The Life of Polycrates and Other Stories for Antiquated Children
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8) Democedes was born in Croton. His father was a physician, a despotic man who daily treated his son to both verbal and physical abuse. Democedes at last found himself unable to tolerate the quotidian curses and heavy slaps that fell to him and so, in the dead of night, left the house and walked to the city of Aegina. Even though he was without implements or any stock of medicine, he was determined to make a living. He therefore stood in the market and offered cures, telling the people that they need not pay him before, but only after his advice had been given and only if they found it effective. By simply applying pressure with his hands he was often able to remove people’s pains and his counsel always produced positive results. He cured a man of the colic by telling him to let a live duck dance on his belly, and cured a woman of inflammation of the eyes by having her tie the eye of a myrus-fish to her forehead. . . . So he made a reputation for himself.
9) Archermus and his own father Michiades carved a Nike for Delos, and in so doing were the first artists to give wings to that goddess.
10) Ibycus, the great poet and inventor of the victory ode, escaped from the Greek city of Rhegium, in southern Italy, where he had been offered dictatorship, but renounced such responsibility in favour of pursuing verse. Hearing that the arts were flourishing in Samos, he travelled there and, upon obtaining audience with Polycrates, recited that poem which begins with the lines:
In the spring alone do the pomegranates and quinces grow,
in the sacred Virgins’ Grove, furnished with water by brooks;
and swelling grapes prosper beneath the cool shade of vine-shoots;
but for me no season exists when love reclines in silence.
11) For Croesus, that absurdly wealthy king and client (adorned with olivine, sparkling diamonds, dewy-golden heliodor, dyed raiment—everything extravagant, considered attractive—his person presenting a fantastically imposing, seriously stunning vision—him who first, with refining furnace and hearth, turned alluvial gold into its component parts of silver and gold, him the first to strike coins of solid silver and gold, to surpass simple electrum, to initiate the bimetallic system of coinage) who wanted something magnificent to give to the Delphians, Theodorus made two bowls, one of silver and one of gold, each able to hold five-thousand and one-hundred gallons of liquid, which were to be used as mixing-bowls at the feast of the Divine Appearance. They were marvellously chased, their surfaces embossed with numerous picturesque sequences . . .
12) <
13) “Look at the foolish smiles on their faces,” said Theodorus; “the smiles of idiots or boys made stupid by love. . . . Truly, even Polymedes of Argos deserves more praise than Geneleos.”
14) <<2 Chr. 36:22-23; Ezra 1:1-8, 3:7, 4:3-5, 5:13-17, 6:3-14; Isa. 44:28, 45:1; Dan. 1:21, 6:28, 10:1; 1 Esdr. 2:1-11, 4:44-57, 5:55-73, 6:17-25, 7:4; Bel. 1>>
15) The same man who married the most unattractive virgin in Laconia, but Helen made her the most beautiful. At the gate of Ariston’s house was the tomb of the great hero Astrabacos, who had been driven mad by Artemis. The dead man slept with Ariston’s wife, two months before the latter actually married her, and impregnated the lady with Demaratos.
16) . . . the Isthmian games, in Corinth, with chariot races and competitions in poetry and music; and so Ibycus set out from Samos by ship, debarked at Megara, and from there made his way on foot, as far as the sacred grove of Poseidon, reciting,
Myrtle-berries with violets mixed,
And helichryse and apple blossoms,
And roses, and the tender daphne.
He looked toward the west, toward the Acrocorinthos rising in isolated grandeur above the nearer and lesser heights of the countryside; toward the east, toward the amazingly blue waters of the Saronic Gulf; a flock of cranes flew overhead. “All hail you friendly squadron,” Ibycus shouted, “companions from across the sea,—we both come from far in search of kindly reception!” In juxtaposition to his words, two robbers, hairy-armed Brotachus and cruel Timotheus, at that moment revealed themselves. Brotachus struck down Ibycus with a crude club; as he fell, the latter’s eyes flashed toward the sky; he called out, “Revenge me!” Timotheus, with a sharp blade, slit the poet’s throat, submerged him in purple death. . . . Later the body was found and recognised by a Corinthian who knew him. And the people, hearing of this crime, went to the tribunal and asked that the criminals be caught—but there was no evidence; the magistrates could do nothing. . . . That night a black bull, with gilded horns and hooves and garlands around his neck, was brought to the Palaimonion and sacrificed, burned whole. The next day came the competition for which Ibycus had travelled. And the amphitheatre was full. The choristers sang; the poets, Hipponax, Xenophanes and demonstrative Thespis, to mention a few, came and recited verses—each one dedicating their words to fallen Ibycus, and each trying to outdo the next in pathetic lamentation. Then Simonides, with sorrowful countenance, walked forward and in elegiac metre denounced the criminals and described the miseries they would suffer, if not in this life, then in the next; and his final words were a plea for whoever knew of the crime to denounce the murderers. And all were terrified to hear of the poetic fate of the cold-blooded killers, not least the killers themselves who sat a mere ten rows back, clutching the hems of their robes, where the gold staters they had robbed were wrapped. And then, over the amphitheatre flew ever so slowly that flock of cranes, and every head turned upward; and the birds cried out. One of the murderers shot up from his seat, “Don’t listen to them,” he screamed. “They blame Timotheus and I for the murder, but they lie!” And so the murderer brought attention to himself and his companion. Their persons and homes were searched and property of Ibycus discovered. When carbon was ignited on the head of a long-eared ass and the criminals names recited, a crackling sound was heard, and so the two were put to death.
17) Engraved on Anacreon’s tomb:
You stranger, who now stands before the tomb of Anacreon,
spill libation over me before departing; for I am a drinker of wine.
Publishing History
Versions of the following stories in this volume were originally published in other places:
‘Collapsing Claude’ was originally published in Flesh and Blood
‘The Dancing Billionaire’ was originally published in Harpur Palate
‘Brother of the Holy Ghost’ was originally published in The Journal of Experimental Fiction
‘Maledict Michela’ was originally published in Nemonymous
‘The Life of Captain Gareth Caernarvon’ was originally published in McSweeney’s
‘The Chymical Wedding of Des Esseintes’ was originally published in Cinnabar’s Gnosis
‘The Search for Savino’ was originally published in Neotrope
‘Peter Payne’ was originally published in RE:AL, The Journal of Liberal Arts
About the Author
Brendan Connell was born in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in 1970. He has had fiction published in numerous places, including McSweeney’s, Adbusters, Fast Ships, Black Sails (Nightshade Books, 2008), and the World Fantasy Award winning anthologies Leviathan 3 (The Ministry of Whimsy, 2002), and Strange Tales (Tartarus Press, 2003). His other published books are: The Translation of Father Torturo (Prime Books, 2005), Dr. Black and the Guerrillia (Grafitisk Press, 2005), Metrophilias (Better Non Sequitur, 2010), and Unpleasant Tales (Eibonvale Press, 2010).
Also from Chômu Press:
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Revenants
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Nemonymous Night
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The Great Lover
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For more information about these books and others, please visit: http://chomupress.com/
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