sister is avenged,’ he said.
I looked at them. ‘There’s still tin coming through Illyria,’ I pointed out. ‘And Neoptolymos knows where to get it.’
He shook his head. ‘My cousins will have the keep now, and the river. I would be killed. I will return with a hundred warriors – with my friends.’ He smiled at me, and for a
moment we were brothers. He knew I would back him. I knew that, if we lived, someday we would go there. After we put Dagon down. We never talked about it, but Neoptolymos and I knew.
Many debts.
The money went into the thatch, and the boat went back to sea. They tried fishing for a few weeks, and made about six drachma over expenses. They accepted a cargo of artworks for the Etruscan
coast and sailed off, leaving me to worry about the consequences of failure.
But I didn’t worry much. I’m not much of a worrier, in that way. I went to work each morning as the sun rose. At the height of the sun in the sky, I would walk out of my master,
Nikephorus’s shop, and go two streets to a waterfront wine shop where I’d buy a skewer of somewhat questionable meat. After that meal, I’d walk back to Nikephorus’s shop and
work until late afternoon, when I’d go to the gymnasium, pay my foreigner’s fee and exercise with much richer men. I’d lift weights, throw the discus and run on the track.
After some weeks, other men spoke to me. I was clearly a foreigner: despite its size, Syracusa had only about six thousand citizen males, and they all knew each other. They were like any Greek
gentlemen – well spoken, talkative, friendly – but only with each other.
But hospitality overcame diffidence after some time, and eventually one of the richer men – I knew who he was, even if he had no idea who I was – came and asked me if I liked to box.
His name was Theodorus, and his family owned stone quarries.
We exchanged blows for some time. He wasn’t very good, and it wasn’t my best sport, but a few minutes of contest taught each of us that the other was a solid opponent.
He laughed. ‘So, you are a gentleman. The gatekeeper has . . . hmm . . . questioned your right to exercise here.’
I nodded. ‘I’m a bronze-smith,’ I said. ‘From Plataea, in Boeotia.’ His face hardened. ‘I fought in the front rank at Marathon,’ I added. I didn’t
like the way it sounded – a plain brag.
‘Ahh!’ he said, and took my hand. ‘Things are a little different here. I doubt there’s another bronze-smith in our gymnasium.’ He led me over to a group of men just
emerging from the dressing rooms. They were in their thirties and forties, and they all wore the
chlamys
the way much younger men would wear them, in Athens. But their bodies were hard,
and they all seemed to smile at the same time.
‘Ari fought at Marathon,’ he said, by way of introduction.
‘By Nike!’ said one man, with greying black hair and a thick beard. ‘That’s something!’
They all gathered around me, and one slapped my back.
‘Tell us what it was like,’ said Theodorus.
I started to tell the story – just as I have told you – and the tall bearded man grinned and plucked my arm. ‘Let the poor man get dressed, and we’ll buy him some wine.
Talking is thirsty work.’
They were clearly surprised to see my plain chlamys and short linen
chitoniskos
. I looked like a servant with them, and I resolved to buy a better chlamys to wear to the gymnasium.
We sat in a wine shop, where a cup of wine cost an afternoon’s wage for a skilled bronze-smith, and where women, not men, waited at the tables. Lovely women. Slaves, I assumed.
I told my story, and the men with me responded well.
Theodorus nodded at the end. ‘I’ve been in a ship fight, and some cattle raids,’ he admitted, ‘but nothing like that.’
‘If Carthage keeps preying on our shipping, we’ll see it here,’ another added. ‘What do you think, Ari?’
I shrugged. ‘I know nothing of the politics here, gentlemen. I have no
I looked at them. ‘There’s still tin coming through Illyria,’ I pointed out. ‘And Neoptolymos knows where to get it.’
He shook his head. ‘My cousins will have the keep now, and the river. I would be killed. I will return with a hundred warriors – with my friends.’ He smiled at me, and for a
moment we were brothers. He knew I would back him. I knew that, if we lived, someday we would go there. After we put Dagon down. We never talked about it, but Neoptolymos and I knew.
Many debts.
The money went into the thatch, and the boat went back to sea. They tried fishing for a few weeks, and made about six drachma over expenses. They accepted a cargo of artworks for the Etruscan
coast and sailed off, leaving me to worry about the consequences of failure.
But I didn’t worry much. I’m not much of a worrier, in that way. I went to work each morning as the sun rose. At the height of the sun in the sky, I would walk out of my master,
Nikephorus’s shop, and go two streets to a waterfront wine shop where I’d buy a skewer of somewhat questionable meat. After that meal, I’d walk back to Nikephorus’s shop and
work until late afternoon, when I’d go to the gymnasium, pay my foreigner’s fee and exercise with much richer men. I’d lift weights, throw the discus and run on the track.
After some weeks, other men spoke to me. I was clearly a foreigner: despite its size, Syracusa had only about six thousand citizen males, and they all knew each other. They were like any Greek
gentlemen – well spoken, talkative, friendly – but only with each other.
But hospitality overcame diffidence after some time, and eventually one of the richer men – I knew who he was, even if he had no idea who I was – came and asked me if I liked to box.
His name was Theodorus, and his family owned stone quarries.
We exchanged blows for some time. He wasn’t very good, and it wasn’t my best sport, but a few minutes of contest taught each of us that the other was a solid opponent.
He laughed. ‘So, you are a gentleman. The gatekeeper has . . . hmm . . . questioned your right to exercise here.’
I nodded. ‘I’m a bronze-smith,’ I said. ‘From Plataea, in Boeotia.’ His face hardened. ‘I fought in the front rank at Marathon,’ I added. I didn’t
like the way it sounded – a plain brag.
‘Ahh!’ he said, and took my hand. ‘Things are a little different here. I doubt there’s another bronze-smith in our gymnasium.’ He led me over to a group of men just
emerging from the dressing rooms. They were in their thirties and forties, and they all wore the
chlamys
the way much younger men would wear them, in Athens. But their bodies were hard,
and they all seemed to smile at the same time.
‘Ari fought at Marathon,’ he said, by way of introduction.
‘By Nike!’ said one man, with greying black hair and a thick beard. ‘That’s something!’
They all gathered around me, and one slapped my back.
‘Tell us what it was like,’ said Theodorus.
I started to tell the story – just as I have told you – and the tall bearded man grinned and plucked my arm. ‘Let the poor man get dressed, and we’ll buy him some wine.
Talking is thirsty work.’
They were clearly surprised to see my plain chlamys and short linen
chitoniskos
. I looked like a servant with them, and I resolved to buy a better chlamys to wear to the gymnasium.
We sat in a wine shop, where a cup of wine cost an afternoon’s wage for a skilled bronze-smith, and where women, not men, waited at the tables. Lovely women. Slaves, I assumed.
I told my story, and the men with me responded well.
Theodorus nodded at the end. ‘I’ve been in a ship fight, and some cattle raids,’ he admitted, ‘but nothing like that.’
‘If Carthage keeps preying on our shipping, we’ll see it here,’ another added. ‘What do you think, Ari?’
I shrugged. ‘I know nothing of the politics here, gentlemen. I have no
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