Episode 3 (485 BC):

It was another day in the city of Athens. The sun was still rising in the east, marking the start of the daily journey of the god Helios' flying chariot, carrying the sun itself. Or perhaps it was Apollo who drove the chariot and Helios was the sun? These Greeks and their contradictions... but that doesn't matter now at this moment.

In the house of Professor Cleon, he and his son were enjoying a leisurely breakfast while three servants took turns bringing them more food, taking away dirty bowls, and bringing them more water. Zenodulos was among them, listening to the conversation.

—Tell me, son, what are you going to do today?

—Go to school, play with my friends, and…

—Come back after school — Cleon interrupted his son— Agatha and her father are coming.

—Oh, nice. We have a lot to talk about —he said without much enthusiasm, although now he didn't seem to mind his fiancée's presence.

—Acacius and I also have a lot to talk about —Cleon added with joy.

—I can't wait —answered his son with indifference—. If you'll excuse me, I must hurry to school.

Before Zenodulos could refill his water, the young man was already out the door.

Seeing his servant's discouragement, Cleon ordered him to bring him wheat. The boy had to go ask Charis for coins and then go to the agora to buy the groceries. The occasion was similar to the banquet, as there was going to be another one, but smaller.

The young slave smiled ironically as he walked through the house's corridors. He remembered what had happened since the day Demostenes and Agatha's engagement was announced. At first, these children were distant and barely spoke, but their relationship had improved and now it seemed like they really wanted to get married.

There was a time when he had spied on them in secret, but Demostenes found out and beat him up. Since then, Zenodulos had decided not to do it again. However, it saddened him to think that a girl as kind and intelligent as Agatha would marry someone like Demostenes. "A waste," he thought.

Without realizing it, he reached Charis' room. The routine was so usual that they only exchanged a brief greeting. This time Callisto was not there, perhaps she was busy with... other matters. With the coins in hand, the servant headed to the square.

His walk was quite ordinary. He didn't find anything interesting other than the usual chirping of the birds, the usual conversations of the people in the streets, the usual children playing on the street, the usual slaves working at the doors of their masters' houses, and the usual faces. In the usual square with the usual shops, the usual temples, and usual statues, Zenodulos decided to visit Auxentios, the merchant of foreign pottery, to break the monotony a bit.

—Oh, hello. Zenodulos —expressed the merchant with a smile— Are you here to buy?

—No, unless you have wheat.

—No, but I can recommend Sitarios' wheat, his got the best and cheapest. —He added while pointing to the east, where the stall was located— fantastic, isn’t?

—Great.

As Zenodulos peered in the direction of the shop, located in an area he rarely visited. He also noticed that there wasn't as much merchandise as when he first met Auxentios. In fact, there was less than a week ago, even though the merchant had returned from his buying trip just two days prior.

—Am I wrong or are there fewer Persian goods? —Asked Zenodulos, with curiosity.

—Yes, it's true that there are fewer Persian goods —Answered Auxentios with resignation—. There's growing anti-barbarian sentiment, making it increasingly difficult for us to enter the king's territories. Even when I pretend to be from another city, they look at me with suspicion.

—Do they hate us that much? —Asked the young man—. Yes, it's true that they were repelled in the battle of Marathon, but that was years ago, and that king is already dead.

—Imagine, a king who cannot accept defeat, even when is now his son the one ruling. —The vendor said, leaning in towards Zenodulos and speaking in a low voiceI don't want to alarm you, but think about it: before us, they had gotten away with all their expansions. And now, some people they met somewhat recently defeat them in a single battle. What would you do in their place?

—I understand —Answered Zenodulos—. I thought the war was history.

—Oh, believe me —The merchant whispered, his voice dropping even lower.—. The Persians are merely recovering. As we speak, they must be formulating war plans in their opulent palaces. And when they're ready, they'll return, with an army larger than the last.

—I had no idea… —The servant answered, remorseful.

—I'm surprised your master hasn't told you all about this —commented Auxentios, the merchant, with a hint of sadness in his voice—. It's what everyone is talking about. Even the Spartans are training more than usual, although I don't blame them after what they did to the Persian representatives…

—I would like to know more about what's happening in the world —The slave replied, his eyes gleaming.

—That's what I'm here for—Auxentios said with a smile—. Now go buy the wheat before your masters wonder why you're taking so long.

—Alright, thank you very much —responded Zenodulos, returning the smile.

