I also found out I’d been drooling because my face was stuck to the pillow. As I licked repellently sticky lips, my mouth tasted as sour as wine dregs left in a jug overnight. Fuck.
I wondered if I could lift up my head without my skull shattering like a cracked pot put on a hot hearth. Before I could decide, that fucking thunder rolled across the heavens again. Though an unbiased observer would probably say someone was knocking gently on the bedroom door. ‘Yes,’ I croaked.
The door opened. Daylight struck, blinding as a lightning bolt. I buried my face in the blanket with a groan. ‘Fuck.’
‘Good morning,’ Zosime said crisply.
‘Where’d you sleep?’ I mumbled, guilt-stricken.
‘In the spare bed. Kadous made up a pallet on the floor for my father.’
‘Fuck.’ So Menkaure had seen me as drunk as a hedgehog gorging on fallen, fermented grapes. Roaring drunk? Soppy drunk?
‘Is he still here?’ I rolled onto my side and squinted up at her. The sun was still dazzling, even with the pillared porch shading the doorway.
‘No, he’s already gone to the theatre.’ She shrugged with apparent unconcern.
Even wine-sick as I was, I could see that she was less than pleased about something. Belatedly I realised why. ‘How late is it?’
‘Late enough that you need to get up now,’ she said meaningfully, ‘if we’re to see today’s plays.’ Sitting on the edge of the bed, she offered me a cup.
I hadn’t thought I could feel any worse. Now I realised I could. I’d promised Zosime we’d see all the tragedies in this year’s competition. I knew she was really looking forward to seeing some drama that would be completely new to her. She knew every line of my comedy by heart, after all. If she missed her chance to see today’s trilogy, that promise was dead and gone. Unless some rural theatre hired those particular actors for their country festival. Would I be able to find that out? Maybe we could travel…
Such desperately scrambling thoughts were no match for my thumping headache. I shifted and reached for the cup. ‘Just give me a moment. I’ll get up, I promise.’
‘Yes, you will,’ she agreed. ‘And then you can read the letter that’s just arrived from Aristarchos.’
‘A letter? Let me have it.’ I tried to sit up. That was a serious mistake. The room rocked like a ship’s deck in a storm. I slumped back onto the blanket with my eyes tight shut and waited until it stopped. ‘Fuck.’
Zosime’s hands closed around mine, to save me from spilling the cup and soaking the mattress. ‘You need to drink this.’
I wanted to tell her there was no chance of that, but I didn’t think I could open my mouth without spewing bile all over the bed. It took a few long, uncertain moments before I felt the odds shifting in my favour. I sat up again, very, very slowly. After some deep, deliberate breaths, and still painfully cautious, I took a sip from the cup. The well-watered amber wine had already been sweetly aromatic before Zosime added honey and a few choice herbs. I could definitely taste fennel, but the rest was anyone’s guess.
Whatever was in it did help. I opened one eye to offer Zosime a crooked smile.
‘Eat this.’ She handed me a heel of plain barley bread.
That was a much greater challenge. I managed a couple of bites before the thought of chewing and swallowing any more made my stomach lurch. Once again, it was a few moments before I thought I could talk without heaving what little I’d eaten back up.
I held out my hand. ‘Please may I have my letter now?’
Zosime had it tucked into her belt. She handed it over and took the empty cup in exchange. ‘What does he say?’
I snapped the seals and winced as I unfolded the aggressively crackling papyrus. The next challenge was forcing my bleary eyes to read the damn thing. As before, Aristarchos came straight to the point.
What light could Lysicrates shed on those performers in the agora?
‘Fuck.’ That had completely slipped my mind. I hadn’t asked any of the actors who they thought could impersonate Ionians well enough to fool an Athenian crowd.
‘For a man who makes his living with words, you’re getting tediously repetitive.’ Zosime stood up. ‘Come on, get out of your sty and turn yourself back into a man fit for decent company.’
‘Yes, Circe,’ I muttered as she went out through the door.
She wasn’t wrong though. I smelled as bad as any drunken swine, reeking of stale wine sweat. I eased my legs over the side of the bed. So far, so good. Then I realised my tunic was pungent with fatty smoke from a tavern’s griddle cooking sausages and skewered gobbets of fowl.
I managed to wrench it over my head before the stink made me vomit. Throwing the garment into a far corner, I swallowed hard, barely managing to quell my nausea. Then I tried calling out through the open door. ‘Kadous? I need hot water for washing.’
Chairephanes swears by a Spartan steam bath after too much wine, but even if I’d had the time, I couldn’t have faced the Lyceum today. The gymnasium would be full of hearty athletes who had no taste for tragedy. They would be spending their Dionysia roaring at each other as they raced to a sprint’s finish line or cheering on each other’s long jumps and discus throws. Such uproar would rival any torment Odysseus had seen in the Underworld, as far as I was concerned.
The Phrygian appeared with a grin. ‘A pot’s already steaming.’
I managed a rueful smile. ‘I assume I can thank Zosime for that?’
He came into the room. ‘You should make sure she knows you’re properly grateful.’
I considered asking Kadous about last night’s debauchery. No, I decided, there was nothing to be gained by hearing how badly I’d embarrassed myself. Besides, I was pretty sure Lysicrates would tell me every last hideous detail the next time we met.
‘Is she
