Of course he couldn’t sing while he was playing. The syrinx is a breath instrument, so Kebes’s tune had no words. But he was good. He had me tapping my foot almost at once. As for the crowd, already on their feet, half of them were dancing. It wasn’t Phrygian or Dorian, it was some other mode altogether, a music I’d never heard, one Plato banned from the Republic, a music made of night and laughter and swaying rhythms. How could Athene have invented such an instrument? It was erotic, haunting, dangerous. Father’s song had been a call for Platonic excellence. This reached out to the parts of people Plato most wanted to suppress. And yet, these impulses were undeniably part of life too. I looked at Erinna, and looked away again. I don’t know how long Kebes played. It wasn’t the kind of music that has measures. It built to a climax, hung there, and toppled back with a sigh. The crowd sighed too, and then clapped and stamped and cheered. Phaedrus and I were the only ones sitting, apart from the judges. Father’s face was completely expressionless, as if carved from marble.

“That was the strangest thing,” Phaedrus murmured as the crowd slowly subsided. “Do you think Father had heard one of those before?”

“He knew what it was,” I said. “He knew Athene made it. He must have.”

“I’ve never heard any music remotely like it,” Phaedrus said, more loudly.

One of the women nearby leaned over, breaching the space between the two of us and the rest of the crowd. “Myxolydian, that was, and it’s a syrinx,” she said, helpfully. “It is different when you’re used to calm Platonic music.”

It certainly was.

The judges were disputing and couldn’t seem to come to an agreement. I could see hands being waved. Erinna was shaking her head. Klymene was frowning hard. One of the strangers was pointing at the crowd, and Aristomache was looking reproving. “Who do you think will win?” I asked the woman who had explained about the Myxolydian.

She was a middle-aged woman, and she had two children sitting with her. I couldn’t tell whether she was one of the Children or one of the rescued locals. “It’s terribly hard for the judges,” she said, “because they’re condemning one of them to death, and there’s no getting away from that after that exchange at the beginning. I’m glad I wasn’t chosen. They’re judging between such very different things. Matthias has been winning all the musical competitions here for years. Everyone loves the syrinx. Once you have a syrinx and a drum and somebody with a low voice singing, you can have wonderful dancing after dark. But what Pytheas sang—who could vote against that?”

“Do you know my father?” It was something about the familiar way she said his name that made me ask.