It was strange sitting where Athene had stood, where Krito had sat, and Tullius, Cato, and Ficino. It was strange to look at the hall from this perspective, the sea of faces. I had chaired committees, and even moderated plenty of debates, but none in Chamber. I put my hands on the carved arms of the chair, gripping them tightly. I had never imagined myself here. I had always seen myself in a support role, never imagined myself sufficiently respected to be chosen to judge an important debate like this. Well, I knew what Plato said about that. I took a breath and looked at Pytheas, who was still standing there. Neleus and I had been working on accommodation for the envoys and diplomatic issues. “Is there an agenda?”

Pytheas handed me a paper: 1. How to vote. 2. The Lucian question. 3. Choral ode. 4. Art raids. No more, no order of speakers or anything. I looked at him in exasperation. It was just like Pytheas: so generally excellent, with such unexpected lacunae. He shrugged.

“First, how to vote,” I said, to the room.

It was a contentious issue. By number of cities the Lucians outnumbered everyone else. They had sent thirty envoys. About half of them were originally Masters and Children from the Just City. The other half were refugees rescued and converted to Christian Platonism. None of them approved of Kebes breaking guest friendship, but they were all devastated by the loss of the Goodness. They had different opinions on different subjects, but they were all united in their sense of mission. They wanted to rescue victims of Bronze Age wars and teach them civilization. That’s what they had been doing all this time, and they wanted to keep on with it. And it was immediately apparent to everyone that if we used democratic voting by city, with their eight cities they’d immediately and unquestionably succeed in that aim.

Aurelius, of Psyche, suggested that the Lucians be considered one city, as we had imagined they were before they were rediscovered—the Goodness Group as we had called them, or the Lost City. “A hundred and fifty people left with Kebes. Calling them one city and giving them an equal vote with us seems generous. Calling them eight cities seems ridiculous.”

“Each of our cities is bigger than Psyche, and though most of the people in them are volunteers, they have taken the oath of citizenship, they read and write, they know Plato,” Aristomache countered. “Many of our leaders came from the Goodness, but others have arisen from the people we rescued. We make no distinction between us. Adrastos here is an example. We found him as a boy fleeing a war in the Troad. He’s thirty now, and he has spent the last twenty years with us. He’s a gold of Marissa, a philosopher and a stonemason.”

“Like Sokrates,” Adrastos said, shyly, standing up when he was mentioned.