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Authors: Christian Cameron
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dances.’
‘We all three fought at Artemisium,’ Hipponax said.
The priestess looked at him as if he was made of dung. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I’d have thought you too young.’
Both of them flushed.
Euphonia laughed.
I smiled, I confess. ‘They fought very well – like heroes in the Iliad,’ I said. ‘The two of them cleared a Phoenician ship.’
‘Oh,’ the priestess said with renewed respect. ‘You fought as marines!’ She smiled – she was so dignified that her smile was a contrast and it spread like sunshine. ‘My brother is a marine sometimes.’
The boys didn’t hold a grudge. They bowed, and then turned, almost as one, to watch the two girls, who were still lingering, held by the power of attraction of Eros and youth.
‘Last chance,’ Euphonia whispered. ‘I could introduce you.’
Hipponax looked at her. ‘Please, little sister?’
‘He has to say he’s sorry,’ Euphonia said. ‘I’m not silly.’
Hector smiled and you’d have thought that he was the gift of the sun, his face was so bright. ‘I’m sorry, Little Bear,’ he said. ‘You are not any sillier than the rest of us.’
She grinned. ‘As long as you understand that they’re way too good for either of you,’ she said, in her mature age-ten wisdom. She ran over to the two girls and took their hands, swinging back and forth on the braided girl’s long, muscular arm.
Both girls smiled and, without hesitation, came across the sand to us.
The priestess paused at my back. ‘I don’t let girls talk to boys,’ she said. Then she smiled. ‘But I suppose that if they fought for Greece, they’re men, are they not?’
‘I suppose,’ I said. I tried to let her hear all of my lack of belief in their maturity. She laughed, and I laughed – we were old people of thirty-five or so.
But Hipponax and Hector were lost, aswim in a sea of Eros and Aphrodite. But my daughter, like the good girl she was, walked the two young women right past the boys and to me.
‘Pater, this is Heliodora, the best dancer we have ever had. And this is Iris, who wins every sport.’ She laughed. ‘This is my father, Arimnestos.’
Heliodora looked at her friend and arched a brow. ‘I think I have won some contests outside dancing.’
Iris laughed. ‘Far too often. But it is a great honour to meet a man so famous. Indeed, my father calls you “Ship Killer” and says you are a living hero.’
Any woman’s admiration is worth having. There’s something remarkable about the pure admiration of the young. I smiled at her smile.
Heliodora bowed her head. ‘I won’t repeat what my father says of you, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘My father is Cleitus of the Alcmaeonids.’ Then she raised her eyes.
My daughter nodded with surprising dignity. ‘Heliodora and I decided that it’s nothing to us that her father’s men killed my grandmother,’ she said. ‘Women’s lives do not need to involve revenge, do they, Mother Thiale?’
The priestess met my eye, not my daughter’s. ‘The principal role of women in revenge,’ she said, ‘is as convenient victims.’
‘I’ve known a woman or two to exact a bloody revenge,’ I said. ‘Heliodora, your father and I have renewed our oaths of non-aggression until the Medes are defeated. Please accept my oath that I mean you no harm.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, I like everything I hear about you, except killing our horses,’ she said. She tried to say this with dignity and becoming modesty, all the while trying not to give her attention to young Hector – or Hipponax. It was a pretty fair performance for so young a woman.
I decided to take pity on all of them. ‘Despoinai,’ I said to the two young women, ‘it would be rude of me not to introduce my son Hipponax and his inseparable warrior companion, Hector, son of Anarchos, both of whom serve me as marines. They fought quite well against the Persians.’
My son shot me a look of pure love.
Parenting. Much like military leadership.
‘We all three fought at Artemisium,’ Hipponax said.
The priestess looked at him as if he was made of dung. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I’d have thought you too young.’
Both of them flushed.
Euphonia laughed.
I smiled, I confess. ‘They fought very well – like heroes in the Iliad,’ I said. ‘The two of them cleared a Phoenician ship.’
‘Oh,’ the priestess said with renewed respect. ‘You fought as marines!’ She smiled – she was so dignified that her smile was a contrast and it spread like sunshine. ‘My brother is a marine sometimes.’
The boys didn’t hold a grudge. They bowed, and then turned, almost as one, to watch the two girls, who were still lingering, held by the power of attraction of Eros and youth.
‘Last chance,’ Euphonia whispered. ‘I could introduce you.’
Hipponax looked at her. ‘Please, little sister?’
‘He has to say he’s sorry,’ Euphonia said. ‘I’m not silly.’
Hector smiled and you’d have thought that he was the gift of the sun, his face was so bright. ‘I’m sorry, Little Bear,’ he said. ‘You are not any sillier than the rest of us.’
She grinned. ‘As long as you understand that they’re way too good for either of you,’ she said, in her mature age-ten wisdom. She ran over to the two girls and took their hands, swinging back and forth on the braided girl’s long, muscular arm.
Both girls smiled and, without hesitation, came across the sand to us.
The priestess paused at my back. ‘I don’t let girls talk to boys,’ she said. Then she smiled. ‘But I suppose that if they fought for Greece, they’re men, are they not?’
‘I suppose,’ I said. I tried to let her hear all of my lack of belief in their maturity. She laughed, and I laughed – we were old people of thirty-five or so.
But Hipponax and Hector were lost, aswim in a sea of Eros and Aphrodite. But my daughter, like the good girl she was, walked the two young women right past the boys and to me.
‘Pater, this is Heliodora, the best dancer we have ever had. And this is Iris, who wins every sport.’ She laughed. ‘This is my father, Arimnestos.’
Heliodora looked at her friend and arched a brow. ‘I think I have won some contests outside dancing.’
Iris laughed. ‘Far too often. But it is a great honour to meet a man so famous. Indeed, my father calls you “Ship Killer” and says you are a living hero.’
Any woman’s admiration is worth having. There’s something remarkable about the pure admiration of the young. I smiled at her smile.
Heliodora bowed her head. ‘I won’t repeat what my father says of you, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘My father is Cleitus of the Alcmaeonids.’ Then she raised her eyes.
My daughter nodded with surprising dignity. ‘Heliodora and I decided that it’s nothing to us that her father’s men killed my grandmother,’ she said. ‘Women’s lives do not need to involve revenge, do they, Mother Thiale?’
The priestess met my eye, not my daughter’s. ‘The principal role of women in revenge,’ she said, ‘is as convenient victims.’
‘I’ve known a woman or two to exact a bloody revenge,’ I said. ‘Heliodora, your father and I have renewed our oaths of non-aggression until the Medes are defeated. Please accept my oath that I mean you no harm.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, I like everything I hear about you, except killing our horses,’ she said. She tried to say this with dignity and becoming modesty, all the while trying not to give her attention to young Hector – or Hipponax. It was a pretty fair performance for so young a woman.
I decided to take pity on all of them. ‘Despoinai,’ I said to the two young women, ‘it would be rude of me not to introduce my son Hipponax and his inseparable warrior companion, Hector, son of Anarchos, both of whom serve me as marines. They fought quite well against the Persians.’
My son shot me a look of pure love.
Parenting. Much like military leadership.
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