Just Myrto (18 page)

Socrates laughed. “So I'm a useless old man, am I?”

“It's not funny.” Lamprocles looked down and shook his head. When he looked up again, tears filled his eyes.

“I am old,” Socrates agreed. “Too old to change.”

“But there are rumors of men hoping to make a name for themselves by bringing charges against you,” said Lamprocles. “If you continue to teach in the Agora, it will only encourage them.”

“Charges of impiety?” I asked.

Lamprocles nodded. “For corrupting the youth of Athens.”

“I'm far from dead,” said Socrates, “but what can they possibly do to me now to rob me of the life I've chosen?” “Imprison you!” exclaimed Lamprocles.

“Let them. They can provide me with free room and board for life, exactly as they do for our greatest athletes and generals,” replied Socrates, his eyes gleaming.

“Or put you to death,” I whispered. My own eyes filled with tears.

“My dear, I am nearly 70 years old.” Socrates slipped his hand under the table and gave mine a squeeze. “If they want to kill me, they better hurry up about it before the gods beat them to it!”

Lamprocles held his head in his hands, elbows on the table. “What can we say or do to persuade you to stop?”

“Nothing,” replied Socrates. He rose to his feet. “I did not abandon my post in battle, and I will not abandon it now.” With both hands on the table, Socrates leaned in toward Lamprocles. “As long as I have breath to speak, I will continue to question anyone who says he has or seeks wisdom.”

“Why?” asked Lamprocles. “What's the point?”

“It's who I am,” said Socrates. “It's what the gods have called me to do.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“But must you directly confront those in power in the process?” asked Lamprocles. He stood to face his father. For the first time I realized how much taller Lamprocles was than Socrates now. “There are plenty of people who like talking with you and want to learn from you.” Lamprocles paced around the table. “Just talk to them for a while and leave the sophists and politicians to their own foolishness.”

Socrates walked over to Lamprocles and placed a hand on his shoulder. A quiet sob passed through Lamprocles' lips. “Lamprocles,” Socrates said tenderly, “I do not seek people out. They come to me. Wherever I am, they will come.”

“Not if they don't know where to find you,” said Lamprocles. His voice sounded so strained. There were tears in his eyes. I blinked back my own tears. Only Socrates' eyes were clear.

“Would you have me hiding like a coward?” Socrates embraced Lamprocles, who began to sob freely. Tears streamed down my cheeks as well. I could hear Korinna crying and even sniffles coming from Xanthippe. Socrates held Lamprocles close and patted him on the back. “I was born a citizen of Athens, and I will die a citizen of Athens. In the meantime, I will live like a true Athenian.”

It wasn't long before Lamprocles' fears materialized. One afternoon Lamprocles returned early from the Agora without Socrates. “They've charged him,” he told us.

A silent scream erupted within me. “Who?” I asked. “Who has made the accusation?”

“Meletus,” said Lamprocles.

“Meletus!” exclaimed Xanthippe. “Who is this Meletus? I've never even heard of him!”

“He's some religious fanatic who calls himself a poet,” Lamprocles replied. “A nobody really. A puppet.”

The scream reached into my mind, strangling my thoughts.

“Whose puppet?” asked Korinna.

“I'm pretty sure Anytus is behind this,” said Lamprocles, “only he's too afraid to bring formal accusations himself in case it should prove unpopular in the end.”

“Anytus is a coward and a traitor!” Xanthippe spat on the ground. “He'll probably bribe the jury to convict Socrates the same way he bribed his jury to acquit him when he was charged with treason.”

“Lamprocles,” I whispered. “Take me to the public notice board so that I can see the charges myself.”

Lamprocles nodded. “What about Menexenus?” he pointed to the child sleeping in my arms.
My child. I forgot about my child.

Xanthippe gently lifted the infant from my arms. “Go,” she told me. “Go and read the accusations for yourself. Mama Leda and I will take care of the baby and Sophroniscus.”

“Shall I come with you?” Korinna asked me.

