of Alcaeus’ pais in front of her. The young man stumbled and laughed.
‘No stronger force, lord, in Aeolis than her love,’ sang Alcaeus, embracing the young man and drawing him away from Sappho.
‘Lift me, then, Lady, to Divine realms above,’ sang Sappho, glancing up, as though her Goddess was indeed looking down on her.
‘Change,’ suggested Alcaeus, ‘To a theme of your choosing.’
‘I will,’ replied Sappho, ‘but only because you’re losing.’
The company laughed and drank more wine.
‘To my Cleis, my honeyed maiden,
Fairer than the morning, swift as the light,’ sang Sappho.
‘To my Larichos, my dancer
No one more beautiful in my sight,’ capped Alcaeus. Phaon winced.
‘I told you he was a terrible poet,’ said Demetrius.
‘I tell you, they will remember us in centuries to come
For the beauty of my Cleis will enchant even time.’
‘A flame through my loins as I see him move
My Larichos, of all men the most prime,’ capped Alcaeus.
‘His loins are afire?’ asked Phaon, worried. ‘Sounds dangerous.’
‘Have some more wine,’ soothed Demetrius.
‘I drape myself with many garlands of flowers
But Cleis’ skin smells sweeter than roses’ sang Sappho.
Cleis blushed.
Alcaeus made the gesture that said he was beaten, and Sappho continued
‘So gentle her love, as the breeze from the mountains
Carrying the scent of bee-grazed blossoms
Strong magical herbs, that will transform
Hatred into Love, Death into Life. And I
Would live thus with you forever, Cleis.’
They all broke into applause. Cleis kissed Sappho’s hands. The lyre was passed from person to person as they began improvising bawdy songs.
‘Well, that’s all there is to see,’ said Demetrius, standing up. ‘Sorry about your disappointed hopes.’
‘Demetrius,’ Phaon replied, putting both hands on the guard’s shoulders, ‘You have few faults, most adorable of men, but you never will let anyone finish a sentence. I didn’t come up to this villa in pursuit of Sappho.’
‘You didn’t?’ Demetrius was puzzled. ‘Shall I pick up my spear?’
‘No,’ said Phaon, taking the guard’s hand and placing it under his tunic. ‘You will find here the only spear we need.’
‘You came up here to seduce me?’ asked Demetrius, incredulity in every word.
‘I did,’ replied Phaon, ‘though I am glad to have seen the divine Sappho. You will not have to sit out here all night, surely.’
‘No, here comes my relief now,’ said Demetrius. ‘So when you said you were watching Sappho’s maidens...’
‘Always escorted by an extremely attentive and delightful guard.’
Demetrius began to lead Phaon away, toward his own sleeping place.
‘With precious and royal perfume,’ he said ‘I will anoint you. There will be no holy rite...’
‘From which we will be absent,’ Phaon completed the poem, and they clasped and kissed fervently, leaning against the white pillars of Sappho’s villa, while the company sang of legendary lovers of astounding potency inside the house.
‘Some say an army of horsemen,’ said Phaon
‘Some say soldiers, some say ships,’ said Demetrius.
‘Is the fairest thing on the black earth,’ recited Phaon.
‘But I say, it is what one loves,’ replied Demetrius.
The guard slept in an alcove, screened by a curtain. Phaon descended into Demetrius’ embrace, slotting in beside him in the narrow space: foot, shin, knee, thigh, hip, torso, shoulder. They wrapped their arms around each other, still half-bespelled by desire and by Sappho’s voice, heard clearly through the curtain; they lay unmoving while the song lasted.
‘Glorious Aphrodite, hear our prayer.
Breathe on us your perfumes
Cypress, rose and sea-foam
The blessings of your ocean birth.
Lie down with us, Lady, here
In our earthly and tumbled beds
Smile on our loves, anoint us here
Where mouth meets hungry mouth.’
When Phaon at last fully embraced Demetrius, he found that they were both crying.
THE OATH OF HIPPOCRATES
I had just finished treating the optio’s massive hangover with a strong infusion of thyme and honey when I became aware of him. A shadow, dressed in the tribesman’s unbleached wool tunic and plaid, standing just outside the door of my surgery.
‘Stay off that barley beer, it could fell an elephant,’ I advised the optio, and stood back as he stumbled out, swearing never to touch another drop. By a great effort of will, I believed him. The Brigantes made it by putting a bucket of beer out into the snow to freeze, and discarding the ice. It was as lethal as a blunt instrument at close range. The troops called it Parthian Club for that reason. I used it as an anaesthetic when I couldn’t get a lot of wine. The hangover didn’t matter then, because the patients were always going to feel condemned to Tartarus when they woke up. So far, I hadn’t killed anyone with it. It also made quite a good disinfectant. Only those wearied of living or those with a serious thirst actually drank the stuff.
The young man slipped inside as I beckoned him, and leaned a little against my wall, leaving a bloody handprint. He was favouring his leg.
‘Are you hurt? Let me help you,’ I urged. He shook his head. He was the usual golden man; golden hair and beard and pale blue eyes, astonishingly beautiful. I pushed him down into a chair and found a wound the length of my hand on his thigh. Fresh, still bleeding, and tied up with a rag.
‘This needs dressing,’ I told him.
‘Him first,’ said the Brigante at last. I was wondering if he could actually speak. He