Without further distractions, he headed to the stall of the curiously named merchant, where he bought wheat of better quality and at a lower price than his masters had been paying. Then, he returned home with renewed joy.

However, things don't stay happy forever. For what would happiness be without sadness to remind us of its joy? Without a doubt, hope would not exist without despair.

When the young slave entered the house, he saw Demosthenes and Agatha in the garden, having a conversation that was too intellectual for the not very thoughtful boy.

—So, the gods created a woman named Pandora as punishment for humans accepting Prometheus' fire —Agatha recounted enthusiastically—. They gave her to Prometheus' brother, along with a jar containing all the evils of the world. Do you know what happened next?

—Honestly, I don't know. —the boy replied without much thought.

Zenodulos' curiosity was piqued. He knew Prometheus and Pandora were characters from a story, but he didn't quite remember the tale. So, without bothering to hide, he approached them.

Demosthenes noticed his presence immediately. With powerful and determined steps, he approached the slave and said to him in an authoritative tone:

—This is none of your business. Go to work.

Agatha tried to intervene, but Demosthenes continued:

—Besides, you're interrupting us. I'm sure you need to take that wheat to the kitchen. Don't you?

—You're right —said Agatha, addressing Zenodulos—. I apologize for his tone. But you have work to do, Zenodulos.

The disappointed servant lowered his head and left.

And from a corner of the garden, Callisto, that peculiar one, witnessed the scene.

—“… For ere this the tribes of men lived on earth remote and free from ills and hard toil and heavy sickness which bring the Fates upon men; for in misery men grow old quickly.  But the woman took off the great lid of the jar with her hands and scattered all these and her thought caused sorrow and mischief to men.  Only Hope remained …” she recited.

Zenodulos was startled when Callisto began to speak, but soon his surprise faded due to the precision and the melodious way in which she recited the verse. However, he didn't quite understand the sudden prose.

— What are you talking about? —the servant asked.

— It's from Hesiod's poem, what Agatha was talking about: Pandora unleashed countless evils and tragedies upon the world, and Hope remained confined in the jar. But what a bad reputation they give us, as if men don't punish themselves.

—I see, so it's a poem… and how do you know that?

—I have my methods —she replied, with an enigmatic grin.

— Will you ever tell me what those methods are? —Zenodulos asked curiously.

Callisto shrugged.

—It is possible —she replied, seemingly enjoying teasing him.

But the young man's curiosity knew no bounds.

— Come on, one day you talk to me about how Athena was born, and the other about how Homer didn't witness the Trojan War. I want you to tell me how you know so much being a woman. And I don't mean it in a bad way, you know what I mean...

Callisto winked at the agitated pre-adolescent.

—I know, you're too harmless to see us as objects. —she replied. — What you are is jealous that I know more, right?

Zenodulos nodded.

—Yes, incredibly jealous.

—Didn't you have Mister Cleon's scrolls to read? With those, you should know almost as much as I do.

The young man sighed.

—Yes, but I can only read them when he allows it.

—I see what a pity.

Zenodulos paused thoughtfully for a moment, but the silence only lasted a few seconds before Callisto spoke abruptly:

—Hey, you still have to take the wheat to the kitchen, right? For now, go to work, and if you want private lessons, you can have them from me, and for free.

—Really? —The boy was perplexed. —Wait, are you talking about lessons to make me smarter, or…

—No, idiot. —Callisto replied, holding back the urge to burst out laughing. —Lessons to impress the girls with your intelligence.

Zenodulos was stunned by the offer. Finally, he would be able to learn about the topics of conversation that Agatha was so passionate about.

—So... is it a yes? — Asked the strange lady.

—Yes, teacher Callisto! —The servant replied enthusiastically.

—Excellent. Meet me at the tavern by the agora when everyone is asleep and in five days.

Zenodulos took his leave of Callisto and walked away, his head full of dreams.

Arsames, the Persian slave who was guarding the door as usual, waited for the woman to leave and then approached his unpaid coworker.

—Zenodulos…

The young servant was surprised to hear the Persian say his name. Apart from telling him the bare necessities, the other slaves didn't talk to him.

—Is something wrong?

—Be careful with that woman.

Zenodulos couldn't help but stare at him in perplexity. Was the foreigner concerned about "Cleon's favorite"?

—Why? —he asked cautiously.

—I think she's a prostitute. —Arsames replied in his usual soft voice.

Zenodulos shrugged.

—She seems like it, but she seems like a good person, and she knows a lot.

