to Kineas, to whom I owe everything I have achieved here.’ He poured a libation to the gods on to the floor and then drank the bowl to the dregs and upended it to show it was empty. ‘Since we are just family, it will outrage no god or goddess for your daughter to sing for us, Isokles.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said the older man. He took a full bowl of wine and raised it. ‘To Calchus, for hosting us to this excellent dinner, and to his friend Kineas, who we all hope will grace us with his presence for long years to come.’ He, too, poured off a libation.
Kineas realized that it was his turn. He felt out of place, shy, unaccustomedly foreign. He took a full bowl and rose to a sitting position. ‘To the hospitality of Calchus, and to the making of new friends — for new friends are gifts from the immortal ones on high Olympus.’ He drank the cup down.
Philokles took his bowl and stood with it. Kineas could see on the faces of Isokles and Calchus that Philokles had it wrong — he was not supposed to raise a toast any more than young Ajax — but he did.
‘Poseidon, Lord of Horses, and Kineas saved me from the sea, and Calchus’s hospitality made me a man again.’ His libation to the gods was half the cup, and then he drank the rest. ‘Surely there is no bond dearer than guest to host.’ He subsided back on to his couch.
Ajax recognized the quote and applauded. Isokles raised his bowl in salute. Even Calchus, who at best tolerated the Spartan, gave him a nod and smile of thanks.
Two women entered the back of the room, unveiled, their hair piled high atop their heads and wearing fine linen. The older had to be Calchus’s wife, although this was the first time Kineas, who had lived in the house for three days, had laid eyes on her. She was tall, well built, long of limb and elegant in her movements, and she carried her head high. Her face would not have launched a thousand ships, but her expression of pleasure and her obvious intelligence took the place of beauty. She smiled at all of them.
‘This is Penelope,’ she said quietly, without raising her eyes. ‘Daughter of Isokles. I will just sit by and listen, if I may.’ She never raised her eyes, never mentioned her own name — the very picture of a modest matron — except that surely Calchus had no children or Kineas would have seen them.
Penelope had large, round eyes that darted around the room like excited animals. She would lower them when she remembered modesty, but just as suddenly they would start, rise up and seek new quarry.
Kineas decided that she had probably never been out in public before, perhaps never seen men having a private dinner. He himself had often taken a meal with his sisters and told them the news of the day or the gossip from the gymnasium, but not all girls got as much.
Her hair was very black and her skin fairer than most. She had a long neck, long arms, well-shaped hands. She was quite attractive, obviously the female twin to Ajax, but Kineas found her furtive curiosity disturbing — too much like a caged animal. And after Artemis, modesty no longer appealed to him as much.
He felt a vague disappointment. What had he expected?
She began to sing without any warm-up, and she had a clear, light voice. She sang a harvest song from the festival and she sang a love song he had heard in Athens, and then she sang three songs that were quite new to him and whose cadences sounded foreign. Her singing was good, confident, if a little quiet and breathy. She sang an ode and finished with a hymn to Demeter.
They all applauded. Philokles punched his arm and smiled broadly.
Isokles stood. ‘Not every father indulges his children like this — I mean, that she sings songs meant for men. But it seems to me that she has a gift, sent by Leto’s son, and that she should be allowed to polish it and even show it off, if she does so with modesty. Which, I may be excused for thinking, she has done.’ He looked at Kineas.
Kineas once again fretted to be the centre of attention. He saw that Calchus’s wife was looking straight at him — she had lovely eyes, perhaps her best feature — they were all looking at him expectantly. I’ve only been here three days and you’ve cast me in the role of the suitor.
‘Nothing more suitable or modest in the eyes of the gods than for Penelope to show the talents they have given her to friends and family,’ he said. He could see from their reactions that he had not hit the right note — years of commanding men had taught him to read expressions that quickly, and these reactions were not of the best. But what was he to say? To praise her singing or her appearance would be to break the artificial constraints of this being a ‘family gathering’. Was he supposed to take that plunge, moved by a sudden passion, and declare himself her suitor?
