Secret of the Oracle

by Saviour Pirotta

  ‘I do apologise for my late arrival,’ the guest said to Glykon as slaves rushed to remove his sandals and chlamys. ‘I was held up over an important matter at the temple.’

  ‘There is no need to apologise,’ Glykon assured him. ‘Let me introduce you to some of my guests. This is Ariston, a famous poet from Athens. This is Gorgias from New Sybaris who has come to petition the oracle with his son Milo. Gentlemen, this is my friend Abantes, who became one of the priests at the sanctuary a few months ago.’

  ‘Greetings,’ said Master Ariston while the slaves piled cushions on an empty couch for Abantes to sit on. ‘You have come just in time to share some delicious food.’

  Abantes waited for a slave to put a small table in front of his couch and plump up the cushions before sitting down. ‘So you are a poet,’ he said.

  ‘And a performer too,’ answered Master Ariston. ‘Although I am not entertaining tonight.’

  Abantes watched a slave pour wine into his kylix. ‘And what trade are you in?’ he asked Gorgias.

  ‘I am a merchant,’ said Gorgias. ‘As are my twin sons. We deal in carpets and textiles.’

  Abantes held out a small dish of anchovies that a slave had placed before him. Gorgias scooped up some of the food with a piece of bread. ‘You’ll have to excuse my son,’ he said. ‘He is not being rude. He does not eat fish or meat. He is an admirer of Pythagoras.’

  Abantes passed the dish to Master Ariston. ‘I have never met a man who refuses to eat flesh before, although I hear there is a growing number of them. Most of the people in the world can’t afford to eat meat. It’s a shame we turn it down when the gods themselves provide it for us. Still, I am pleased to meet you, young man.’

  ‘And what do you do for a living when you are not officiating at the sanctuary, sir?’ asked Master Ariston.

  ‘I used to be a soldier,’ said Abantes. ‘But I retired when I was wounded in the leg. My family come from Aegina. My father was a goldsmith there before he passed away.’

  ‘You must like Delphi very much to make it your home,’ said Master Ariston, reaching for some food.

  ‘I think it is the best place in the world,’ replied Abantes. ‘I visited here with a general who consulted the oracle fourteen years ago. I fell in love with it then, and have always wanted to come back for good.’

  Master Ariston gulped down his food. ‘Did you bring your family with you?’

  ‘Sadly, I’m a widower,’ said Abantes, chewing on his lower lip. ‘I am all alone in the world.’

  ‘But Aegina too is a special place,’ cried Gorgias. ‘The island of turtles. I have been there before on personal business. I take it you have worshipped at the famous temple of Aphaia there, sir?’

  Master Ariston, who was already on his third cup of wine, interrupted the conversation again. ‘As a lover of golden jewellery, sir, I could not help but notice the fibula on your chlamys, shaped like Artemis’s bow. Is it your father’s work?’

  ‘No,’ replied Abantes, scowling. ‘I bought this in Delphi a few days ago. I did have a beautiful one my father made me when I joined the navy, a memento of him and Aegina, but sadly I lost it.’

  He changed the subject of the conversation and the men’s talk turned to sport and war. More food was brought in till no one could eat another mouthful. The second part of the symposium was announced. Perhaps because he’d been so quiet all evening, Milo was chosen to be ‘king of the festivities’ and to decide how much water should go in the wine.

  Gorgias beamed with pride as Milo kicked off the proceedings by proposing a toast to Zeus. ‘Isn’t he a good public speaker?’ he said to Abantes.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ the priest replied. ‘You must introduce me to your son properly.’

  The guests put on garlands and settled down to an evening of music, storytelling and games. Thrax and I had watched these so many times we had stopped finding them exciting a long time ago.

  ‘Let’s sneak into the kitchen and see if we can get some food,’ I whispered as Gorgias started telling a rude story from Sybaris. ‘Looking at people eating always makes me hungry. There may be some sardines or anchovies left.’

  The two of us slipped unnoticed out of the andron. There was no fish left in the kitchen but the cook gave us cake and fruit. Thrax was very quiet while we ate and I knew he was thinking very hard.