—It's not just that —Arsames clarified —She comes several times a month, and stays at Lady Charis's place. She says she's her friend and that's why she goes without... without an escort. She says she doesn't have many slaves at home, but I don't believe her.

The young man was surprised that Arsames already knew so many words in Greek.

—Thanks for worrying about me, Arsames — The boy replied as kindly as he could —But she's only going to teach me, and I don't think she's dangerous.

— Whatever you say —The muscular guard replied.

Zenodulos walked away, leaving the foreigner lost in thought.

Hours later, in the same house, a banquet was held to celebrate the visit of Acacius, Demosthenes's future father-in-law. Unlike the party where their marriage was announced, this one was smaller: with less food and wine. However, it was a perfect opportunity for the two scholars to catch up and have a drink, while the bride and groom chatted peacefully in a corner of the room, at a different table.

The slaves who served the guests took care of fulfilling all their requirements. A slave girl played the flute and danced seductively, while Zenodulos and two others were in charge of collecting the dirty dishes and bringing more food and drink to the table.

In the midst of his work, Zenodulos couldn't help but watch the happy couple. A simple bracelet made of intertwined cords adorned Demosthenes's wrist, it seemed to be a gift from Agatha.

In the center of the room, Acacius was telling Cleon about his trip to the territories ruled by the Persians, from which he had returned only a few days ago.

—Certainly, Acacius, your studies on Persian beliefs are fascinating. —Said Cleon— I am particularly intrigued by the idea of an eternal battle between good and evil, unfolding since immemorial times.

—I share your fascination with the subject, Cleon —replied Acacius—Ahura Mazda is more than Zeus to them, he is the creator of the world and the beings under his command are the seven divinities, while their counterpart, those who oppose their creator and his followers, are the evil thoughts or Angra Mainyu.

— Their beliefs are certainly peculiar, truth against lies...

—Ehm… dad, talk about… you know —Demosthenes interrupted.

—Right, right —said Cleon Excuse me for changing the subject so abruptly, Acacius, but I think we need to talk about our children.

—Of course, what's going on? —Acacius asked.

Cleon took a deep breath with solemnity.

— It has been some time since we announced their marriage. During that time they have shown that they are meant for each other and I am convinced that their marriage will be prosperous for both of them and for our families as well. Therefore, I propose that we set a date for the wedding. —Agatha has told me what a good man your son is —Acacius replied with a smile—So I have no objections.

The head of the family nodded with satisfaction.

—Excellent—he said— I think the ideal date would be sixty days from now, in the middle of the wedding month. That will give us enough time for preparations and, in addition, the moon will be full. Selene will smile on us and bring prosperity to all of us.

Acacius raised his cup.

—Cheers to the union of our children and the alliance of our families

The three free men raised their cups, offering libations for the future wedding and drank a toast simultaneously.

Then, as the marriage was now definite, the commemorative act of the engysis, or the proposal, was performed. In it, Acacius, the father and guardian of his daughter, recited the following ritual words:

—I give you my daughter, Agatha, to sow for the purpose of producing legitimate children

—And I take her —Replied a blushing Demosthenes.

Then, both of them shook hands firmly and the banquet continued.

The following days passed without major events, as if the whole world was preparing for the wedding celebration. But of course, the universe did not revolve around the two betrothed children.

In Persia, the new king Xerxes still had his plans for a large-scale invasion of Greece. However, rebellions against his rule in Egypt and Babylon would keep him occupied for a few years, long enough for the Greeks to prepare properly, but of course they were too busy with their power intrigues.

The Spartans were embroiled in a political crisis among their nobles. And Athenian politicians were too busy backstabbing each other.

In the midst of this hurricane of events, our protagonist, the humble Zenodulos, was getting ready to go to Callisto's classes. It had been five days since the wedding announcement, and he could not hide his disinterest in such an event.

The crescent moon was a silver cradle rocking in the dark sky, and in Cleon's house, the slaves rested peacefully, except for Zenodulos. Rising from his modest straw bed, he slipped stealthily towards the exit. The boy already knew the way to the square, but he had never been to the area where the tavern was located. In addition, the cold was especially bone-chilling on this occasion.

Relying on his memories to navigate the dark path through the city streets, he reached one of the ends of the square, still with people at night. It was where the agora began to split in two by the Panathenaic Way, a place where pedestrians generally passed to head for the acropolis. Near the intersection of that street with another that crossed through the north of the agora, was the tavern where Zenodulos was headed.

