followed the musculature of the body without the complex hip extensions or the acanthus whorls that were standard on most breastplates.
I stood in the street, watching him work under an awning, and my heart was torn in many different directions. I wanted to be working. I wanted to be as gifted as he. He was younger than I, and already a better smith.
Age brings its own humility as well as its own relaxation. When one is young, one strives to be best against all comers. The best in war, the best on the kithara, the best at reciting poetry, the best at smithing.
Time passes, and some men are revealed as swordsmen, and some as kithara players, and some as smiths — greater and lesser, according to their merits. Heraclitus taught us that no man need do any more than to strive to be the best he can; that arete lies not in triumphing over others, but mostly in triumph over yourself. So he told us, but which of us believed it? Not I. I wanted to be best of all men. I still do. Humility is not yet my portion.
But standing there, I had to acknowledge that this young man made armour on a plane that I would never reach, not if I put down my spear and did nothing but work at an anvil until the end of my days. It was a curiously painful discovery, and yet liberating.
All this in as little time as it takes one man to greet another on the street, and then Anaxsikles raised his head. And smiled.
That smile was worth a great deal to me. I was afraid — well, that my behaviour with Lydia had poisoned everything.
He put his hammer carefully into a rack at his side, handed his mittens to a slave and came out of his shop to embrace me. That was pleasant.
Spontaneously — mostly to show him how highly I regarded his work — I asked him how much he would charge for a full panoply.
He grinned. ‘You can make your own!’ he said.
‘I want yours. Yours is better.’ I nodded at a pair of greaves on the display bench — the pure form of a man’s lower legs, without any decoration beyond the beauty of the body. ‘I can’t make those,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Flatterer,’ he said. ‘I learned to make armour from you. You were the one who taught me that there should be nothing on which the point can catch. I have thought about our duel a hundred times.’
‘You’ve created a style,’ I said. ‘I see men in your armour every day. You are the best armourer I’ve ever seen.’
He beamed. ‘And you?’
I laughed. ‘I’ve made some simple helmets. I spent a winter learning to cast larger pieces.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s an important skill. I haven’t tackled it yet. What did you learn?’
I won’t bore you. I talked about casting ship’s rams, and he came down to Lydia and looked at the ram and smiled when he saw the name. ‘So you still love her, too.’
I shrugged. ‘Most of what happened is my own fault,’ I said, with an honesty that surprised me. ‘I loved her. I think of her often.’
He nodded. ‘I always loved her,’ he said. ‘I would have married her — after you left.’ He paused, looked at me. ‘Many hold you responsible. I don’t,’ he said.
‘I am, though,’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘I would have married her,’ he said quietly. ‘Even after her father cast her out.’
‘Really?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘Men are fools. Is a hammer the worse when another’s hand has touched it, so long as I wield it well?’ He shook his head. ‘Even now, I would marry her.’
‘You wouldn’t be able to live here.’ I said it with flat certainty.
He nodded. ‘I never expected to be talking to you about this. I, too, failed her. When her father cast her forth, I allowed my father to convince me that she was worthless.’ He shook his head. Gone was the master smith, and in his place was a very unhappy young man.
I thought for a few heartbeats. ‘I’m trying to contact her,’ I said. ‘I thought to offer her a dowry and a trip to somewhere else. Athens, perhaps.’
‘She would never take anything from you,’ Anaxsikles said. ‘I’m sorry. But-’
It is hard, to hear that someone you have loved hates you utterly. And yet — how could I have expected anything else?
‘If I arranged a meeting,’ I said, ‘would you go?’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I never expected this as an outcome. I went to your shop to tell you what a fine smith you’ve become.’
He nodded. ‘The gods walk the earth,’ he said.
‘Indeed,’ I agreed.
I didn’t tell Anarchos what I had planned. But my heart was lightened. I told only Doola, because of all my friends, only he seemed to understand me. My plan was simple; I intended to reunite Lydia and Anaxsikles and then get them transport to Athens — Lydia’s dowry would set Anaxsikles up in a shop under the Temple of Hephaestos. It was a good plan, and it deserved to succeed.
But Anarchos dragged his feet, explaining that he only had one clandestine method of contacting Lydia and it was complicated, depending on a Saka slave in the nursery, where Lydia seldom went, as she had no children of her own.
I tried to see her on my next visit to the palace. I wandered as if lost, looking for her, but the slaves were too afraid of their master and too helpful, and I was quickly escorted to the Tyrant, who laughed and made quips all through dinner about the navigator of the seas who got lost in his palace.
That night, he invited Dano to join us. She shared my couch in the Italian way for a while, and when it was time for her to move — and I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy her warm femininity next to me — she smiled. ‘I’m ready to leave,’ she said. ‘When can you depart?’
I thought about it. It was a four-day run to Croton, unless the weather turned nasty; a week and a half round trip. Doola was all but done with his sales; we accused him every day of playing with the Syracusan merchants the way a cat plays with mice. The Syracusan armament required bronze for everything, from armour to ship’s rams, and bronze needs tin.
‘Day after tomorrow,’ I said.
She grinned. It was a lovely grin, and made her beautiful. ‘Wonderful,’ she said.
An hour later, Gelon sat on my couch. ‘You are taking my Dano home,’ he said. ‘I had thought to keep her longer.’
I shrugged. ‘She asked me,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘But you will return?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘People tell me you are having armour made by Anaxsikles,’ he said.
I smiled. ‘He is perhaps the finest armourer in the Greek world,’ I said.
Gelon frowned. ‘He is, after all, just a smith. I understand you have spent time with him. Why? Does his conversation fascinate you?’
Dangerous ground. We’re plotting to steal your mistress.
‘He was once my apprentice,’ I said.
Gelon recoiled as if he had been struck.
‘I am not only a merchant and former slave, but I am a master bronze-smith,’ I said.
‘You are a man of many faces,’ he said. He was clearly displeased.
His displeasure meant little to me. And it occurred to me that if he discussed me with Lydia, he might learn a little too much.
‘I have had complaints about your black man,’ he said.
My black man? That wouldn’t go over well, even as a joke, in our inn. ‘My friend Doola?’ I said carefully.
‘If you must. The African merchant.’ His contempt was so deep-rooted as to be offensive. ‘He charges outrageous amounts for tin. I have been asked to seize your cargo and sell it at a fair price.’
‘Would that be the Carthaginian price?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘You know full well that they are boycotting us — ahh, I see. You make game of me.’
