The Goddess of Buttercups & Daisies

by Martin Millar

  The Athenian delegates, grey-bearded men with experience of war – one of them old enough to have fought the Persians at Salamis, sixty years ago – were never going to agree with the Spartan contention that the war was their fault, any more than the Spartans were prepared to take responsibility. There was, however, a noticeable movement towards the view that grievances might be put aside and weapons laid down.

  Nicias even found himself warming towards General Lamachus. He’d been annoyed with him for months because he was quite sure Lamachus had been putting his own desire for military glory above the best interests of the city. Now, having heard him finally admit in public that perhaps some agreement with the Spartans could be made, Nicias reached out in friendship. They drank a cup of Chian wine together and talked amicably with two Spartan delegates about the last few obstacles in their way. The Megaran trade rights still had to be resolved, and there were prisoner exchanges to be made, but apart from that there didn’t seem anything to prevent agreement. As he drank his wine, Nicias made a silent toast to the Goddess Athena, protector of the city, thanking her for coming to their rescue and bringing peace.

  Bremusa

  Bremusa glared at the young woman who, she noticed, was wearing a dress that seemed both too fancy and too revealing.

  ‘So when Metricia left you just decided to move into her temple? And spend most of your time drinking, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Hey! I don’t drink that much. Maybe an amphora of wine every now and then… And I didn’t move in. I was born here.’

  ‘Born here? Slave? Prostitute? Village idiot?’

  The young woman grinned cheerfully. ‘I’m Metricia’s daughter. Metris, wood nymph, at your service. Or maybe water nymph, depending on the weather. Would you like some wine?’

  Bremusa was about to curtly refuse the offer when Athena surprised her by accepting. They sat at a small, rickety wooden table while Metris scooped wine from a large amphora beside her couch, humming cheerfully as she poured it into cups which were not of a suitable quality to be handing to a goddess.

  Metris looked about eighteen, though if she was really a nymph, she could be any age. Bremusa didn’t take to her at all. She wasn’t nearly reverent enough towards the goddess. Handing her a chipped old cup and saying ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Athena,’ was not an appropriate greeting, and her broad grin didn’t make it better.

  The Goddess Athena remained graceful, even on a tiny wooden stool which had seen better days. ‘I regret that Metricia has gone,’ said Athena. ‘Bremusa here is on her way to Athens. I intended to send Metricia with her.’

  ‘Ooh!’ squealed Metris. ‘Are you going to the Dionysia? I love the festival. Take me instead!’

  Athena stared into her eyes. Metris didn’t flinch. She smiled, showing her neat white teeth. She was a pretty young nymph. Bremusa was disliking her more and more.

  ‘I needed Metricia to perform some special tasks in Athens. Do you have your mother’s powers?’ asked the goddess.

  ‘Absolutely! I have plenty of nymph magic!’

  ‘Then I suppose you might serve in her place.’

  The Amazon warrior was moved to protest. ‘Goddess, this flighty nymph hardly seems suitable for an important mission. How do we know she’s even the river spirit’s daughter? She could be anyone. I don’t trust her.’

  ‘Bremusa will be pleased to have you along,’ said Athena. ‘And I’ll reward you for good service.’

  Nicias

  Towards the end of the day’s proceedings, Nicias and his companions were strolling round the open courtyard, digesting their meal, sipping wine, refreshing themselves for the final discussions to come, when something odd happened. First, a very strange woman walked by. Nicias had travelled far in his time, but he’d never seen her like. So pale, with such dark eyes. Tall, very beautiful, with her black hair falling over her shoulders, quite unlike any Athenian lady he’d ever seen. Her dress was unusual, some sort of shimmering material, and he couldn’t guess where it might have originated. She had a twisted metal emblem hanging from a chain round her neck. Something snake-like, though it was difficult to make out.

