Just Myrto

by Laurie Gray

  Socrates walked over to Lamprocles and placed a hand on his shoulder. A quiet sob passed through Lamprocles’ lips. “Lamprocles,” Socrates said tenderly, “I do not seek people out. They come to me. Wherever I am, they will come.”

  “Not if they don’t know where to find you,” said Lamprocles. His voice sounded so strained. There were tears in his eyes. I blinked back my own tears. Only Socrates’ eyes were clear.

  “Would you have me hiding like a coward?” Socrates embraced Lamprocles, who began to sob freely. Tears streamed down my cheeks as well. I could hear Korinna crying and even sniffles coming from Xanthippe. Socrates held Lamprocles close and patted him on the back. “I was born a citizen of Athens, and I will die a citizen of Athens. In the meantime, I will live like a true Athenian.”

  It wasn’t long before Lamprocles’ fears materialized. One afternoon Lamprocles returned early from the Agora without Socrates. “They’ve charged him,” he told us.

  A silent scream erupted within me. “Who?” I asked. “Who has made the accusation?”

  “Meletus,” said Lamprocles.

  “Meletus!” exclaimed Xanthippe. “Who is this Meletus? I’ve never even heard of him!”

  “He’s some religious fanatic who calls himself a poet,” Lamprocles replied. “A nobody really. A puppet.”

  The scream reached into my mind, strangling my thoughts.

  “Whose puppet?” asked Korinna.

  “I’m pretty sure Anytus is behind this,” said Lamprocles, “only he’s too afraid to bring formal accusations himself in case it should prove unpopular in the end.”

  “Anytus is a coward and a traitor!” Xanthippe spat on the ground. “He’ll probably bribe the jury to convict Socrates the same way he bribed his jury to acquit him when he was charged with treason.”

  “Lamprocles,” I whispered. “Take me to the public notice board so that I can see the charges myself.”

  Lamprocles nodded. “What about Menexenus?” he pointed to the child sleeping in my arms. My child. I forgot about my child.

  Xanthippe gently lifted the infant from my arms. “Go,” she told me. “Go and read the accusations for yourself. Mama Leda and I will take care of the baby and Sophroniscus.”

  “Shall I come with you?” Korinna asked me.

  I stared at her blankly. The screaming inside me was growing louder. I could barely comprehend her words. She turned to Lamprocles, who nodded.

  “Yes, come with us,” he instructed her. And with that we set off to the Agora.

  We walked for an eternity. Lamprocles and Korinna talked quietly between themselves. Occasionally, Lamprocles would raise his voice, and I could hear the battle raging within him. But it all felt so distant from me.

  I tried to ignore the silent scream, but every effort to resist it only seemed to make it worse. Part of me recognized this scream. In fact, it had lived within me as long as I could remember. Yet like the clatter of the marketplace, it had always remained in the background and never held my full attention.

  When did the screaming stop? Why did it start again so suddenly and so ferociously? How can I make it stop? The more I tried to stop it, the more ferocious it became, until I felt as if I might go mad. No—just breathe.

  This last thought brought me back to reality and reduced the terrorizing scream to a dull roar as we entered the Agora and approached the statues of the Eponymous Heroes. There, posted outside the temple that housed the city archives, was a whitened board posted for public notice.

  “There it is,” said Lamprocles pointing to the public notice board. “Meletus presented the formal accusations to King Archon who ordered that they be written on this board and posted for all to see.”

  MELETUS, CITIZEN OF ATHENS, HEREBY CHARGES SOCRATES, CITIZEN OF ATHENS, WITH THE FOLLOWING CRIME AGAINST THE STATE AND THE GODS OF ATHENS: IMPIETY, TO WIT: NOT BELIEVING IN THE GODS OF ATHENS, BELIEVING INSTEAD IN OTHER SPIRITUAL THINGS; AND CORRUPTING THE YOUNG MEN OF ATHENS. THE PENALTY DEMANDED IS DEATH.

  A JURY OF 500 ATHENIAN CITIZENS SHALL ASSEMBLE TO DETERMINE THE TRUTH IN THIS MATTER AND DISPENSE JUSTICE AS REQUIRED.