I stared at her blankly. The screaming inside me was growing louder. I could barely comprehend her words. She turned to Lamprocles, who nodded.

“Yes, come with us,” he instructed her. And with that we set off to the Agora.

We walked for an eternity. Lamprocles and Korinna talked quietly between themselves. Occasionally, Lamprocles would raise his voice, and I could hear the battle raging within him. But it all felt so distant from me.

I tried to ignore the silent scream, but every effort to resist it only seemed to make it worse. Part of me recognized this scream. In fact, it had lived within me as long as I could remember. Yet like
the clatter of the marketplace, it had always remained in the background and never held my full attention.

When did the screaming stop? Why did it start again so suddenly and so ferociously? How can I make it stop?
The more I tried to stop it, the more ferocious it became, until I felt as if I might go mad.
No—just breathe.

This last thought brought me back to reality and reduced the terrorizing scream to a dull roar as we entered the Agora and approached the statues of the Eponymous Heroes. There, posted outside the temple that housed the city archives, was a whitened board posted for public notice.

“There it is,” said Lamprocles pointing to the public notice board. “Meletus presented the formal accusations to King Archon who ordered that they be written on this board and posted for all to see.”

M
ELETUS,
CITIZEN OF
A
THENS,
HEREBY
CHARGES
S
OCRATES,
CITIZEN OF
A
THENS, WITH THE
FOLLOWING
CRIME AGAINST THE
STATE AND THE
GODS OF
A
THENS:
I
MPIETY, TO
WIT:
NOT
BELIEVING IN THE
GODS OF
A
THENS,
BELIEVING
INSTEAD IN
OTHER
SPIRITUAL
THINGS; AND
CORRUPTING THE
YOUNG
MEN OF
A
THENS.
T
HE
PENALTY
DEMANDED IS
DEATH.

A
JURY OF
500 A
THENIAN
CITIZENS
SHALL
ASSEMBLE TO
DETERMINE THE
TRUTH IN THIS
MATTER AND
DISPENSE
JUSTICE AS
REQUIRED.

“Absurd!” I heard the voice of Plato behind me. “Utterly ridiculous!”

“F
OR
ONCE
I agree with you, Plato” replied Lamprocles. “These charges couldn't be further from the truth.”

“Meletus is a fool,” said Plato. “You know who is behind this, don't you?”

Lamprocles nodded. “Anytus.”

“Anytus and Lycon,” Plato replied. “Let them call their own sons who both love Socrates dearly and ask them if Socrates corrupted them.”

Lamprocles just shook his head. Korinna placed her hand on his back to calm him.

“I'll testify for him,” said Plato with genuine conviction.

“A fat lot of good that will do,” retorted Lamprocles. He stepped away from Korinna, moving closer to Plato. “Everyone still remembers you as the friend and family of the Thirty Tyrants.” Lamprocles voice grew louder and his face flushed. “You and Alcibiades and Xenophon … Spartan lovers, all of you. If you care at all about my father, you'll not do him any favors.”

Plato turned to me. “Perhaps when the jury sees his beautiful young wife and young sons, they will show him mercy.”

“You say that as if you think I'm still a child.” Lamprocles' anger seethed with every word.

“And you are not?” Plato laughed a spiteful laugh. “Perhaps you plan to save him yourself.”

Lamprocles clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders with Plato's. He shifted his weight, readying himself for an attack. At 18, Lamprocles had grown tall and strong, but he would be no match for Plato in wrestling or in argument.

“Stop it, both of you!” I ordered. “Your fighting isn't going to help anyone.” To my surprise they each took a step backward and turned to me. Lamprocles scowled and crossed his arms.

“I apologize,” Plato said to me. His plaintiff expression and pleading eyes surprised me. “I know that this must be just as upsetting to you as it is to me, probably more so.” He turned to Lamprocles. “I am sorry. I will help in any way I can, even if it means doing nothing.”

“Where is Socrates?” I asked.

