He guzzled merrily and heartily. The nectar was syrupy and tasted of honey, raisins, pomegranates, thyme, and pennyroyal.
He put down the kylix on the table and gasped with delight.
"A marvel!" he exclaimed. "Dionysos truly favors the people of Chios."
"Does he, husband?" Euryleonis asked, laughing.
"Don't play coy, woman. Come sit with me and Melianthos and have some too; I mixed too much for myself alone." He knew full well that his Lacedaemonian born wife had no qualms about drinking wine, be it sweet wine from Thasos, or common swill. Whereas other Greeks from around the Mesogeios disapproved of women drinking wine, Spartans allowed them to drink and required them to train, just like men, so they could give birth to healthy and strong sons. His wife still trained at the gymnasion, despite most Metapontines frowning upon such conducts. She was a tremendous athlete in her own right: fleet-footed as Atalanta and fierce as Hippolyta. She had even once conquered the olive wreath at the Heraean Games.
As an athlete, her skin was sun-kissed and tanned, rather than pale and white as milk, and her body was toned and strong. She had an ample and firm bosom that she always bound when she was running and exercising. Her eyes were the color of cypress foliage and her hair that of honey, and her features were delicate and symmetrical.
She sat on a couch in front of him and filled another kylix to the brim.
"And where is the slave girl who procured such a fabulous beverage," he asked.
"She must be back in the kitchen," Euryleonis presumed, before clapping her hands. "Melitta! Come here, girl."
A young woman of fifteen or sixteen years emerged from the adjacent room. She was not unpleasant to look at, with dark eyes and hair.
"You called, Mistress?" she said.
Kallistos took his own kylix and put it on the table at the center of the room. "Here, girl. Take a sip of that wine you found."
"Husband!" his wife shouted.
The young slave bowed her head and tensed up like an ox at the cracking of the whip.
"What's wrong, woman?" he asked.
Euryleonis glared at him with exasperated amusement. "You would have a slave drink with us?"
"Come, girl," he said, shaking his head. "Sit and drink."
The girl approached the table, knelt and took a minuscule sip out of the kylix. It was enough to make her cough and hack: she obviously had never had wine.
"Take it back with you to the kitchen," he laughed as he dismissed her with a gesture.
She stood up, grabbed the cup and left the room with haste.
"Do you think it proper?" Euryleonis inquired with severity and furrowed brow.
"If I cared about what is proper, woman, you would be drinking water in the gynaeceion. Is a mouthful of her find not a suitable reward for good service? Besides, I doubt Melanthios disapproved of the girl's presence..." Kallistos said with a wry smile and a wink at his adolescent son. He had spied him trying to sneak a glance at the budding breasts that peeked through the fabric of the slave's chiton.
The boy blushed and sunk his head between his shoulders. He had his mother's hair and eyes, but his father's strong features. He was fifteen, shy and small for his age, but Kallistos himself had been somewhat short and frail until his late twenties. His father was certain that with enough determination, young Melanthios could become a skilled athlete.
Euryleonis was no fool, and it was obvious that she had taken notice of her son's interest.
"Indeed, I doubt he did," she said, simpering. "In a few months, he will be gawking at every slave girl in Croton."
Kallistos sighed. "You're still intent on sending him to learn of circles and squares with Pythagoras, are you?"
"He's a wise man, a master of geometry, astronomy, medicine. People say he's favored by Apollo and is even skilled in the art of divination."
"Perhaps, but I want to have a hand in my only son's training," he insisted.
"Such protective instincts," Euryleonis teased him as she brought her cup to her lips. "He will soon be a man, you know."
"I don't want to go to Croton, Mother. Not yet," said young Melianthos in his most caressing voice. "I still want to train with Father until I'm stronger."
Hearing that, Kallistos went to his son's couch to embrace him, laughing victoriously.
"You're going to spoil him, you softy!" Euryleonis rolled her green eyes and shook her golden head.
"Certainly not," he opposed. "I will intensify his training regimen. We will make an athlete out of you, son."
Melianthos smiled back at him and turned to his mother with big pleading eyes.
"He shall go to Croton at the end of this Olympiad. Or perhaps learning rhetoric with Corax in Syracuse would be better suited for such a little weasel," she said tenderly. "When you return from the Games with your student, you shall send him away. Promise me now, my love,"
Kallistos knew better than to question her judgment on such matters. Her tone had changed: in truth, she was not asking, but demanding. She was right, and she had given him a year and a half to come to terms with it.
He bowed his head and took a deep breath. "I promise, my love."
"But, Father..." Melianthos protested.
Kallistos shot him a stern look, with the tiniest spark of amusement. "Are you questioning my authority, son... or you mother's wisdom?"
The boy successively eyed both his parents in a timid manner.
"You find yourself in quite an impasse, my son." Euryleonis grinned as she rocked her kylix.
Melanthios sat wide-eyed and agape as he tried to find some clever answer to such a parental conundrum.
A knock was heard at the door.
"Visitors at this time?" Kallistos wondered.
"Eleans, I'd wager. They always arrive here unannounced in the middle of the night," his wife said, sneering.
"Don't." He frowned as he raised a finger. "They are to be our guests. You have a sharp tongue and a tendency to cut a great many people with it. If you are to stay in the andron with our guests, you will have to be careful with your words."
