Episode 2 (486 BC):

After the fateful encounter between two of the people who would be part of the group that would change the world forever. The slave, ignorant of his future, headed to a nearby store to buy fish for dinner that night. No doubt it was going to be a special event, although Zenodulos was not really hopeful. Under the scorching sun, he walked through the same cobblestone streets that he had walked just before, but this time in return.

Upon arriving at what could be called his home, the servant heard a lively conversation between two men. As he approached, he distinguished the laughter and the sound of glasses clinking. It was not difficult to envision that it was the possible future father-in-law of Demosthenes talking with the teacher. Apparently, they were good friends.

Curiosity got the better of the boy, and he peeked into the room where the noise was coming from, instead of delivering the fish to the kitchen slave and returning the extra coins to one of his masters.

Indeed, in the same room where father and son had eaten hours before, two persons were sitting laughing and drinking from ornate terracotta vases. Next to Cleon was a man with a brown tunic carelessly put on his body. His hair, still dark, but with some gray hairs at the temples and somewhat disheveled, gave him a rather disregarding aura, in contrast to the meticulous attention that this friend maintained on his own image. The young slave could not see his face well, but he seemed younger than his owner.

Suddenly, the young man felt the weight of the basket he had in his hand and remembered the fish he had bought for the banquet, so he walked slowly down the hallway, careful not to be discovered, towards the kitchen.

Upon arriving, Zenodulos delivered his purchase to a slave. The girl, with shaved hair and an unfriendly face, without looking him in the eyes, she indicated him to leave the basket on the preparation table.

Then, to forget his concerns about the future, the young man of meager privileges headed towards his mistress's room, to receive new orders. However, on the way he heard two people talking in the front garden of the house. The atmosphere of the house was undoubtedly active that day, and Zenodulos, more gossipy than usual, prepared to eavesdrop on the conversation of the two young people.

—This is stupid! — Shouted a boy´s voice. It was undoubtedly Demosthenes´.

Zenodulos felt even more curious, and peeked through the door of the house that led to the garden. On the favorite bench of his master, he saw two persons sitting. The stout one was Demosthenes, and the other was unknown to him: a girl who wore a light-colored veil that was held by her shoulders, hiding her face and hair. However, her slender build and pale hands suggested that she was from a good family.

—Why does my father want me to marry so young?—Keep complaining the young master—I must finish my studies first and then enter the military academy, I don't have time for such things.

—I'm... sorry.—the girl responded, rather crestfallen.

—Oh... no, this isn't your fault—The boy replied, it was the first time Zenodulos had seen him apologize to anyone other than his father—I suppose your father forced you to do this too, right?

—Yes...but there wasn't much I could do to refuse.

—Yes, you see? Neither of us wants to marry.—Demosthenes's expression brightened and he stood up abruptly from the bench. — Fortunately for you, I do have a say in this, so I'll speak to my father, just wait here.

Suddenly, the young fellow ran as fast as if he were in a school race and suddenly disappeared, like a bolt of lightning. Leaving the young woman alone. Zenodulos felt curious about what his possible owner could be like and moved closer.

Then the young woman lowered her head, somewhat sad, and began to talk to herself:

—I wonder what Andromeda thought when she was married to Perseus. No doubt that man saved her, but was he really a good husband?

The slave wondered if she spoke to herself because she thought there was no one there or because she knew he was there. However her one-sided conversation seemed interesting him, so he moved closer...

—Megara also had little to say when her father married her to Heracles.—The young woman continued—Nor did Helen, who was kidnapped by Paris... I wonder if she felt relieved to be kidnapped or if Paris forced himself on her...

Enthralled by her knowledge, he leaned in closer as she continued speaking. Suddenly, the girl turned around, revealing her face.

—I know you're there, come out.

Zenodulos, overwhelmed by fear, initially contemplated fleeing and seeking refuge in the hayloft where he slept. However, he couldn't resist the urge to continue conversing with the girl. With a pounding heart, he betrayed his fear and slowly rose, emerging from his hiding place.

—Please forgive me for spying on you.—He apologized.

The young man finally had the opportunity to scrutinize the girl's face. Her sleek, reddish-brown hair, reminiscent of autumn leaves, flowed in a braid that hung over her shoulder. Her round face was accentuated by deep green eyes that resembled emeralds. The preadolescent felt a warmth in his chest, an enchantment akin to what he had experienced upon seeing that woman in his mistress Charis's chamber.

