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ATHENS
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Alcibiades uses the week following his return to Athens as any young man would: he reunites with old friends, rediscovers bad habits and remains as idle as possible only when there are responsibilities to evade. It’s a seven day test of endurance with a high attrition rate. One by one his companions fall by the wayside—not that Alcibiades minds: old friends who can’t keep the pace can always be replaced by new ones eager to share wine from a stranger with a story to tell.
So it did not take long for Alcibiades to find a captive audience in a brothel known to cater to a clientele of thieves, gamblers and playwrights—men who were widely regarded to be one in the same when endowed with the gift of literacy. The establishment is in a district of Athens Alcibiades rarely frequents, a quality which only makes the tavern all the more enticing for a young man freshly home from abroad. He’s welcomed by the many patrons who take advantage of the women and wine he generously supplies them. The gifts win him a great deal of goodwill from some of the customers and staff, but also earn Alcibiades the resentment of a few malcontents.
Two such souls, playwrights named Eupolis and Aristophanes, nurse drinks on a bench at the far end of the bar opposite the constellation of new friends orbiting Alcibiades. They’re young men, no older than fifteen, each aspiring comedians still learning the craft, but advanced enough to know that any instance of wit or humor left behind by a pub’s drunks can be claimed as their own. On most nights they can be found at a table in the brothel’s tavern listening intently and scribbling onto parchment.
Tonight, however, their tools are nowhere to be seen, replaced by a furious scowl on the face of young Aristophanes. The young playwright looks on enviously as the pair of painted whores sitting on Alcibiades’ lap run their hands through his hair and cackle at every clever word that leaves his mouth. “Those laughs are unearned,” he judges.
“I don’t know, maybe he’s on to something,” Eupolis considers. “Perhaps if we paid the audience they’d be more amused by our plays?”
“That cunt must own the place,” Aristophanes declares, ignoring Eupolis. “It’s the only possible explanation.”
“He must be someone important,” Eupolis replies.
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve never seen the tavern-keeper open a line of credit for anyone before and I haven’t seen that lad reach for his coin bag all evening,”
Aristophanes quickly turns to his friend. “Then you’ve seen it? Is it substantial?”
“It’s either quite substantial or he is concealing a massive cock,” Eupolis laughs.
Aristophanes sneers. He hates laughing at Eupolis’ jests, which he finds all too often to be prurient and trite. “What’s his name?”
“Alcibiades, I think,” Eupolis answers. “Or maybe that was the name of one of the new girls. He’s looks as pretty as some of the new pussy.”
“Never heard of him,” Aristophanes replies dismissively, “but he clearly comes from money. Not too bright carrying on like this, is he? Drinking and gambling so much at once.”
“How else would you have him spend his father’s money?” asks Eupolis.
“My dear, simple Eupolis,” Aristophanes says. “This is what separates you and me: where you see the ordinary, I see opportunity.”
“What are you saying?” Eupolis asks, his expression looking as lost as his words.
Alcibiades rises from his table and walks across the tavern to a corner where the chamber pots are kept and relieves himself.
“I’m saying we should liberate the coin from this young fool before someone else does,” Aristophanes clarifies for his friend.
Eupolis smiles. He stands up and finishes off the rest of the wine in his cup before slapping Aristophanes on the back. “Say no more,” he says as he makes his way to the tavern-keeper just as Alcibiades finishes his piss. The two young men cross paths in the middle of the tavern and in the confusion over who has the right of way, Eupolis bumps into Alcibiades and discreetly picks his pocket before apologizing profusely for his clumsiness. Eupolis arrives at the counter and orders more wine for himself and Aristophanes, tipping the keeper well for his trouble.
Back at the table Aristophanes wears a sinister grin when Eupolis returns. They toast to a job well done and each drinks his wine in a single pull. With their backs turned to Alcibiades and his party, the open the newly acquired coin purse and take inventory of the contents. “By the gods, Aristophanes!” Eupolis hoarsely explains. “There must be over 300 drachma in here!”
For two boys of relative privilege who had met years ago picking pockets and creating other forms of mischief in the agora, a haul so bountiful is unheard-of. The sum is so large that, not long ago, it would have kept a pair of frugal hooligans occupied with enough vice and distraction for a month. But Aristophanes and Eupolis are older now: their aspirations are more ambitious and their tastes more sophisticated.
“Quiet, you indolent fuck!” Aristophanes says through gritted teeth. “You’ll give us up. Besides, the prank isn’t over yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now, of course, we have to kill him before he accuses us of theft,” Aristophanes says nonchalantly.