It was not a simple tavern for drunkards but a kapeleion, an establishment frequented by merchants, philosophers in the making, and seekers of nightly pleasures. Its wooden facade, painted a red that defied the dim light of the moon, caught the attention of anyone passing by at such late hours.

The interior of the place was, on the other hand, a gloomy and cavernous space. The walls were covered in dark wood and the tables were made of stone. In the center of the bar, there was a large fireplace that provided heat and light. Perfect for sheltering from the cold outside.

The aromas of wine and food mixed in the air. Men spoke loudly and laughed heartily. Zenodulos looked for his teacher among the crowd, and found her sitting in a corner writing with a small stylus made of cane something on a wooden board, covered with wax in the center, used in schools to take notes and erase them. Before he could greet her, a man even taller than Arsames grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.

—I don't like brats, they can't even handle a glass of wine and they only get in the way— The giant said in a powerful voice, matching his stature. —And where are your parents?

—I'm not here to drink. I'm here to meet someone.

—To meet someone? — Asked the giant, squeezing the boy's shoulder even harder. —I'm not liking your intentions, boy. Would you like to see how good I am at throwing people?

—W... with Callisto, she's going to teach me poetry — exclaimed Zenodulos, trying to free himself from the giant's grip.

The giant released the boy and looked at him with surprise.

—With Callisto... I see —said the giant. —Now she is teaching poetry?

It's actually just me.

The giant nodded.

—Interesting, she's there in the back —he said — So that's why she's writing... Callisto as a poetry teacher...

The doorman emphasized incredulously as he returned to his post.
Zenodulos approached where Callisto was and sat down in front of her at the same table.

—So you arrived — Said the lady, without taking her eyes off the tablet.

— Did you expect me not to?

—Who knows — Calisto replied, this time watching the boy carefully. —You are an enigma. But I'm glad you came — she added with a smile. — Your first lesson will be about philosophy.

As Zenodulos' new teacher told him about a large number of academics, their theories and contributions to knowledge, time slipped by unnoticed. The seconds turned into minutes and the minutes into hours.

Zenodulos had never seen such a cultured and intelligent person. In addition to having an incredible ability to express herself, each of her words was like a fascinating story. Had she been born a man, Callisto would undoubtedly have been one of the best philosophers in history, because she was a genius.

The young slave listened attentively to Callisto, while taking notes on his wax tablet.

—... The philosopher Anaximander argued that the universe was governed by natural laws that maintained balance. One of these laws was that the Earth, on which we stand, is part of a giant cylinder suspended in a vacuum. The moon, sun, and stars all revolve around it, held in place by massive rings.

Zenodulos listened attentively to Callisto, but his expression revealed nothing.

— Has it been too much? — Calisto asked with some concern. —Do you want me to explain it again?

The young slave fell into thought at Callisto's words.

—If what Anaximander says is true —he murmured — Then even the gods are subject to these laws."

—Well, yes, according to him, even the mighty inhabitants of Olympus have laws that they cannot defy either, just like us

—So you don't believe that's true? — The young slave asked with great curiosity.

—Well, it's just a hypothesis —The strange lady replied, shrugging her shoulders— It's not like we can travel beyond Athens, into the heavens, and see if this balance is true.

—But if that philosopher is right— Zenodulos continued—Then could someone find a way to manipulate this harmony?

—That's a very interesting question—Callisto said seriously—But remember what Chilon of Sparta said: “Do not dislike the divine” and “Do not desire what is impossible”

Zenodulos looked up, a whirlwind of ideas swirling in his mind.

— But that's also just his opinion, his hypothesis —he said— Just as Pythagoras denied what was common knowledge to speak of his theory that when we die we are reborn in another body.

Callisto nodded.

—I see you're paying attention, and you're right. Just as you hate being a slave, I also wish to escape my condition. Sometimes I dream of being born in Persia, where apparently we are seen as equals to men; or of being part of the Pythagorean School, where we are also welcome. But this is the life we have been given. So we must make the most of it. And who knows, maybe Pythagoras is right and I will be reborn in Persia, as one of the king's daughters.

Zenodulos fell silent, thoughtful. Is it possible that there is no hope in this life? Will he never be able to have at least half the quality of life as Demosthenes?

Callisto, noticing his concern, said to him in a soft voice:

— It's okay. Don't lose hope. You're a good boy, and with effort, you can achieve whatever you set your mind to

The boy smiled, grateful for his teacher's words.