  Nicias was baffled. Who was she? What was she doing here? From the expressions of the Spartans nearby, she certainly wasn’t with them. His only vague guess was that she was some hetaera who’d lost her way, though that seemed improbable. She didn’t have the look of a hetaera. Besides, there were hoplites at the gate, and they’d know better than to let a prostitute wander in, no matter how high-class. All eyes were drawn to the mysterious beauty, though no one spoke as she walked by. There was something rather intimidating about her.

  Nicias turned to the delegate next to him, to make a comment, but before he could speak, a great argument erupted out of nowhere between the leader of the Spartan delegation, General Acanthus, and Isthmonicus, an Athenian delegate.

  ‘Why should we return Amphipolis to Athens?’ demanded the Spartan.

  ‘You’ll return it if you ever want to see your precious prisoners again!’ yelled Isthmonicus.

  ‘Prisoners taken by treachery!’

  ‘Treachery? The only treachery has been Sparta going behind Athens’ back, bribing our allies with Persian gold!’

  Nicias was immediately alarmed. This was all territory they’d covered before, at length. These problems were meant to have been solved. Before he could point this out, other voices were raised all round the courtyard as Spartans and Athenians fell to arguing with each other, quite violently. People were yelling, there were accusations of treachery and duplicity, all of them relating to matters that were supposed to have been settled during their discussions.

  Nicias looked around hopelessly. The ageing statesman couldn’t understand what had happened. It was as if a collective madness had suddenly gripped the peace conference.

  Metris, Wood or Water Nymph

  Bremusa the Amazon and Metris the nymph began their journey to Athens. It wouldn’t take long. The goddess Athena would hasten them on their way, allowing them to cover the distance quickly. Bremusa had never been a talkative woman, and marched in silence. It made her companion’s constant chatter all the more annoying.

  ‘It was so exciting to meet the Goddess Athena! It just shows you never can tell what’s going to happen. Only yesterday I was telling Pholus the centaur that I was sure things were going to pick up soon, and now I’m going to the festival in Athens!’

  Bremusa did not look like a woman on her way to a festival. She carried a long sword on her back and wore leather armour the like of which had not been seen in the world for several hundred years. Around her neck was a necklace made from boars’ tusks, something else rarely encountered in the world these days.

  Metris waved to a couple of naiads through the trees, then spotted her friend Pholus.

  ‘Hey, Pholus! I’m off on a secret mission for the Goddess Athena!’

  The centaur nodded, and looked impressed.

  ‘I’m going to the Dionysia! I’ll bring you back something nice!’

  ‘Be quiet,’ hissed Bremusa. ‘Our mission is secret. No one’s meant to know.’

  ‘Pholus won’t tell anyone. Maybe a few naiads, no one else. Naiads are quite discreet, when they’re sober anyway. It was so exciting meeting Athena! If I succeed on this mission do you think she’ll invite me to live on Mount Olympus?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not that I don’t like my little temple. It’s a lovely little temple. But it’s sad the way it got ruined in the war.’

  They walked on. Metris fingered the small flute that hung daintily around her neck.

  ‘Would I get my own temple?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Bremusa.

  ‘If I went to live on Mount Olympus?’

  ‘You’re not —’

  ‘A nice big one. With lots of room for statues. I like statues.’

  ‘You’re not getting a temple.’

  ‘The goddess said I’d be rewarded. She might invite me to live on Mount
Olympus! I suppose I’d have to start being a bit more responsible. But you still have some good times there, right? Drinking, dancing, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Mount Olympus is no concern of yours.’

  The nymph wasn’t put off by Bremusa’s unfriendly tone. She had a lot of questions for her. It wasn’t every day that you met someone from the home of the gods.

  ‘What’s Zeus really like? Is he scowly like his statues? Or is he more friendly? Did Athena really get born from his head? Is it true she doesn’t get on well with Hera? What about Aphrodite? I’ve always wanted to meet her. Is she really that beautiful? Pholus says she’s the most beautiful goddess ever. Is she prettier than Athena? Athena was really pretty.’