  “Absurd!” I heard the voice of Plato behind me. “Utterly ridiculous!”

  31

  “FOR ONCE I agree with you, Plato” replied Lamprocles. “These charges couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “Meletus is a fool,” said Plato. “You know who is behind this, don’t you?”

  Lamprocles nodded. “Anytus.”

  “Anytus and Lycon,” Plato replied. “Let them call their own sons who both love Socrates dearly and ask them if Socrates corrupted them.”

  Lamprocles just shook his head. Korinna placed her hand on his back to calm him.

  “I’ll testify for him,” said Plato with genuine conviction.

  “A fat lot of good that will do,” retorted Lamprocles. He stepped away from Korinna, moving closer to Plato. “Everyone still remembers you as the friend and family of the Thirty Tyrants.” Lamprocles voice grew louder and his face flushed. “You and Alcibiades and Xenophon … Spartan lovers, all of you. If you care at all about my father, you’ll not do him any favors.”

  Plato turned to me. “Perhaps when the jury sees his beautiful young wife and young sons, they will show him mercy.”

  “You say that as if you think I’m still a child.” Lamprocles’ anger seethed with every word.

  “And you are not?” Plato laughed a spiteful laugh. “Perhaps you plan to save him yourself.”

  Lamprocles clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders with Plato’s. He shifted his weight, readying himself for an attack. At 18, Lamprocles had grown tall and strong, but he would be no match for Plato in wrestling or in argument.

  “Stop it, both of you!” I ordered. “Your fighting isn’t going to help anyone.” To my surprise they each took a step backward and turned to me. Lamprocles scowled and crossed his arms.

  “I apologize,” Plato said to me. His plaintiff expression and pleading eyes surprised me. “I know that this must be just as upsetting to you as it is to me, probably more so.” He turned to Lamprocles. “I am sorry. I will help in any way I can, even if it means doing nothing.”

  “Where is Socrates?” I asked.

  “Under his favorite laurel tree, where else?” Plato motioned toward the marketplace. “He’s acting as if nothing is wrong.”

  I went to find Socrates. Korinna walked beside me. Plato and Lamprocles followed. I could hear them discussing the charges behind me. Whenever one would start to raise his voice, the other would shush him. We found Socrates surrounded by an even greater number of young men than usual.

  I called to Socrates as I made my way through the crowd. “Your notoriety seems to have increased your popularity,” I said.

  “Myrto!” he exclaimed. “How lovely that you and Korinna can join us!” He motioned for us to come and sit next to him. “Plato, Lamprocles, welcome.”

  I took my place beside him, but I longed to talk to him alone, not as part of a crowd.

  “We were just discussing piety,” Socrates said. “We agreed that it applies to everything the gods love, but now we can’t seem to decide whether something is pious because the gods love it or whether the gods love it because it is pious.”

  I nodded.

  Plato gave me a mischievous grin before raising his own question. “It seems to me that the gods do not always love the same things. Must all of the gods love something for it to be pious or is the love of one god sufficient?”

  This created quite a stir, but the discussion continued without my participation or attention. Instead, I watched my husband, so lively and energetic in his pursuit of wisdom and truth. I watched how the countenance of a young man could change so quickly from determined to puzzled, then show a sudden flash of understanding that eventually gave way to confusion as he considered each additional question. This is Socrates. This is what he does. Asking him to stop would be a punishment worse than death.

  I imagined Socrates l
ocked in a cell inside the State Prison just outside the Agora along the street leading to the Piraeus Gate. Would crowds gather there as well? As long as they do, Socrates will be happy… happy to have free room and board while he continues his philosophy, doing exactly what the gods have ordained.

  That night when we were finally alone in bed in the darkness, I asked him the question that was on my heart. “Do you think that the jury will acquit you?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. He nestled up beside me, and held me close in his arms. “Even if they convict me, it will be up to the jury to decide what sentence they want to impose.”

  “I’m scared,” I confessed. I wanted to talk to him about the silent scream in my head.

  “I know,” he whispered.