"Of course, husband," she said as she put her goblet on the table and clapped her hands like before. "Agapios! Go get the door."
A few moments later, an old slave, all gray and wrinkled, entered the room accompanied by a man wearing a quality traveling cloak as well as ornamented tunic and mantle.
"Master, Mistress, before you stands Pankratios, son of Demetrios, emissary of Elis."
Kallistos rose and greeted his guest with open arms. "I welcome you, friend. You are home here, as are all Eleans. You shall have bread, wine, and hearth for as long as you stay beneath my roof."
"I thank you, Kallistos, son of Ekhekratides, proxenos of the Eleans. You have a fine and welcoming home," he responded as his eyes wandered across the room.
Kallistos was proud of his house. It was comfortable without being luxurious. It was the house of a humble man. Every room was painted in bright colors, like red, yellow, green and pink. The andron was blue as the sky, with a frieze that ran along the walls depicting athletes, runners, wrestlers, charioteers, as well Nike, Heracles, Zeus, Hermes, Artemis and Apollo. On the wooden floor sat five varicoloured couches as well as three low tables upon which food was served. A great black-figured hydria stood in the corner of the room. On it were depicted scenes from Homer's Odyssey: on one side was Odysseus bound to the mast of his ship, driven mad by the dire song of the man-eating sirens, daughters of Achelous, flying overhead with cruel smiles on their faces; and on the other side, he sat in the house of Alkinoos weeping as the blind poet Demodokos sang of the Trojan War and of lion-hearted Achilleus. Its size and beautiful craftsmanship made it one of Kallistos' most prized possessions.
"This is my son, Melianthos, and my wife, Euryleonis."
The Elean saluted both of them respectfully before sitting on a couch when his host invited him to do so with a gesture.
"What brings you to fair Metapontion, Pankratios?" Kallistos asked.
"This is, in fact, but a stop on my way to Cumae, where I am to treat with the Oligarchs."
"Agapios," Euryleonis said, "fill up the krater with wine and bring more food for our guest: wheat bread, relish, cheese, figs, hard-boiled eggs, olives and a few sardines. Oh, and tell Kleitos not to spoil the fish by adding cheese: we're not in Ortygia, already."
The old slave bowed and went to the kitchen without a word.
Pankratios raised an eyebrow and shot a sidelong glance to Euryleonis. "Your wife is quite the matriarch, Kallistos. I had been told that she commands a strong presence."
Such a remark was obviously derogatory and was not far from being offensive. Like most Greeks, Pankratios did not approve of a woman breaking bread with men.
"My wife was born and raised in Lacedaemon. Their traditions are unlike those of other Hellenes."
"Indeed, but we are not in Lacedaemon."
Kallistos' eyes went dark and his lips tightened into an angry line. "My love, Agapios should be back soon and we will then all be going to sleep. Send the slaves to their quarters after they are done and go to Theophania. I think I can hear her crying."
"You're right, husband," she said with a beaming smile. "I've just heard her too." She took a last sip of wine, stood up and went to the kitchen, and moments later, they heard her clapping her hands and calling orders.
"As for you," Kallistos said to his son, "go grab a handful of candied fruits from the kitchen and then it's time to go to bed. Tomorrow, we go swimming. You still look like a pup in the water."
The boy giggled and sprang to his feet. "Yes, father. Thank you." He kissed his father lightly on the lips and scurried away as fast as his legs could carry him.
Silence fell upon the room for a long moment.
Kallistos' gaze was fixed on the frieze, on Heracles, the bright-eyed, bringing forth Kerberos from the bleak fogs of Hades, on tricky Hermes stealing the cattle of his half-brother Apollo, on Zeus of the dazzling bolt defeating all-powerful Kronos and casting the Titans into shadowy Tartaros, on Nike dashing above rumbling chariots with laurels held aloft, and on Artemis Alphaea, archer-goddess of many masks, setting her hounds on the hunter Actaeon.
The Elean did not utter a word. He could sense that there was a heaviness to the air. It was obvious that his host had lost his cheerful disposition.
Agapios finally arrived with a large plate upon which had been placed all the food that his mistress had asked for. He put it on one of the low tables and picked up a pitcher from it to fill the krater. The old slave headed for the hydria.
"Go to sleep, Agapios, I shall cut the wine myself."
Again, the slave bowed and took his leave.
Kallistos stood up and went to the hydria and came back with a full pitcher of water to mix it with the dark syrupy wine. He grabbed a gilded skyphos and filled it near to the brim. He walked toward his guest, holding out the cup.
Pankratios rose to his feet and reached for the cup, but as he took it in hand, the Metapontine's grip tightened. "Tonight, I extend my hospitality to you, Pankratios, son of Demetrios, as I have to many an Elean before, and shall again for as long as I shall have bread and wine to offer them... But if ever again you were to speak out of terms to my wife, or to any who dwell beneath this roof, you shall never be welcome under it yourself. Let this be known to all in Elis who would seek shelter within my house."
The emissary could but stare, dumbfounded, as his host released his grasp and went back to the krater to fill his own kylix again.
Kallistos raised his goblet. "Tomorrow, we shall exchange gifts of everlasting friendship, and you shall be a guest-friend of my lineage through the sacred bond of hospitality."
He brought the cup to his lips and drank.