  He’d found something at the symposium very puzzling.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Oracle’s Advice

  ‘Help me get dressed, Thrax,’ barked Master Ariston. ‘My best chiton and boots, please. I can’t show up at the most famous oracle in the world wearing rags.’

  ‘There must be hundreds of people trying to see the Pythia today,’ I said. ‘Do you think Glykon will manage to get you in?’

  Master Ariston grinned slyly. ‘I promised him that my father would send a generous gift from Athens. Besides, Athens and Delphi have a special agreement. Important Athenians can jump to the front of the queue, for a price. That’s why the Athenian treasure house in the sanctuary is bursting with gold. I hope my new friend Gorgias will get in too. That poor man is going mad with worry about his lost ring.’

  Consulting the oracle is a tiring process that can take all day. There’s a lot of waiting about, consulting with priests and temple officials, praying and offering sacrifice. Thrax and I were told to wait outside the sanctuary and the sun was setting by the time Master Ariston came out. He was beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘What did the oracle foretell?’ I asked as we hurried back to the inn through the streets of Delphi.

  ‘The priestess does not speak in a tongue you and I would understand,’ said Master Ariston. ‘She speaks the language of the gods, which is a horrible sound like nothing I have ever heard in my life. She sits on a tripod in the dark, surrounded by thick smoke made by burning branches of laurel and oleander. Very soon you can hardly see anything for that choking smoke. It gets in your eyes and makes your throat as dry as desert sand.

  ‘When you call out your question, though how anyone can be expected to speak in that choking smoke I don’t know, the Pythia listens. Then she closes her eyes and starts rocking to and fro on her seat as the god whispers in her ear. I must admit the whole process made my skin crawl. I don’t frighten easily as you know, boys, but this was quite scary.

  ‘The Pythia’s rocking gets more frantic. She flails wildly with her hands. She moans and raves until she is foaming at the mouth like a poisoned horse. I suppose having direct contact with the power of the gods does that to you. Then she leaps to her feet and I swear by the mighty Apollo, when she opens her eyes again, the pupils have turned purple.’

  ‘You must have imagined that last bit, master,’ said Thrax. ‘No one’s pupils can change colour.’

  ‘I tell you I saw it myself,’ insisted Master Ariston. ‘Her eyes were as purple as Phoenician cloth. All at once her raving stopped and she slumped forward so that temple assistants had to rush to stop her from crashing to the floor. It was very intense and dramatic.’

  ‘But did she answer your question?’ I asked. We had by now reached the inn and Master Ariston slumped into a moth-eaten couch. Thrax poured him some water and wine.

  ‘Oh yes! Abantes the priest had been standing close to the Pythia’s stool while she raved. He has the gift of understanding what the priestess’s ranting means and he wrote the god’s message down for me.’

  ‘And what advice did the oracle give you?’ I asked.

  Master Ariston held out a tablet and I read the message written neatly in the wax:

  Turning a corner in life, the poet shall come across a sea of merriment.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ he cried. ‘It’s just what I wanted to hear.’ He traced his fingers along the writing. ‘Turning a corner in life is a poetic way of saying changing direction. And that’s what I am doing, isn’t it? Switching from the calling of a travelling poet to the higher one of playwright. And the sea of merriment must mean an audience cheering for my writing
. The oracle foresees a glorious future in comedy for me.’

  He held up the tablet and kissed it with pure joy in his eyes.

  ‘Boys, I’ve decided we’re staying on in Delphi for a while. I am going to write my first proper play here. Oh, I know I dabbled with writing a few dramatic scenes in Corinth but this is going to be a major work. A side-splitting comedy as the oracle instructed. And first thing tomorrow morning, I am going to a barber’s to have my hair and beard styled to make me look like a proper playwright.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Tree House

  The day after the oracle had spoken, most of the pilgrims left the city. A river of people flowed down the mountain towards the port at Kirrha and the main road to Athens. The only strangers left in Delphi were rich men who had not managed to get an audience with the oracle and had decided to stay on till the next big day.

  Gorgias was one of these. We found him sitting morosely in the dining room. Milo was seated beside him, sipping thoughtfully from a cup.

  ‘Were you not chosen to consult the Pythia?’ asked Master Ariston kindly.