  “I feel waves of emotion crashing inside me. There’s a roar that seems to grow louder in the silence.” My throat tightened and my eyes filled with tears.

  Socrates kissed my forehead. “It sounds like a storm is brewing inside you.”

  “The only place I feel safe is in your arms.” I buried my head in his chest and cried. Socrates held me gently and let the storm run its course.

  When I could once again breathe freely I asked, “What about you? Aren’t you at least worried about the accusations?”

  “I’m feeling strangely calm,” he replied. “My spirit usually gives me a strong sign when I should seek a different direction. I’ve avoided many calamities by paying attention to this inner knowing.”

  “What is your spirit telling you now?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “My spirit is telling me nothing.”

  “Is that bad?” I asked, sitting up.

  “On the contrary,” Socrates explained, “nothing is good.”

  The double meaning of these words sent a shiver down my spine. “Nothing is good makes it sound like everything is bad.” Socrates reached for my hand and pulled me back beside him.

  “Everything is definitely not bad, Myrto,” said Socrates. “Everything is good.”

  “Nothing is good. Everything is good. How can that be?” I whispered.

  Socrates yawned. “It just is, my love.” Before long, Socrates’ breaths became heavy and turned to soft snores.

  Nothing is good. Everything is good … Everything is nothing. That’s it. Everything is nothing, and nothing is everything.

  This somehow made perfect sense as I drifted off to sleep.

  32

  THE MORNING OF the trial I rubbed every last drop of the oil from my alabaster jar into Socrates’ skin. He was sitting on the edge of our bed, and Menexenus was still sleeping in the middle of the bed. “Do you want me there?” I asked as I massaged his hands.

  Socrates watched my hands at work for a moment. When I ran my palm over his, he clasped my hand and held it. “Do you want to be there?” he asked.

  I waited for him to look up. “I want you to know that I love you and that I would do anything for you,” I replied, holding both his gaze and his hand.

  He raised my hand to his lips. I felt the warmth of his breath as he kissed the back of my hand. “I’m not asking you to do anything.”

  I sat on the bed beside him. Menexenus stirred. “My head wants to see and hear for myself,” I said, “but my heart wants nothing to do with your accusers and their lies.”

  I lifted Menexenus to my breast so that he could nurse. “Can I stand by your side throughout the trial?”

  Socrates shook his head. “I must stand alone.”

  I rocked Menexenus back and forth gently. “Can I sit on the jury and cast a vote for your innocence?”

  Socrates chuckled. “Athena will cast her vote for acquittal.”

  “Athena only gets to vote in case of a tie,” I replied. “If half of the jurors were women, I should think that would be enough. I do not trust a jury made up only of men.”

  Socrates laughed. “I do not have the luxury of choosing my accusers or my jury,” said Socrates. “Do you think a jury of Amazon women would acquit?” His impish grin made me laugh, too.

  “Five hundred Amazon women and Athena would do wonders for Athens!” I exclaimed. The idea of a government run entirely by women warriors amused us both greatly, and we laughed even harder. We laughed until we cried.

  I looked at my husband and remembered how his features had struck me as odd the first time I saw him. But knowing him, living with him, laughing with him, and loving him had created an attraction beyond any I could have imagined. And now … what will become of us?

  “Seriously, Socrates,” I said, “are you prepared to give a speech in your own defense?”

  “Seriously?” asked Socrates. “I try not to take myself too seriously, but I can assure you that I’ve lived my whole life preparing for this.”

  “What will you say?” I asked, wiping the last of the tears from my eyes.

  “I honestly don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe nothing.” He stood and readied himself to go.

  Sometimes nothing is everything.

  “One thing you can be sure of, though,” Socrates said. He bent down and kissed Menexenus on the forehead before kissing me on the lips. “I’ll make no apologies for who I am or the life I’ve lived.”

  I carried Menexenus with me as we went out to greet the rest of the household. Lamprocles, Xanthippe and Korinna were sitting around the table eating figs and talking quietly.

  Lamprocles jumped to his feet when he saw us. “You must get ready,” Lamprocles said to me. He reached out to take Menexenus from me. “It’s time to go.”

  “I’m not going,” I replied.

