Story - Olive Tree

The Olive Tree, David Kelečić

Alexandros snuck into his father's carpentry workshop where he knew he'd have a moment's peace. Mother wouldn't go there and Father was off with his friends to one of the taverns near the agora. The beardless boy sat down on the coarse wooden bench and quickly lifted the grey edge of the toga over his knee to reveal a burgeoning boy's erection. Even though it had been a recent amusement it had soon grown from innocent curiosity into a necessity, a desire for solitude in which he might deal with this new evidence of oncoming masculinity. Timid and restless, he began to play with his member the way instinct guided him.

Even though Alexandros dealt only with himself at first, lately his thoughts were often invaded by the alluring Maera. She was three years his senior, her body was voluptuous and Alexandros had the good fortune to have seen her naked as he stealthily scurried up a fig tree near her house. But even if Maera had been beside him right now he had to admit to himself he would not know what to do with her. This, however, did not prevent him from recalling her round breasts, a vision that would haunt him every time he'd give himself a sweet moment of pleasure.

But on that day the lovely Maera was spans away from Alexandros' mind. Though she was among the most beautiful girls in the city, Maera could not even hold a candle to the new image that took over the boy's attention. You see, that afternoon Alexandros had seen a goddess.

He had hesitated at first. How could he touch himself while thinking of her? Is it not sacrilegious? Will not the goddess immediately know what is happening? Will the God of Thunder not smite him where he stands with one of Hephaestus' lightning? As much as shame gnawed at Alexandros his urge forced him to touch himself because he could not stop seeing her divine face and the curves of a body no mortal woman had ever possessed. And her breasts...breasts softly outlined under an almost transparent dress, small nipples that were all Alexandros could see while the goddess spoke to him..

That moment of lively imagination suddenly peaked and spilled over, something the boy still did not understand but knew it was best to hide its traces from Father. His breathing was fast as he watched the member that was becoming an ever greater obsession, something that commanded more and more of his time and thought. The goddess...even after relieving himself in this manner he could not get her out of his head. He blushed at his clumsiness but what else was there to do in the face of her magnificence? The goddess Athena, the daughter of Zeus...Alexandros' new favorite woman.

He ran along the dusty road and between the many people on it as he climbed the hill towards the agora. The setting sun colored the many white stone houses and wooden stalls red while the merchants were putting away their figs, grapes and pots of honey and wine. In confusion he watched a stream that flowed to his right, something that was considered inconceivable in this city - until today. He noticed the water becoming less and less red as it washed away all the dust and dirt it had encountered at first. He turned and saw Ion, his best friend, well behind him.

"Come on, hurry up already!" he shouted.

"Where are you rushing to?" Ion panted as he stopped. "They said she'd be back ten days from today," he tried to justify his dawdling.

"Then you don't have to go with me," Alexandros shouted back and rushed further up the hill. He knew the goddess was gone but she had left a mark upon the city, a mark of her visit. He had to return to that place, to prove to himself it had really happened, that the gods really were fighting for the favor of his city.

The small hill soon flattened and the widening street ahead turned into a huge agora where today the entire city had gathered to the last man. They were still swarming over the large space but there was finally enough room for a skinny boy to slip through with ease to the left side of the square, one of the day's two focal points.

From the distance he could see the tree was still in its place. It almost towered over the surrounding houses and its treetop was wide and full of narrow, thick, dark green leaves. Tiny green fruits hung under the branches, dragging them down with their weight. Through the noise of the throng Alexandros' ears caught snatches of comments about how the goddess had told them the tree should be called the olive tree. He knew he was supposed to have heard it as well, everyone had listened to the goddess Athena...everyone but him. From the nearby fig tree, the same one he'd once looked at Maera he had also feasted his eyes on the goddess' chest and tried to penetrate her gossamer dress with his stare.

"The olive tree," he said it as if it had been the goddess' name, a sign of respect. He could recall something about the goddess lifting her spear proudly and declaring to the entire city that a miracle was about to occur. She drew everyone's attention to the rough stones and the fallow earth the Aecheans had been tilling with much problem. Then she pressed her spear against the stones and forced the olive tree out of them. The tree had, in moments, grown from a common sapling into a treetop a dozen spans wide. Fruits appeared one after another while Athena proudly stood beneath them. Oil, wood and food - the gifts of Zeus' daughter, the goddess of wisdom.

"Look, Alexandros," a breathless Ion said. "There, on the other side, near the spring, Neokles and Sebastos. By Zeus...they're bathing!" Ion had gathered enough breath to run over and greet their friends on the other side of the agora. Alexnadros followed reluctantly, almost as if fearing he'd betray the goddess by stepping away from her imaginary side of the agora.

"Look, it's Ion and Alexandros!" Sebastos shouted, a naked boy whose shins were immersed in running water. He was covered in mud from head to toe, as were all the children jumping around the city's new spring. "Poseidon is great!" he shouted and started flinging mud at the boys around him. Even though the grownups did not approve at first no one could prevent the children from desecrating the city's second miracle, the sweet water spring that the god Poseidon had gifted them that day. Mothers silently agreed to give their children a single night to play and the more practical among them had already made arrangements for washing the dirty clothes in the new spring tomorrow.

Ion joined the din as he leapt about the cool water but Alexandros had refrained from jumping. He jealously regarded the rock upon which the pompous Poseidon had displayed his miracle after Athena. The god's powerful arms struck awe into the hearts of all Aecheans when the majestic god lifted his trident and struck it upon the rock so that all earth shook. At first there was nothing, as if Poseidon had made a mistake, but his confidence held all tongues firmly in their mouths. A moment later a powerful jet of water sprayed from the crack in the rock, which then spread as more and more water poured into the sunlight. Poseidon spread his arms and laughed as water flowed around his feet, seeking a place to carve its first riverbed. The stunned Greeks at first withdrew as if the water would burn them but some gathered up courage and tasted it. It was drinkable.

Alexandros regarded his friends with anger. How could they treat the goddess so callously? Did they intend to use Poseidon's gift? Who could possibly prefer the rough and boring Poseidon as a city's protector over the wonderful and wise Pallas? Did some of them really doubt whose gift was better? He turned around and noted, with worry, that the agora was full of groups of Aecheans briskly debating which god to choose. In truth, Poseidon had promised them superiority on the sea, dominion over the waves and enemy fleets. But Athena's olive also meant culture, knowledge and trade. Of course, they could only have one or the other and they were to give their final answer in ten days when the gods would return. Few people felt at ease with the coming decision. To choose one god's protection was to insult the other and gain a mortal enemy.

"No way," Alexandros mumbled and turned his back on Poseidon's spring. He was not afraid of insulting a bearded old man with seashells and starfish stuck to his hair and beard. Even though Poseidon was the brother of Zeus the boy knew Athena would protect him from her jealous uncle. Although he had to admit, with some resentment, he did want to jump into the cool stream since it was such a hot summer evening. And throwing mud would also be fun, especially at all those who had taken Poseidon's side. But he couldn’t soil himself that way. What if the goddess were to look down from Olympus and see him dirty?

