The Goddess of Buttercups & Daisies

by Martin Millar

  ‘No,’ said Aristophanes.

  ‘Then I’m not doing it.’

  The chorus were finishing. Aristophanes needed this woman onstage right now, damn her. ‘All right! If I win the prize, I’ll let him recite again!’ He turned to Hermogenes. ‘Bring the tiny costume.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Metris, springing to her feet. She smiled broadly. She had a dazzling smile. ‘I don’t need your costume.’

  She stepped behind a wooden pillar. A few seconds later, she stepped out again. How she did what she did, no one could tell, but they had rarely seen such a sight. Her clothes had vanished and she was dressed in a costume which amounted to no more than nine or ten daisies, strategically placed, and attached by some magical means known only to nymphs. While wearing only a few flowers, she’d also caused her hair to be filled with them, so that it rose and spilled over her shoulders in a great wave of buttercups and daisies. Aristophanes gazed at her, astonished at the transformation. So did Hermogenes, and everyone else backstage. It really seemed as if some festive goddess had decided to pay them a visit. No one had ever seen anyone more beautiful. Not only was she beautiful, she seemed to project an aura that spread warmth and happiness around her. Previously stressed stagehands began to smile. Her beauty and warmth produced an overwhelming eroticism – so overwhelming that Aristophanes was obliged to shake his head vigorously to remind himself that they still had a play to finish.

  Philippus appeared, waiting for his cue to go back onstage.

  ‘What’s happening —’ he began, but halted at the sight of Metris. He looked at her in wonder.

  ‘Take her onstage,’ yelled Aristophanes. ‘And get her as close to the judges as you can.’

  Philippus, a solid professional, swiftly overcame his surprise and led Metris out onto the stage. As she walked past the chorus, their phalluses shot in the air, comically erect. The crowd cheered wildly.

  ‘They’re huge!’

  ‘Best phalluses ever!’

  Aristophanes smiled. He had a shrewd idea that it wasn’t just the comedy penises of the chorus that had suddenly gone erect. Metris, clad in only a few daisies, was quite a sight. It was difficult not to react. If Dionysus was looking down on the festival, he surely would have approved.

  Trygaeus led Metris around the stage. There was terrific applause from the audience. The nymph smiled at everyone. The warmth of her smile permeated the amphitheatre, and if felt like they were all touched by the cheerful, intoxicated sexual desire that was appropriate at the Dionysia, but had been missing so far. For someone who’d never been on stage before, Metris knew how to milk the applause. She and Trygaeus deliberately took a long time before finally coming to a halt in front of the judges. These judges, five in number, were seated in a prominent position in the front row. They were just as affected by Metris as everyone else, leaning forward in their seats with lustful expressions quite surprising for some of them, given their age.

  ‘Esteemed panel of judges,’ said Philippus, declaiming grandly. ‘You see what I’m offering you?’

  He looked towards Metris, and grinned. ‘You get plenty of good things when you award Aristophanes the prize! Athens gets peace, the farmers get their vineyards back, and we all retire for some feasting and debauchery!’

  That went down well with the crowd. They all liked feasting and debauchery.

  Apart from Socrates, I suppose, thought Aristophanes. Maybe Euripides too.

  ‘Hey,’ said Luxos, appearing at his elbow. ‘What’s the idea of offering Metris to the judges? She’s not a prostitute.’

  ‘It’s just part of the play, you idiot. He’s not really offering her. It’s metaphorical. How did you end up with such a beautiful girl anyway? You’re the city’s most notorious layabout. By the way, thanks for reciting your poem at the start.’

  ‘And saving the day?’

  ‘Possibly. I expect my play would have triumphed anyway.’

  The chorus, also fans of feasting and debauchery, were doing one of their choreographed happy dances. The audience were cheering and clapping along. The third actor onstage, taking on the personality of a weapons manufacturer, wrung his hands in misery at the prospect of peace.

  ‘My weapons factory!’ he wailed. ‘I’ll be ruined!’