  Bremusa came to a halt and stared at her companion, rather angrily.

  ‘Be quiet! Stop this inane chatter!’

  ‘Don’t you like to talk?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. I like to talk. Have you ever met Ares the God of War? Is he really fierce? What did Aphrodite see in him? Why are you clutching your brow like that? Are you not feeling well?’

  They walked on down the grassy hill. It was a bright, lovely day.

  Luxos

  As he embarked on his night-time spying mission, Luxos passed by the Altar of Pity, a small, plain altar not far from the agora. This altar, while not dedicated specifically to any god or goddess, was a popular destination for those in dire need. During the plague, people had gathered there, praying desperately that their gravely ill relatives might recover. These days, mothers could be seen praying for news of their sons missing in battle. Luxos felt a vague desire to offer up a prayer himself, but resisted the urge. His life might not be going that well, but affairs had not yet reached such a crisis. He was still confident that Athena would help him.

  He walked west towards the rehearsal space used by Aristophanes’ rivals, Eupolis and Leucon. Though the streets were dark, he’d been there often and found it easily enough. Things began to go wrong when he tried to sneak over the fence, caught his tunic and plummeted to the ground, landing painfully. He rose as quickly as he could, and hobbled on. He wasn’t certain if there would be a watchman on duty at the rehearsal grounds. Were theatrical props guarded at night? He didn’t know but didn’t want to be apprehended if they were. Aristophanes had given him enough money for a few good meals, and he was pleased about that, but he didn’t want to be caught trying to measure phalluses. It would be bad for his reputation which, Luxos acknowledged, was already poor. The young poet was not generally regarded as a valuable member of Athenian society.

  He felt a twinge of sadness. I shouldn’t have to be doing this. I’m a poet. I’m not cut out for secret missions. I never claimed to be any good as a spy.

  He peered into several dark huts, looking for theatrical props. Why was Aristophanes so worried about penises for his chorus anyway?

  You wouldn’t catch a real poet worrying about that, thought Luxos. I could entertain the Athenians without a lot of funny props if someone would just give me a chance. But they’re all such a mean clique, the poets and their friends. They won’t listen to me. They wouldn’t read my poems even if I could afford to get copies made.

  Athens’ most successful poets had their work copied onto scrolls and widely distributed, but that was expensive. Without a wealthy sponsor, Luxos’s poetry was never going to find its way into the best Athenian households.

  The light from the moon was fairly bright and Luxos was still worried about being caught, but there didn’t seem to be any sort of security. Presumably Athens had more than enough worries at the moment without assigning valuable citizens the task of guarding props.

  There they are. Luxos eased his way into one of the huts and started rummaging around among several sacks full of comedy stage-penises.

  They do seem quite big.

  Aristophanes had asked Luxos to measure them. That was difficult in the dark wooden hut. After a few minutes’ frustration, he loaded himself up with as many as he could carry, draping them over his shoulders and arms, and went back outside. There, in the bright moonlight, he walked straight into the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Or so it seemed to Luxos. There was also an intimidating woman with a sword.

  The most beautiful girl in the world had big brown eyes and long black wavy hair. She wore a short white dress and delicate little sandals. Luxos stared at her in awe. For the first time in living memory, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He did realise that he was draped in a great bundle of funny phalluses. He regretted that. It seemed to be hindering conversation.

  There was a long silence. Finally the intimidating-looking woman turned to her young companion.

  ‘I told you Athenians were obsessed with penises.’

  With that they walked off. Luxos gazed after them, awestruck at the girl’s other-worldly beauty. He knew he was in love.

