'Shops & Shoppers'

Note:— John Earle's short essays in 'Microcosmographie' mostly describe men & their trades.

—OOO

5. The Stoa of Attalos.

"Let's head for the Agora." Gabrielle steered Xena up the narrow lane when they left the Tavern, after their short sojourn for refreshments. Her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation as they navigated the crowds. "I wanna visit the Stoa and do some real shopping."

"Thank the Gods we've got some real money, anyway." Xena, on her part sighed resignedly. She knew once Gabrielle was inside the famous two-storied block of shops there was no way she was going to leave empty-handed. "And don't grab at everything, like ya usually do. Pick an' choose, like a Lady. And Gabrielle—manners!"

"Yeah, yeah—hurry up." The blonde obviously had her mind focussed on the important issue. "We need'ta get there before the crowds build up. We'll visit that leather-goods shop later in the afternoon. Come on."

The Stoa of Attalos took up one side of the Agora and at this time of day, late morning, was crowded with citizens, soldiers, merchants, Senators, and country-folk in town to sell their wares and produce. The noise was terrific, echoing off the surrounding marble buildings as if they were cliff-faces.

It was a relief to enter the cloister-like passage, with its row of columns facing the Agora, that ran along the front of the building. On the left side of this covered passage were numerous high doorways leading into the premises of a variety of shops of all types. As they strolled past the two women took stock of their surroundings and the other shoppers.

"I've heard people say this place is a sort of epitome of the Land, writ small." Gabriele gabbled happily as she pushed passers-by out of her way unmercifully. "Like a sorta lesser picture of Greece itself. It's like a map of the whole world. Y'can discern this in the perfect jostling and turning of everyone in the crowd, don't you think?"

"Yeah." Xena nodded, her greater height allowing her to see further over the heads of the throng around them. "It's just a heap of stones maybe, an' a lot of men an' women; but with a vast confusion of languages, just like Babel. D'you hear that—I said, d'you hear that, Gabrielle? It's like being in a swarm of bees; a strange sorta humming or buzz, made up of clattering feet, an' people talking. A kind of what ya might call a still roar, or maybe a loud whisper."

"Yeah, know what you mean." Gabrielle paused briefly to smile at her companion. "Kinda getting poetic, ain't you. Must be the lure of the shops; all this potential shopping affecting your mind! Like the call of the chase, but without the bloodshed—or at least most of the time."

"I think a lotta these people may be here on business, mind you." Xena glanced into the faces of several men and women as they carried on along the stone corridor. "A sort of Exchange of discourse; no kind of business whatsoever that isn't stirring and afoot here, judging by some of these groups. A sorta areopagus of the politically opinionated; come together in a most serious posture, judging from some of their expressions. Bet the Senators aren't half so busy in the Senate-House as these people chattering here."

They paused by one of the doors, where some stalls showed examples of fine cloth and silk laid out for inspection.

"It's like a fancy play or Festival." Gabrielle herself now waxed poetic, obviously inspired by the milling throng. "Everyone tail to tail, or back to back; and for play-masks you simply look at the countless faces. I think some of these folk are here to offer their services, too. I mean for work. Look at that young fella talking to the big matron over there. Maybe she's in the market for a lecturer or teacher for her children, an' she's cheapening the rates and pay of the possible applicants."

"You could be right." Xena nodded in agreement, as she idly let a piece of silk slither through her fingers. "This place is probably a hothouse of famous lies, like brand new coins, first-stamped in the Mint here. Everybody's got their own tales and inventions to boast of to someone; people's imaginations are emptied here, an' not a few pockets too, I bet. Mind ya keep a tight grip on your money-pouch, girl,—this place is a pick-pocket's Elysium Field. Thieves can rob more safely, here in the crowd, than in a wilderness; as Autolycus would be the first to admit. They'll grab your money, then almost anyone in this seething mass would act as a bush to cover their escape."

Gabrielle laughed lightly at Xena's words; though her right hand stole to the shoulder-pouch hanging at her side just the same. Then she leaned across and took hold of Xena's wrist, prising the warrior's fingers apart with a gentle imperiousness.

"Put that piece'a silk down." Gabrielle glanced disapprovingly at the bit of material she had made Xena give up. "Light blue, with small orange spots. Great Aphrodite, so it's true—you really have no taste whatsoever. Poor girl."

"Awwh, gim'me a break." Xena sniffed in disdain. "I ain't that bad. Look'it what I'm wearing right now."

"Ah hum, and that is—what?" Gabrielle was uncompromising in her assessment of the warrior's accoutrements, as she ostentatiously stepped back to view her victim. "Let's see. Black boots—black skirt, a trifle short for this season, don't you think—black top and breast-plate—and black hair. Oh, I get it! Does what it says on the scroll-cover, but still a teensy unimaginative maybe?"

Xena, knowing full well she was in a no-win situation, stuck her chin in the air and turned her back on her critic to enter the dim recesses of the shop. But this gave no reprieve for Gabrielle simply followed her, with a little smirk of triumph flickering at the edges of her lips.

