Chapter Seven

Athens, 405 B.C.E.:

Had I not visited Athens some years after leaving Nestor's influence, I might never have traveled to Macedon… I might never have met the golden-haired Alexander.

Athens, once the crown jewel of all the Mycenaean city-states… had fallen on hard times. She'd engaged in wars which were less than profitable and squandered her resources; her greatest statesman Pericles, had recently died of the plague; and a committee of oligarchs had been running the affairs of state. Not far away, militant Sparta sharpened her weapons and made ready for the final assault, which would make them the masters of this once-proud city.

I thought that perhaps they could use my expertise. But first, I wanted to see the city… and the Acropolis, built during Pericles' recent reign.

I spent the day traversing the streets and climbed the hill to walk amongst the pillars of the temple and to gaze outward at the ocean. My thoughts inevitably turned to Niebos. I'd considered visiting the island again after my sojourn with Nestor… now knowing what I was, but so many years had passed in the interim that I realized that all I knew there would be dead now. I would just be one more pilgrim on the road, seeking an answer to a question. I stared up at the great statue of Athena… goddess of wisdom… and wondered if I would ever know the answers to my questions, or find my Lady Danaë who was, I was now certain, one like me… an immortal.

But the statue was silent… as most statues inevitably were. While I still believed in the power of the gods… I no longer looked for them in the creations of men. Despondent, I left the temple and sauntered down the hill into the city once more.

In the agora… or marketplace, I listened to the vendors selling their wares and to the philosophers with their small groups of students… learned men spouting platitudes for the most part. I was at the edge of one such group when a young man saw my smirk.

"He really is full of himself, isn't he?" he said with a conspiratorial wink.

"I've heard much the same for years," I replied.

His name was Lysander, and he was a comely youth. We spoke for some time as we wandered about the agora. Towards evening, he mentioned he was going to a symposium at the home of Aspasia, a courtesan of great beauty who had been the companion of Pericles before his death. Interested, I agreed to attend with him.

Now a symposium then is not what it is today. It was a party for discussion, drinking, and sex. Attended mainly by men, it was both a serious affair… and an orgy combined in one. What Lysander was asking for in his invitation was a companion for the evening. As I was intrigued by both his dark eyes and his dark curly hair, as well as his slender body, I agreed to go. We seemed to have much in common in our outlook on life and the state of affairs of the day. I found it pleasant to be "just a man" and not an immortal for a time and looked forward to the evening.

That evening did not go as planned. And it changed my life.

At twilight we entered the spacious columned house of Aspasia where I was introduced to the other guests. Some were playwrights who planned on readings from their works in progress, while others were philosophers… or would be philosophers… who wanted to discuss their latest theories. A few styled themselves scientists and wanted to discuss the workings of the natural world and how it could be explained without the power of the gods. Around us were arrayed a number of hetaerae, ladies of the evening, and serving boys. Accomplished musicians and other entertainers moved about the low tables where we reclined. All were there for the instant pleasure and instant gratification of any of us.

An exceptionally good wine flowed freely… as did the conversation. The evening had wound on and both discussion and merriment were in full swing. It was then that I felt the presence of another immortal. I groaned inwardly and glanced up at the red-haired beauty who had just entered the room. Aspasia… courtesan… our hostess.

She surveyed the room with a thin smile… her blue eyes coming to rest on me. She knew me for what I was. I noted the calm that was about her. She seemed to be amused at the goings-on at the party. Something in the way she moved, gesturing for me to follow her, reminded me of Danaë. I was even more intrigued by her… than by the invitational caress of Lysander at my side.

Mumbling my excuses, I rose and followed her from the room. Behind me I heard taunts and jeers directed at me and at Lysander. But I had no more thought of him. He was merely the diversion of the evening. This immortal woman might well have knowledge I needed.

She slipped out into the walled garden and beneath the olive trees. I followed like a man under a spell. Even when she turned, drawing a shortsword to lay at my neck… I made no move.

"Who are you?" she finally asked. I could here the highborn tone of her voice. Courtesan she might be… but she had known royalty in her life. She was an independent woman of means with more rights and freedoms than those normally given women at that time.

"I am a soldier," I replied. "I came to Athens to add my sword to her armies and to hope stem the tide of Sparta's attacks."

