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ATHENS
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“But enough about my husband Cleon,” Theresa said to her companions, pausing only briefly for another sip of wine. “I didn’t bring you here to talk politics!”
“And why not?” objected Ianessa. “It’s so much nicer to do so when our husbands aren’t around to dismiss our opinions out of hand.”
The two women both glanced at Dorothea, herself in the middle of taking a sip from her chalice, but she waved off their concerns. “Don’t stop on my account, Theresa. I’ve only been in Athens for two months now and still have so much to learn. It should be quite easy to do so from women with husbands on the council.”
“You taught your cousin to flatter well, Ianessa!” Theresa complemented.
“I know! Won’t she go far?”
The women giggle as servant girls refresh their drinks and melts away into the ornate decor of the portico. Theresa takes a moment to inspect Dorothea: she’s young, no older than twenty-five judging by the fullness of her hair and smoothness of her skin, and the way she reclines comfortably in her chaise lounge suggests a woman with experience sitting for sculptors or painters, which Theresa determines is a sign of confidence. Dorothea mentioned a husband when she was introduced by Ianessa at the door, but Theresa has already forgotten his name, a rare lapse in etiquette for one of Athens’ premier hostesses.
Theresa’s portico is an essential stop along the socialite circuit for any new arrival wishing to bask in the good graces of the city’s aristocracy. As a younger woman, Theresa had been a hetaerae, a courtesan who accompanies the unmarried men of the ruling class to public events. The women were famous for their beauty, wit and charm; but Theresa stood out among her colleagues for her unique cunning and ambition.
At first, her reputation only made her more desirable among the city’s political class. Powerful men, men who commanded legions of soldiers, fleets of ships and ruled over their respective districts like their own personal fiefdoms, sought her companionship. Any man in Athens could bring a pretty young woman capable of reciting amusing anecdotes to a party for the right price; but a confidant, an ally and a partner in the pursuit of power was rare.
Then, like a style of dress that had fallen out of favor, Theresa disappeared from the Athenian social scene. She re-emerged shortly thereafter as the wife of a successful, albeit unknown, businessman. Many of her old associates were puzzled by the decision, viewing the marriage as a step down in social status, but Theresa knew better. She used her time spent hanging on the arms of the city’s elite to observe their customs, learn the rules of their games, and discover their vulnerabilities.
In Athens the only way for women to attain power is through a male proxy, and men who spend their entire lives practicing politics know better than to surrender so much as a hint of power to anyone, especially to a woman. In the past, women had only their brothers or fathers to advance their causes, but after the recent influx of affluence Athens is teeming with self-made men who care little for traditions designed to impede their own social mobility. Theresa needed a husband she could manipulate without him being conscious of her influence and the burgeoning Athenian merchant class was full of unwitting men whose new-found prosperity demanded an equally extravagant mate.
Theresa and Dorothea could swap stories of their respective pasts, as custom dictates guests and hosts should do upon meeting for the first time, but she looks at Dorothea and sees only a younger version of herself. She can tell just by looking at her guest that they have traveled similar paths, want the same things and have learned many of the same lessons to such an extent that Theresa can feel Dorothea measuring her at precisely the same moment Theresa takes stock of Dorothea. Yet while idle small talk was perhaps not necessary, a certain charade was until Theresa knew more about her mysterious guest from abroad.
“My husband Cleon may serve on the council but he has no more power than a vendor in the agora,” she admits with false modesty.
“Is that because all Athenians cast lots of equal worth?” Dorothea asks.
“If only we did!” groans Ianessa, playfully raising her wrist to her forehead to mimic a swoon as the others giggle.
“No, my dear,” Theresa continues, setting her cup down on the ground. “It’s because Athens is no more a democracy than I am Helen of Troy. The only power in this city belongs to Pericles.”
“Really?” Dorothea exclaims. “The man is a tyrant?”
“Strictly speaking, he’s not a tyrant. Archons have been elected in Athens for—my, what is it now, two hundred years?” Ianessa asks, turning her head to Theresa, who nods silently as she swallows her wine. “But no matter what anyone else tells you, Pericles wields the power of a tyrant.”
Dorothea sits silently with a puzzled expression on her face. Theresa leans back in her chair and examines the contours of her face from the corner of her eye, but can’t determine if Dorothea is genuinely confused, merely thinking or is acting as such.
“It’s all about appearances, dear,” Theresa says with a hint of condescension. “Pericles spent his entire tenure as archon reforming the laws, taking power away from the city’s elite and giving it to ordinary citizens.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Dorothea asked.
“What’s wrong is that the people have been so thankful to be thrown the scraps from the aristocracy’s table that they don’t even realize that what they have been given is worthless,” Theresa explains. “They simply nod their heads each time Pericles asks for their approval.”
“You’ll have to forgive her, cousin,” Ianessa begs, gently draping her hand on Dorothea’s elbow. “Poor Theresa’s spent all of her life trying to enter the aristocracy only to discover it was vanishing once she finally made it.”
“Ianessa, you saucy bitch!” Theresa says through a laughs.
Ianessa stares listlessly into her cup and swirls the wine around the sides. “It’s a shame, really. The aristocracy builds this magnificent city only to have it handed over to the rabble—where’s the justice in that?”
Dorothea smiles, but remains serious. “But I am curious: why does it mean so much to you? Clearly Pericles’ reign has served your husband well, what grievances could you possibly have?”
“Who said anything about grievances? Is it not natural to simply want more?” Theresa asks with a grin. “The aristocracy simply wants more than the people. Money and power doesn’t make us the aristocracy, but ambition does.