Full of anger, he returned under the olive tree where there was all peace and no little muddy scoundrels from Poseidon's side. He devoutly touched the bulbous and twisted bark of the thick tree and felt its rough surface and unusual smell. Goddess Athena, he thought, I'll be your champion until my dying breath and you... You're the love of my life, he admitted to himself uneasily.

"Mom, how will we choose Athena to protect our city?" he asked as he brought heavy logs into the kitchen. His mother was cutting vegetables and preparing meat for lunch. She laughed at Alexandros' question.

"So, you would choose the goddess. I'm glad to hear that, I also think she would be the better choice. But you will have to ask your father, he is the one with the vote."

"Oh... did he say who he'll vote for?" he asked.

"No. Yesterday he came home late and he's been working in the field with Epigeus and Kyros since early morning."

"I think it's dumb I don't have the right to vote," he added glumly. "What if Father chooses to vote for Poseidon?"

"Alexandros, you must earn the right to vote. Your brother Epigeus is almost eighteen but he is yet to join the army. Besides, respect your father's decision. If he believes it is in the best interest of our family to vote for Poseidon, then so it shall be."

"But you yourself said it would be better to choose Athena!"

"I said the goddess would be my choice but I will respect your father's decision," and then she added in a lower voice, "And so, of course, will you."

Alexandros gritted his teeth. He had promised the goddess he would fight for her.

"No. Dad has to vote Athena." With some trepidation he lifted his gaze towards his mother, wondering what reaction he would bring about. She regarded him sternly, hands on hips and eyebrows arching. Then sternness vanished from her face and gave way to a sincere smile.

"Son, what is this behavior? Do you think your father a slave like Kyros, to be commanded at your whim?"

Even though she laughed, Alexandros was uneasy. Mother always made him think.

"But there must be a way! Not just Father but all who will vote," he grew agitated. "If Poseidon becomes this city's protector, then I don't want to live here anymore!"

"Serious words for a boy of eleven," his mother noted calmly. Alexandros sulked. He knew he spoke nonsense - you did not throw away the right of citizenship easily. "Son, maybe the time has come for you to learn there are more subtle ways of achieving your goals, even when it seems you are powerless."

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"Sit down, this is important," she pointed at the bench his father had carved and sat at one end of it. "Tell me, do women or slaves have the right of vote?" The boy spent a long time thinking over such a simple answer. He knew there must be something more to the question but he could not see what.

"They don't" he gave in softly.

"Yes," his mother confirmed with a relaxing warm touch on his arm. "Nevertheless, do you think we women have no power over our city's policies? And slaves?"

The boy frowned but he did not know the answer.

"I will help you because you are still young and so unaware of everything that goes on in a household," his mother continued. "Your father always makes the final decision but never before talking to me. Every good husband wishes to please his wife and a pleased wife likes to have her opinion taken into consideration. You can be sure that behind every voting there is a plethora of women who have, in one way or another, influenced their husbands' votes."

"But...how does that help me?"

His mother laughed.

"It doesn't. These are bedroom matters which you are still too young to understand." Alexandros felt a stab of panic. Perhaps his mother had no idea he had been dealing with those matters for quite some time. "There are many other ways to influence another's opinion. For example, remember when recently Kreon, the tavern owner, accused Triton, the land owner of selling him watered down wine. How would you have voted on that?"

Alexandros beamed - finally a question he could answer with ease.

"That's easy! I think Kreon was greedy and that he lied to make more money," he answered with pride.

"And on what do you base that?" his mother asked knowingly.

"Well...everyone knows it," he said, somewhat confused. He hated his mother's ability to quickly crush his confidence with a simple change of tone.

"And why does everyone know it?" she asked relentlessly with an innocent smile worse than the nine heads of Hydra.

"Because of the play," Alexandros admitted. He had really enjoyed the play but now had a premonition Mother was about to ruin his fond memories of the night he'd cried laughing.

"Precisely, the play," his mother agreed. "We all laughed when the actor made fun of Kreon pouring water into his wine at night and then accusing Triton of it. The entire city laughed when Dionysus in the end punished Kreon by drinking his entire wine cellar. But did you know the play was written by Cilix, whose patron is Triton? Do you understand what that means?"

Alexandros thought for a moment and then timidly offered his thoughts: "The play made us think Kreon a liar but it was paid for by Triton to make himself look better in front of the voters."

His mother nodded contently.

"Perhaps Kreon really had cheated Triton but Triton knew well how to sway the voters. So, think. Our city values skilled politicians. You are still too young to deal with such matters fully but you might think of a way of making a contribution."

"What do you mean Zeus' beard is no good?" shouted Maleos the master potter from whom Ion's mother had just several days ago bought a new pot. "Did the Lord of Thunder himself appear to you in your sleep that you've come here telling me how to do my job?" he continued even angrier. Ion retreated, wondering how to hide from the spit that escaped Maleos' mouth through the gap of a missing tooth.

"But my mother said it's too short," Ion tried to defend himself once again.

"What is wrong with you all? Are you insane?!" the potter raged again, showering him with spit anew. "I'll tell your father to spend less time having fun with that young Theas because back home he has a wife hungry for..."

Fortunately, Ion did not hear the remainder of Maleos' marital advice because a cry was heard from the workshop, followed by a second, boy's cry. A moment later Alexandros ran from the workshop carrying a small pot smeared with fresh red paint, chased by Maleos' slave who had just caught him stealing it. Ion was quick enough to use the moment of confusion, pick up his mother's pot and run the other way. Of course, Ion's mother had no issues with Zeus' beard but Ion had needed an excuse to distract Maleos while Alexandros snuck into the workshop.

Even though he had been caught red-handed Alexandros was still content as he ran through the narrow streets, searching for a place to hide from Maleos' slave. The slave was old and so he counted on him giving up the chase soon. Besides, it was only a little red paint; even the pot he'd used was from his own house.

With skill only young boys possess he climbed over the stone wall at the edge of the city and onto the top of an old wood shed. He was now hidden from any eyes on the street by a low wall on which he rested his head as he lay down on the roof. He took a moment to catch his breath and then checked the paint pot. Some of the paint had spilled out as he ran and he hoped his pursuer would not be able to use them to track him. His right fist was red from fresh paint but he counted on washing it in the stream. Then he angrily reminded himself to wash his hands in the old stream away from the city and swore there was no chance of him doing it in Poseidon's gift.

He knew he would have to wait some time to be certain the slave had given up his pursuit but he was immediately bored and had started to fidget from anticipation. He had tried thinking about the plan he was to carry out that night but even those thoughts made his heart beat faster. Luckily, he had managed to convince Ion that Athena was the logical choice for the city's protector and so his friend had agreed to help him. How could some people be such fools and bow to Poseidon when there was Athena? Alexandros spent every morning admiring the olive tree. It was truly magnificent, durable, persistent and fertile amid cruel stones... but, somehow... He couldn’t' stop thinking about the soft touch of Athena's fingers, soft lips whispering, fine gossamer fabric outlining the goddess' breasts and the purple tips of her...

