watching, couldn’t decide whether it was a theatrical gesture or a real one, or perhaps both together.
‘I am Philokles, of Olbia and Tanais. These children are the children of Kineas, and a curse on you for making me say that on a public street.’ Philokles didn’t seem so drunk.
‘Keep your curses for those who mean you harm,’ Kinon said, but he turned red. ‘A thousand apologies. Come in. What are such noble guests doing here with so little ceremony? Now I know that Leon would require me to show every courtesy. Could you not just have said, or sent a note?’
The armed slaves helped bring the horses into the house’s business yard. The house steward was already raising his hands to heaven.
‘Where shall I stable so many horses?’ he asked the gods. And Melitta didn’t like how his eyes lingered on her.
Kinon dismissed his worries with a wave of the hand. ‘Guests are from the gods,’ he said. ‘So are their beasts.’
‘I could not send a note because I did not wish it to be known that we were here,’ Philokles said. ‘My charges are in a dangerous position. Tell me the news. What is the tyrant’s relationship with Pantecapaeum?’
‘Eumeles, who used to be called Heron?’ Kinon was pleased to be master of the situation, and pleased, now that he had guests, to show off his possessions. Two more slaves came out of the slave quarters at the back of the business yard. They took over the animals while a young girl brought wine mixed with mineral water, fizzing on the tongue. It made Satyrus think of the bath at the temple of Herakles.
‘He’s the one,’ Philokles said. He tasted his wine and bowed, indicating his pleasure. Troops of slaves, it seemed, emerged from their quarters to take the baggage off the horses and march it into the house.
The steward reappeared. ‘I have prepared rooms for them, master,’ he said.
Kinon nodded, his lips pursed, until another girl appeared from the arch that led to the garden-courtyard, this one beautiful like a young Aphrodite, with wide eyes above a narrow, arched nose and lips that seemed too lush to be real. Satyrus looked at her, and her fleeting glance – slaves rarely raised their eyes – caught his in a flash of green. She smiled a little. She had a garland in her hair and five more in her arms. With her eyes down, she gave Satyrus a garland. ‘My master welcomes you,’ she said, and her eyes touched his again.
Satyrus blushed and took the garland. He could see every contour of her body under her simple linen chiton. All women, and all men, were naked under their garments, and almost no one except the sick wore undergarments, but this seemed to be the first time that Satyrus had ever noticed such a thing. He dropped his eyes and missed her flash of a smile.
Theron didn’t. He took his wreath and grinned. ‘That, sir, is a beautiful girl.’
Kinon patted her shoulder with unfeigned fondness. ‘Beautiful and modest. I bought her for a brothel, but I don’t think I’ll ever sell her.’ He gazed on her with a connoisseur’s appreciation. ‘There is more to life than profit.’
‘Your sentiment does you great credit,’ Theron said. ‘What is your name, girl?’
‘I am called Kallista,’ she breathed.
‘What could be more natural for her?’ Kinon said. ‘Now your Eumeles – you must know – our Dionysius hates him, as does his brother. It is very – personal. Yes?’
Philokles drank the rest of his cup of wine and handed it to a slave. ‘That is the best news that I have heard today, Master Kinon.’
‘There is no “Master” here,’ Kinon said with courtesy. ‘This is your house. May I engage you as guest-friends of my own account? The children of Kineas and Srayanka?’
Melitta’s eyes flickered at her brother – do it! – and he stepped forward. He imitated Philokles’ gesture, handing his wine cup to the air and assuming that a slave would appear to take it. It worked.
‘I am Satyrus, son of Kineas of the Corvaxae of Athens and Olbia. Herakles fathered my ancestors on the Nereid who dwelt on the slopes of Gagamia in Euboea. Arimnestos of the Corvaxae led the Plataeans at Marathon and won undying honour there. Kallikrates Eusebios Corvaxae led the exiles from Plataea. He and his son gave their lives for Athens.’ He reached out and took both of Kinon’s hands. ‘I ask your guest-friendship, Kinon of Heraklea, and I gift you with mine, and my children’s.’