Eupolis is beside himself at the suggestion. Their oeuvre as public nuisances has expanded over the years to include vandalism and minor destruction of property, but never murder or anything resembling violence against another human being. Eupolis objects: “You didn’t say anything about—”
Aristophanes will hear none of his excuses. “Of course I didn’t!” he interrupts. “You wouldn’t have stolen it if I did.”
Eupolis leans in closer to his friend. “I am not an assassin!” he whispers angrily.
“I’m not asking you to be one, Eupolis,” Aristophanes replies in a calm and soothing tone. “We’re going to dispatch him right here in front of everyone…with these,” he continues, rolling a pair of ivory dice on the table.
Eupolis looks up at his friend, unsure if he’s serious. Aristophanes returns the glance with a wry grin and continues rolling the dice over and over again, each time landing on a three and four. “Sevens every time!” he notes.
“I still don’t understand,” Eupolis admits nervously.
Aristophanes unleashes a frustrated sigh into his companion’s face. “It’s simple: we’ll let him gamble away a large sum in good faith and when it comes time to pay the bill he won’t have the coin, then we’ll be within our rights to take his life.”
Aristophanes stands up from the table and nods his head in Eupolis’ direction, but his friend remains seated. He looks up skeptically. “I don’t know, Aristophanes … this just seems to be taking things too far.”
“Have I ever let you down before?” Aristophanes asks.
“The lashes on my back suggest so, yes,” Eupolis replies.
Aristophanes shakes his head. “In that case, if you don’t join me, I’ll simply tell Alcibiades that you took his coin bag. I’m sure he will reward me generously.”
Eupolis rises from the table in anger, his face flush with rage. He lifts his hand as if to strike Aristophanes only to bring it down to the table and swipe the dice off the surface in a fluid motion. Aristophanes bows his head and extends an arm, giving Eupolis the honor of walking ahead of him as the two make their way across the tavern to Alcibiades’ table.
They slither through the labyrinth of customers and tables. Aristophanes is never more than a small step behind his friend. He leans in and whispers into Eupolis’ ear: “Poor Eupolis! Where would you be today without me to guide you through this complicated world?”
Aristophanes and Eupolis push through a small crowd of hangers-on whom Alcibiades provides with another round of wine while he regaling them with his exploits abroad. He finishes a well-received story when Aristophanes’ voice rises above the laughter.
“Are you Alcibiades?”
“I am, sir, and you are?” Alcibiades asks c
ongenially.
“My name is Aristophanes and this is my friend Eupolis.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both!” Alcibiades declares. “I hope you’ll feel free to join us, if you’d like.”
“You’re welcome to enjoy some companionship courtesy of Alcibiades here,” one of the women on Alcibiades’ lap notes.
“If they’re even old enough to know what to do with their cocks!” shouts a voice from behind the playwrights. A chorus of gravelly laughter follows, but instead of their cheeks flushing with shame, Aristophanes and Eupolis simply glance at each other out of the corners of their eyes and shake their heads at the perfectly predictable display of wit.
“I’d sooner pay solely for the pox,” Eupolis dryly retorts to the maiden.
The girl’s jaw drops at the offense. “Such a mouth this boy!” she observes.
“And if your tits were the size of your own mouth you’d not want for customers!” Aristophanes interjects to the howls and cheers of the crowd. The poor woman runs off from the table adjusting her robe to conceal as much of her body as possible, yet sooner does she depart than do a pair of her colleagues take her place.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Alcibiades says, turning his attention from the crowd to the playwrights. “I can personally vouch for the hygiene of these virtuous women and for their ample bosom.”
“Neither is of interest to us,” Aristophanes replies, shaking his head. “We were wondering how you planned on paying for this small affair?”
“The owner of this fine establishment has extended me a generous line of credit,” Alcibiades answers.
“And what does one need to do to earn such kind hospitality?” asks Eupolis.
The girls surrounding Alcibiades giggle knowingly.
“Let’s just say I’m a man of many talents,” Alcibiades replies with a wink, “and persuasion is one of them.”
“Here, here!” yells a voice from behind the playwrights.
“Is that a fact? Then perhaps you’d join us in a game of dice?” Aristophanes asks. “You’ll be happy to know that we also provide generous lines of credit.”
“What do you say, girls?” Alcibiades asks, to the squeals and applause of the women. “Well, such support leaves me with little choice in the matter.” Alcibiades turns to the boys. “I’ll even give you the honor of the first roll. But first, let’s drink to friendship and good fortune!” The maids pour wine in the cups of the crowd as Alcibiades drapes his arm around one of the new ladies perched on his lap. “And should Goddess Fortune leave me, will you stay by my side?” he playfully asks the girl. She answers him with a gentle kiss on Alcibiades’ cheek. “Then let’s begin!”
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School of Athens Page 12