The boy gently bit his tongue to stem the oncoming tide of desire but it had been in vain - he could feel the tide grow day by day, turning from a simple game into something more. He turned his gaze to the swelling under the toga and for a second time that day asked the goddess for forgiveness. Then, with some trepidation, he realized his hands were still smeared with red paint. What if he left red marks down there and then his clothes became red on the inside and his mother found that out? How would he explain that? Trepidation was there for a moment and then he reminded himself he would go to the stream and wash it all off. The other stream, not Poseidon's!

"Dad, IT HURTS!" he screamed loudly as the red skin of his bottom screamed even louder. "Please, stop!" he wailed but another slap landed on the painful spot adding a new shade of red, one appealing only to bees and bumblebees. If there had ever been a day his father had wanted to fling him into Tartarus as a meager meal for the Titans, today was that day.

From a nearby room Alexandros' mother listened concernedly to her son's screams and silently blamed herself for the trouble she had indirectly caused. She had explained to her husband where Alexandros had gotten the idea for his undertaking but the father would hear no excuses for his son's follies. Kyros, the family slave, had laid a compassionate hand on her shoulder.

"Mom, did you hear about what happened in the city this night?" Epigeus, Alexandros' older brother, appeared, absent from the house since morning. When he heard his younger brother's screams he shrugged confusedly and sat down at the table. "On the library at the agora someone wrote "ATHENA'S CITY" on the wall." Then he laughed and lazily grabbed a fresh fig. "I've seen other inscriptions like that, there's..."

"One on the temple of Apollo, by the Amphitheatre, on the wall of Kreon's tavern, by the Kalithei memorial..." his mother counted them off despondently as he nodded in surprise.

"Good news must be spreading. The culprit is still unknown but I hear the Poseidon faction's glad they did it. They say they'll wash the color off with the blessed water from Poseidon's stream." Alexandros' screams once again echoed from the next door room. "What did the little git do now?"

His mother tried to answer but she could only start crying again and cover her red face with her palms. Epigeus looked at Kyros in confusion and the slave sighed and explained in a calm voice.

"Young master, 'THIS IS ATHENA'S CITY', 'ATHENA FOR PROTECTOR' and the many other inscriptions you have seen throughout the city are all the work of your younger brother Alexandros."

"No! It couldn't be?! Even the one...about Poseidon?" Epigeus exclaimed.

"'POSEIDON STINKS', under his statue or 'THIS IS POSEIDON'S PISS' on the rock by the new stream?" the calm Kyros asked as Mother wailed harder. "In any case, both are the work of young Alexandros."

"But...how did you find out? No one in the city knows who did it," Epigeus added concernedly.

"Maleos the potter visited your father this morning and explained how his slave yesterday caught young Alexnadros stealing red paint from his workshop. As you know, all inscriptions are in that exact color and done in the same hand. It was not hard for Maleos to guess the culprit," Kyros explained calmly.

"He asked for five lambs in exchange for his silence," Mother explained, finally calming herself despite Alexandros' screams.

"That's blackmail!" Epigeus blustered.

"Yes, but such sacrilege could lose your father his citizenship. Do you understand what that means?" she explained in agitation. "By the gods, he desecrated the temple of Apollo and Poseidon's miracle! What if the gods curse us?"

"What an idiot," Epigeus did not see a problem in his brother's mischief. The real trouble was that his brother was dumb enough to let himself be caught. Did he teach him nothing in all these years?

At that moment Father appeared in the room. He was huffing as if he had been wrestling an ox. He sat at the table and poured himself a cup of wine in the silence interrupted only by Alexandros' weeping. After that he sighed and looked at his family.

"Males promised to be silent. No one is to mention those damned inscriptions outside of this house. Understood?"

They all agreed, nodding worriedly.

Alexandros angrily threw pebbles at the rock top. Not only did his father beat him but he had also been forced to listen to another of his mother's lectures and then even his brother gave him a dressing down for getting caught. Of course, Father was furious over the possibility of losing his citizenship but Alexandros did not care about that if Poseidon was to lose. Nothing mattered when compared to Athena.

He could not sit down on a rock, his ass still hurting too much from his father's heavy hand. He squatted in the tree's shade, thinking what to do next. Of course, the stinging pain in his posterior reminded him that next time he'd have to be...more subtle, as his mother noted with concern. And within some limitations, he reminded himself. Of course, something smarter would be needed, as his arrogant brother pointed out to him.

He gritted his teeth in anger. If everyone back home was so smart, why didn't anyone give him some actual advice? Quick to lecture but when it comes to doing deeds, they all acted as if they did not care who rules the city! Grownups annoyed him. Everything that mattered to him was in their hands and they acted as if they did not care what happened.

"Pallas, help me! Advise me how to help you," he cried out holding his head. After a few moments of anticipation he realized the goddess would not shower him with inspiration in the same way God of Thunder would be gracious with his lightning. What if he was no longer in her good graces? Had he ever been? He would obviously, he thought, have to fend for himself and earn her attention. Considering he was involving himself in the affairs of grownups it was obvious he would also have to employ their methods, which meant dealing in politics. But in what way could a boy like him involve himself in city politics?

"Out, now!" the agitated slave screamed at Alexandros for the third time now. The boy stuck out his tongue at him and then turned on his heel in protest and left the Triton's house courtyard. For the next several paces, while he was still certain the slave was watching, he walked tall and defiant but once around the corner his shoulder suddenly drooped. Ion was waiting there, having given up at the first shout from the old slave. Triton, the rich owner of many vineyards would not dream of seeing them and they couldn't even approach his slave Cilix, who was also a literary man.

"Alexandros, I am not certain what you want is even possible. Triton would listen to you only if you were his eromenos and we both come from too poor families for that. Our fathers are a carpenter and a sculptor, not aristocrats," Ion complained. Alexandros had to admit his friend was right. Without a rich patron they had no chance of hiring a playwright to write them a comedy in five days. The boys slowly walked home.

"I hate politics," Alexandros said. "Only old farts and the rich deal in it," he concluded angrily. Ion couldn't offer any consolation. It was obvious how much Alexandros cared about Athena becoming the city's protector but Ion did not consider Poseidon such a bad alternative. In the name of friendship he agreed to help Alexandros but he believed their reach exceeded their grasp in this situation.

"Who knows, perhaps most of them will vote for Athena. I've heard Father say the city is divided on the matter. It's difficult to say if the olive tree and the stream are that different in their usefulness," Ion thought aloud.

"It's not about the stupid stream or the olive tree!" Alexandros cried out. "It's the difference in gods themselves. Poseidon is an old horse with seashells in his beard! Who would want such a city protector?!"

"Be quiet!" Ion shouted, smacking his friend on the head. He noticed several people looking at them grimly. He pulled him to the side and soon they came onto the street where Poseidon's stream flowed from the agora and down the hillside.

"Must we go this way?" Alexandros commented sourly.

