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Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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luck," Norbanus said, clapping him on the shoulder in a show of joviality that, to Marcus, rang utterly false. They went to a corner of the great room where an imposingly fat man stood with the rest of the party seated around him. Marcus and Norbanus took their places and waited in silence, just as they had when they were schoolboys, before donning the toga of manhood.
The fat man was Metrobius, a freedman and Roma Noricum's best teacher of Greek. Every wellborn Roman boy learned Greek, for it was the language of the civilized world, but few of them used it after their school years. It was the task of Metrobius to sharpen their rusty language skills. Nobody in Roma Noricum knew the Punic language, but it was certain that, in any land that touched the Mediterranean Sea, there would be people who spoke Greek. The Greek merchants who traded in Roma Noricum boasted that Greek was still the language of all educated people and of all who traded or traveled, though the days of Greek power were long eclipsed.
It was the order of the Senate that, every day of the journey, Metrobius was to conduct a class in Greek grammar. He drilled them like boys because it was the only way he knew to teach. They obeyed him like dutiful pupils from long-drilled habit.
Metrobius pointed at an unfortunate man who looked less than attentive. "Give me the opening lines of the Iliad."
The man stood and shuffled. He was clearly more comfortable with his sword than with any book. "Ah, let me see—'Sing, o muse, of an angry man, of the wrath of Achilles, son of—' "
"Not that wretched Latin translation!" Metrobius yelled. "I want the original Attic Greek!"
"Oh. Well, ah—" He did not reach the end of the first stanza.
"Stop!" The fat man covered his ears. "The most famous poem in the world and you made six mistakes in grammar, syntax, pronunciation and case in fewer than ten words! Where did you learn Greek? In a Druid temple?"
"No," said the man. "You taught me."
Marcus laughed with the others and was immediately punished. The fat finger pointed at him. "You! The second ode of Pindar, if you please."
Marcus stood and cleared his throat. He was fairly confident here because he had an excellent memory, although he would have preferred to recite a speech of Demosthenes. There was no help for it, though. Traditionally, language teachers taught by use of Greek poetry. Rhetoricians made their students recite speeches by rote. He launched into the lengthy ode and Metrobius nodded, finally stopping him halfway through.
"You seem to know the poem well enough, but your pronunciation is absolutely wretched. Sit down. Now, you." He pointed at Flaccus. "I suppose you are not unacquainted with the roll of the ships from the second book of the Iliad?"
"I believe I recall a bit of it," Flaccus replied.
"Then, if you please, let us hear a 'bit' of it."
Flaccus stood and adjusted his traveling cloak, managing to arrange it in the traditional drape used by orators for the most dignified effect. Then he launched into the famously difficult passage detailing the leadership of the Greek expedition, the list of towns and nobles and how many ships were contributed by each of them:
"I will name the captains of the fleet and the numbers of their ships.
"The Boeotians were led by Peneleos and Leitos, Arcesilaos and Prothoenor and Clonios. These came from hilly Hyria and rocky Aulis, from Schoinos and Scolos, Eteonos, from Thespeia, Griaia and wide-reaching Mycalessos, from the districts round Harma, Eilesion, and Erythrai, from Eleon, Hylae and Peteon, Ocalea and the well-built fortress of Medeon, from Copai and Eutresis and Thisbe with its multitudes of doves, from Coroneia and grassy Haliartos, from Plataia and Glisas, from the strongly-walled fortress of Hypothebai and from sacred Onchestos, that glorious grove of Poseidon, from Arne, adorned with clusters of grapes and from Midea, from divine Nisa and the coastal town of Anthedon, from these came fifty ships and
The fat man was Metrobius, a freedman and Roma Noricum's best teacher of Greek. Every wellborn Roman boy learned Greek, for it was the language of the civilized world, but few of them used it after their school years. It was the task of Metrobius to sharpen their rusty language skills. Nobody in Roma Noricum knew the Punic language, but it was certain that, in any land that touched the Mediterranean Sea, there would be people who spoke Greek. The Greek merchants who traded in Roma Noricum boasted that Greek was still the language of all educated people and of all who traded or traveled, though the days of Greek power were long eclipsed.
It was the order of the Senate that, every day of the journey, Metrobius was to conduct a class in Greek grammar. He drilled them like boys because it was the only way he knew to teach. They obeyed him like dutiful pupils from long-drilled habit.
Metrobius pointed at an unfortunate man who looked less than attentive. "Give me the opening lines of the Iliad."
The man stood and shuffled. He was clearly more comfortable with his sword than with any book. "Ah, let me see—'Sing, o muse, of an angry man, of the wrath of Achilles, son of—' "
"Not that wretched Latin translation!" Metrobius yelled. "I want the original Attic Greek!"
"Oh. Well, ah—" He did not reach the end of the first stanza.
"Stop!" The fat man covered his ears. "The most famous poem in the world and you made six mistakes in grammar, syntax, pronunciation and case in fewer than ten words! Where did you learn Greek? In a Druid temple?"
"No," said the man. "You taught me."
Marcus laughed with the others and was immediately punished. The fat finger pointed at him. "You! The second ode of Pindar, if you please."
Marcus stood and cleared his throat. He was fairly confident here because he had an excellent memory, although he would have preferred to recite a speech of Demosthenes. There was no help for it, though. Traditionally, language teachers taught by use of Greek poetry. Rhetoricians made their students recite speeches by rote. He launched into the lengthy ode and Metrobius nodded, finally stopping him halfway through.
"You seem to know the poem well enough, but your pronunciation is absolutely wretched. Sit down. Now, you." He pointed at Flaccus. "I suppose you are not unacquainted with the roll of the ships from the second book of the Iliad?"
"I believe I recall a bit of it," Flaccus replied.
"Then, if you please, let us hear a 'bit' of it."
Flaccus stood and adjusted his traveling cloak, managing to arrange it in the traditional drape used by orators for the most dignified effect. Then he launched into the famously difficult passage detailing the leadership of the Greek expedition, the list of towns and nobles and how many ships were contributed by each of them:
"I will name the captains of the fleet and the numbers of their ships.
"The Boeotians were led by Peneleos and Leitos, Arcesilaos and Prothoenor and Clonios. These came from hilly Hyria and rocky Aulis, from Schoinos and Scolos, Eteonos, from Thespeia, Griaia and wide-reaching Mycalessos, from the districts round Harma, Eilesion, and Erythrai, from Eleon, Hylae and Peteon, Ocalea and the well-built fortress of Medeon, from Copai and Eutresis and Thisbe with its multitudes of doves, from Coroneia and grassy Haliartos, from Plataia and Glisas, from the strongly-walled fortress of Hypothebai and from sacred Onchestos, that glorious grove of Poseidon, from Arne, adorned with clusters of grapes and from Midea, from divine Nisa and the coastal town of Anthedon, from these came fifty ships and
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