  Aristophanes

  In the early morning light, Aristophanes was so wrapped up in bitter thoughts about his producer that he almost tumbled into the open sewer that ran past the statue of Solon the Wise. He avoided it at the last moment, only to bump into Nicias, also engrossed in his own thoughts. Aristophanes knew Nicias quite well, though the politician came from an older generation. He held him in reasonable esteem, regarding him as honest, if uninspired. Aristophanes had rarely mocked him in his comedies, and when he had, the ridicule had not been too severe. There had been one memorable scene in which the actor playing Nicias made such a boring speech that the entire assembly fell asleep. The real Nicias hadn’t made a fuss about it, acknowledging that he’d never been Athens’ most gifted orator, although privately he’d been rather offended by it.

  ‘Nicias. Shouldn’t you be wringing concessions from the Spartans?’

  Nicias shook his head wearily. ‘The conference broke up.’

  ‘Broke up? How?’

  ‘In chaos. It was all I could do to prevent a brawl between the delegates. If I hadn’t got General Lamachus out of there he’d be facing an impiety charge for murdering a guest in our city.’

  ‘How could that happen? Everyone said it was going well.’

  Nicias spread his hands hopelessly. Aristophanes noticed he was looking older. Soon his actors would need a new funny mask to represent him.

  ‘I don’t know how it happened. One minute we were close to agreement, the next a frightful row broke out. Everyone was accusing everyone else of lies and treachery, and every agreement we’d made was being torn up and trampled in the dust. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Nicias looked around at the small boys trotting along behind their tutors, the men pushing their carts of olives towards the market.

  ‘Aristophanes, have you noticed anything strange recently?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly… But people are starting to act oddly. It’s like there’s something in the air. Something bad.’

  ‘Ten years of war will do that.’

  ‘I know, but…’ Nicias gazed wistfully at the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, in front of the law court at the edge of the agora. The city could do with more heroes like them. ‘People are acting out of character. It’s like the plague all over again.’

  Aristophanes shuddered. It wasn’t that long since the terrible disease had ravaged Athens: only six or seven years since the last outbreak. They had been grim years, and he knew what Nicias meant about citizens acting out of character. There had been times, when the dead were strewn around unburied in the streets, and the dying lay helpless and alone in their houses, when all normal standards of decent behaviour seemed to have deserted Athens.

  ‘Please, Nicias, I saw my parents die. I don’t like to remember it. Things aren’t that bad yet.’

  ‘No, it’s not that bad. But it’s heading that way. Half the people I’ve talked to today seem to have taken leave of their senses.’ Nicias shook his head. ‘Maybe it is just the war. I hope your play is going well?’

  Aristophanes shru
gged, not wanting to describe his many theatrical worries. Nicias, however, seemed unusually interested in his progress, and pressed his enquiry.

  ‘It might be very helpful if you put on a great comedy dedicated to peace.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Aristophanes was flattered. He’d never heard an important politician imply that his comedies might be of any importance. He regretted that he couldn’t give Nicias better news.

  ‘To be honest, it’s not going well. In fact we’re close to disaster.’

  ‘A successful comedy promoting peace might be just what Athens needs at this moment.’

  ‘I know. But it’s still a disaster.’

  Bremusa

  Bremusa had excellent night vision. It was an Amazon trait. Even as the moon began to disappear behind the clouds, she successfully avoided the pitfalls of the Athenian streets, guiding herself and Metris to the foot of the acropolis.

  ‘This should do, we’re close to the centre of the city. Time for you to act.’

  Metris looked blank. ‘Act? Am I meant to act?’

  ‘I mean it’s time for you to locate Laet.’

  The nymph continued to look blank.

  ‘Find Laet. That’s what the goddess sent you here for.’

  ‘Right.’ Metris looked at her sandals. She had small, delicate feet.

  ‘Well?’ Bremusa grew impatient. ‘Use your nymph magic to locate her.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘You do have powers of locating, don’t you? Like your mother?’

  ‘Well… not exactly,’ said Metris.

  ‘What do you mean “not exactly”? You said you had your mother’s gifts.’

  ‘I didn’t inherit absolutely all of them.’