“Well, the Romans did it, and most of these Marissans are from the mainland and would be used to watching violent kinds of entertainment.” Ficino wasn’t as disturbed as I was. “I wonder what Aristomache thinks of it.”

“I don’t like to think of them raking blood off the sand,” I said, looking at the sand, which seemed so clean and innocent. “I don’t like to think of the Romans doing it either.”

“The problem with only giving you art that shows good people doing good things is that it makes you uncompromising, and doesn’t give you useful examples,” Ficino said. “This isn’t a dark secret. It’s open to everyone.”

As if to demonstrate this, a group of ephebes came in and, after greeting us politely, started to race around the outside of the circuit, exactly as my friends and I would in the palaestra at home.

We walked back through the city. I realized this time that the houses near the agora were larger and better-built than the ones further away. The smaller ones didn’t have glass in their windows, just wooden shutters. I saw a woman in a courtyard bent over, turning a stone on another stone. “What’s she doing?” I asked.

Ficino looked. “Grinding wheat.”

“They don’t have Workers, or electricity,” I said.

“They don’t even have wind or water mills, which we used to grind wheat to flour in my time. They’re starting without our technological base.”

Just then another woman came out into the courtyard and started to berate the woman turning the stone. We moved away.

“They have social classes,” I said.

“Yes,” Ficino agreed.

“And money. And wealth and poverty.”

“They started with adults who knew those things,” Ficino said. “That must have made it difficult.”

“Are they pursuing excellence?” I asked.

Ficino looked at me approvingly. “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself. They haven’t said they are. They talk about rescuing people and spreading their civilization. But they haven’t mentioned excellence at all. And in the discussion just now, did you notice how much of what they said was about politics?”

“You kept asking about philosophy, and they always answered in terms of politics,” I said. It was clear, now that I thought about it.

Ficino nodded. “I can’t help thinking about Kebes, how stubborn he was. These cities are more than just Kebes, and they’re clearly very influenced by the culture of the people they rescued, as well as what the Goodness brought. Do you remember your project on how to tell how philosophical a city is?”

I remembered it very well. I nodded.

“How would you assess this one?” We stepped out of the way of a man leading a laden donkey.

“The people you were debating with seemed to understand rhetoric, and to want to debate. But they don’t have a library,” I said. “Of course, one of the things they want from us is books, and it must be very difficult without.”

“It may seem strange to you, but is possible to hand-copy books,” Ficino said. “We did it in my day. They’ve done it too. They have versions of the Bible, the holy book of Christianity, as best they can remember it. And they have versions of Plato, the ones Aristomache knows by heart. There are some books in the school. But you’re right that they don’t have a library, and that’s significant. There’s a school and a church and a colosseum.” Ficino gestured to a house we were passing, one of the ones with window glass. “They’re doing well on a material level, not compared to us, but compared to what we’ve seen in the islands.”

“But maybe not so much philosophically?”

“I keep reminding myself that it was justice Kebes cried out for.”

“It was?” I’d never heard that.

“At the Last Debate. I was trying to hold him back but he leaped up onto the rostrum and started yelling out. ‘These pagan gods are unjust.’”

We were almost back in the agora. “Athene had just acted very unjustly.”

“Yes. But the gadfly that had been Sokrates spurned Kebes and flew toward your parents, which has always seemed to me an indisputable sign. Still, Kebes started rallying people, and off they went.” He looked around him. “And here they are, and we’ll have to make the best of it.”

We spent two more days in Marissa. On the second of them there was a bull baiting in the colosseum. Neleus and Erinna went, but I volunteered for duty aboard to avoid it. Erinna said it was disgusting, and Neleus said it was kind of fun but he wouldn’t go again. Maia, who also hadn’t attended, said she was glad that at least they ate the bull afterward. Father just shook his head.

We left Marissa with a plan. We’d sail to Chios and spend a night at the Goodness city there, Theodoros, the gift of God, and then sail on to Lucia. We should arrive there just before the festival began. Aristomache asked if she could sail with us, and so did half a dozen other Marissans. They only had one ship, and so moving between islands only happened when the Goodness called. In addition, the Goodness made a circuit of their eight cities, so taking a voyage meant being away from home for a long period. We intended to return to Kallisti immediately after the festival, and could bring them home to Marissa on the way. There was also talk of sending a diplomatic mission to Kallisti. I happened to be present when this was discussed. “Won’t that be for Lucia to decide?” Caerellia asked Deiphobos, who was one of the elected Kings of Marissa.

“Oh, I don’t think it would be a problem if we want to send somebody. They can send somebody too, if they want to. We wouldn’t speak for them, only for ourselves. We’re not subject to Lucia. Though of course, we know how much we owe them, and we’re all good friends.”

Our sailing plan did not allow for bad weather. The weather, which had been good all the way from Kallisti, now let us down badly. The first day I was reminded of the storms in the Aeneid and the Odyssey. Many people were sick, and we had to manage the ship short-handed. I fell once wrestling sails, and did instinctively fly for a moment until I could regain the yard. I don’t think anyone saw anything more than a well-recovered stumble; they were all too busy with their own tasks. The second day, when there was no letup in the gale, it reminded me of my dream where the ship was history being blown out of control by stormwinds. After that the days blurred together and the storm didn’t remind me of anything except itself. I was quite sure we were going to founder, and worried about how long I could fly and how many people I could carry. There were just too many people aboard I loved. I finally understood Father not wanting all of us to come. It wasn’t even possible to stay near one person I cared about. Too much of the time, if we’d breached I wouldn’t have been able to save any of them. I decided that Phaedrus and Kallikles could save themselves, and if Erinna and Maia and Ficino and Neleus and Father weren’t near enough I’d just grab whoever was and save them, even if it was sarcastic Caerellia or grumpy Phaenarete. I slept in exhausted snatches and took water to those too weak to fetch it for themselves. I discovered I had no divine abilities to heal, no sense of what was wrong with people the way Phaedrus described.

When I woke on the fourth or fifth morning to smooth sailing, and clear skies with visible stars, I actually wept.

18

ARETE

We had been blown in all directions, too far from safe harbors, and had sailed with the wind, avoiding islands as hazards. We were sure we were far to the northwest of Chios. We had no idea where we were. We hadn’t seen any islands for days except as chaotic shapes whose rocks could destroy us. Now we had an even wind, and we were sailing east. Some people said we should head back to Marissa, or home to Kallisti, but Maecenas was set on visiting Lucia.

So, to my surprise, was Father. I wanted to talk to him about my powers, but the first time I caught him anything like alone he was standing at the rail with Neleus, looking out at the waves. Neleus had been extremely ill all through the storm and still looked wobbly. He was one of the very last people I wanted to know about my powers. It was unfair enough as it was. “I want to go to their city to see Kebes. Or Matthias if that’s what he wants to call himself,” Father said, as I came up to them, sounding as grim as ever I had heard him.