“Under his favorite laurel tree, where else?” Plato motioned toward the marketplace. “He's acting as if nothing is wrong.”

I went to find Socrates. Korinna walked beside me. Plato and Lamprocles followed. I could hear them discussing the charges behind me. Whenever one would start to raise his voice, the other would shush him. We found Socrates surrounded by an even greater number of young men than usual.

I called to Socrates as I made my way through the crowd. “Your notoriety seems to have increased your popularity,” I said.

“Myrto!” he exclaimed. “How lovely that you and Korinna can join us!” He motioned for us to come and sit next to him. “Plato, Lamprocles, welcome.”

I took my place beside him, but I longed to talk to him alone, not as part of a crowd.

“We were just discussing piety,” Socrates said. “We agreed that it applies to everything the gods love, but now we can't seem to decide whether something is pious because the gods love it or whether the gods love it because it is pious.”

I nodded.

Plato gave me a mischievous grin before raising his own question. “It seems to me that the gods do not always love the same things. Must all of the gods love something for it to be pious or is the love of one god sufficient?”

This created quite a stir, but the discussion continued without my participation or attention. Instead, I watched my husband, so lively and energetic in his pursuit of wisdom and truth. I watched how the countenance of a young man could change so quickly from determined to puzzled, then show a sudden flash of understanding that eventually gave way to confusion as he considered each additional question.
This is Socrates. This is what he does. Asking him to stop would be a punishment worse than death.

I imagined Socrates locked in a cell inside the State Prison just outside the Agora along the street leading to the Piraeus Gate.
Would crowds gather there as well? As long as they do, Socrates will be happy… happy to have free room and board while he continues his philosophy, doing exactly what the gods have ordained.

That night when we were finally alone in bed in the darkness, I asked him the question that was on my heart. “Do you think that the jury will acquit you?”

“I don't know,” he replied. He nestled up beside me, and held me close in his arms. “Even if they convict me, it will be up to the jury to decide what sentence they want to impose.”

“I'm scared,” I confessed. I wanted to talk to him about the silent scream in my head.

“I know,” he whispered.

“I feel waves of emotion crashing inside me. There's a roar that seems to grow louder in the silence.” My throat tightened and my eyes filled with tears.

Socrates kissed my forehead. “It sounds like a storm is brewing inside you.”

“The only place I feel safe is in your arms.” I buried my head in his chest and cried. Socrates held me gently and let the storm run its course.

When I could once again breathe freely I asked, “What about you? Aren't you at least worried about the accusations?”

“I'm feeling strangely calm,” he replied. “My spirit usually gives me a strong sign when I should seek a different direction. I've avoided many calamities by paying attention to this inner knowing.”

“What is your spirit telling you now?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “My spirit is telling me nothing.”

“Is that bad?” I asked, sitting up.

“On the contrary,” Socrates explained, “nothing is good.”

The double meaning of these words sent a shiver down my spine. “Nothing is good makes it sound like everything is bad.” Socrates reached for my hand and pulled me back beside him.

“Everything is definitely not bad, Myrto,” said Socrates. “Everything is good.”

“Nothing is good. Everything is good. How can that be?” I whispered.

Socrates yawned. “It just is, my love.” Before long, Socrates' breaths became heavy and turned to soft snores.

Nothing is good. Everything is good … Everything is nothing. That's it. Everything is nothing, and nothing is everything.

This somehow made perfect sense as I drifted off to sleep.

T
HE
MORNING OF
the trial I rubbed every last drop of the oil from my alabaster jar into Socrates' skin. He was sitting on the edge of our bed, and Menexenus was still sleeping in the middle of the bed. “Do you want me there?” I asked as I massaged his hands.

Socrates watched my hands at work for a moment. When I ran my palm over his, he clasped my hand and held it. “Do you want to be there?” he asked.

I waited for him to look up. “I want you to know that I love you and that I would do anything for you,” I replied, holding both his gaze and his hand.