The debate was long. Father and I explained the Lucian civilization and the two conferences. I had heard it all before, but I had to stay to sing, when Father decided it was time, and also to let him know when people were lying. By dinner time, I had realized that there was something seriously wrong with Ikaros’s sight, although he was trying to hide it. He didn’t have cataracts, and he didn’t peer and lean forward to see close up like Aristomache, but he never seemed to be focusing on what he was looking at. When Lysias passed him a note, he didn’t even glance at it. He fumbled picking up his wine cup. He couldn’t be blind. He had seen that I looked like Father. But that had been outside, in full daylight.

We had meetings with the committees, and then their Chamber, where we sang, several times. It took three days, but in the end they agreed to send envoys. They agreed to send their art back on the Excellence, too.

On the evening of the third day, after everything was agreed, I went for a walk up into the hills with my brother Porphyry, as I had done with Alkibiades. I didn’t know Porphyry well. He had always lived in the City of Amazons, and only made occasional visits to us. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said, awkwardly, kicking at a stone.

“We’re trying to stop the art raids in her memory,” I said.

“Is it true that Father tortured Kebes or Marsias or whatever his name was to death?” he asked.

“Yes. And it was Matthias. But he was Kebes when he was here, so we always call him that.”

“So does my mother. Matthias is a difficult name to get my tongue around anyway. So Father really killed him in that horrible way?”

“Yes. But Kebes was going to do it to him.” I explained the competition, and the battle afterward.

“I suppose he had to.” We were sitting down on the edge of a little stream, in the shade of a plane tree, dabbling our feet in the water. “But I think I would have cut his throat instead, even if that was their idea of justice.”

“So would I, and so would Kallikles,” I admitted.

“I’ve always been a bit frightened of Father, and this doesn’t help,” he said.

“Frightened of him? Why?” I couldn’t imagine it.

“Oh, because he’s so excellent. It makes it difficult to live up to. My mother always says he was just clearly the best when they were all growing up together. And she was beautiful then, of course.”

“I think your mother is still beautiful,” I said. Euridike had a lovely face and wonderful hair.