The girl smiled.

—Don't worry, I saw you passing by when I was talking to Demosthenes and I wanted to see you up close.

—W... why?

—I Don’t really know, I just... thought you looked peculiar, there's something about you that doesn't fit the profile of an average slave, I even thought you were Demosthenes's brother, but your clothes confirm that you are a... you know.

Zenodulos blushed.

—I... apologize, my lady.

The girl smiled again.

—You don't have to apologize, besides I'm not your lady.—She replied with great kindness, as if she were not speaking to someone of lower status—Without a doubt you are different from the slaves in my house.

—You keep saying that, but I don't know how I could be different from the others of my kind—The young man replied, remembering the sparkle that the merchant said he saw in his eyes.

—For example...—The curious girl stopped dramatically before continuing to speak—Any other person would not have been interested in my ramblings about theater, but you were.

—That's understandable—Zenodulos replied, with a hint of sadness—We are not allowed to go to the theater.

—And yet you seemed to understand what I was talking about.

—Yes, sometimes my master lets me read some of the writings he uses to teach classes.—The young man replied with pride—He also taught me to read.

He knew that his master treated him in a special way, as he had never taught any other servant to read nor talked to them about the theater and mythical stories. Besides, he did not force him to shave his head completely. What he did not understand was the reason: did he feel indebted to Zenodulos for his condition as a slave, or did he appreciate him as a person?

 —I see. Yes, that makes sense.—She replied

In a sudden movement, the girl stood up, just as quickly as her possible husband a few moments earlier. Then, she approached Zenodulos to look at him closely. The preadolescent, for his part, felt nervous to be so close to an unattainable girl.

—You are so young —said his possible mistress, without paying attention to the discomfort of the young man—. I think we are the same age. How long have you been a slave?

Zenodulos replied with a trembling voice:

—Since I was born.

The girl frowned.

—It can't be. Was your father also a slave to this family?

He nodded.

—I don't know the details — He revealed. —I only know that he was a foreigner my master bought, and that before him, my mother had been sold from distant lands. Shortly after I was born, they both fell ill and died. Now it is my job to pay for my freedom.

The girl stopped and remained silent, shaken by those words.

—That's sad —She finally added. —All your life you have had to work for free and you have never been able to see a play or study in school.

—It doesn't matter —replied the slave with a forced smile—. Master Cleon, Mistress Charis, and the other slaves are good to me. Besides...

Zenodulos' mind drifted back to that morning. To when Auxentios the merchant told him about a spark in his eyes, one that only remarkable people possess.

—Besides... they feed me well. —the lad finished, not wanting to embarrass himself further by explaining that story.

—Maybe, but I think you deserve more. If they forced me to marry you, I wouldn't complain...

—W...what? —The servant stammered, with a face redder than a tomato.

—I was joking, silly—the girl laughed with a mocking smile. —You know that now it's forbidden for a slave and an Athenian to marry.

Zenodulos couldn't help but feel embarrassed by the young woman's jokes, there was something captivating about her, something he had never felt before, he wanted to know everything about her, so he asked, also trying to change the subject:

—Yes... Hey, what's your name...?

—Agatha— The girl replied, her green eyes never leaving the young man in front of her, as if their difference in class didn't exist. —And yours?

The young slave, captivated by Agatha's gaze, could barely articulate a word:

—Zenodulos...

—Servant of Zeus... it's a beautiful name — Agatha commented.

—No, it's a slave name. My name indicates that I am nothing more than a servant. — The young slave could not help but lower his head, ashamed of his condition.

Before Agatha could calm the disfavored young man in any way, footsteps echoed on the ground of earth and grass, announcing the arrival of an imposing figure.

It was Arsames, the slave of Persian origin. He stopped in front of Agatha, bowing his head slightly in a sign of respect.

—Miss Agatha...— he said in a soft voice, despite his intimidating physique.

A slight exotic accent tinged his words, a vestige of his homeland.

Agatha, intrigued by the stranger's presence, lit up with a smile.

—Oh, it's you! The one who received my father and me — she exclaimed, delighted to be able to converse with someone from such distant lands.

—Your father asked me to escort you to dinner — Arsames replied.

