself standing, but now I feel perfectly normal."

"Do you not remember speaking gibberish?" asked Sokrates.

"Not at all. What is all this? Are you men jesting?"

Bulnes leaned toward Flin and murmured in English, "Perikles must have made arrangements to turn off the radiations for his guests one at a time, in a predetermined order."

"What shall we do? If they don't all rave at once, how shall we know when to rave?"

"We shan't. But then if he orders his men to check the list, they'll find out that neither of us is listed in the card file."

"Oh-oh!" said Flin. "I knew we were ruddy fools to come. Let's get jolly well out of here!"

"Not yet. A few more like that will break up the party anyway, and we don't want to look conspicuous."

Aspasia said, "Go on, dear Demokritos. You were doing splendidly!"

The interruption, however, had so unstrung that shy young man that he was unable to get anything out but er's and ah's. At last Archelaos said, "We will come back to you, O Demokritos. Meanwhile the Sokrates, having been declared by the oracle to be the wisest man in Athens, will perhaps favor us with a few words on this profound subject?"

"It is notorious that I am the stupidest man in Athens," said Sokrates, "or I should not find it necessary to ask so many questions. As for the origin of the universe, I think that a question of no great importance — since, whatever caused it, it happened long ago, and the problems of leading a good and virtuous life are more pressing.

"However, since you wish it, I will tell you a story I have heard from my Pythagorean friends. They argue thus: As all corporeal things are generated, so must the cosmos have been generated, which implies a generator or maker. This maker, for lack of more definite knowledge, we call 'the gods.' Thus, you see, they avoid the crass materialism of our scientific colleagues. And this maker must have constructed the universe of the four elements theretofore existing — earth, air, fire, and water, as Empedokles teaches — leaving over no single particle or potency of any one of these elements. And the maker intended that the universe should be a living creature, perfect and whole ..."

Bulnes, watching Archelaos, saw him stiffen, look wonderingly at Sokrates, and cry in modern Greek, "What's all this? I'm Eleftherios Protopapadakis, and I had just dismissed my class ..."

This time the uproar drowned the words of both Sokrates and Archelaos. Then the latter sprawled back on his couch as if nothing had happened.

"Let us continue," said Perikles. "Whatever these strange seizures be, they do not appear to last long or to have ill effects. If you will resume your talk, Sokrates?"

Bulnes, watching, saw Perikles scrutinize the sheet of papyrus in his hand and make a motion that looked like checking a name off a list. The party had now become so disorganized that it took five minutes for, Archelaos and Perikles to quiet the guests. Sokrates resumed:

"... so the gods, in their first attempt at creating intelligent creatures, constructed androgynous bodies each with four arms and four legs. But, these proving awkward, the gods in their kindness caused these creatures to fall asleep, and while they slept the gods split each of them lengthwise into two parts, one part being a human male and one a human female, and thus the two sexes came into existence ..."

There was more, about the mathematical proportions the gods had used in designing the universe, the supersouls of the earth and the stars, and the motions of the planets — all very involved and couched in jaw-breaking compound terms.

Antiphon muttered, "He may not be the stupidest man in Athens, but he can certainly be the biggest bore when he tries."

Bulnes shook his head in assent.

Antiphon persisted, "There is no doubt he is a just man, but by his very excess of virtue he commits an injustice."

"How so?"

"He insists on lecturing all comers gratis, comparing honest teachers like the Protagoras and myself to harlots because we ask a fair return for our labor. And in this way he discredits us and encourages our pupils to beat down our modest fees by threatening to go hear Sokrates instead. Which is depriving us unjustly of our livelihood."

As the sophist chuckled over his own cleverness, Bulnes, finding the ideas expressed by Sokrates not only difficult to grasp but so scientifically obsolete as to be not worth grasping, turned his attention again to Perikles.

The statesman was glancing at his papyrus and then up. Bulnes said to Flin, "Look — he's waiting for the next one."

"Looks to me as if he were wondering why the next one hasn't gone off. Notice how the blighter stares at Aspasia!"

It was true. The glances of Perikles at his consort became longer and more intense until Aspasia herself became conscious of them and showed signs of unease. She even leaned toward Perikles and whispered a question.

Sokrates droned on: "... and thus the gods made bone: They sifted earth until it was pure and smooth, kneaded it, and moistened it with marrow, and by alternately dipping it in fire and water, so wrought upon it that it was no longer soluble in either. Then on a lathe they turned out the spherical bone that forms the skull ..."

"Knut!" said Flin in an undertone. "Don't you think Perikles expects Aspasia to be the next to go?"