Kinon clasped his hands. The merchant’s hands were soft and a little moist, but his grip was firm. ‘So might the heroes themselves have spoken. Indeed, for a youth, you sound more like a man of Gold than a man of Iron. I am honoured with your guest-friendship, Satyrus Eusebios of the Corvaxae.’ He took a wine krater and snapped his fingers, and one of the slaves who had been carrying a sword appeared with an offering bowl. Kinon poured a libation. ‘I swear to Hera, to Demeter who loves all guests, and to your ancestor Herakles that I will be your faithful host and guest.’
Satyrus pinched the libation bowl between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Grey-eyed Lady of Wisdom, and the strong-armed smith who works bronze and iron, keep this man and be my surety that I will be a faithful guest and friend.’
‘I feel as if I have Peleus’s son, Achilles, as a guest,’ Kinon said. ‘From an irritation, this has become a pleasure. Please follow me to a more comfortable situation.’ He led the way through the main arch, and they went from the businesslike courtyard with shed and slave quarters to a garden with roses and three colonnades. There was a fountain in the centre, and couches had been arranged on a clear space of gravel amidst the rose bushes. They were not quite in bloom, but the buds were formed.
‘You are in luck,’ Kinon said, as they looked at his garden. ‘The roses will bloom tomorrow or the next day. How long will you stay?’
Having sworn the guest oath, Satyrus was now the centre of their host’s attention. He looked at Philokles, who made a small sign with his hands.
‘Just long enough to see the roses,’ Satyrus said with a smile.
Kinon smiled back, a little too warmly, and Satyrus wondered if he had sent the wrong message to the man.
‘I think we could all do with a bath,’ Philokles said.
‘Goddess!’ Kinon was genuinely shocked. ‘I’ve been remiss. Did you ride all the way here?’
Theron spoke up. ‘We came on a merchantman from up the coast,’ he said.
Kinon exchanged a glance with his steward, and Satyrus wondered what it meant. ‘Is that Draco Short-Legs? From Sinope?’
Philokles nodded. ‘The very one. May I bore you with another question? I crave news.’
‘Speak to me, sir. May I call you Philokles?’
‘You may. If all your wine is as good as what you just served us, we’ll be great friends. Have you heard of our friend Diodorus?’
‘The captain of mercenaries? Who on the Euxine does not know the man? Indeed, I just sent him fifty new Boeotian helmets made to his order in our shops.’ Kinon nodded. ‘He’s more than just a soldier. He’s a good man of business. And his wife is a delight.’
Philokles laughed for the first time in days. ‘Sappho?’ He shook his head. ‘She is superb.’
Diodorus had defied convention and married a hetaira. The situation was more complicated than that – Sappho had started her life as a respectable woman of Thebes, and only when the city was sacked had she been sold into harlotry. Diodorus loved her, and made her his wife. In fact, he’d gone farther, taking her into society with the same boldness with which he led a cavalry charge. And Sappho herself was intelligent, direct and plain-spoken in a way that most women were not. Younger, she had been a beauty. Now she was a mother of two daughters and she could still turn heads at a symposium.
‘I think we’ll be good friends,’ Philokles said. ‘If only we might have a bath.’
An hour later, they were back in the rose garden. Satyrus was as clean as he’d been since the Temple of Herakles, and Melitta wore an Ionic chiton, long and flowing and pinned with a set of mother-of-pearl brooches cut like Nereids.
Kinon eyed her critically. ‘I purchased it for Kallista,’ he said. ‘But when I heard your brother speak of your ancestry, I though that you had to wear it.’
Melitta looked at him gravely. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are very like Odysseus for wisdom?’ she said.
Kinon laughed. ‘Ah, flattery. How I love it. That was well said, mistress. ’ He waved at the couches. ‘Will you recline, mistress?’