"If you kept your mouth shut we could have stayed where we were," Ion shot back. "Wait...do you hear shouting?"

The boy, suddenly in a good mood, pulled his grumpy friend dozens of paces down the hill, towards Kreon's tavern. There was commotion n the street and Kreon's bitter voice cried over it.

"Damned Fortune, Poseidon fuck you with his trident," the fat man spoke tearing at what little curly hair remained at the edges of his scalp. "You call yourselves architects, huh?" he complained, more to the skies than to the pair of young men sullenly standing knee deep in the city's new stream's bed.

Alexandros felt sympathy for the fat man. Not only did the entire city laugh at him because of Cilix's play but he was now also the biggest victim of Poseidon's gift. For the stream had quickly formed its bed and most citizens had adapted their everyday life to it. In several places walking boards had been placed, other places wooden bridges and plans were already being made for stone vaults should Poseidon win. But Kreon had no such luck. His tavern's wall was on the hillside, directly in the path of the stream and the water had broken into his cellar, drowning all his wine. Wicked tongues already whispered that the damage to Kreon wasn't that bad since Triton had proved his wine was already watered down but judging from the bags under Kreon's eyes Alexandros did not believe the man had it easy.

"Run home and hide under your mother's skirt, don't let me see you ever again!" Kreon screamed at the young architects who had claimed they could plug the holes in his cellar. "May a starfish get lodged in his ass," Kreon mumbled, still loud enough to be heard by onlookers.

"Don't blaspheme, he could turn you into a sea cucumber!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"He can turn me into a sponge and wipe his ass with it for all I care!" Kreon shouted angrily. "Who will pay for the damage? Not him, that's for sure!"

"Ask him when he returns in six days time," another voice said.

"Why so worked up, your wine is watered down already," a third brave stranger spoke up.

"WHO SAID THAT?! I'll break all your bones, you fuckers," Kreon screamed. Chatty people suddenly realized the play was over. The onlookers dispersed as Kreon glared at each of them, looking for the smart mouthed ones. As they crowd thinned out, only two boy s remained, one of them with a huge smile plastered over his face.

"Here, this is Meander," Kreon told them sitting them down beside a drunk man in his twenties with his head on the table. He grabbed him by the long hair and lifted his head to weak protestations and blinking. "Meander, these two boys have a proposition for you."

The man limply motioned for Kreon to go away. The barkeep suddenly released his hair and Meander's nose noisily impacted against the table.

"Sir, are you sure he is the right man for the job? Couldn't we hire some other playwright?" Alexandros asked with concern.

"Boys, he's the best I can offer. He's the only one desperate enough to accept your offer and also the only one pathetic enough to drink my watered down wine. Besides, he owes me money so I can make him work it off. You'll see, he's not that bad," Kreon concluded with a smile and proceeded to slap the man. "Amathea! Bring cold water. Use that Poseidon's piss," he told his daughter.

The boys couldn't not notice luscious curves of Kreon's daughter, a few years older than them. Alexandros reminded himself about giving his heart to Athena but at that moment the goddess had seemed more distant than usual. Luckily, his attention was drawn by Meander, coming round from Kreon's slaps and the pot of cold water thrown in his face. A few moments later Kreon explained what he was to do.

"You want me to write and prepare an entire comedy in five days? Are you insane? Do you know how much work that is? And the actors?! The choir? Do you understand how impossible it is?" Meander shouted.

"I liked him more drunk," Ion told Alexandros and his friend nodded concernedly.

"Meander," Kreon said amiably, "no one said the comedy has to be the greatest Aechean literature in existence. It's enough to just give the citizens the message of choosing Athena as city's protector. So, make up an acceptable plot, throw in a few sketches and have Pallas give us a proper catharsis for a finish. It's doable, is it not?"

Meander shrugged.

"I can't guarantee quality but I can give it my best," the playwright said.

"Only, there's a tiny detail I haven't mentioned yet," Kreon added with a toothy grin.

"Which is?" Meander asked as the boys at the other end of the table sighed.

"One of the characters must be Triton. I want you to make him into a vile liar and for Athena to turn him into a frog at the end of the play and cast him into that damned Poseidon's stream."

Meander gaped in shock and then gave the boys a pleading look once he realized Kreon was serious. Alexandros shrugged.

"He's the patron, we don't have a choice," he explained. Meander opened his mouth to protest loudly but his rusty brains finally started working and helped him realize there was no point in protesting. But, there were other obstacles.

"Fine, let' say I write the comedy you want. This pays off my debt to Kreon. But what about the actors? The equipment? The choir? Who will pay for all that?"

Meander and the boys turned towards Kreon who responded with a grim look.

"Don't look at me," he said. "Even though I like the idea, I'm not as rich as Triton. All I have is being spent on rebuilding the cellar and renewing my wine stock. Not all guests are as desperate as Meander to drink wine watered down with Poseidon's piss."

"But where will we get the money? We don't have anything," Alexandros said with concern.

"How should I know? Ask Athena to grow drachmas instead of olives on her tree. Maybe she'll even grant the wish if she likes the proposition," Kreon added angrily, making it clear he was done talking about it. "How should I know, ask the pro-Athena people to donate you some money. The citizens who believe in your play could make a contribution."

"You think people would donate over three hundred drachmas for a play they haven't even seen yet?" Meander noted with skepticism.

"Of course they would, it's about faith. Do you see how far these kids are willing to go," Kreon retorted pointing at the boys. Meanwhile, Ion was holding his head thinking about three hundred drachmas and Alexandros' face grew red as he wondered what his true motivation for helping Pallas' cause was. But, regardless of his affection for his right hand it was obvious he couldn't give up.

"We'll do it," he said to Ion's look of horror. "Only, Meander must start work on the play immediately. The vote is in six days, which means that the play must be performed on the fifth day. We'll get the money by then somehow."

"You see, Meander," Kreon concluded, "today's kids are much different than us. Back in the day, the only thing I did was sit at home and jerk off to my neighbor's tits."

Alexandros watched the sunset from the agora. The orange sunlight colored the white Aechean homes. Another hot day had passed. He glanced at the olive tree whose scent was heavy in the air. He'd get an even better view of the sunset from the treetop but he did not dare defile the tree. What if a branch should break?

A tired Ion sat under the tree, complaining for a while now about being hungry. There was tension in the air. They'd argued because Ion wanted to buy food from a stall but Alexandros would not hear about spending part of the money they'd collected so far. What if, in the end, they find themselves exactly two sixths of a drachma short? He finally saw Dymas and Theas approaching from the east. They were the friends he'd managed to convince that morning to help them collect money.

"How was it?" he ran towards them. "How much did you collect?" he asked excitedly. By their sullen faces it was obvious he shouldn't expect much.

"Seven drachmas and four sixths," Thase said resignedly. "Did you do any better?"

Alexandros sighed disappointedly because his own pouch wasn't much heavier.

"Eleven drachmas and two sixths," he said glumly. "So, a total of nineteen drachmas. That's not even close to enough and we have only three, at best four days to collect."

