Aristomache sighed and raised her hands again. “The judges are chosen and will swear.” Weirdly, she now put her palms together. “I swear by Yayzu and his Heavenly Father that I will judge fairly and by the laws, and not be swayed by prejudice, friendship, or the feeling of the crowd.”

It was the strangest oath I ever heard, halfway between the oaths judges take in a capital case and an artistic competition. It became clear as the others swore that the matter of which gods would hold the oath had been left to personal preference. The odd mix of phrases didn’t sound any more normal when Ficino swore by all the gods, or Erinna by Apollo and the Muses. Klymene swore by Zeus, Apollo, and Demeter, which was the conventional trio at home for holding significant oaths. Neleus swore by all gods on high Olympos, which cleverly left out Father, since he was right here. Nikias swore before high holiness, which could have meant anything. Alexandra swore by Yayzu and Marissa, Sabina by Marissa alone, Erektheus by blessed Yayzu and Saint Lucy. Father, who had stood impassive through all the rest, even when he was named, winced a little at that.

Then Kebes came up, putting his palms together. “I swear by God, and Marissa, and Saint Matthew, and by my own true name, that I shall abide by the decision of these judges. Whether it be for me or against me I shall submit myself to whatever follows.” His voice boomed out confidently. I couldn’t understand what he thought he was doing. He was swearing in truth, without reservations. He believed he would win and get to skin Father alive, but how could he?

Father followed him forward and swore the same oath, calmly and clearly, calling on Zeus, Leto, and the Muses. It seemed an odd choice of gods, but not inappropriate. He couldn’t exactly swear by himself.

“We shall draw lots for who will begin,” Aristomache said.

“No, you go first, Pytheas,” Kebes said.

“No, you.” Father made a gesture of elaborate courtesy and the crowd laughed.

“We will draw lots,” Aristomache said again, firmly. She shook a bag. “Black or white?”

“White,” Father said.

Aristomache sat down again and held out the bag out to Nikias, who pulled out a stone without looking and held it up to the crowd. It was white.

Without waiting for anything more, still standing where he was, in a graceful pose with his cloak draped neatly to leave his arm bare, Father began to play.