  The musicians played as the chorus danced. Metris moved in time with the rhythm. The sight of this produced further roars of approval. The scene had now become so riotous, with the crowd baying, the chorus dancing, the judges laughing and smiling, that it took Trygaeus a while to calm everyone down enough for him to make himself heard.

  I’ve saved all of Greece

  From the north to the south

  By finally shutting

  Hyperbolus’s mouth!

  Aristophanes looked over to Hyperbolus in the audience. He was furious, naturally, but he controlled his temper, even as some of his opponents poured scorn on him. It was not the done thing to show anger or offer violence in the theatre. If you were ridiculed from the stage, you just had to take it, in public at least. Aristophanes knew there might be trouble ahead. Hyperbolus might follow Kleon’s example and prosecute him in court. For now, he didn’t care. He knew how well his play had been received. Peace had gone down far better than Leucon’s The Clansmen or Eupolis’s The Flatterers. As the sun began to sink over the acropolis above, the audience were cheering the final scenes, where Trygaeus was marrying Metris in a symbolic celebration of peace, surrounded by a happy crowd of revellers. Even Bremusa looked happy, something Aristophanes had never seen before. He thought she had a pleasant smile, when she wasn’t looking fierce.

  The Amphitheatre

  Torches were lit as dusk arrived. The audience were laughing and joking as they made their way from the amphitheatre. Friends called to each other, repeating their favourite lines from the day’s comedies.

  ‘Do you feel that?’ said Nicias to Socrates, near the exit. ‘Aristophanes’ comedy has changed the whole atmosphere. It’s like a weight has lifted from the city. Even our Spartan guests look cheerful. You know, I think we’re going to make peace!’

  Nicias and the Spartan General Antimachus bowed politely to each other. They were heading for the conference room at the north of the building, pressed into service as the location for the last session of the peace conference. The other Spartan delegates were close behind, and various important Athenians, scattered throughout the theatre, also began to make their way to the conference room.

  At the same time, five more Athenians, randomly chosen as judges, were entering the smaller conference room. There they’d deliberate on the comedies they’d seen, and place them first, second and third. Most of the departing audience assumed that Aristophanes would win. His play hadn’t gone perfectly, but it had certainly made them laugh the most. The girl at the end had been spectacular. She was a topic of conversation in the city for many weeks afterwards.

  I would much prefer to see

  the graceful way she carries herself

  and the radiance of her features

  than talk of war-chariots or hoplites

  Sappho

  Aristophanes

  After the play, everyone was in high spirits backstage. The lead actors and members of the chorus strutted around, telling each other how good they’d been or, even better, letting other people tell them. The chorus were particularly ecstatic. As amateurs, they weren’t used to the stresses involved. Though they’d all tried to hide it during rehearsals, they’d been terrified of the play being a flop, and finding themselves ridiculed by their fellow citizens. The sense of relief they felt was overwhelming, and the wine was flowing freely. A few of their wives had appeared from the audience to share in their celebration. Everyone knew the play had been good, and Aristophanes was roundly congratulated on all sides. Hermogenes’ wife wasn’t there, though the young man on whom he spent most of his money was. Luxos and Metris were sitting in a corner, staring lovingly at each other.

  ‘Well, Aristophanes, you’ve done it again,�
�� said Hermogenes. ‘Another triumph.’

  He was smiling broadly. Aristophanes tried to smile back, but he found it difficult. After the brief elation at the end of the play, he’d started to worry again.

  ‘I hope the judges liked it,’ he muttered. ‘You can never trust them to get it right.’

  The statesman Nicias arrived. ‘Aristophanes! I’m on my way to the conference but I just had to call in and congratulate you. What a splendid comedy! You made the warmongers look like fools. You know, it may just have tipped things in our favour!’

  Nicias seemed genuinely optimistic. He really thought it might have made a difference. After he departed, Hermogenes’ smile grew even broader. ‘Even Nicias liked it and he’s one of the most important men in the city. This is a great day, Aristophanes.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Hermogenes frowned. ‘What’s the matter? You’ve just had a huge triumph and you don’t seem happy.’

