Oracles of Delphi - Chapters 1 - 6

Kleomon's shoulders were slightly hunched and his belly rose grandly at his midsection like an entirely separate geological formation. The pungent smell of too much perfumed oil slathered on too few hairs caught in her nose and throat like a draught of one of Theron's medicinal cures. Aithera stifled a cough, and shot a look of disgust at Praxis. His face remained impassive, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.  

"She is one of my guests," Menandros said. "I was just about to give a tour of the theater when we found the body. But lucky for us, it turns out that she has studied-"  

"Forgive me for interrupting, Menandros," Theron said, "but I have been remiss. Please let me introduce Aithera of Athens and her servant Praxis."  

"This is no place for a-" Kleomon started. 

"The daughter of Lysandros, I presume," Philon interrupted. 

"Yes," Aithera replied, looking him straight in the eye. He was not going to intimidate her. Men more important than Philon had bounced her on their knees and brought her ribbons for her hair. She took in his handsome face with a high, broad forehead, lips that were thin with impatience and eyes that seemed weary somehow, as if he were bored with life. His hair was straight and fair, and he wore it combed back and tied tight with a leather thong. On his hand, which he held lightly at the embroidered edge of his himation, he wore an impressive gold signet ring set with the largest ruby Aithera had ever seen. Though younger, he was clearly the more senior priest. The rank of office came with privilege-and with a sense of superiority. 

"Tell me, daughter of Lysandros," Philon commanded, ignoring the rest of the gathering as if they didn't exist. "What was it like to have a man like Theron as your tutor? I understand his philosophical rival also took a position as a teacher-although I believe his student was a boy, the son of a King, in fact. Is Aithera of Athens as educated and strong-willed a young woman as Alexander of Makedonía is a young man? That is what my Athenian friends would have me believe." 

Aithera's back stiffened. She had grown tired of hearing people whisper about Theron's bad blood with Aristotle. It made her want to scream. Yes it was true Aristotle was brilliant, but he wasn't brave. He wasn't a bold thinker like Theron. He hid in the academy while Theron lived and experienced the world. Aithera knew people said Theron had been a mercenary, an assassin for hire, and that his ideas were nothing more than the ravings of a half-rate philosopher with a first-rate throwing arm. But she didn't care what people said. Her father told her Theron was the most brilliant man he'd ever known, but that the world wasn't ready for his ideas. That the world seldom was ready for the truly great thinkers. Look what happened to Sokrates, he would say. A vision of Theron skewering both Philon and Aristotle in a debate at one of her father's symposiums flashed through her mind. "I couldn't say," she answered. "I've never met Alexander. And as an Athenian, I pray I never have that privilege."  

Philon chuckled and held her gaze. "A student of politics, are you? I thought your tutor and Alexander's father were old friends." 

"That may well be true. After all, Theron is not Athenian. I am." Maybe Theron could forget the rhetorical devices and just skewer them with a very sharp spear.  

"Then you are indeed an independent thinker." Philon smiled. "Perhaps-" 

"Stop playing games, Philon," Kleomon barked. "Heraklios will be here any moment." 

"We should talk more," Philon continued. "My sources say you have lived quite an unconventional life." He dragged his eyes from Aithera, and turned to Theron. "You must bring your student to my home for dinner before you leave Delphi. Perhaps tomorrow evening?"