—I understand, I'll see you later, Zenodulos — Said the girl.

—Y...yes —Murmured the servant, unable to help but feel sad to see her go.

The impoverished young man was left alone, watching Agatha walk away with the war veteran.

A sigh escaped his lips.

—As if we could continue talking so freely...— he muttered to himself, with a mix of sadness and resignation.

Suddenly, a voice pulled him out of his reverie.

—Oh, don't be so negative, — the voice said with a cheerful tone.

Zenodulos turned around surprised to find himself with the woman he had seen in his master Charis' room. This time, she wore a small blue veil, similar to Agatha’s, which covered only part of her hair and shoulders.

However, this young man, still dominated by his hormones, could not help but be captivated by her honey-colored eyes and curly brown hair, still visible through the veil. However, to avoid embarrassing himself over another girl in such a short time, Zenodulos responded to her with great formality:

—Excuse me, my lady.

—You don't have to call me “my lady” — she smiled. —I'm not your mistress.

Zenodulos insisted:

—In the same way, you would be an Athenian and I must address you with respect.

The lady sank into her thoughts.

—Hmmm, I'm not really a citizen as such, although I'm not a slave either... Well, how do I explain that to a young servant?

—I know — she finally said. —I'm a foreigner living in this city. Just call me by my name: Callisto.

The boy hesitated.

—I couldn't. You are of higher class than me, besides you are...

Callisto smiled.

—Beautiful? I know, I'm told that a lot. But this beauty is also part of my profession.

— Are you a... a...? — Zenodulos stammered, blushing. Callisto finished the sentence for him.

— A prostitute? — She said casually — Not really, I'm better than them.

Zenodulos wasn't sure he understood what Callisto was trying to say.

— Changing the subject — Callisto said, apparently giving up on trying to make him understand — I saw you talking to that girl. She's quite pretty, isn't she? Maybe one day she could rival me in beauty.

The young slave nodded, somewhat resigned.

—Maybe— he said—But It's not a thought for someone in my position.

Callisto smiled.

—Looks like you like her— she said, playfully.

—Y... yeah — the boy admitted, stammering a bit —but I should discard those feelings.

Callisto fell silent for a moment.

—Yes, perhaps that's for the best— she said finally.

Feeling down, Demosthenes tried to change the subject, analyzing her from head to toe, remembering Charis's room.

—What were you doing in my mistress's room? Are you two friends?

—Something like that... I guess we are more than just friends.

The boy didn’t found the right words to respond. He could only stare at her in bewilderment, not fully comprehending the nature of the relationship between Calisto and his mistress.

—Never mind, you'll find out someday— she added, breaking the silence and shrugging her shoulders—. For now, I think you should go to the banquet. I think, by now, the slaves are likely there.

Zenodulos's heart almost stopped when he remembered his task. He had been distracted for too long, and it was the day of the banquet, the day that would determine the future of the family.

—Oh, no— the worried boy murmured—. Master Cleon is going to scold me.

And just like his young master before him, the unpaid worker ran as fast as a lightning bolt launched with all Zeus’ strength.

The peculiarity of that boy had caught the attention of Agatha, as well as Callisto’s. So, the lady was left standing there, surprised. It seemed as if she had just seen the winner of an Olympic race, and she could smile, her eyes shining with curiosity.

In less than five minutes, Zenodulos arrived at the only room that could hold a banquet. Where just a few minutes ago there had only been two men, there were now:

• Arsames, who was guarding the entrance
• Two slaves serving dishes
• another servant entertaining the guests with a soft lute melody
• And seated at the only table in the room, were Agatha and Demosthenes with their respective parents.

After taking a sip of wine, Cleon placed the glass on the table and gazed at his son with disapproval.

—I think you owe Acacius an apology— he said.

Demosthenes, unwavering in his stance, replied:

—Father, I still think it's not good for Agatha or me to get married at this age.

—Oh, dear son— his father sighed—. You must understand that you are still so young to make decisions on your own. Besides, no matter how old you are, you still need my permission to marry. For the future of our family depends on the person you choose to unite with.

—But you told me I could choose if I wanted to marry her or not —Demosthenes protested—. Now you tell me I can’t.