  ‘A huge triumph? Only if the judges agree.’

  ‘It’s a triumph anyway. The audience loved it. And you heard Nicias. Your play might even help to end the war. How many playwrights can say that?’

  Again Aristophanes tried to smile, but he couldn’t. He was too worried about the judges.

  ‘Is winning the competition really the only thing you care about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hermogenes stared at him. ‘Sometimes I don’t like you very much, Aristophanes. Excuse me.’ He departed, back to his favourite youth, and a cup of wine.

  Bremusa appeared. ‘I was listening to your conversation. Now I think I’m starting to understand culture. It means you have to defeat your opponents, right?’

  ‘It seems to be that way with me,’ admitted Aristophanes. ‘Others might not agree.’

  He handed her some wine. ‘Hermogenes thinks it’s a flaw in my character.’

  ‘A flaw?’ said Bremusa. ‘The desire to win? How can that be a flaw?’

  Aristophanes remembered the debt he owed Bremusa. ‘Thanks for saving me from that assassin. And for rescuing my phalluses. And for being the Goddess of Peace. More wine?’

  ‘When will the judges make their decision?’

  ‘Not for an hour or so. It always takes them a while. Probably because they need time to wolf down as much free food and drink as possible.’

  Though Aristophanes’ mood had not much improved, it wasn’t affecting the celebrations around them, which had now grown. All sorts of people were crowding in, including Socrates and a few of his associates. As Aristophanes looked on, Theodota entered. His heart leapt, and he waited for her to come over and congratulate him. She didn’t come over. Instead she made directly for Socrates and draped herself over him like a curtain. Bremusa saw Aristophanes frowning. She followed his gaze.

  ‘Why do you spend so much time and money on a woman who isn’t really interested in you?’

  ‘I see that tact isn’t your strong point.’

  ‘Tact is for weaklings. Why do you care about her?’

  Aristophanes shrugged, hopelessly. ‘I’m an artist. We’re not very good at relationships. You might say it’s another flaw in my character.’

  Bremusa laughed. There was a slight touch of battle fury in it, but it wasn’t altogether an unpleasant sound. Aristophanes found himself taking to her more. Could she really have fought at Troy? He was still half-convinced she was a madwoman. Though she was good with a sword. Her companion Metris certainly couldn’t be from this world. Not with the effect she had on people. She was now doing a slow dance with Luxos in the middle of the room, and the young men looking on were hypnotised.

  ‘I’ve never been scared in battle,’ said Bremusa. ‘But when I went onstage I was trembling. I was blinded by stage fright. I hardly even saw the theatre.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I think I’ve missed out. Since I’ve been in Athens I haven’t really seen anything.’

  ‘Would you like to see the theatre now? It’s a fine building. If you look up, you can see the Parthenon with the moon shining through the columns.’

  Aristophanes led Bremusa back outside. She’d undone the top of her leather armour because of the warmth of the evening. It made her look a little less militaristic. They gazed out at the rows of empty seats. Aristophanes loved the amphitheatre; he loved its circular shape and the happy world he could create there.

  ‘I was only nineteen when I put on my first play.’

  Bremusa nodded. He asked her what she’d been doing when she was nineteen.

  ‘Fighting,’ she replied, which is what he’d been expecting.

  She was standing close. Aristophanes had a sudden urge to take her in his arms. He might have done it, had not a freezing wave swept over the theatre, a shockwave that felt both physical and mental. Aristophanes staggered under the assault. As he regained his balance he saw a figure emerge from the shadows. A woman in dark clothes, with long hair, fine cheekbones and very pale skin. She had a twisted metal emblem hanging from a chain round her neck. Something snake-like, he couldn’t quite make it out.

  ‘My name is Laet.’

  Given the powerful wave of negative feelings that emanated from her, her voice was rather soft. Laet strode towards them, very erect. She looked Aristophanes directly in the eye. It gave him the uncomfortable feeling that everything in his life had gone wrong, and would never be right again.