  Gorgias glowered at the food in front of him. ‘I can’t understand what happened. We threw dice to see who would get in and my number came up. I had even paid for my honey cake, the tribute you must leave on the altar. But right at the last moment the priests hustled someone else into the presence of the Pythia instead of me. A very important general from Sparta.’

  ‘How humiliating for you,’ said Master Ariston. ‘Being told to give up your place in the queue, and in front of so many important people. I take it you are going to stay on till the seventh of next month?’

  ‘I suggested to Father that he consult one of the priests at the temple,’ said Milo. ‘They are also seers.’

  Gorgias spat out his bread. ‘I didn’t come all the way from Sybaris to watch some local priest fiddle with dice or knucklebones,’ he spluttered. ‘I must have the advice of the great Pythia herself. I want a message straight from the mouth of the god.’

  Milo placed a hand on his father’s arm to calm him down. ‘We’ll wait if that’s what you want, Father.’ He turned to Master Ariston. ‘I hear you are staying on in Delphi too, to write a play.’

  Master Ariston grinned. ‘News travels fast in this town. Yes, I am staying on till I finish my first masterpiece. I’m writing a hilarious comedy based on the famous legend of how Apollo brought the first priests to Delphi disguised as a dolphin. You two must be my guests on opening night.’

  Speaking as a writer myself, I couldn’t see how Master Ariston could turn such a holy legend into a comedy. But it wasn’t my place to criticize. Merely to write down what my employer dictated.

  ‘Are you staying on with us at the inn?’ asked Gorgias. ‘We could play board games by the fire in the evening. I enjoy a game of tavli.’

  ‘Oh no,’ replied Master Ariston. ‘It’s far too noisy here to write, even when the town is half empty. I can’t have any distractions. The boys and I are going to be staying in a country house just outside Delphi. The owners are friends of my father, from Athens. I spoke to the man who looks after it. He agreed on their behalf to let me rent it.’

  ‘I should imagine they’ll be charging you a fortune for a house in such an idyllic spot,’ said Gorgias, pushing away his half-eaten food.

  ‘Ha! I’m not parting with an obol,’ laughed Master Ariston, whose great love for money was dwarfed only by his reluctance to spend it. ‘They have an orchard with fruit trees and beehives. They also keep rabbits and hens. Thrax is going to look after everything for them instead of payment.’

  I saw Thrax go red in the face at the news. Master Ariston had not even discussed the matter with him.

  ‘Oh?’ exclaimed Gorgias, noticing Thrax’s red face and winking slyly.

  ‘Thrax used to live on a farm before he came to me,’ explained Master Ariston, completely oblivious to his slave’s feelings. ‘He loves getting his hands dirty. We’re going to have a lovely time.’

  * * *

  We moved into the country house that very same day. It looked very much like an Athenian dwelling except it had no neighbours. In Athens, even rich men’s houses are squashed together on smelly, narrow streets. The noise is constant. Here the only sound was the wind in the trees, and the buzzing of bees in the orchard behind the house. There were three enormous hives, placed under the olive trees so that the bees could feast on the spring blossom.

  Thrax soon got the hang of looking after them and collecting the honey, which a farmer called Heliodorus came to pick up. I was kept busy writing down Master Ariston’s play for several days, with breaks only for meals and short walks in the countryside.

  The man in charge of the house had arranged for Heliodorus and his family to cook and deliver our meals as well as pick up the honey. For a fee so pitiful even Master Ariston could not refuse, they would keep us supplied with sausages, bean stews, lentil dishes, vegetables, fruit, nuts and wine.

  These were delivered by the farmer’s elder daughter, Zoe. She was a beautiful, plump girl, with fists bigger than Thrax’s, and she walked with her back held straight, like all mountain people. She seemed to take a shine to Thrax and her eyes sparkled every time he talked to her. I tried not to feel jealous every time she ignored me.

  ‘Master Ariston said you have a younger sister,’ I said one morning to get her attention. She had come to deliver fresh bread and a huge goatskin of wine, which she carried slung over her back. ‘How come we never see her?’

