Marathon by Christian Cameron

Author:Christian Cameron [Cameron, Christian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781409118060
Google: FCsRABdVP60C
Amazon: 1409118061
Goodreads: 7998944
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2011-08-18T07:00:00+00:00

10

Even back then, before we fought the Medes, the theatre of Athens was a famous thing, and much talked of throughout the Greek world. Technically, I wasn’t welcome at the performances, as I was a foreigner, but again, before the performances were moved out of the Agora, everyone went – slaves and free men and citizens and even a few women – bolder spirits or prostitutes.

Athenian prostitutes aren’t like the poor tribal girls in this town, thugater. Do I shock you, blushing maiden? What I mean is that in Athens, slave and free, man and woman, prostitutes have several protections before the law and, in an odd way, status. A few are even citizens. In those days, they strolled around the agora openly, made sacrifices – at least barley-cake sacrifices – at the public altars, and performed their services to the community behind the Royal Stoa. Not that I have any direct knowledge . . .

It is also important to remember that theatre performances went on all day, not in the evening, and that one play followed another in fairly short order, interspersed with prayers and sacrifice at the public altars – don’t forget that in those days, the drama was still a religious expression, and a symbol of civic piety. Men went soberly, as if to temple. When the satyr plays were introduced, to celebrate the god’s love of revelry, that was different, although still pious. An initiate of Dionysus is still pious while puking, we used to say. And worse.

I stayed with Aristides the night before. He planned to make a tour of his farms before going to the Agora, so I rose early and walked through the deserted streets with Styges by my side. Both of us were heavily armed, and I had bandages on my left arm and all down my right leg where I’d cut it leaping from roof to roof.

We walked across the Agora, past the still-empty wooden theatre and the altars of the twelve gods, right around behind the Royal Stoa. There, while girls and boys plied a brisk trade against the wall of the old building despite the early hour, I found Agios and Paramanos and Cleon.

‘Ready?’ I asked.

They all nodded. Cleon was sober. ‘Have you got Phrynichus?’ he asked.

‘I have him. Styges goes straight from here to watch him. You make sure we don’t have a surprise during the performance.’

We shook hands all around and they walked off down the hill. I stood alone, watching them go, surrounded by the urgent noises of men having a quick tumble or getting their flutes played on the day of the festival – many men thought it was good luck to couple on the wine god’s day.

Then I gathered my wits and headed back to Aristides. I made it in time to eat a crust of bread in his kitchen with his wife and two of his boarhounds, and then I borrowed a horse and accompanied him around his farms, with Aeschylus the playwright at my left side and Sophanes on my right.

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