She laughed and I heard in that laugh great age and wisdom. She laughed much as Danaë had laughed and my heart swelled in my breast at the sound of it. I kneeled before her.

"Command me Lady… for I am yours."

Shaking her head, she withdrew her sword and continued to laugh as she hid it once more beneath her mantle amongst the folds of her chiton. "What makes you think I have any need for a servant or companion such as yourself. We don't do well in groups… or haven't you learned that yet?"

My thoughts turned to my time with Nestor, and that I had come to that conclusion only after being with him for decades. I swallowed nervously and replied. "I have learned that this is true of some of us… but I once knew a great Lady such as yourself… and I was always safe with her."

She arched her brows in amusement. In the slight evening breeze, by the light of moon and torches, I could see the tendrils of her red hair feather about her face and long slender neck. I could see the white of her bare arms… and the slight heave of her bosom as she breathed. "You must have been very young," she finally said.

"A boy," I replied.

"But now you are a man… and an immortal. It's not usually safe to be on intimate terms with another immortal. It opens us up to betrayal and death."

She said this last with a clipped tone and a brittle edge that told me she had loved and lost someone who had betrayed her.

I rose to my feet and bowed. "I see much in you that reminds me of my Lady. Perhaps you've met her? Danaë… once the oracle of Niebos."

I shall never forget the look she gave me… one filled with sudden understanding and at the same time startled puzzlement. Finally she shook her head. "I have never met any with that name… though I heard of the oracle centuries ago."

I drug out my precious cameo. "Here is her likeness. Perhaps she used another name." But Aspasia declined to glance at it. She moved further away in the dim moonlight and rubbed her pale bare arms in the chill night air as she stared at the face of the moon. Whatever it was she knew, or thought she knew, she held her tongue and took that knowledge to her grave centuries later. But I have always believed that my Lady knew her… if not as the oracle… then as something else. Perhaps it was what decided Aspasia's next course of action.

"Tell me, soldier, will you always be defined as a soldier?"

"I am what I was in my first life," I replied. "Always there is a need for a man of my skills."

"And your presence in my home tonight? Why did you come?"

I shrugged and told of my interest in the young Lysander.

She laughed. "You came not to discuss art or literature or philosophy… but to drown yourself in wine and sex."

"Essentially… yes. What else is there that makes our long lives bearable?"

"Oh my young friend… you have so much to learn. Tell me… had I not reminded you of this Lady of our kind whom you seek… when I laid my sword on your neck… what would you have done? How would you have escaped?"

I folded my arms across my chest and regarded her thoughtfully. "You were off-balance… and your arm relaxed. You'd have had to draw it back to make the blow… and in that moment…" I grinned and shrugged.

"So… essentially you knew you were in no danger?"

I nodded.

She whipped her sword out once more, laying it against my neck as she'd done before. "Show me."

"Strike then," I replied.

She gazed at me thoughtfully… and then drew back to make the blow. In that moment I ducked, turned, grasped her arm from behind and twisted her sword up to her own neck. I held it there as she held her breath in my arms. "Well?" she finally said. "What next? Will you take my head in my own home?"

Around us in the dark, the scent of jasmine was heavy on the air. Her skin was as soft as that of a child's and I knew it had been long since she'd toiled at labor. She was the first immortal woman I'd ever known, save for Danaë and I admit the thought of having her almost overwhelmed me. I lowered the blade and bent to take in her scent… of fear and spices. I dropped her sword at our feet and kicked it out of reach as I lifted one of my rough hands to stroke her cheek and twist one of the red curls about my finger. My other hand slipped beneath her bodice and squeezed one breast gently. She moaned. For a moment I knew I could have simply taken her as I'd taken so many others in my life. I was bigger and stronger… but there would have been no joy in it. I released her with a slight shove and leaned over to pick up her sword, which I held out to her.

She took it huffily, as if to deny what might have been. "You are a barbarian," she snapped, "who knows nothing but the sword and having your own way."

"Then teach me another way to live," I challenged her.

She met my gaze and then turned again to stare off into the night… again it seemed as if she was recalling some other conversation. "Very well," she said with resignation. "But I will not have you lording it about my home or acting as you have this evening."

I smiled at her. "Command me Lady. You will find I am a good soldier."

She turned away. "I must think on this. In a week's time… the symposium will return to my home. Come… and I will have an answer for you."