Meanwhile, Ion joined them.

"The problem is the people don't trust us. They think we're trying to con them or they say they don't care who wins," Ion noted. After a moment's silence he added: "I'm hungry and covered in dust. I want to wash myself."

Alexandros understood his friend's comment. From the left side of the agora they could hear joyous shouts from the boys once again playing in Poseidon's stream. There were Neokles and Sebastos, friends who weren't interested at all in Athena.

"Do as you wish, even if it means swimming in Poseidon's piss," he said tiredly. "Just promise me you'll be back here tomorrow. I'll think of something, Athena is, after all, the goddess of wisdom."

His friends nodded and went on their way but not before Theas gave Alexandros his pouch.

On his way home Alexandros stopped in front of Kreon's tavern and gave the collected money to Meander. The playwright noted with some concern that there would be no play if the collection does not speed up but Alexandros told him to stop worrying about finances. Kreon offered him a cup of watered down wine to lift his spirits but the boy refused. His beard still hadn't started growing and he didn't feel it was time yet for wine. Besides, what if Mother was to smell it on his breath? Soon he went home and in the meantime night had fallen.

"I hear you've been collecting money for Meander's new play," his father said as soon as Alexandros sat down at the table. The boy was agitated for a moment, he did not want to go through another of his father's discipline lessons. Although, this time he hadn't done anything wrong.

"That is true," he confirmed with reservation. He wondered if he could ask Father for a donation but had given up on that idea. It was enough his family had lost five lambs in exchange for the potter's silence. "Is it alright? May I continue with it?" he added softly. He didn't want to but he knew it was expected of him to ask for permission.

"Yes, it's alright," his father said after a moment's thought. His mother's tense shoulders, as she pretended to sew in her corner of the room, suddenly relaxed. "I could use your help in the workshop but it can wait a few days. Only," he added sternly, "take care not to do something stupid again."

"Don't worry, father, I'm not an idiot," the boy responded angrily. Finally, hunger reared its head between tiredness and anger. Alexandros started eating as his father quietly drank his wine.

"So, how has it been going so far?" he asked after a few moments. Alexandros' eyebrow arched and then he had to chew before he could answer.

"Badly. Even though Kreon is Meander's patron, we still need to collect over three hundred drachmas. At the moment we have ninety," he admitted his defeat. His father waved his head at the sum.

"Kid, we wouldn't get two hundred even if we sold Kyros and him I earned with my military service. How do you plan on getting that much money in such a short time?"

Alexandros sighed. He wanted to have an answer to that. Not just for his father but for his friends who were very close to giving up. Besides, there was also the goddess...

"I don't know, dad," he sulked. "I don't understand why people won't donate for the goddess. I know a play doesn't guarantee anything but it's how this city's politics functions," he said with more fire in his voice.

"Kid, there is more to this city's politics than plays for the people," his father explained. "Take into account that everyone is out for themselves. For instance," he paused for a moment, "do you realize it's in our family's interest for me to vote Poseidon?"

Alexandros went pale.

"You'll vote for Poseidon?" he asked in disbelief. His father sighd.

"I'm not certain yet. But you must understand. I am a carpenter and so will you be. Do you realize that Poseidon has promised us naval supremacy? There is a warmongering faction within the city that supports Poseidon and building the largest Aechean navy. Should Poseidon win, we carpenters will build all those ships. Athena does not offer such great opportunity for our family," he concluded. Alexandros watched his father silently. Even though he did not like to think so much, it was obvious there was truth in his father's words. But they still tasted bitter.

"I understand, dad," he answered in defeat. What else was there to say? Any word of opposition would likely lead to another spanking.

"But," his father continued, "I support your right to choose. And so I will give you a small piece of advice. Consider this - what will the people get if they vote for Athena, that is, what do they stand to receive should they finance your play? Grownups are out for themselves, only the young have higher ideals."

"Your father is right," his mother added rising from the table. "Go to bed and think on it. And also," she said behind Father's back, winking to her son, "don't worry who your father will vote for. Nothing is set in stone."

That night Alexandros was visited by Zeus' daughter. In her right hand was the spear she made the olive tree with and in her left was the egida, the goat skin shield. Despite these weapons she was dressed as on that day in the city, a purple dress with gold trimmings. Beneath the fine, gossamer fabric there was the hint of impressive breasts and tiny protrusions of divine nipples.

She was speaking to him. Her perfect lips moved, shaping syllables that didn't reach his ears. The lips moved, pale skin stretching without a single furrow. She gave him a mild but clear look, asking for his attention. But words remained soundless. He couldn't hear her because he could only look at that perfect face and body as inviting as the sweetest nectar and skin, sending out a siren's call to be touched.

With a dark face the goddess repeated her words but once again the sound did not reach Alexandros. He had eyes only for her feminine breasts but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was doing the wrong thing, knew he should listen to her. But how could he, when she appeared to him in her fullness, divine and magnificent, soft and...

Painful beating of his own heart woke Alexandros up. The goddess! She came to him in a dream! He opened his eyes wide, realizing he was in the dark of his own house. The goddess...tried to tell him something and he...he wasn't listening, he realized. He didn't listen to the goddess?! With some confusion he figured out the reason for his lack of attention once he noticed his erection under the sheet. No...there was no way to recall what he did not hear in the first place. He hesitated for only a moment and then reached under the sheet with his right hand. Athena was the goddess of wisdom and he counted on her understanding his weakness.

Carefully, so as not to wake up his brother, he began timidly moving his hand but very soon he settled back into the usual rhythm of sweet intensity. He thought he heard some movement but a moment of stock stillness confirmed it certainly wasn't his brother, whose regular breathing could still be easily heard. He continued, carefree, giving himself over to a fresh memory of his goddess. But even then, partly out of youthful fear, he did not dare imagine anything more than Athena's curves, let alone doing something with them.

A few moments later he carefully climaxed into his fist. Even though he didn't feel like moving, he knew it was best not to wipe it off under the sheet because the stains would surely give him away. He silently turned over and reached to the edge of the bed and wiped his hand on the underside of the board.

At that moment he once again heard unusual commotion. He pricked up his ears and realized it most certainly came from within the house, most likely from his parent's room. He supposed what was happening and then blushed at the thought. He'd become a silent witness to city's democracy in action. But, no mater how much politics was on his mind lately he decided it was best not to involve himself in the democratic processes of his own home. He turned to the other side of his bed and considered his dream. There must have been a deeper meaning to it but who could he ask for interpretation? How could he explain to a grownup he was too busy staring at Athena's breasts to listen to her message?

He sighed, tired. What was happening to him? When did he become so unreliable? Why did only certain things come to his mind and why did they influence him that way? From all the mortals under Olympus the goddess chose him, a simple eleven-year old boy and came to him in a dream. She had needed his help! And he...he had stared at her tits. He angrily noted that Athena, being a goddess of wisdom, should have known who she was dealing with. She should have worn something less revealing, have covered those immortal, perfect breasts from his mortal, horny eyes!