—Thanks—he replied— It's the first time someone has spoken to me so... eloquently. I can't believe you were never part of the Pythagorean School.

—No I didn’t—Callisto replied— Though I knew someone from there, it was in my hometown. That's how I learned about Pythagoras' theories about souls. Apparently, it occurred to him when he heard the cry of his deceased friend in a dog.

—And how did he tell you that?—Zenodulos asked with curiosity— Isn't that confidential?

Callisto smiled.

—Well, this boy has too many questions—she said— But I like it. As for your question, no, it's not confidential. However, I had to convince him to teach me.

—You and your secrets again—replied his unofficial student, with his insatiable curiosity—How do you know so much? I promise I'll keep it a secret.

Calisto adjusted herself in her chair, looking a bit tired.

—Do you really want to know?—she asked.

Zenodulos nodded enthusiastically.

—Fine—said his teacher—I am a hetaira. Do you know what that is?

—I think I've heard of it—murmured the slave—but when people use it, they are referring to...

—Prostitutes—she said bluntly—But I am more than that, I don't just seek sex. Oh no. Hetairai are the elite.—Now her tone became one of pride—We seek out the smartest and most powerful men, and we don't just sleep with them, we keep them company, talk to them about music, politics, finance, art, poetry... Our clients are quite demanding, they don't just want a pretty face.

—Now it all makes sense—Added a surprised Zenodulos—But I still have some questions. For example, what's the relationship between you and Master Cleon?

Calisto shrugged.

—Professor Cleon barely knows me —she pointed out—. It was Lady Charis who introduced me to his house.

Then Zenodulus recalled Arsames' warnings, which were not entirely unfounded. However, he was wrong to say that Callisto and Charis were friends. The only thing they could be was...

—No doubt Lady Charis and you are more than friends...

—Yes, she is one of my clients —replied the hetaera.

—But two women...—said Zenodulos, uncomfortable.

—What's the problem?—asked Calisto—I'm sure you know that many men "experiment" with the same sex. What's the difference between them and us?

—I'm not sure what to say —the boy confessed, quite confused by such a revelation.

At that moment, a thin man in his forties approached the two participants in such an enjoyable chat and interrupted them.

—Calisto, I think it's time—he said.

—I'll be right there —Callisto replied, gesturing with her hand for him to leave.

And obeying, the bar owner walked away.

Zenodulos, wondering why they were being kicked out, looked around and realized that there were only two occupied tables: theirs and that of two drunks who were being lifted by the bouncer, one in each arm, and thrown out of the bar in an instant. It seemed to be close to closing time.

—That's Como, the bar owner—Calisto explained.

—I guess it's time for me to go— Zenodulus said with a hint of sadness.

—Yes—his teacher nodded—Be careful not to be discovered by Arsames.

—And what are you going to do? — The student asked.

—Well, Charis isn't my only client—Callisto replied sincerely—He may not be the type of client I usually look for, but thanks to him we can have these lessons. Plus, he gives me a roof over my head. So remember to thank him when you see him again.

Zenodulus tried to hide his disbelief. For this woman, the bed was not just for sleeping but a business table... Though there was not much a foreigner like her could do, who also had a great thirst for knowledge.

—Alright—he replied, saddened.

—Until five days from now—Calisto said goodbye with a smile.

Then Zenodulos left the bar, as he passed through the doors, which were closed behind him. He found himself enveloped in the vast, inky expanse of the night. He hadn't taken more than a few steps before a sense of unease crept over him. He wasn't alone. Someone was following him, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. Turning around, Zenodulus saw a small figure quickly hide behind a corner.

The boy suddenly didn't feel anything good coming from the figure. It was small, but it moved with feline agility. Zenodulus quickened his pace and ran off like a deer fleeing its predator, taking shelter in the shadows cast by the buildings. His frantic pace didn't end until he could see Cleon's house in the distance. Surprisingly, the young slave had covered the entire distance in what seemed to him less than a minute.

When he turned around, the figure was no longer there. He didn't know when he had lost it either. Resigned, unable to find answers, he returned to his bed to end the day, as he was exhausted.

 

 

 

Author's notes:

• While Zenodulus was undoubtedly too young to drink alcohol, there was no legal drinking age in ancient Athens. Unlike today, where you must be between 16 and 18 to purchase alcohol, in fact during some winter festivals parents enjoyed watching their children drink and stumble as they walked. Even so, it seems it wasn't very common to see 11-year-olds entering a bar, their poor livers...