Wine was usually mixed in proportions of one in four - three for drunks.
10. Love of strangers, to which Greeks are still prone.
11. A really expensive wine cup.
12. The cult of Attis required votaries to remove their genitalia with a sharpened clam shell.
13. Ouch.
14. This phrase is apparently older than presently believed.
15. Honey from the bees of the Mother Goddess, feeding on thyme and oregano on Mount Hymettus. Pound for pound worth much more than mere gold. A cure for everything but advanced cases of death.
16. Groves of holly trees were uniformly bad news. They were the haunt of the cthonic deities - death and fate. Among others even more unpleasant.
17. Scholars suggest that this may have been made by Heiron of Alexandria.
18. Sand-clock, see Heiron of...etc.
19. A cosmogeny so confusing that each page of his writing has more footnotes than print. Study of Hesiod produced several cases of brain fever and one duel (fortunately not fatal) amongst Oxford Graecians in the 18thC.
20. Posited but never proved by Heiron of Alexandria, due to lack of time.
21. Rejoice!
SAPPHO OF LESBOS
I DESIRE
AND I CRAVE
YOU.
Phaon had just reached the highest step of the white marble villa when he stopped abruptly. As a fisherman from the bay, he had no errand high on this hill, where the legendary poet Sappho dwelt with her coterie. But it was not social embarrassment which had caused him to stay his footsteps.
It was the long and above all, sharp spear which was levelled in a workmanlike manner at his breastbone by Demetrius of Lesbos, the guard. Demetrius was long limbed, sloe eyed, and very attractive, with a half-moon smile. At this moment, however, he was regarding Phaon with disapproval.
‘You can’t come in,’ he told the fisherman. ‘You’re Phaon, aren’t you? Seen you leering at the Lady Sappho down at the beach, where we go bathing.’
‘No,’ said Phaon. ‘I just...’
‘You’re wasting your time, pretty man,’ said Demetrius, sympathetically. ‘She just doesn’t do men. Not ever. There must be some girl who’d have you, look at you, broad shoulders, hair in ringlets...’
‘You don’t...’ Phaon tried.
‘But never mind. I stay out here to make sure that no one disrupts her songs. They’re having a poetic duel tonight. If you want to sit here, with me, on the top step, you can see into the hall and hear what they’re saying. Would that suit you?’
‘Yes,’ said Phaon.
‘And you promise not to rush inside and try to embrace her? Because I have this spear, and I’d hate to ruin that beautiful back by sticking holes in it. Not to mention that the Lady of the House can’t abide mess.’
‘I’ll be good,’ promised Phaon. ‘I’ll sit here with you and I won’t move.’
‘Excellent,’ said Demetrius. They sat down together on the highest step. ‘It’ll be nice to have some company,‘ added the guard.
‘Demetrius...’ Phaon began, and the guard hushed him.
‘Duel’s starting,’ he said, and Phaon looked into Sappho’s symposium. To his surprise, there were men there. Phaon raised an eyebrow at Demetrius.
‘That’s Alcaeus and his young men. He lives next door. They don’t do girls. Perfect match, in my view. Only male company she can stand. Pity he’s such a bad poet. But she... ah, Sappho, she’s a genius. Aphrodite inspires her, breathing poetry into her mouth in a kiss.’
‘He’s good looking,’ observed Phaon. Alcaeus was slim and epicene, dressed, as were all his followers, in expensive tunics dyed blue with woad. As the season was early spring, Sappho and all of her women were wearing a delicate green, from Sappho’s tunic, Rhodopis‘ chlamys, revealing her bare thighs and hips, to the wisp of cloth which almost concealed the pubis of the lovely Cleis, Sappho’s lover. Unlike Alcaeus’ boys, who all tended to the willowy, Sappho’s maidens were diverse: Cleis was plump, Sappho herself stocky and small, Rhodopis tall and thin. The only thing that united them, thought Phaon, was the fierce light of intelligence in their eyes.
They were drinking wine from golden cups and eating black grapes.
‘Those Aeolians,’ commented Demetrius, ‘drink like fish. Someone’ll come out soon with my supper. You’re welcome to share it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Phaon absently, eyes on the golden light inside. It came from olive oil lamps, but Phaon was prepared to swear that it actually came from poetry. He heard Demetrius chuckle.
‘They are divine, aren’t they?’ he asked. ‘And you and me out here in the cold darkness, spying on the Gods. They sleep in all morning, you know, rise for a little meal, then go walking. They stay in the temple of Aphrodite for a while, dedicating the songs of the night before, and you’ve seen them, at dusk, strolling down to the sea-foam, slipping naked as the newborn Aphrodite into the waves.’
‘I’ve seen them,’ murmured Phaon.
‘Beautiful,’ agreed Demetrius.
‘I always watch them,’ replied Phaon.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Demetrius. ‘The boats rock as the sailors pleasure themselves, and that’s all the pleasure they’ll get out of Divine Sappho. Then the ladies come back here, laze around in the fresh water baths, and dine and dance and make more songs. Once every ten days, they have this sort of party. Alcaeus usually visits.’
‘Demetrius...’ Phaon began again.
A well dressed slave girl brought a supper basket and a large jug of diluted wine. She saw Phaon, blushed, and scurried away.
‘Oh,’ said Demetrius. ‘Sorry. They’re a bit wary around strange men. We’ll just have to drink out of the same cup.’ He filled it. ‘Rejoice,’ he said, and raised the cup in salute.
‘Chiarete!’ answered Phaon, taking it from Demetrius’s warm hand and sipping.. It was good wine, rich and sweet and dark. Demetrius nudged Phaon with an elbow.
‘It’s starting,’ he said. In order to see, he shifted closer to Phaon on the marble step, They were sitting shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh when the verse duel began.
‘Lord Apollo, good shepherd,’ began Alcaeus in a fine, strong voice, ‘Your sheep beg for release.’
‘Queen Aphrodite,’ sang Sappho in return, her voice like Hymettus honey, ‘Don’t let him shear my fleece!’
There was a laugh, and Alcaeus continued, ‘Lord