Ianessa lens forward in her chair and opens her mouth, but closes it and shrinks back into her seat once Theresa a glares at her from the corner of her eye.
Dorothea smiles again. “I sense you two share knowledge of a long story?”
“Then you sense correctly,” Theresa confirms.
“Theresa here doesn’t get along with Pericles’—um, what do we call her, again?”
“His mistress, his concubine, his courtesan … that scabrous whore who pulls the archon’s strings like a marionette,” Theresa says, matter-of-factly.
“Her name is Aspasia,” Ianessa clarifies. “Most of the women in Athens don’t care for her, but Theresa has a unique disdain for the woman.”
“And why is that?” Dorothea asks, taking conspicuous pains not to appear to intrusive.
“As you just said,” Theresa explains, “it’s a long story, and a trifle compared to the disagreements I have with her husbands vision for Athens.”
“And what are those?” Dorothea asks, taking a sip of wine. “Do you think the aristocracy would serve the city better?”
“The aristocracy would never waste money on trinkets for the people like temples and festivals and roads—”
“Now Theresa, you must admit that even the Parthenon is a stunning sight behold,” Ianessa interrupts.
“No, I don’t,” Theresa replies. “I think one a dozen Parthenons is a stunning sight, but a single Parthenon is waste of money.”
“I don’t understand?” Dorothea leads.
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“Imagine how much wealthier we would all be if we spent the all the money Pericles allocated to statues and fountains and maintaining the long walls and spent it on ships? Imagine how fear Athens would be if our navy was twice the size she is today. There wouldn’t be a city in Greece that would deny us tribute.”
“Even Sparta?” Dorothea asks coyly.
“Especially Sparta!” Theresa bellows. “I don’t know why Greeks are so afraid of the Spartans. They gods gave them one talent: death. They die willingly and courageously, but they still die and as long as they remain mortals they can still be defeated.”
Ianessa turns to her cousin. “Theresa likes to say that if her husband were archon, we would not be going to war tomorrow, but concluding the war today,” she says.
“Then your husband should lead the opposition,” Dorothea says.
“What opposition?” Ianessa asks sarcastically before finishing the rest of her drink.
“Is there none?” Dorothea asks.
“There hasn’t been opposition to Pericles since Cimon and that was—what, fifteen years ago?” Theresa asks.
“I find that very hard to believe,” Ianessa says. “No one has tried to rally the aristocracy together in opposition.”
“That’s exactly what Cimon tried to do,” Ianessa explains.
“And what happened to him?”
“He died in exile,” Theresa answers.
“Well, of course, he did!” Dorothea laughs. “He was wasting his time talking to noblemen when he should have been winning the hearts of the people, convincing them it was in their best interest to hand over their power to an aristocracy.”
“And what makes you think the citizenry would renounce their own power and authority?” asks Theresa.
“Because it’s worthless, you said so yourself,” replies Dorothea.
“Not to them, it isn’t,” Ianessa insists. “They’d keep their lots just to spite the rich.”
“Perhaps,” Dorothea muses, “but not when their lives are at stake.”
“But, cousin, I don’t see when—” Ianessa begins, only to be cut off by her host.
“I do,” Theresa interrupts, staring directly at Dorothea and finally seeing her for the first time that evening. “Pericles has never been fond of war—”
“Nor very good at it, for that matter,” Ianessa interjects. “Remember that fellow from Samos? Melissus, I think his name was? The man defeats Pericles twice at sea then promptly runs off to Sicily to become a vintner or a shepherd or something of negligible conseque—”
Theresa and Dorothea roll their eyes simultaneously at Ianessa’s interruption. “But the people are fond of war,” Theresa resumes, “and they always want more. Yesterday they wanted power and Pericles gave it to them, so they follow him today; but tomorrow they will want victory and thereafter they will follow whoever gives it to them.”
“See?” Dorothea says, taking another sip of wine. “The people aren’t so different from you and I after all—they might even be a little more ambitious.”
Theresa grins at Dorothea then turns to her friend. “Well, Ianessa, it looks like I should be the one learning from your cousin!” she says. “Tell me, Dorothea, how long will you be staying in Athens?”
“As long as my husband Thrasymachus is able to find work,” she replies.
“And what did you say was your husband’s profession?”
“My dear, Theresa,” Ianessa says, “Thrasymachus is one of the most famous sophists in Greece! I’m surprised you’ve never heard of him before.”
“Oh, Thrasymachus may be well-known in small villages abroad, but he has yet to make a name for himself in Athens,” Dorothea says modestly.
“Don’t be so bashful, cousin!” Ianessa says proudly. “Thrasymachus is well-esteemed by the kings of Sinope and Halicarnassus and many other cities abroad.”
“Sinope?” Theresa echoes. “Wasn’t the archon there deposed about a year or so ago?”
“That sounds about right to me,” Ianessa recalls. “When were you and your husband last in Sinope, Dorothea?”
“About a year or so ago,” Dorothea replies coyly.
“And wasn’t the archon at Halicarnassus exiled following a recent coup?” Theresa asks. “You haven’t been to Ionia lately, as well, have you?”
“Just before we arrived in Athens,” she replies.
“I see,” Theresa mutters quietly. “Dorothea, I suspect my husband could use an experienced counselor like Thrasymachus. We should conspire to introduce them some day soon.”
Ianessa sets her wine glass down and claps her hands together. “What a splendid idea!” she cries. “Cleon will simply love Thrasymachus—there isn’t a wiser man in all of Greece!”
School of Athens Page 8