"Listen, we have new orders," Alexandros said solemnly, trying to read his own scratchings on the wax plate. A tired Meander watched him through purple-rimmed eyes.

"So" Alexandros said, "Nestor has paid us five drachmas and he wants Athena to bless the bread from his bakery at some point. The goddess is to cry out at that moment and ask where does the bread come from because it tastes just like the nectar of Olympus. Of course, the answer will be it's from Nestor the baker to which Athena will conclude he must be a descendant of Demeter herself."

Kreon, who had been listening all this time, massaged his forehead.

"After that," Alexandros continued, "at some point in the play, as Athena is passing through the city, preferably followed by a crowd, she should pass by Skiron's house and orchard. There she will see the neighbor's pack of kids, Meles, Asius and Zeuxis stealing fruit from Skiron's land. Athena will box their ears after which donkey ears will grow on their heads. For that we received two drachmas and three sixths," finally the boy lifted his gaze from the writing. "Meander, are you writing this down?"

"No," the playwright gave up. Not even Kreon's watered down wine could help. But then he sighed at the boy's angry look and added, "I remember everything, my memory's excellent."

He looked pleadingly at Kreon who sat to the side of them and the big tavern owner sighed.

"Okay, boys, Titan's balls, what is this?!" he rumbled. "When you told me this play would make the citizens participate democratically I had expected... I don't know, something! But certainly not this!"

Alexandros felt a sting of fear. He knew this moment was coming and had asked his older brother Epigeus for help. Why, he didn't even know what democratic participation meant but Epigeus had convinced him to say it because it would make him sound smarter. Now he had to somehow get Kreon to agree.

"Sir, believe me, this is the only way to finance the play in such a short time. Besides, the process of democratic participation," he was proud to use the term again, "will pique the interest of all citizens and thus spread the word of Meander's new play. Besides, every citizen this project is presented to is told you are the main patron of this play, increasing your good reputation. Not to mention news has been spreading of the upcoming play which will lead to...uh, what's the word...op something...Ah! Optimally full amphitheatre! Of course, this entails all the city's voters and promotes the voting process in favor of Pallas Athena."

Alexandros went quiet again and then discreetly breathed in to calm himself. He did not understand half of what he had said but Epigeus swore it all made sense. It was hard remembering every word but nothing was too hard if done for the goddess. He watched Kreon's frowned face but he also felt Ion's nervousness as his friend observed all this quietly and from the back of the room.

"Kid," Kreon said, "it's obvious you don't have a clue what you've just said but I'll admit you have balls. You'll make a man some day. Meander, I'm sorry to say but you're out of luck," he said rising from the table and tapping the young playwright on the shoulder. "You'll have to adapt the play to these new requests. Of course, I still expect a top comedy."

He went back to his other duties but not before adding: "Boys... Don't sell yourself so cheap. I mean, five drachmas and Nestor's bread is equal to the nectar of Olympus? I wouldn't admit that even if he sucked me off for five days. Be a bit more sensible with your prices."

"Master says he's heard of your play and will finance it only if his character lays the goddess and she proclaims his cock better than Ares' and Apollo's combined," Leodes' lovely slave girl told them. Alexandros first gaped in shock and as snarky words made their way to his mouth the slave girl just waved sadly. "I'm sorry, kid, I'm just the messenger."

She turned around warily and then leaned towards them.

"But I support your idea. Here's my sixth," she whispered. "I know it's not much but I hope you'll make it. May Athena bless you!"

"Thank you," the touched boy said. "We are doing our best."

He nodded at the slave girl and thankfully forgot the words of her master.

"Now scram!" the woman said louder, so as to be heard throughout the house. Alexandros smiled, nodded and then went back towards the city with Ion. It was late at night and the play was to be put on the next day. They'd almost reached their goal but they were still sixty drachmas short. But there was no more grownups to ask for help. The other half of citizens, those voting for Poseidon would not even hear of participating. Where to find the rest of the money?

"Alexandros," Ion said, "I know things seem bleak once again but I somehow believe we'll make it. You've come up with solutions so far. I'm sure you'll think of something now!"

"You think?" Alexandros asked, low on confidence. It was unusual to see him turn from a malcontent and skeptic into Alexandros' supporter. He had been stopped in the streets several times, congratulated by strangers on his hard work. Poseidon's supporters also remembered him but only to laugh and jeer at him as he passed by. He had even been given a hint from an aristocrat that in a year or two the man might be interested in making him his eromenos. It seemed everyone saw something special in him and he wasn't sure why because he was the same boy he was the day before. "Yes, I' guess I'll think of something," he agreed with Ion softly.

They returned to Kreon's tavern to deliver the last donations and wax plates with new changes to Meander's comedy. The playwright was absent because he had to spend the entire night with the actors at the amphitheatre to at least have some practice. Unfortunately Dymas and Theas, the other pair of collectors, had collected as much as they had and so they were still short a large amount.

"What if we don't collect the money? Are you sure the actors and the choir will still do the play?" Alexandros asked Kreon. The glum tavern owner was already used to being a stepfather figure but he was still as gruff and rough as ever.

"No way. If they agree to lower their price now, then the other patrons will ask the same of them. They lead good lives, why would they risk the weight of their purse if they know someone else will hire them? If you don't get the money, you'll eat shit. Not because of the actors but because of the people who'd paid you."

Alexandros felt a surge of nausea.

"But, if the actors agree they want Athena for protector, why don't they do the job for a lower price? What we don't pay them can be their contribution to the goddess' cause," the boy explained.

"Kid, get real. The gods are far from here, thousands of leagues, there in the middle of Olympus. To be honest, I wasn't sure I even believed in them until one of them sank my cellar and ever since I only wanted is to tell him to get fucked. So, forget about generosity."

Alexandros tried to answer Kreon's claim with reason but he was far from Epigeus' oratory skills.

"Kid," a furious Kreon continued, "don't start on a new tragedy just yet because I'll kick you in the rear. Get out and fin those damned sixty drachmas. Ask Pallas for help, this is all about her in the end!"

Alexandros and Ion were in the streets again, Kreon's gruff words seared into their mind. With no idea where to go, they walked up by Poseidoin's stream towards the agora. The sun was low in the sky and the merchants long gone. Shortly they made their way to Athena's olive tree, whose bumps and powerful roots created the perfect illusion of the tree being there for centuries. An enthusiastic Ion proceeded to the forge. Alexandros doubted they'd agree to mint them new drachmas and so decided to rest his feet under the olive tree. He was worried that Ion and he had exchanged roles, that he was now the one in need of incentive. How did that happen?

"You're Alexandros, aren't you?" a soft voice echoed. Confused, he turned towards a girl who immediately set his heart beating. It was Maera, the girl who he'd been...thinking about, in those intimate moments that he now shared with the goddess. Somehow it was surprising to feel himself blush so hard in front of a mortal woman. He believed Athena had weeded out such feelings in him.

"Yes, it's me," he collected himself fast. If nothing else, the past several days had prepared him for life more than all the school he'd gone to so far. "You're Maera, aren't you?"

