Free The Last of the Wine by Mary Renault Page B

myself replying to him, “I am going to leap in the sea, because my father beat me.” At this thought, I knew that I was being absurd. So I covered myself in bed, and at last fell asleep.
    Later I learned that my father had sought me about the City, and must have known that I had not been to the palaestra, but had punished me for my disrespect, as any father would. I have never beaten my own boys so hard; but for all I know, they are the worse for it.
    Next day I was slow to seek my mother at her loom; but she called me to her. “When you were little, Alexias, were you angry at hearing you were to have a stepmother? I am sure you were; for in the tales they are always wicked creatures.”—“Of course not. I have often told you how it was.”—“But surely someone said to you that when a stepmother has a son of her own, she grows unkind to her husband’s child? Slaves are full of tales like that.” I turned my face away and said “No.”
    She rattled her shuttle through the loom. “Old women are much the same. With a young bride, they love to croak about the trials of a second wife; making sure she will be frightened not only of her husband, which will happen in any case, but of his slaves, and even his friends who will know no more of her than her cooking and weaving. More than anything, she is certain her stepson already hates her, and looks to her coming as the worst misfortune of his life. And when, expecting all this, she finds a good son with hands stretched out in welcome, nothing is so long remembered; no child can grow dearer than the first.” She ceased, but I could not answer her. “You were a boy fond of your own way,” she said, “yet when you saw that I was afraid of seeming ignorant, you told me the rules you had to keep yourself, and even how you were punished for breaking them.”
    Her voice trembled and I saw she was going to cry. I knew I should have to run away without speaking; but as I went, I caught her arm in my hand to let her know we parted friends. Her bones felt small, like a hare’s.
    After this I grew used to the thought of the baby, and even told some of my friends. Xenophon gave me advice on how I ought to train it. At times it seemed he wanted me to bring it up as a Spartan; at others, as a horse.
    I was now turned sixteen and had finished my schooling with Mikkos. Some of my friends were already studying with sophists. I was careful not to open this subject with my father, for after recent events I knew he would not let me go to Sokrates and might commit me to someone else. I meant to approach him when the scandal had faded somewhat from his mind. A good part of my spare time I spent at our farm, carrying out his orders and keeping an eye on things when he was busy; and sometimes Xenophon and I hunted hares together. He had his own leash of harriers, which he had bred from his father’s dogs; he had trained them well to follow the line, and not be drawn off by foxes and other vermin.
    I had almost forgotten the Salaminia when she returned. Everyone flocked to the harbour, to see how Alkibiades would look, and if he would show any fear. Most people’s anger had cooled by now; they were wondering what sort of defence he would make, and saying it would certainly be better than anything by a hired speechmaker.
    The two ships came nearer; but he was not to be seen. Then the trierarch of the Salaminia came ashore, looking like a man who has lost a bag of gold and found a rope. His news was overheard and flew from mouth to mouth. Alkibiades had agreed very civilly to come, and had sailed with them as far as Thurii in Italy. While they stopped for water, he and Antiochos had gone ashore to stretch their legs; and when it was time to start again, their ship lacked both trierarch and pilot. No one blamed the Salaminia ’s trierarch much. Once the voyage began, Alkibiades had had as many men to defend him as the trierarch to make an arrest, which moreover he had been told not to