Amyntas the springy co-ordination of an athlete.
The walk to the studio was a short one. It was just a simple shed with two open sides, only enough to keep out rain and let in as much light as possible. In its centre stood a magnificent sculpture and we all admired it for a while. The youths were portrayed in incredibly lifelike fashion, symmetrically but naturally posed, each with an arm around the other's shoulder. Each had a hand extended to one side. Clearly, when it was finished, the extended hands would rest upon the rims of their shields. The tops and backs of their heads were unfinished.
'Isn't it conventional,' I said, 'to portray Achilles as somewhat larger than any of the other heroes except for Ajax?'
'I have departed from convention here,' Agesander said. 'My models are utter perfection, and taking liberties with such perfection could anger the Muses. I have depicted them as the same size, exactly as in life.'
'Why are the heads not finished?' asked Rhoecus.
'When complete, they will be wearing helmets. These are of the Corinthian design, pushed up to display their faces - in fact, here come those helmets now.'
A crew of workmen arrived at the studio, carrying wooden stretchers which bore weighty objects covered with protective cloths. Agesander drew back the cloths to inspect the work, revealing a pair of imposing helmets and two broad, circular shields. The shield of Patroclus bore a Gorgon mask on its face. That of Achilles, slightly larger, was covered with the incredible design of concentric circles of cities, battles and so forth as described in the
Iliad
.
'Melanippus has done an excellent job, as usual,' Agesander proclaimed. 'When finished, the details will be highlighted in silver and gold. This group was commissioned by the citizens of Miletus, and they have paid for the very best treatment.'
'Such a sculpture,' said Neacles, the lyre teacher, 'would assure the reputation of any city.'
'The Milesians are singularly fortunate,' Rhoecus agreed.
For once, I had no argument with the fulsomeness of the praise. As far as I was concerned, this work was beyond praise.
The house of Rhoecus was a short walk from the studio. His table was as austere as I had feared but the conversation, which in this company was mostly devoted to art, was agreeable enough. I did not understand Neacles' more technical comments concerning the lyre, especially when he dragged in the theories of Pythagoras, but overall it wasn't nearly as boring as I had expected.
It was interesting to study the interplay among the younger men. They were something new in my experience, whereas I had seen numerous specimens of the other types. Isaeus and Melanthus displayed a clear affection, together with that distance which always characterises rivals. Amyntas, on the other hand, showed an almost embarrassing infatuation with Isaeus, constantly fawning over him, serving his plate like a servant and so forth. Oddly, the others did not seem to regard this as improper behaviour. Greeks, you know.
'And now,' said Rhoecus as the plates were cleared away, the drinking bowl was brought in and the wreaths were passed around, 'we must excuse the young men. All three are in training for the next Isthmian Games and have taken a sacred vow not to touch wine and to be abed within an hour of sunset.'
Isaeus, Melanthus and Amyntas took their leave respectfully. The elder two had spoken scarcely a dozen words between them since being introduced to me. Although grown
epheboi
, they were still of an age to keep silence before their elders.
Rhoecus was elected master of ceremonies. He decreed the wine should be mixed with no more than one-third part water and that each of us should regale the party with a story or song, beginning with me.
So I gave them the rousing story of Mucius Scaevola, who, when captured by Tarquin the Proud, thrust his own hand into the brazier of coals and did not flinch while it burned to a stump, to show the Etruscans how