"Yes," the surprised girl said. "How did you know?"

Alexandros cast down his eyes. How to explain to her he'd climbed the fig tree and had seen her naked?

"Your father was very rough when he refused us. I know he'll vote for Poseidon," he replied. It wasn't exactly the answer Maera was looking for but it was enough to divert the conversation to another topic.

"You're right," the girl said sullenly. "May I sit next to you?" she asked timidly and Alexandros moved without saying a word. It was unusual to feel her beside himself, three years older and a head taller. "I'd like the goddess to win, you know?" she continued. "But Father won't hear of it, it's no matter what Mother or I think?"

"Isn't your mother familiar with the domestic democracy methods?" he blurted out confusedly, only later realizing what he'd actually asked. "I mean," he added quickly, "doesn't your mother have some influence in your house?"

"No, my father makes all decisions," the girl frowned. "I haven't heard of many examples where it's different?" she added. "For example," she hesitated, "he said I am to marry Gorgos, whose father owns a shipyard. Of course they want Poseidon to win."

"Well, that sounds good for you," he replied but the words were accompanied by a drop of bitterness. Of course Maera was getting married, he'd have to be at least fifteen, if not twenty years older than her for it to be possible. Still, boys could dream, at least before other women made their way into their heads.

"It's true, and I'm happy about it," she agreed. But then she sighed again. "It still does not mean a girl cannot dream, does it?" she asked smiling. Alexandros suddenly stretched and reminded himself he could never be part of those dreams.

"What is it about?" he asked timidly, as if almost hoping.

"Rumor has it you are collecting donations for a play to be performed tomorrow," she explained as Alexandros wondered what that had to do with anything.

"Yes, we're working on it. Although I'm not sure how it will turn out," he admitted.

"You're not? Didn’t you succeed? I've heard many people gave money just so they could have their say about what happens on stage. It's said the goddess will have much to say to our citizens."

"I'm not sure she'll have anything to say. We're sixty drachmas short and I have no one else to turn to for help. Even though we're the talk of the entire city, very few people trust a greenhorn like me," he sighed. "Besides, our playwright curses the day he agreed to work with us. He says Athena has so much to do he had to introduce her in the first act. He says we've destroyed the dues ex machine moment in the final act and that the crane will creak something terrible from all the moving. I think he'd be happy for the play to never be performed," he added. Maera laughed.

"If that's true, would you have room for one more request? I can pay; even more than you might think."

Alexandros bit his lip. It was good Ion was not around to hear his proposition.

"Maera, just say it and we'll put it in the play for free. I have to collect more drachmas than you can offer me."

"Thank you but that won't do if the play isn't performed. So, what if I told you I can get you all sixty drachmas?" Maera asked slyly.

"What? You're joking?" he asked in disbelief. How was that possible?

"You see, you've commited a typically male mistake - you've only asked the men for money. That's to be expected, the men are in charge of the household. But there's an entire group of women in this city in need of a female protector, no matter if their husbands voted for Poseidon or not. My mother knows all of them and can get the money you need from them."

Alexandros couldn't believe what he'd heard. Was this really happening?

"But, we also have a.... somewhat bold request," she continued.

"Which is?" he blurted out.

"We want the goddess to say women should also get the vote."

Sixth act had just finished and the actors withdrew from the center of the amphitheatre. Alexandros buried his head between his knees and bit his lip. So far the play had had a...mixed reception. All the days of collecting money for it, he'd never paid attention to the growing list of Meander's complaints. Only when he saw the sum total of all requests and ideas the citizens placed on Athena's shoulders did he realized Meander was forced to sacrifice coherence of plot to fulfill all the requests.

"Alexandros, don’t you thin it's funny?" his mother stated to say as she sat down beside him.

"No," he cried in despair. "Ion," he said to his friend, "how did it come to Athena sniffing Sabas' ass and telling him its stink is worse than Cerberus' shit? This is horrible!"

"It was Theas' deal. Apparently they paid a lot so we thought it might work," Ion said sullenly. Alexandros wanted to bury himself. He was so set on his own goal he never even considered the wishes of his fellow citizens. Revenge, criticism, warning... Athena had become the means of fulfilling the worst ideas whose owners would never dare say out loud themselves. Did all city politics and democracy come down to this?

"Come on, son," his father interjected. "You saw people laugh. They're having fun."

"Yes, but they're laughing at Athena and her nonsense," the boy replied without rising his head. "This is mockery! Who is supposed to be swayed to vote for her by this?"

Alexandros spent the majority of the play watching people instead of the actors. He was looking for signs of fun and approval but what he'd seen had told him nothing. Poseidon's faction, in the middle of the audience, was grim from start to finish.

"Besides, the worst is yet to come!" he continued in a panicked voice. Maera's request... It was so unthinkable he was considering stopping the play before its turn comes up.

"Here, the final act's about to start," Ion said, swallowing hard.

"Someone stop it, please," Alexandros wept. But there was no god to come down from Olympus. The actors returned to the stage and the audience continued watching the play in silence. Kreon finally had his satisfaction, Athena had turned Triton into a frog. They even had a real frog, which made some trouble when they tried to chase it into the stream that represented Poseidon's piss. Alexandros was not certain what exactly the audience was laughing at, Triton's misfortune or the frog being chased across the stage but somehow he felt a little easier when there was laughter.

Then the play simulated the vote. Actors cast their stone lots into a box and then the twist happened. It transpired that one of the voters was a woman in disguise. Alexandros couldn't not notice the ham fisted execution. A male actor was playing a woman pretending to be a man. There was so much changing of fake breasts going on that even Alexandros got confused for a moment. Of course, the other actors made a noise and the choir demanded the woman be exiled from the city. It was then that Athena came on the stage, stopped the commotion and protected the heroine.

"Listen, men," Athena said. "Just as I am Zeus' favorite daughter and my father listens to my advice, so are your wives wisdom made mortal flesh. Listen to them! Let your mothers, wives and daughters vote as well. It is a right I enjoy on Olympus and so should they in their own city!"

There, it's been said, Alexandros thought. What would happen now? Will they be stoned? Exile everyone involved with the play? He looked at the faces of the audience. Actors were waiting for a reaction, but there was none. No one had expected something like that would happen. Then several women, his patrons, Alexandros guessed, started clapping. But it was just a few dozens of hands in a sea of motionless witnesses. Another moment passed and then a solitary laugh echoed. Alexandros did not understand why, but women were the first to laugh. Then they were joined by the booming laughter of men and a moment later the entire amphitheatre was roaring with laughter.

"Mom, what did just happen?" the boy asked, confused.

"Nothing, son," she sighed, disappointed. "Nothing at all..."

"I see her! I see the goddess!" Alexandros shouted excitedly while his father carried him on his shoulders. After all the boy had been through, his father and older brother had made a deal to take turns on the agora to at least give him a good view.

"She better be here," his father moaned. "You're not as small as you think!"