She nodded my dismissal. I bowed and left her in her garden and returned to the party. By this time… the lights and smells and sounds of the orgy… for orgy it now was… sickened me. Between the cavorting bodies and the smell of vomit… I had had enough of such things. I heard laughter and jeers as I gathered my mantle and left.

I had some money on me, left from my last job as soldier of Corinth, but not enough to sustain me for very long without working. I would need to find a position and a place to stay. Hearing footsteps behind me, I glanced back at Lysander's approach. He was hastily adjusting his mantle. "My friend," he called out. "You leave so early. The symposium was not to your taste?"

Any other night it would have been. Sitting around drinking copious amounts of wine, dining on the finest cuisine, hetaerae and boys to provide my every diversion… but being the only sober one at a party was uncomfortable. The party had continued during my absence with Aspasia… and I'd found on my return to it… that her words still hung in my ears… to be something else… to learn another way. I shrugged. "I find I'm weary from my journey and still need to make arrangements for the night."

Lysander laughed. "We usually stay all night at the host's house and then straggle to our homes at midday. We sleep a bit and then rise to begin again."

I laughed. "The life of the wealthy and dissolute."

He became serious then as he shook his head. "No. We discuss the future of Athens and the meanings of Homer. We dissect the workings of the universe and the nature of life. We are men of the highest class."

I sighed… seeing what Aspasia must surely see… foolish mortals who talk big and waste their lives, accomplishing nothing. I wondered why she hosted such things.

"I have a friend you should meet," Lysander said slinging an arm over my shoulder. "He's an artist… he works in bronze. He's been looking for the subject of a new statue."

I laughed. As an immortal, I did not want statues of me standing around to be gazed at in the future. "I'm only a warrior. I'm not the stuff of bronze."

"But you are," he assured me, and led me along the city streets. It was nearly dawn by the time we reached the tradesmen's quarter of the city. All about me I could see the rubble of stone and smell the smelting ovens where bronze was melted and forged. The houses were small, block-shaped affairs of whitewashed stone. Lysander knocked on one door, which was answered by a balding man in his forties, who walked with a twisted gait. I soon noticed that one leg was slightly shorter than the other. He grinned when he saw Lysander, welcoming him into his home. Then he saw me. His eyes widened and I felt that I was a slave once more as I had been in my youth, being appraised by a buyer.

"Wherever did you find him?" Amphitrous (for that was his name) said huskily. I stepped back and brushed his hand from my chest. I glared at him. It excited him further. "He's perfect!" the sculptor said with maniacal glee. "Come in. Come in."

I pulled back. "This is a mistake," I insisted.

Amphitrous grinned. "I will make you immortal," he said finally.

For some reason, his tone and his words intrigued me… already immortal… and yet I was still searching for meaning in a life that up to that point had been kill them before they kill me. I entered his home and sat on the offered bench while he puttered about and offered a thin wine and some cheese and dates while he spoke of what he was looking for.

Sculpture had been evolving over the past century. Whereas at first, the sculptors had tried to create works that met the golden mean of perfection in the Egyptian way, creating kouros that approached perfection, but were devoid of life, now they sought to capture life. At the time his words meant little to me, unlettered and unschooled as I was. My life had been a soldier's life. I had lived for the glory of the battle and had moved from one to the next, letting my immortality shield me.

Amphitrous wanted to create statues that would appear to live and breathe. "They will stand for centuries telling those who remain long after we've died… that we were here… that we were men… that we appreciated perfection."

I rose and wandered about his shop, staring at the smaller figures he'd made… household gods and goddesses that were somehow more alive than many of the statues I'd seen in the temples. He indeed had a gift for breathing life into his creations. All the more reason, I thought, to say no. But I didn't. Perhaps it was my vanity, perhaps it was my curiosity… at any rate… I agreed.

"Excellent!" he beamed then ordered me to disrobe that he might take measurements.

I remained at Amphitrous' home for several weeks. During the day, he would take his measurements and draw his plans… mumbling as he worked. Then he formed a small figure in clay that he intently worked on. At last he seemed ready for the creation of the larger bronze figure. He was in a world of his own by that time… but I found it interesting to watch.

At nights, I often accompanied Lysander to the symposia of his friends. It moved from friend to friend's house, each taking a turn hosting the party. Pericles had been a member of this particular group at one time, thus once a week the party still met at the home of Aspasia in his honor.