  ‘I enjoyed your comedy,’ she said. ‘Fine poetry. Fine songs. You have a rare command of the language. I laughed. It’s a long time since I’ve laughed at anything.’

  She paused. ‘So I’m going to give you a choice. I don’t usually give people choices.’

  Aristophanes was finding it difficult to speak.

  ‘What choice?’ asked Bremusa.

  ‘It’s time to make decisions. There are two conference rooms here. In one, the judges are discussing which play should win first prize. In the other, it’s the last session of the peace conference.’

  Laet smiled. ‘Whichever room I enter, they’ll make a foolish decision.’

  Aristophanes didn’t like the sound of this, but he was still finding it difficult to speak. Laet’s malevolent smile was making it worse.

  ‘Your play was the best,’ she continued. ‘But if I go into the judges’ room, they’ll make the wrong choice. You won’t win first prize.’

  Laet paused for a moment, to let that sink in.

  ‘I could visit the peace conference instead. If I do that, they’ll make a bad decision. They won’t sign the treaty, and Athens will remain at war.’

  She smiled her chilling smile. ‘Which room would you like me to enter?’

  Aristophanes could still feel the freezing wave of misery, but at last he managed to speak. ‘Couldn’t you stay out of both?’

  Laet’s expression hardened. ‘I’m entering one of them.’

  At that moment Luxos emerged onto the stage, with Metris behind him. The nymph’s presence slightly alleviated the chilling aura emanating from Laet, though not by much.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Luxos. He sounded upset. ‘Aristophanes has to win. Otherwise he won’t let me recite my poetry at the next festival.’

  ‘That would be a shame,’ said Laet. ‘You do have some talent.’

  ‘If I don’t win I’m going to have a lot of difficulty paying my staff and helpers,’ said Aristophanes.

  At this, Metris looked unhappy. ‘But I was going to use my wages to repair my temple.’

  ‘What’s happening out here?’ Hermogenes, his boyfriend, and Philippus arrived on the scene. ‘Did I hear someone say we’re not getting paid? Again?’

  Philippus scowled. ‘I thought this year I’d finally be in the winning play.’

  ‘Eupolis or Leucon can’t win,’ said Aristophanes. ‘It’s just not fair.’

  ‘Nothing is fair these days,’ said Laet. ‘And you’re running out of time.’ She turned her head to stare at the wall at the far end of the amphitheatre, as if she could see through to the rooms beyond.

 
; ‘You have three minutes.’

  Laet turned and walked back into the shadows, leaving a confused group of people behind her.

  ‘You have to make peace,’ said Hermogenes.

  ‘Eh… well…’ Aristophanes didn’t seem to share Hermogenes’ strong views. ‘That means I’ll lose the competition.’

  ‘Your whole play was about making peace!’

  Alone among the gathering, Metris was unaffected by Laet’s freezing aura. She followed her into the shadows.

  ‘This isn’t very nice of you,’ said the nymph.

  Laet didn’t reply.

  ‘Why are you so mean?’

  ‘Mean? I wouldn’t say I was mean. I fulfil a function.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m already bored by your questions.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t destroyed the Altar of Pity. It was a lovely old altar.’

  Laet wore the same cold smile. ‘They tried to repair it. And re-sanctify it. The Archon Basileus himself came down to perform the ceremony. For all the good it did.’

  Metris nodded sadly. ‘They can’t make it the way it was. You’re too powerful.’

  ‘I know. And I’m too powerful for you, nymph, even if you can warm a few hearts.’

  Metris nodded again. It was true. Laet was too powerful.

  ‘I tried making buttercups and daises to help the altar. But I couldn’t make any grow.’

  Laet nodded. ‘That was a futile effort. Though actually, it wasn’t me that prevented you.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘No. Your power here is waning. All the power of the immortals is waning in Athens. The gods are withdrawing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just time for it to happen.’ Laet’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll spread some misery before I go.’

  ‘Did something really horrible happen to you when you were young?’ asked Metris. ‘So it left you hating everyone?’