Read Online The Orpheus Descent by Tom Harper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Harper
Tags: Historical
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there to associate with him, must take extreme care. Jealousy is quickly aroused, and he can attract a lot of hostility and conspiracies against himself.
Plato,
Protagoras
I was drowning again. I thrashed for the surface, but the water was thick and my arms barely moved. I screamed. The sea rushed in, filling me up until I no longer felt it because I had
become
it.
I was breathing water. It flowed through me, calming my panic. Now when I looked up I could see the sun, a white orb shimmering through the waves. Even underwater, it burned my eyes. I had to reach it. I started to float upwards, but however fast I rose, the sun never came any closer.
Now I was on land. Black clouds plated the sky, scudding over the plain, and a forked mountain loomed in the distance. The goddess approached me across a flower-strewn meadow, barefoot. The wind blew her dress taut against her marble skin; the ivy in her hair rustled. Her face was solemn, beautiful but hard as stone. When I woke up, drenched in sweat, I knew she’d just told me something vital.
I wracked my brains, but I couldn’t remember what.
* * *
Eurytus was eager to get rid of us. After a quick breakfast, we set off for Taras. My first impression of Italy, beyond the beach and the forest, surprised me. I’d expected a primal wilderness: instead, neat lines of olive and citrus trees divided the holdings, with thick wheat growing green in between. The road was good, the houses well-kept – we could have been near Thebes. Except that a high plateau walled off the horizon, laying a sharp line across the limit of civilisation. And, when we reached Taras – across a causeway through a salt marsh – the walls were thick, the mortar still white. You couldn’t forget that this colony still clung to the fringes of a wild, unknown country.
The city stood on a neck of land between the sea and an inland lagoon, natural defences that also made a superb harbour (if only our ship had reached it). Eurytus led us through busy streets, with handsome temples and houses squeezed close together. He, too, was less wild than I’d first assumed: plenty of respectable-looking men greeted him in the streets and paused to talk business, more and more often as we entered the agora.
He steered us across the plaza to a fountain of Poseidon standing in a chariot drawn by four dolphins. Opposite him, almost as high, a man in a blue cloak stood on the steps of the Assembly house, deep in debate with a score of men around him. Some were dressed like soldiers, some like merchants and some like lawyers – but all of them looked important.
Eurytus pushed through the crowd to the man at the top and managed to get his attention. He whispered in his ear, pointing out me and Euphemus. A moment later, the man excused himself and came down. The others pretended to continue their conversation, though I saw every pair of eyes latch onto us.
‘These are the castaways,’ was the apologetic introduction Eurytus gave us. ‘This is Archytas.’
He was tall and civilised, with strong arms and the clipped stride you get from marching in formation with a hoplite shield banging against your knees. I found out later he was the same age as me, though he looked older. His hair was streaked a handsome grey, and the shrewd eyes that examined me seemed to have seen and understood more than I ever would.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me your country, your nation and your city, and all the places you have wandered.’
Quoting Homer doesn’t impress me, though I’m sure it’s exactly the sort of thing Euphemus loves. Before he could reply in kind, I said, ‘We came from Athens. Our ship was wrecked.’
‘And what brought you to Italy?’
A simple enough question. But behind him, I could see twenty heads leaning forward to hear my answer.
‘I came to look for a friend.’
‘Agathon,’ Eurytus said. He and Archytas shared a look.
‘You know him?’
‘A mutual acquaintance introduced us,’ said Archytas.
Plato,
Protagoras
I was drowning again. I thrashed for the surface, but the water was thick and my arms barely moved. I screamed. The sea rushed in, filling me up until I no longer felt it because I had
become
it.
I was breathing water. It flowed through me, calming my panic. Now when I looked up I could see the sun, a white orb shimmering through the waves. Even underwater, it burned my eyes. I had to reach it. I started to float upwards, but however fast I rose, the sun never came any closer.
Now I was on land. Black clouds plated the sky, scudding over the plain, and a forked mountain loomed in the distance. The goddess approached me across a flower-strewn meadow, barefoot. The wind blew her dress taut against her marble skin; the ivy in her hair rustled. Her face was solemn, beautiful but hard as stone. When I woke up, drenched in sweat, I knew she’d just told me something vital.
I wracked my brains, but I couldn’t remember what.
* * *
Eurytus was eager to get rid of us. After a quick breakfast, we set off for Taras. My first impression of Italy, beyond the beach and the forest, surprised me. I’d expected a primal wilderness: instead, neat lines of olive and citrus trees divided the holdings, with thick wheat growing green in between. The road was good, the houses well-kept – we could have been near Thebes. Except that a high plateau walled off the horizon, laying a sharp line across the limit of civilisation. And, when we reached Taras – across a causeway through a salt marsh – the walls were thick, the mortar still white. You couldn’t forget that this colony still clung to the fringes of a wild, unknown country.
The city stood on a neck of land between the sea and an inland lagoon, natural defences that also made a superb harbour (if only our ship had reached it). Eurytus led us through busy streets, with handsome temples and houses squeezed close together. He, too, was less wild than I’d first assumed: plenty of respectable-looking men greeted him in the streets and paused to talk business, more and more often as we entered the agora.
He steered us across the plaza to a fountain of Poseidon standing in a chariot drawn by four dolphins. Opposite him, almost as high, a man in a blue cloak stood on the steps of the Assembly house, deep in debate with a score of men around him. Some were dressed like soldiers, some like merchants and some like lawyers – but all of them looked important.
Eurytus pushed through the crowd to the man at the top and managed to get his attention. He whispered in his ear, pointing out me and Euphemus. A moment later, the man excused himself and came down. The others pretended to continue their conversation, though I saw every pair of eyes latch onto us.
‘These are the castaways,’ was the apologetic introduction Eurytus gave us. ‘This is Archytas.’
He was tall and civilised, with strong arms and the clipped stride you get from marching in formation with a hoplite shield banging against your knees. I found out later he was the same age as me, though he looked older. His hair was streaked a handsome grey, and the shrewd eyes that examined me seemed to have seen and understood more than I ever would.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me your country, your nation and your city, and all the places you have wandered.’
Quoting Homer doesn’t impress me, though I’m sure it’s exactly the sort of thing Euphemus loves. Before he could reply in kind, I said, ‘We came from Athens. Our ship was wrecked.’
‘And what brought you to Italy?’
A simple enough question. But behind him, I could see twenty heads leaning forward to hear my answer.
‘I came to look for a friend.’
‘Agathon,’ Eurytus said. He and Archytas shared a look.
‘You know him?’
‘A mutual acquaintance introduced us,’ said Archytas.