The second time at her home, we arrived early enough for the ceremonial toast to Pericles' memory. The discussion that night began as one of the need and status of the war with Sparta. Athens was losing… and these men tried to figure out why? I listened and drank lightly as I'd been doing for the last week… spending time in listening to them… and trying to discover some greater purpose in this merriment.

By the time darkness had fallen, and the torches were lit, the party was in full swing and denigrating as it always did, into wine-drenched stupor. Aspasia entered the room then. I'd sensed her on the edge of the party most of the evening, figuring that she was watching me. Like a red-gold vision she appeared against the darkness of the doorway and lifted one hand, gesturing me to follow. I rose immediately when she beckoned, hearing once more laughter and jeers as I left the room.

Once more in the garden, we sat on a stone bench near a pool of water that reflected the stars.

"You are not so drunk this night," she said lightly.

"I wanted my wits about me in your house."

"Can you read?"

I shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. I know my letters and can read communications on the battlefield."

"But they talk of Homer," she said inclining her head toward the partygoers. We could hear them and the music out here in the darkness. "Can you read Homer?"

I laughed. "Homer was meant to be recited and listened to!"

"Perhaps… but can you read it?" She reached beneath the bench and pulled out a scroll, which she then handed to me. "To truly understand what these men speak of… you must be able to read Homer, Thucydides, Herodotus, the playwrights, and the philosophers yet to come. We who live many lifetimes, cannot just exist. We must learn to improve ourselves… that we might help the mortals around us. Each life we live should make a difference."

I accepted the scroll thoughtfully. I'd never considered doing anything other than what I had always done. I didn't know if I could. "Become more than what we are?" I murmured quietly.

"Yes. The true test of immortality… is who you become… not who you were. We need not always be as we were born to be. We can grow and learn. We have the opportunity to live many lives, and learn from the mistakes of previous ones."

I wondered if she knew of my time with Nestor. I know I bowed my head , feeling the warmth in my cheeks as I thought of the things I'd done as his student. Unrolling the scroll, I tried to make out the words in the darkness… but failed.

"Take it with you," Aspasia said. "It's a gift. When you can read it… we will discuss what it says."

I have that scroll still… one of my cherished possessions. It took me months to read. But in the end I was a better reader. The next one took half as long. And the next one, half again.

In that time, I learned to really listen to the discussions of the symposia as well as contribute… I spent time each week with Aspasia… putting what I'd learned to the test in discussions with her. My statue progressed until the day Amphitrous unveiled it for me. I was astonished. "Is that how you see me?" I asked him as I circled it. The statue's fierce gaze unsettled me.

"You are a warrior," he said. "Fierce and unbeatable in battle. Your gaze warns your enemies that you are coming."

He sent it to Delphi where it stood until the Romans carted it off to Italy. That statue went down with a ship off the shores of Calabria. I was thankful it was lost at the time, as I didn't care for it. He'd caught me though… he'd shown every sinew and muscle, the proud bearing of my stance, and most of all the fiery gaze of my anger. When it was recovered centuries later, it was still in remarkably good shape. I've stood before it in the museum in recent decades and wondered if I was ever that man.

We change, we immortals. We change or we die. Aspasia taught me that. And it was due to her teachings that I moved onto Macedon and my next life as a tutor to the young Alexander. Oh… I didn't change all at once. I was still a soldier… still am a soldier… but I like to think I'm more than that. I like to think that I can at times put away the trappings of a soldier's life… and respond to the arts. Perhaps that is the reason I have chosen my companions over the years from artists of every medium. I find talent, and I encourage it… support it. Musicians, sculptors, painters, writers, poets… I have loved them all.

As for Aspasia, while the men of the symposium thought us lovers, we were not… at least she never took me to her bed though I adored her… and she in her way was fond of me, I think. While we occasionally shared a kiss… a caress, she did not feel comfortable with an immortal in her bed… nor, I admit, did I feel comfortable opening myself to her so completely. We were friends… friends with benefits as a more modern parlance puts it… and remained so until her death. She gifted me with the truth of her first name… Xanthia. You Watchers knew her by the last name she ever used… Rebecca Horne.

May she find peace in whatever afterlife she came to… if we immortals are ever gifted with such. She was a true friend, and an inspiration to us all.