"I know, dad," Alexandros said. Last night's performance did not bring any consequences. After the end people quietly went to their houses and next morning men with the right to vote came to cast white or black stones. Alexandros heard a few quips about maybe putting up extra guards to keep the disguised women away but nothing like that happened.

Noon passed in anticipation as venerable elders counted the votes and the people remained on the agora the entire day, talking about possible results. Finally, the gods appeared. Somehow they were suddenly in the middle of the square, each near his or her side of the agora. The crowd moved, giving them space. Poseidon sun his trident and Athena...Athena was gorgeous. True, she saluted the people with her spear, holding the egida relaxed in her left hand. But Alexandros held tight to his father's hair as he watched her face, the divine essence radiating from it. Somehow, in that moment, he forgot all those times of solitude in which he'd thought of the goddess. While she stood in front of him, real and overpowering, he could feel only respect. On the other hand, he was relieved because he did not want his father to feel him going stiff against his neck.

Therapon, the oldest councilor, came out of the crowd and stood in front of the gods. Alxeandros admired the dignity with which the old man stood before the lords of Olympus. Yes, he said, they had voted a protector. And then he spoke to Athena. Alexandros wanted to shout in excitement but in time realized it was not what he wanted to do. Teharpon apologized to the goddess and begged her for mercy, because the citizens had chosen Poseidon.

From one side of the agora there came a delighted shout but the other side just stood still for a moment. Still, even those who'd been on Athena's side now accepted the decision and joined the cheers. The city did have its protector now, a powerful one, the brother of the God of Thunder, the lord of all waters. Alexandros watched in despair as Athena nodded at Therapon and then turned her back. Poseidon bellowed his delight as the goddess made a few steps and then simply vanished.

The olive leaves turned yellow.

A month later, Alexandros was spending most of his time behind the house or outside the city. He didn't want it, but the people remembered him. Wherever he'd go, all would ask the same question: "Aren't you the one..." and yes, he was the one. With some it meant respect but most often ridicule. Some had threatened to want their money back but luckily no one really had. It was mostly just empty words, just as all those requests he'd fulfilled had been.

Even after all that time Alexandros couldn't stop feeling disappointed. He wanted to explain it away with the vote's result but he knew it wouldn't be true. It was about Athena. He was angry at her. As much as he'd wanted to maintain his respect for her he couldn't stop being angry she'd left him helpless. She obviously had to know what he'd done for her. She also must have known what was going on all the time... And she still did nothing. What kind of a god was so useless as to not be able to give the smallest amount of help? Was such a god worthy of his devotion?

On the other side, Poseidon was now everywhere. In his honor the city took his name. People talked about him all the time, he was depicted on every urn, tapestry, coin.... It was all a painful reminder to Alexandros of his personal failure.

"Son, can we talk?" he heard his father behind his back.

"Of course, dad," he replied. What now? His father sat beside him, a little too close for Alexandros' liking. Wasn't he grown up enough for Father to respect his personal space?

"Listen, I know we've had this conversation already but I wanted to say once more how proud I am of you," his father explained and then laid a hand on his back. Alexandros wanted to move but knew there was no point in it. Besides, this was a conversation they'd had more than once. Both Mother and Father repeated how proud they had been, how they'd never expect something like that from him... Expected what? Being the laugh of the city? He knew very well he wasn't the only one being asked things. His father must have heard it a dozen times by now: "Aren't you the father of that kid who..."

"I know, dad, you've told me several times," Alexandros replied in defeat.

"True. But this time I have something special for you," his father said. "You know they removed the olive tree from the square?"

Of course he knew. Everyone knew the tree had completely dried within several says. It was obvious the goddess had no desire to leave her blessing in her vile rival's nest.

"Or course, what about it?" he asked. He tried to pretend he did not care, that it did not hurt that the olive tree has died, that the goddess had completely retreated from his city.

"You see, I've asked for a piece of wood before they burned the rest. So, without further ado... This is for you."

There was now a small bundle of white cloth in Alexandros' lap.

"What is it?" he asked, confused, as he unwrapped the cloth. Removing the final flap, a small statue appeared before him. It was Pallas Athena.

"I've made her exactly as she was on the agora," his father explained as he carefully took the statue in his hands. "As you see, she has it all - the spear, the egida, the helmet.... I took great care while carving, did my best to capture all the details. All in all, I believe it to be some of my best work."

And it was true, Alexandros could not say a thing. The miniature Athena in his hands was as the real one. Everything about it perfectly matched his memories, the image he'd so often thought about. He didn't realize it but his face already bore a smile.

"And, look here," his father continued, "look at the wood. As you can see, it has very specific parallel lines, as if someone drew elongated circles on it. I was surprised, in all my years as a carpenter I never saw something like it. So... you are now the only person in the world in possession of olive wood. Had we chosen Athena, I doubt it would have been so unique. But this way... You have become the guardian of Athena's gift, there's a piece of goddess herself in front of you."

Alexandros had to hold back his tears. After all he'd been through the statue he now held in his hands was a testament to his troubles, a symbol of a time he'd felt he stopped being a boy and moved into adulthood. His anger aside, he couldn't deny Athena was his goddess. Despite trying very hard he could still feel his eyes tear up with every breath he took.

"Thanks, dad!" he shouted and embraced his father, partly to hide his tears in Father's tunic. "I'll keep it safe!"

"It's nothing, son, the least I could do for you. But there's something else I wanted to suggest, if it's alright with you," his father added.

"What?" Alexandros asked, confused, unaware how gingerly he held the statue in one hand.

"As I've said before, the city will build a great navy. The Poseidon faction decided they are to become the greatest naval force in existence. I don't know what will become of it but I know that as a carpenter I'll have all the work I want from now on. And of course, I'll need apprentices, it's going to be a very lucrative profession. On the other hand, it's also been decided there will be built a large temple of Poseidon on the Acropolis. I don't know how long the construction will last but it will surely take years."

"Good," Alexandros said, still confused. He had no idea what his father was building up to.

"You see, it would make sense for you to learn my craft. Well, you know Ion's father is a sculptor, he'll have his hands full with the temple. Also, I've heard that after they finish building that temple they'll build a smaller one, dedicated to Pallas. And so I've made arrangements and, if you wish," his father paused for a moment, "you and Ion can change places. You can learn sculpting from Ion's father. I know you hate Poseidon and you don't want to have anything with him or a big temple dedicated to him. But if you grit your teeth just a little and do good work then a few years later you could become the sculptor to build the temple of Pallas Athena. What do you say?"

Alexandros stared at his father. First the statue and now then.... Well, it was certainly a huge decision, he couldn't even start to think how difficult it must have been for his father to give up on teaching his son his craft. But, holding the olive wood statue in his hand, he knew it was obvious what he'd decide. Also, with this statue, he was certain he could, even years down the line, still faithfully replicate Athena's every detail in eternal white stone.

"Dad, you're the best," he simply said and embraced his father again.

"Son, just promise me one thing. Don't carve 'Poseidon's piss' or anything like that somewhere on the temple. Everyone will know who did it."

Alexandros laughed.

"I promise!"