“Oh yes. I’m Auge. I used to share a sleeping house with your mother. She was doing agape with Pytheas even back then.”

I didn’t want to break the news about Mother’s death to another of her old friends. “You’re the sculptor? I love your work. The statue in the harbor in Marissa especially.”

She blushed. I introduced her to Phaedrus, and she introduced me to her children, a boy of fourteen and a girl of twelve. The judges were still arguing. She introduced me to a few more of the people in the crowd, and insisted on sharing her picnic with us—cold lamb and cucumber yoghurt rolled in flatbread, delicious. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to eat while Father’s life hung in the balance, but once I smelled it I was ravenous. “I think they’ll call it a draw,” Auge said. “What else can they do? Then everyone will have to be satisfied.”

The judges were still arguing when we finished eating. “What do you usually use this colosseum for?” Phaedrus asked.

Auge looked uncomfortable. “Competitions. Drama. Animal fights. Gladiator fights. There are a number of Romans among us. They suggested it. And the locals we recruited enjoy things like that.”

“We have drama in the City now,” I said. “And some of us went to an animal fight in Marissa.”

“And of course we hold assembly here, and we also use it for punishments and executions,” Auge said.

Phaedrus looked at the wooden post. “So your punishments are public?”

Auge nodded. “As for drama, we’ve often wished we’d brought copies of plays when we left. That’s something we’d be very keen to trade for. How did you start allowing performances?” Phaedrus started telling her about the vote that allowed drama.

The shadows were growing long when Aristomache stood up again.

“We want to hear you both again before we come to a decision,” she said.

“The same work, or something else?” Kebes asked.

“The same original composition,” she said. She gestured to Father. He had been standing quite still and expressionless all this time, though Kebes had been exchanging sallies with people in the crowd. Now he smiled, still calm and perfect but deadly. He swung his cloak deliberately so that it draped from the other shoulder. Then he picked up the lyre and turned it carefully upside-down. He then began to play, the same complex tune as before, perfect, even though all the strings were in the opposite places, and he was using his left hand. He sang again, lifting up his voice and filling the space.

Kebes sat stunned for a moment, then roared to his feet. “This is blatant cheating!”