"There's a lot of people about, ain't there. Out in the Agora, an' in here." Gabrielle resumed the main topic of interest without a stumble, as she joined her better half at one of the long counters covered in colourful wares. "A wonder everyone has the time. It's the other expense of the day, I suppose. After visiting a play at the theatre; various Taverns; and a quick stopover at the local bawdy-house. Men still have a few—oaths—leftover to swear here. A kinda brothel for the ear; satisfying their lust an' itch for chatting and arguing mindlessly, I suppose."

"Gabrielle!" Xena was shocked at this forthright appraisal of the passing throng. "You're gettin' snarky in your old age, ain't ya?"

"Huh!" The blonde Amazon laughed, completely at ease. "Come on, let's go back out into the corridor an' sit on one of the benches against the wall. I like looking at the crowds in the Agora in comfort."

They found an empty bench and Gabrielle dumped her shoulder-bag at her feet with a contented sigh, then sat beside the black-clad warrior. No-one else seemed minded to join them; perhaps because of the threatening scowl Xena aimed mercilessly at anyone silly enough to harbour the intention. They could see between the groups of passing shoppers to the crowds outside in the sunshine of the wide Agora; and both women crossed their feet, with legs comfortably extended, ignoring the somewhat muted words of disapproval from inconvenienced passers-by.

"D'ya realise a lot of the shoppers here seem'ta be men?" Xena asked the question contentedly; without feeling much need of an answer.

"Yeah, the point had not escaped my highly-trained Amazon faculties." Gabrielle had noticed, and was working on a theory. "I'm surprised a mere gadabout warrior-for-hire observed it."

"I'll get'cha for that, little girl." Xena's voice was quiet, but held oceans of intent. "Sometime—somewhere—in the dark of the night—when ya least expect it—I'll get'ya good!"

"The principal inhabitants an' possessors of this place, at the moment, seem t'be shabby stale warlords and captains out of service." Gabrielle continued smoothly on, ignoring this threat with Queenly disdain. "Men with long rapiers and swords, and long breeches, too. Whatever their trade they all turn merchants here, trafficking for the news of the day. I imagine some probably come here as a preface to their dinners, taking a stroll to work up an appetite. But the thriftier men make it their tavern; eating at the low-price food-stalls, and probably boarding cheaply by sleeping on the benches when everyone's gone home at night."

"Well, at least the sleepers won't be haunted by hobgoblins." Xena laughed softly at a thought suggested by Gabrielle's remark. "A ghost couldn't walk more than these crowds do here every day and evening! Come on, d'ya wanna go out into the Agora an' grab some rays?"

"Grab some rays! What a common slang. You make a career outta embarrassing me, don't 'cha?" Gabrielle sniffed with ascetic delicacy, but rose to her feet all the same. "You know full well girls like me, with gorgeous blonde hair; frighteningly beautiful green eyes; and a pure snow-like delicate white skin, have to be very careful of the sun. I mean, I might get a freckle. Or worse still a deep bronze tan like a farmer's daughter. Where'd your love be then, if I looked like a farmer's daughter?"

Xena stopped in her tracks to regard the woman at her side with cool detachment, then took the courage of madness and said what she was thinking.

"Would that be a step up, or a step down, then? Aowwch! That hurt."

-O-

Note:— The above is based on John Earle's essay 'Paul's Walk', which describes the 17th century social crowds who were in the daily habit of unconcernedly milling about the aisles of the medieval St Paul's Cathedral, London; which was later a victim of the Great Fire of London in 1666. I changed this to the Agora & Stoa, as being a more realistic Athenian setting.

Areopagus. This was the early Court of Law & Council of Elders of Athens.

-O-

6. An Idle Gallant.

The panoramic setting of the Agora wasn't just an open square but also more or less of a market-place; with a variety of stalls catering to all and every possible wish of the Athenian appetite. And amongst this vista of merchant enterprise the crowds moved with fervour and purpose. An Athenian shopper was a determined shopper, after Gabrielle's own heart. She was in a rapture of delight, holding Xena's wrist with almost painful strength and glee as they mingled.

"Gods, look at that character!" Gabrielle nodded in the direction of a young dandy in a bright toga and clearly expensive leather boots. "If clothes had never been invented his life would have no purpose."

"Cutting—sharp—and highly personal. Yep, you're in fine fettle today, lady." Xena wondered as she spoke what her punishment would ultimately be, but it had to be said.

"I'm just a mirror, reflecting what I see." Gabrielle curled her lip unashamedly. "His first care is for his clothes, anyone can see that—even you, Xena. The second's for his body. Just look at that long curly hair. He must have spent all morning in the barbers-shop. His whole soul and thought is aimed at that only. I bet he swans about Athens more determinedly than the politicians and soldiers. His business is strolling in the street, and the theatre is his Court; where he thinks a proper man is best shown to advantage."

"Hmm, what was in that wine you drank back at the tavern, I wonder." Xena scratched her lip, and let the Sage of Potidaea carry on.

"I bet he's qualified in gaming and, er, betting." She expanded on her new-found hobby of social critic, stumbling a little over her phrases in her excitement to make a point. "He thinks it makes his standing in society more complete, and more of a gentleman. Probably learns all the latest curses and oaths too, for the purpose of astounding his friends. Humph! His other talk'll be about ladies and such pretty things, or some latest jest at a play—I know his sort."

