As the procession reached the theatre, some of the devotees’ gestures were comical, others merely obscene as they spilled across the dancing floor where the festival choruses would soon be performing. These young men had just been released from their teachers’ and trainers’ supervision at the gymnasium, or they were returning from garrison duty as newly minted soldiers. No wonder they were feeling a rush of blood at the prospect of a few days’ freedom amid the city’s entertainments and temptations.
While I clapped and cheered along with the crowd, all my attention was fixed on the battered wooden effigy on its slowly rolling carriage. It is so shapeless that it barely resembles a man except for the mask it wears, but that revered and ancient icon has epitomised Dionysos since the days when gods and heroes mingled with mortals. As a focus for my prayers to implore his divine favour, it was second to none.
The effigy was approaching the central plinth. The rites unfolded with pious prayers and generous libations as the sacred image was reverently manhandled into place. I didn’t take my eyes off it, silently beseeching Dionysos’s favour in return for all our dedication to the play. I was so lost in my thoughts that Zosime had to shake me to let me know that the crowd was starting to leave.
‘Sorry, yes.’ I shivered. The night was growing cold as the stars twinkled overhead. Recollection abruptly hollowed my stomach. ‘I’m supposed to meet Aristarchos. He said we’d pour a libation together.’
‘He’s down by the statue.’ Zosime pointed at a group silhouetted against the festival torches.
I stifled a sigh of relief as we made our way down to the dancing floor. I was less thrilled to recognise the two young men standing with Aristarchos, now released from their processional duties.
‘Who is this lovely lady?’ Hipparchos smiled lopsidedly and nearly dropped the festival phallus he held carelessly sloped over one shoulder like a spear. As he laughed uproariously I smelled the wine on his breath.
‘This is my companion, Zosime. My devoted companion,’ I said meaningfully. I didn’t want to insult Aristarchos by slapping down his son, but I didn’t want these young pricks thinking Zosime was fair game just because she wasn’t a citizen’s Athenian-born wife.
Nikandros laughed a little too loudly, holding up his hands in mock surrender and nearly dropping his own festival phallus. ‘Oops!’
Hipparchos giggled so convulsively that I thought he was going to throw up. Now I could guess what prompted my patron’s distaste for drunken young men carousing through the city.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Aristarchos bowed courteously to Zosime before turning to the two youths. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we would like to make our own offering for our play’s success.’
Hipparchos might be stupidly drunk, but he understood that this was a command not a request. He managed to offer his father an unbalanced bow. ‘Then we’ll bid you good night.’
‘Good night.’ Nikandros ignored the rest of us as he bowed to Aristarchos with perfunctory respect. ‘I’ll see you – whenever.’
Hipparchos sketched a wave in the air and the pair of them headed unsteadily towards a knot of laughing youths loitering by the entrance. The gaggle greeted their friends, all gilded by the torchlight.
Aristarchos turned his back on them. ‘Lydis?’
The slave stepped out of the shadows. He held a jug of wine and a pouring cup. Dionysos only knows where he’d got them from.
The young men headed off for some fresh revelry. We were left surrounded by darkness only relieved by the pine-resin torch held by Aristarchos’s burly bodyguard. I felt a curious sense of isolation. Sounds of festivities down in the city seemed no more than the noise of the sea. It was as though we stood on the shore of a steep and rocky island, with the cliffs of the Acropolis rising behind us. The night air was fragrant with woodland scents rolling down from the thickets high on its slope.
Aristarchos stood silent, contemplative. Then he shook off his preoccupation. ‘You should do the honours, Philocles.’
I took the cup from Lydis and fought to still my trembling hands as the slave poured the wine. I dared not make a mess of this, overlooked by the city’s most sacred shrines. But what should I say? There are times when making my living from words is absolutely no help at all. I could only summon a heartfelt plea.
‘Master of comedy, look favourably on our efforts tomorrow. Everything we do is in tribute to you.’
As I spoke, I fervently hoped that everybody else, from Apollonides to Hyanthidas, was offering Dionysos the first taste of their wine this evening. I tipped the cupful over the statue’s plinth.
Aristarchos took the cup and made his own libation. ‘We can ask no more and we will do no less than our best. We swear it by all the gods and goddesses above and below.’
I looked up as I heard an owl’s faint call. The bird floated overhead on silent wings as it returned to its roost in the shadowy crags. An omen of good luck, but was it meant for us?
Aristarchos had heard it too. He gazed up at the star-strewn night sky. Then he looked at me and smiled. ‘We have a busy few days ahead of us. I think an early night would be wise.’
‘Indeed,’ I agreed.
We left the theatre and walked together in amiable silence along the path skirting the southern flank of the Acropolis, through the haphazard rebuilding by Athenians who’d reclaimed their looted homes as soon as the Persians retreated after we defeated their navy at Salamis.
Reaching the junction of the roads that led up towards the agora on the one hand and southwards out of the city on the other, we all halted.
‘Until tomorrow. Have a good evening.’ Aristarchos bade us both a courteous farewell before heading for home, flanked by his watchful slaves.
Chapter Seven
The first day of the Dionysia started very nicely for me. The