  ‘Selene is always busy in spring and summer,’ replied Zoe, smiling at Thrax as if he’d asked the question. ‘She makes honey cakes for pilgrims to sacrifice at the sanctuary, and when the oracle is not open she takes the goats up the mountain. The grass is lusher up there in the dry seasons. It helps the goats make thicker milk. She’s rarely at home.’

  Our quiet life outside Delphi rolled on. Master Ariston’s play progressed from scene to scene and my fingers grew blisters from holding the reed pen so long. I hardly saw Thrax, who was busy looking after the orchard and the bees. The spring flowers were now open, and the countryside was heady with their scent.

  One evening, I came back from a walk with Master Ariston to find Thrax covered from head to toe in wood chippings. His eyes were bright with excitement. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  I put my pens in a pot of water to clean. ‘A surprise?’

  ‘Come out to the orchard, but I have to cover your eyes.’

  Laughing, we stumbled out of the back gate. I could hear the bees in the hives and the hens clucking in the coop. We stopped and Thrax removed his hands from my face.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Oh,’ I gasped, lost for words.

  Thrax had built a tree house in the branches of an ancient olive tree. There were two platforms to serve as cots, with old himations spread over them for mattresses. A full goatskin and a small lamp hung above each bed, and there was a shelf next to my cot for my tablet and pens. A piece of old sailcloth was stretched among the higher branches to keep off the rain.

  ‘Thanks, Thrax,’ I said, moved by his generosity. ‘This is wonderful.’

  ‘Now we can sleep outdoors without the fear of vermin or snakes. Just like I did on the farm outside Thebes,’ he said, adding wood to a smouldering fire in a cracked hydria on the ground. ‘And this will keep the wolves away.’

  I went to bed very happy and content that night. The tree house was magical, like something out of an old legend. The spring nights were still cold but wrapped up in my himation, watching the fire, I felt a warm glow spread inside me. The wood Thrax had put in the cracked hydria was olive and its luxurious scent filled the air. Ariana snored softly the pen nearby. Master Ariston snored loudly indoors and the doves cooed on the roof.

  I looked up at the multitude of stars in the sky and sighed blissfully. ‘Now if only we had a little mystery to solve, a small burglary perhaps or someone wanting us to find a lost pet. Life would be perfect.’

&nb
sp; CHAPTER EIGHT

  Missing

  When I stumbled bleary-eyed into the house the next morning, I found Master Ariston glowering at the table.

  ‘There’s only a crust of bread left for breakfast,’ he grumbled. ‘And it’s hard as rock.’

  ‘Hasn’t Zoe been with fresh supplies?’ I asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Thrax, who was combing Master Ariston’s hair.

  ‘She’s never late,’ I said. ‘Perhaps she’s been held up with some urgent matter.’

  ‘You mean’s she’s forgotten,’ fumed Master Ariston. ‘The silly girl! She’s more interested in making eyes at Thrax than serving me, who’s paying her.’

  Thrax ignored this last remark.

  ‘You two had better go and fetch the food yourselves,’ said Master Ariston. ‘I can’t run the risk of having no lunch. It’s impossible to write funny scenes on an empty stomach. We’re out of water too.’

  I get annoyed when Master Ariston treats me like a slave. He always seems to forget I’m freeborn. My job is to write, not to fetch and carry. But I like being out with Thrax, so I put on my himation and slung an empty goatskin over my shoulder.

  In Athens, your neighbours live so close to you, you can hear them talking through the walls. But here on Mount Parnassus, visiting your neighbour meant a pleasant walk in the fresh mountain air with the sound of birdsong in your ears.

  ‘Hey,’ said Thrax as we reached Heliodorus’s farm. ‘Whatever is going on?’

  The front door to the house was wide open and a long, high-pitched wailing came from inside. There was the sound of pottery being smashed on the floor, followed by the roar of an angry man.

  Zoe had seen us through the open door and came rushing out. ‘I’m sorry for not bringing food this morning, Thrax. We are frantic with worry. My sister Selene has run away.’

  Heliodorus, a thickset man with a very brown wrinkled face, strode out of the house and pushed his daughter aside to get past. His eyes were red with anger and his hands were balled up in fists as if he wanted a fight.