“I swear by Zeus and Hera and Demeter and Apollo and Athene, by the figs and olives and barley and grapes, by the sea and the sky and the earth beneath my feet, that I will protect and defend the excellence of the Just City from all enemies, internal and external. I will fight bravely, judge fairly, and contribute to the best of my abilities. I will defend her laws and institutions, resist tyranny and foolishness, and the lures of wealth and honor, and strive ever to increase her excellence.”

It had been a bright sunny morning, but it clouded over as I was speaking so that the last words came out under a dark sky. I looked up from the altar as the Archon marked my forehead and saw that I was mistaken, I was simply in the shadow of a very tall man. Then I saw that it was the great ivory and gold statue of Zeus, but it had moved and was standing in front of me instead of at the side of the steps. And then I realized that it was not the statue but Zeus himself standing there, frowning down at me. I remembered too late what Father had said about attracting the attention of the gods. I took my hands off the altar and stepped back, as if that might make him disappear again. Of course, it did nothing.

“Granddaughter,” all-knowing Zeus rumbled, his voice like thunder. He looked around slowly, taking in the temple and the square and the people. Some had fallen to the ground. Most of them looked terrified. Ikaros looked absolutely thrilled and was bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. Father took a step forward, my brothers close at his back. Zeus nodded at Father, and thunder echoed all around. “Where is Athene?” Zeus asked.

She appeared on the steps in front of us. She had her helmet and her shield and her owl, and she seemed to be perfectly composed. I had never seen her before, but I would have recognized her anywhere. There were statues and paintings and bas-reliefs of her all over the city, many of them done from life. “Joy to you, Father,” she said. “Be welcome to the Just City.”

“And when did you intend to tell me about this folly?” We were speaking Greek, of course. But that last word held double meanings, in other languages. As well as meaning foolishness, and thus the opposite of the wisdom that was Athene’s domain, it had the connotation of an anachronistic ruin built deliberately to enhance a landscape view. I bristled to hear the Republic described this way, not because it wasn’t true but because it hurt.

Athene did not flinch, but stood looking up at her father calmly. “In the fullness of time, when there was something to report,” she said.