  Lamprocles looked stunned. “How can you just not go?” Lamprocles asked throwing his outstretched hands up. “How can you not want to be there for him?”

  “If he wanted me there, I would go,” I replied.

  Socrates cleared his throat. “You’re talking about me as if I weren’t here.” He stood by the table and popped a fig in his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” replied Lamprocles, “but I thought Myrto would be there.” Another look of bewilderment crossed his face. “Do you not wish for me to be there either?”

  “Do you want to be there?” asked Socrates. He replaced the pit in his mouth with another fig.

  “Yes, of course!” cried Lamprocles.

  “Then I want you to be there,” Socrates replied. He turned to Korinna and Xanthippe. “Would you like to join us?”

  Korinna nodded. Xanthippe shook her head.

  “Very well, then,” Socrates said to Lamprocles and Korinna, “let’s go.” He kissed both Xanthippe and me on the cheek before he left.

  As soon as they were gone, Xanthippe motioned to me to sit beside her. “Are you sure you do not wish to go?” she asked. She pushed a plate of bread and figs toward me.

  I shook my head. “There’s nothing I can do,” I replied. “And I would rather do nothing here in peace than be part of an ugly crowd of confusion.”

  “But sometimes having a wife and children there can make a difference,” Xanthippe said. “Sometimes the jurors feel sympathetic and their verdict is less harsh.”

  Again I shook my head. I shifted Menexenus gently to my other arm.

  “I think you should go,” Xanthippe said finally.

  “You go,” I replied. “You were his wife long before I came along.”

  Xanthippe slapped the table and cackled. “Me! I’ve never aroused sympathy in anyone.”

  The loud noise startled the baby, and he began to cry. I walked with him, bouncing him to soothe him. “Shhh,” I whispered in his ear.

  “See,” cried Xanthippe. “I irritate people even more than Socrates does!” Xanthippe looked exasperated. “Anything I do will only make matters worse.”

  “Then stay here with me. We will do nothing together.”

  Xanthippe sighed heavily and held her head in her hands.

  Xanthippe did not know how to do nothing. I could hear her anxiously whispering prayers to Zeus, Apollo, Hera and Athena throughout the day. Ma
ma Leda and the girls took care of Sophroniscus.

  I cradled Menexenus in my arms all day. As long as I held him in my arms, there was no silent scream. I comforted myself by comforting him.

  The afternoon grew long, and Xanthippe became even more fretful. They did not return even at sunset. “Why aren’t they back yet?” Xanthippe asked no one in particular time and time again.

  We knew. We both knew, but the knowing affected us differently. I became increasingly calm and aware. Xanthippe became increasingly agitated and distracted.

  It was very late when Lamprocles and Korinna returned. Xanthippe and I were in the courtyard. She was pacing; I was rocking Menexenus.

  “Where is Socrates?” Xanthippe asked when it became apparent that he was not with them.

  Lamprocles embraced her, but said nothing. His eyes were glassy and swollen.

  “Where is Socrates?” Xanthippe asked again.

  Finally, Lamprocles replied, “He is in prison.” His voice sounded much older than it had this morning.

  Xanthippe pushed away from his embrace, but Lamprocles did not release her.

  “Guilty?” Xanthippe asked. “They found him guilty?”

  Korinna nodded. “Guilty,” she said. “Two hundred and eighty votes for guilty and two hundred twenty votes for acquittal.” She looked at me. “If only thirty more men had voted to acquit …” She could not finish the thought. Her eyes, too, were puffy and red. She came and sat beside me.

  “And the penalty?” asked Xanthippe. “Surely if so many voted to acquit, they must have been lenient in their punishment.”

  Lamprocles shook his head. “Once they convicted him, an even greater number voted for a penalty of death.” Xanthippe groaned deeply and fell limp in Lamprocles’ embrace. He brought her over to Korinna and me and sat her gently between us.

  “How?” I asked. “How will he die?”

  “Poison hemlock,” Korinna said softly.

  “When?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lamprocles replied. “The ship in honor of Theseus has only just set sail on its annual mission to Delos. Athens will not risk angering the gods by executing anyone before the ship returns.”