In her dream, Jenny was Euanthe again.
Cleon had taken her among his retinue of servants to a grand holiday banquet at the home of Pericles, an intimidating marble mansion surrounded by gardens. Cleon liked Euanthe because she never spoke and always hurried to do as he asked. Euanthe had pretended to learn a few Greek words, like “wine” and “bread,” so that he could communicate with her. In reality, of course, she understood everything that was said around her.
Cleon's wife had stayed home, as women were not invited.
The great hall of Pericles' house was filled with nobility, politicians and wealthy merchants, as well as their servants. They reclined on carved wooden couches thick with cushions, and they drank wine and ate fruit from bowls carried by servants. Cleon greeted some of his friends and political allies and took a couch among them.
Euanthe's job was to stand near Cleon's couch and fetch him things on demand. In reality, her main purpose—along with the other servants Cleon had brought with them—was simply to be there as a statement of Cleon's wealth and status. She wore a clean white tunic with a blue floral pattern, much nicer than anything she wore at Cleon's house, and her hair was braided and pinned up around the crown of her head.
After the guests had arrived, a tall man with a thick gray beard stood near the giant fireplace, holding up a golden bowl filled with wine. He had striking blue eyes, and Euanthe thought he was very handsome.
“Great men of Athens!” he said. “I welcome you to my home. May wise Athena continue to protect us from the Spartan scourge.”
Shouts of agreement went up from the crowd.
So this man was Pericles, Euanthe thought. The man she'd been sent to kill.
“War is always cause for sorrow,” Pericles said. “And it is a time for men to stand strong together, shoulders together as in the phalanx, each man's shield protecting the man to his side. If one man falters, the phalanx is broken. We have our quarrels, and we will always quarrel—that is the blessing and curse of democracy.”
Cleon muttered something to a friend, a wealthy merchant on the next couch, and the man smiled and nodded.
“While the Spartans ravage the countryside outside our walls, we cannot present a weak front line,” Pericles said. “Therefore, we must set aside our differences until the Spartans are defeated. Vicious lies have been whispered about us all—let us cease whispering. You know I am not a man given to banquets and other extravagances. But I have invited you, the leadership of every major party and faction in the Assembly, to offer the branch of an olive tree. While there is war without, there must be unity within. Let us all find a way to work together for the good of Athens.”
Pericles looked directly at Cleon.
Cleon regarded Pericles with a stoic face, his gray eyes cold. All heads in the room gradually turned toward Cleon.
When he had the room's attention, Cleon raised his gold-embossed silver cup, and he nodded his head very slightly.
“Let there be peace,” Cleon said.
The room erupted in cheers and stomping feet. Pericles and Cleon both drank wine, and all the other men did the same.
Then musicians played lyres and harps while the guests busied themselves with eating and drinking, gossip and debate. A poet standing by the fireplace recounted from memory the story of Odysseus and his long journey home from Troy.
Euanthe stood quietly, listening and pretending not to listen, until Cleon instructed her to fetch him a leg of roasted lamb, his favorite food.
She left the banquet hall and walked into a large kitchen, where slaves roasted lambs and pigs over huge fires. At a long wooden table, more slaves hacked the roasted beasts into smaller pieces and stacked them on serving platters.
Euanthe approached the long table, looking for the meatiest leg to bring her master.
“You there!” a drunken voice called. Euanthe turned to see two young men approaching her, both of them in tunics stitched with gold and silver. Nobles. “Yes, you, girl!”
Euanthe just looked at them, remembering that she allegedly did not know Greek, being an exotic foreigner.
“She is Cleon's slave,” the second young noble said to the first.
“Cleon is a filthy dog,” the first noble said. “Enemy of all that is Athens.”
Euanthe remained silent.
“Nothing to say in his defense?” The first noble was almost upon her. “Nothing for Cleon? Do you deny he plots against Pericles?”
“She's only a slave,” the second noble said. “She is too stupid to know of politics.”
“She is his property. Let's defile her, as a message to him.” The first noble reached for Euanthe's arm, but she pulled back.
“You should not touch me,” she warned him.