Sod that, he thought, suddenly angry.
Philokles shifted on the couch next to him and rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘In Sparta, our women live in public with our men, so I’ll ask you to excuse me if I am uncouth. But surely Penelope is the very image of modest accomplishment; the muses must love a girl who plays so well.’
Kineas looked up at Philokles, who swayed a little as if drunk although he had taken very little wine. His compliment was well received; Calchus’s wife, for instance, smiled and nodded. Isokles looked pleased.
Well shot, Philokles. Kineas punched his arm lightly as he sank back on to the couch, and Philokles grinned at him with a look that said, You’re a slow one, I’ll explain all this later, you dolt.
Isokles rose again. ‘And while I’m indulging my children, I will ask a favour of Kineas here, since he is my fellow guest and the man of the evening. Favour me and take my son with you to Olbia?’
Right in public, where I can’t refuse. By contrast, Philokles’ request was the soul of courtesy. Kineas stole a glance at Calchus’s wife. She looked interested. Kineas said, ‘I am a soldier. The life I lead is dangerous, and the campaigns are long. I fear to take the responsibility for your son and leave his bones in some field. I fear the anger of the gods if I take him from you, and I fear your wrath if some untoward thing might happen. Don’t men say: “In peace, sons bury their fathers, but in war, fathers bury their sons”?’
Isokles was sitting on his couch with his hand on Ajax’s shoulders. ‘He needs to see something of the world. His head is full of Achilles and Odysseus and nothing but the mud and flies of a real campaign will cure him.’ Isokles’s eyes met his own. ‘There is always risk, when you are a father. I let Penelope sing here — I have risked her reputation, and mine. The risk is small, the company near and dear — I accept it. You might say I have known you only three days, but I say, you are the boyhood friend of Calchus and Calchus, for all we are rivals in everything — I speak bluntly to please the gods — for all that we are rivals, Calchus is the closest man to my heart. And your reputation precedes you, too, Kineas. Were you not sent to the boy king with fifty men to be hostages for Athens? And did you not succeed in winning his praise as a man, as a soldier, to the credit of your city? Calchus says that you have made five campaigns in six years, and that only the jealousy of the assembly at your father’s wealth sent you to exile. I have met you. You are a man I could trust with my child.’
‘Or both of them,’ whispered Philokles.
Kineas didn’t want all the praise, nor did he think they knew what little glory he’d garnered with Alexander. Trusted cavalrymen were on mighty charges that shattered Persian armies. Greek cavalry were lucky to be assigned to scout a ford on the flank of the army.
‘You praise me above my merits. I will take Ajax to Olbia and show him a little war, and cure him, as you ask.’ Kineas sighed. Philokles hit him in the ribs quite hard with an elbow.
Calchus sprang up. ‘Enough family business. Wife, be off with you — it is time for men to speak of men’s things and drink some wine.’
His wife took Penelope by the hand and she rose gracefully, nodded her head to the guests, and withdrew. She had never spoken a word. She was what — fifteen? Sixteen? Kineas watched her go and noted the scowl on the face of Calchus’s wife.
‘Does Ajax have a good horse?’ Kineas asked.
‘Not as good as any of yours. Ours are lighter, really just for a race behind the agora.’
Kineas looked to Isokles. ‘If he’s coming with me, he’ll need money to buy equipment in Olbia — you don’t have the items here, I looked in the market. Two heavy chargers and a light horse — probably his racehorse is too fine for the work. Several heavy tunics. A big straw hat like slaves wear in the fields — the bigger, the better. Two javelins — good ones, with cornell wood shafts and bronze heads. Boots to protect his legs when we manoeuvre. And a sword. I’d like him to carry a cavalry sword. I’ll teach him to use it.’ He looked at the boy. ‘You ride well?’
Ajax looked down modestly. ‘Well enough.’
‘Chair seat? On the rump of the horse?’
‘No. Like the Dacae. I learned to ride from one when I was a boy.’ Ajax looked up to see if this was the right answer.