Bulnes nodded. "I wonder if she's an uncon —"

At that instant a scream cut through the monologue of Sokrates. Aspasia had leaped up from her chair and was backing away from Perikles, who had also risen.

"So," said Perikles, "you're the spy from Lenz, eh?"

"No — no ..."

"Then how is it that you speak English?" Perikles advanced menacingly. Gone was his quietly cordial, elder-statesman manner. The-guests stared open-mouthed.

Aspasia retreated toward the door into the court. As she neared it she spun round in a whirl of draperies and ran. Perikles drew a dagger from his chiton and ran after her.

Bulnes saw nothing suitable for a weapon save the ladle with which the wine in the kraters had been mixed. He leaped from his couch, snatched it up, and ran after Perikles.

Aspasia vanished through the door, Perikles after her, and Bulnes after Perikles. At the middle of the andronitis Aspasia detoured around the altar. The slight check enabled Perikles to catch up with her and drive the dagger into her back.

Almost simultaneously Bulnes, with a leap of his long legs, reached Perikles and struck him with the ladle on the back of the head. There was a crunching sound and Perikles fell forward over the body of his mistress.

"Ea! What is this?" cried Protagoras from the doorway. "What a horror! A sight for Aischylos to describe! I am leaving. Boy, my shoes and cloak! Hurry!"

All the other guests began shouting for their slaves and their gear. They streamed past the group in the court, some carrying their sandals and himatia without bothering to don them, and rushed out through the front door, crying:

"The furies must have done this!" "A curse has lallen upon Athens!" "I was not even here this evening!"

Bulnes then heard exclamations among Perikles' own servants: "The master stabbed the mistress, and then the foreign gentleman broke the master's head ..."

In a few seconds, they, too, were running out. Bulnes knelt and pulled Perikles off the body of Aspasia. Both were alive. Bulnes examined the head of Perikles and discovered that the projecting back of the head was a false structure of plaster, covered with a wig, which he had broken with the ladle. Perikles was merely stunned; Aspasia was in worse case, blood dyeing her chiton.

Bulnes looked up. Flin and Sokrates stood beside him, but otherwise the house seemed empty.

Sokrates said, "Such a devoted couple, too! And now all their fair-weather friends have run, lest one should be accused of having a hand in this business."

"How about you?" said Bulnes.

"I care not. How are they? Dead?"

Bulnes gave his diagnosis.

Sokrates said, "The boy, their son. Some older friend must prepare him, and I seem to be the one chosen by the gods for the purpose. I shall be back presently."

He disappeared into the back of the house. The woman who had passed as Aspasia opened her eyes, stirred, and coughed up a little bloody froth. She said, "Get — message — to Lenz."

"Yes?" said Bulnes.

"Tell him — Vasil — suspects." She coughed. "If he — wants to seize — the machine — to use on the world — do it now."

"Why should Lenz wish to do that?" asked Bulnes.

"Power. Tell him — hurry."

"And what's the Emperor up to?"

"To make — people happy. He thinks — they were happiest — in time of Perikles. If he can make all the world — live that way — he ..." She went into a spasm of coughing.

"Why is he running this dress rehearsal?"

"He thinks — he can avoid — the mistakes — of the original Perikles. Bring back the Golden Age."

Flin said, "For God's sake, let's do something for her ..."

Bulnes waved him to silence. "Why," he asked Aspasia, "are you helping Lenz?"

"I work for him. He pays well — and Vasil's — a fool."

"Where can we hide until we can carry this message?"

"Try Kleon. Enemy of Perikles."

"How accurate is this re-creation of Athens? Has Vasil any special means of viewing the past?"

"No. His experts — read books and studied relics — like other people. Tell — Lenz ..."

Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed. Though her pulse still beat, she seemed to have lost consciousness. Bulnes said, "I don't know that there's much we can do for her, Wiyem. No modern physicians or medicine, and she'll probably die shortly."

"How about him?"

"Merely a slight concussion."

"By Jove, that puts us in a fix! We can't very well carry her through the streets — the moving would probably kill her anyway — and if we leave her here, he'll come to and finish her off."

Bulnes shrugged. "Unless I did him in now."

"Gad, not that!"

"You're probably right, but for the wrong reason. No use bumping Vasil when Lenz would turn the conditioning machine on the world. And as everybody knows we were the last to leave the house, he'll be able to figure out that we're unconditioned, too. So it won't do for him to find us here when he comes to."

Bulnes felt Aspasia's pulse again. It still beat feebly. He felt guilty about her, but he could see no other course.

"Sokrates is still around," he said. "He can do about as much as we can, which is damned little. Come on — we're going to Kleon's."