"Did you ever have a broken romance when you were a young girl, Gabri—"

"Notice how his toothpick bears a great part in his discourse, as does his body." The blonde Harpy ignored this minor interruption, continuing with added vigour. "The upper parts of which are as starched as his linen, and probably use the same laundress—"

"Hey, come on Gabrielle." Xena was wondering how much more the usually kind and gentle Amazon was going to shock her today. "Be nice."

"D'you see how he smiles most because of his boots, Xena?" Gabrielle was unremitting. She had obviously decided that if she was going to criticise this posturing fool she was going to give of her best. "He takes great delight in his walk, just to hear his spurs jingle. Ha!"

Xena looked about the crowded square, but they were trapped by the throng and there did not seem any easy route of escape. She began to pass over in her mind the activities of the day that she and Gabrielle had been involved in; searching for some trigger that had started this descent into capriciousness and sarcasm by her usually tranquil companion. She glanced quickly at the deep blue sky. Maybe Gabrielle had indeed, for once, had too much sun.

"His life passes somewhat slidingly, but he seems very careful of the time." Like a shark, Gabrielle continued to feed on every small tid-bit. "Look, Xena, did you see him pull one of those new-fangled pocket sundials outta his pouch? Bet he spends most of his day numbering the hours, ha!"

"What we need, darling, is a change of scenery." Xena acted with determined ruthlessness, firmly grasping the shoulder of the vituperative censor of Society and propelling her in the direction of the Agora's exit. "A nice quiet lie-down in a cool dark room, with birds singing in the beech trees in the garden below the balcony window. That'll work wonders."

"That guy's the sort who's never serious except with his tailor, that's obvious." Gabrielle allowed herself to be thrust forward, but all the same twisted her body to look back over her shoulder at her victim. "Probably holds conspiracies with him about the next coming device or fashion style. Bet he has more jests at his fingertips than some wandering priest has sermons. Three for every congregation or company he keeps. Especially against Scholars, who he finds much ridiculous—"

Xena glanced over her shoulder too, but the object of the Amazon Queen's curious diatribe was still plainly in view. In the meantime, though slurring her words and showing signs of being winded, the blonde warrior carried bravely on.

"—whom he knows by no other definition than that silly fellow in black." She took a deep breath; kept her eye on the fast disappearing form of the dandy now thankfully almost lost in the crowd; glanced at Xena with an unhinged giggle, and found something new to say about her pet hate. "Look'it him—he's just a kind of walking mercer's shop, a tailor's delight. He'll have one fashion today, an' another tomorrow. A sorta ornament to the rooms he enters, like the fair bed or the arras and wall-hangings. He's probably rated by the city tax-collectors in the same way as any house; but by his fifty or hundred drachma toga's."

"We're nearly home, Gabrielle." Xena sighed in relief as she saw the door of their comfortable Inn in the distance, along the quiet side-street they were now walking down.

But, though now shorn of visible sight of her nemesis-like prey, the blonde tiger at Xena's side had one last savagery to let loose.

"His main ambition'll be to join the oligarchy of gentlemen who run the city-state. And then get an old lady of substance, which if he's happy with he'll fill the stage and a fine coach all the longer. Otherwise he and his clothes'll grow stale together. And he'll probably be buried in the common part of the cemetery, just before he dies in the jail or somewhere in the country where he's fled to escape his debtors. I've got a headache, Xena. Xena, do you have a headache, I do. Oh look, we're home at last—ain't that nice. Xena, what should I do? I respect your advice, you know that don'tcha warrior-woman. So, Xena, what should I do—throw up, or fall down?"

The brave Amazon forestalled Xena's reply by suddenly slumping in her friend's arms—the newest member of Morpheus's realm.

-O-

"I'm glad to see you back, Madame Xena." The tall slim figure of their hostess appeared in the Inn's entrance hall as the warrior returned downstairs from putting an unconscious Amazon to bed. "Was your friend sleepy? Anyway I wanted to give you some news that might be of some import to you. Early this morning, just after you and Gabrielle had left to enjoy yourselves, a note came from the Clerk of the Market. He has authority over the Inns and Taverns and wine-business, you know. Well, it was to say that several barrels of Etrurian wine had been found to be contaminated by some sort of fungus. Anyone who drinks it will probably become a little dis-oriented and, the note explained, maybe sarcastic and difficult to handle for a while—till the, er, effects wear off. But there's no long term harm involved—just a Tartarus-like headache for a day or so afterwards. Can I get you anything, Madame Xena?"

"No, thank you." Xena heaved a sigh full of misery and turned to retrace her steps to the room where her patient lay. "I'm just going upstairs. I may be some time!"

-O-

Note:— The above, including all Gabrielle's savage criticisms, is substantially taken almost word for word from John Earle's essay 'A Gallant', from the 'Microcosmographie'.

The last section is my addition, to give some reason for Gabrielle's uncharacteristic vituperation of all those she so caustically observed.

—OOO