—I know, but you must be reasonable, my son. After all, marriage is not merely about love, as they portrait it in plays. It's about improving the family, expanding its power and influence, and ensuring its growth. Therefore, as the head of the household, I must make decisions that benefit all of us.

Acacius, who had been silently listening to the conversation, intervened.

—Wise words, Mister Cleon.

The teacher nodded in agreement.

—Thank you, Acacius —he replied.

Demosthenes turned to his father with anger.

—What does that have to do with what you told me? —he asked impatiently.

—That you have a duty to your family and your city, son —said his father with a more severe tone—. While you do have a say in this, I suggest you don't insult our friend Acacius anymore

The head of the household observed his son, who, resigned to his fate, could only remain silent. He had often resorted to childish tactics to get his father to give in to his whims, but even he understood that this time, the battle was lost.

—I see that you have understood —the professor expressed.

Demosthenes nodded.

—Yes —he murmured.

—I am glad you understand. Now look how much your father cares about you: you have a wife your own age, something not many can say. Besides, the ceremony won't be held right away.

Agatha's father raised an eyebrow.

—It wouldn’t? —he asked.

—Acacius, you have been out for quite a while. —The head of the house replied jokingly— Remember, Gamelion is the month of weddings, and it's still a long way off.

—Oh, It’s true —Acacius said, surprised.

—Besides—Cleon added— I would prefer that they get to know each other a little before we join our families. I want them to have something to talk about, to be more than just husband and wife. Don't you agree?

Acacius stroked his unkempt beard, thoughtful.

—Without a doubt, you are a strange fellow. —he said— I would prefer them to marry and have children as soon as possible, but I don’t like to contradict you, Cleon.

The professor smiled.

—Since everything is settled — the master of the house declared, raising his glass —I propose we continue drinking and celebrating until Dionysus himself is proud of us!

—Consider it done —Acacius replied, raising his glass as well.

However, before the disheveled philosopher could further burden his liver with more alcohol, he noticed his daughter rising uneasily from her seat. Without meeting the men's eyes, she placed one of her small hands on her father's shoulder. He immediately understood her message.

—You can return home now, Agatha— Acacius announced. —Ahem, Cleon...

—I will escort her —interrupted immediately Arsames, understanding the situation.

—Thank you, Arsames —thanked his master with a smile—. I can always count on you.

The anxious girl walked unhurriedly but without pause to stand beside the burly slave. Without a word, they proceeded to leave the room, not without first passing by Zenodulos, who was sitting dejectedly by the entrance.

Arsames thought that if his master saw him, he would scold him, but the persian dared not reprimand him in front of Cleon. By his side, Agatha didn't know what to say to the boy. She couldn't even imagine the deep sadness that flooded the young man's mind. So they both passed by him without saying a single word.

The news dismayed the boy, but faced with the even colder stares of the other slaves; he had no other choice but to work. And his work was not easy at all, since the party lasted until the early hours of the morning. The birds were beginning to sing from among the trees and the slaves from the other houses were starting their daily work when the party ended.

Needless to say, the party was a success for the two academics, who were the only ones in the whole house who enjoyed good food, drink, and entertainment. Yes, even though Cleon was an exemplary master compared to the average, the left overs ended up in the stomachs of the stray dogs and vultures.

The slaves were too busy to think about injustices, so the only ones afflicted at the whole party were Zenodulos and Demosthenes, who didn't speak much and went to bed early with the excuse that he had to go to school early.

Suddenly, without warning, Zenodulos' memories, as vivid as if Zenodulos were living them in the present, suddenly stopped, like if someone had abruptly cut off the slave's life film. Unexpectedly, his mind took a turn, as if he were a traveler whose path had forked and twisted randomly. The lost man felt, smelled, and saw stimuli and abstractions that he could not understand: past, present, and future compressed into a single moment.

Then came a strange calm... A mysterious mask, belonging to an even more enigmatic figure, slowly approached the protagonist of this memory and asked him a question in an icy whisper capable of paralyzing anyone:

Are you sure, this is what you want?

Immortality?

—Yes — the man replied with determination.

 

 

 

Author's Notes:

• The Gamelion was the seventh month in the Attic calendar, one of the many used in Athens. It corresponds approximately to the current January and February and its name literally means "marriage" (Gamos). These thirty days celebrated the anointing of Zeus with his wife/sister Hera, and weddings flourished throughout the month.