Martin Millar - The Goddess of Buttercups and Daisies

Nicias had been a senior statesman in Athens for too long to take anything for granted, but as the delegates at the peace conference rose for lunch, he felt more than a twinge of optimism. In the past week there had been a great deal of anger, many harsh words, bitter accusations and counter accusations, threats of walkouts and boycotts. Now coming to the fore was the recognition that the war between Athens and Sparta was simply not sustainable. Neither city could go on much longer. For all the intransigence of the Spartan General Acanthus, the belligerence of Athenian General Lamachus, and the rabble-rousing of Hyperbolus, the delegates at the conference were gradually coming round to the view that a treaty had to be agreed. After ten years of fighting, Greece needed a rest.

The Athenian delegates, grey-bearded men with experience of war — one of them old enough to have fought the Persians at Salamis, sixty years ago — were never going to agree with the Spartan contention that the war was their fault, any more than the Spartans were prepared to take responsibility. There was, however, a noticeable movement towards the view that grievances might be put aside and weapons laid down.

Nicias even found himself warming towards General Lamachus. He’d been annoyed with him for months because he was quite sure Lamachus had been putting his own desire for military glory above the best interests of the city. Now, having heard him finally admit in public that perhaps some agreement with the Spartans could be made, Nicias reached out in friendship. They drank a cup of Chian wine together and talked amicably with two Spartan delegates about the last few obstacles in their way. The Megaran trade rights still had to be resolved, and there were prisoner exchanges to be made, but apart from that there didn’t seem anything to prevent agreement. As he drank his wine, Nicias made a silent toast to the Goddess Athena, protector of the city, thanking her for coming to their rescue and bringing peace.

Bremusa glared at the young woman who, she noticed, was wearing a dress that seemed both too fancy and too revealing.

‘So when Metricia left you just decided to move into her temple? And spend most of your time drinking, by the looks of it.’

‘Hey! I don’t drink that much. Maybe an amphora of wine every now and then… And I didn’t move in. I was born here.’

‘Born here? Slave? Prostitute? Village idiot?’

The young woman grinned cheerfully. ‘I’m Metricia’s daughter. Metris, wood nymph, at your service. Or maybe water nymph, depending on the weather. Would you like some wine?’

Bremusa was about to curtly refuse the offer when Athena surprised her by accepting. They sat at a small, rickety wooden table while Metris scooped wine from a large amphora beside her couch, humming cheerfully as she poured it into cups which were not of a suitable quality to be handing to a goddess.

Metris looked about eighteen, though if she was really a nymph, she could be any age. Bremusa didn’t take to her at all. She wasn’t nearly reverent enough towards the goddess. Handing her a chipped old cup and saying ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Athena,’ was not an appropriate greeting, and her broad grin didn’t make it better.

The Goddess Athena remained graceful, even on a tiny wooden stool which had seen better days. ‘I regret that Metricia has gone,’ said Athena. ‘Bremusa here is on her way to Athens. I intended to send Metricia with her.’

‘Ooh!’ squealed Metris. ‘Are you going to the Dionysia? I love the festival. Take me instead!’

Athena stared into her eyes. Metris didn’t flinch. She smiled, showing her neat white teeth. She was a pretty young nymph. Bremusa was disliking her more and more.

‘I needed Metricia to perform some special tasks in Athens. Do you have your mother’s powers?’ asked the goddess.

‘Absolutely! I have plenty of nymph magic!’

‘Then I suppose you might serve in her place.’

The Amazon warrior was moved to protest. ‘Goddess, this flighty nymph hardly seems suitable for an important mission. How do we know she’s even the river spirit’s daughter? She could be anyone. I don’t trust her.’

‘Bremusa will be pleased to have you along,’ said Athena. ‘And I’ll reward you for good service.’

Towards the end of the day’s proceedings, Nicias and his companions were strolling round the open courtyard, digesting their meal, sipping wine, refreshing themselves for the final discussions to come, when something odd happened. First, a very strange woman walked by. Nicias had travelled far in his time, but he’d never seen her like. So pale, with such dark eyes. Tall, very beautiful, with her black hair falling over her shoulders, quite unlike any Athenian lady he’d ever seen. Her dress was unusual, some sort of shimmering material, and he couldn’t guess where it might have originated. She had a twisted metal emblem hanging from a chain round her neck. Something snake-like, though it was difficult to make out.

Nicias was baffled. Who was she? What was she doing here? From the expressions of the Spartans nearby, she certainly wasn’t with them. His only vague guess was that she was some hetaera who’d lost her way, though that seemed improbable. She didn’t have the look of a hetaera. Besides, there were hoplites at the gate, and they’d know better than to let a prostitute wander in, no matter how high-class. All eyes were drawn to the mysterious beauty, though no one spoke as she walked by. There was something rather intimidating about her.

Nicias turned to the delegate next to him, to make a comment, but before he could speak, a great argument erupted out of nowhere between the leader of the Spartan delegation, General Acanthus, and Isthmonicus, an Athenian delegate.

‘Why should we return Amphipolis to Athens?’ demanded the Spartan.

‘You’ll return it if you ever want to see your precious prisoners again!’ yelled Isthmonicus.

‘Prisoners taken by treachery!’

‘Treachery? The only treachery has been Sparta going behind Athens’ back, bribing our allies with Persian gold!’

Nicias was immediately alarmed. This was all territory they’d covered before, at length. These problems were meant to have been solved. Before he could point this out, other voices were raised all round the courtyard as Spartans and Athenians fell to arguing with each other, quite violently. People were yelling, there were accusations of treachery and duplicity, all of them relating to matters that were supposed to have been settled during their discussions.

Nicias looked around hopelessly. The ageing statesman couldn’t understand what had happened. It was as if a collective madness had suddenly gripped the peace conference.

Bremusa the Amazon and Metris the nymph began their journey to Athens. It wouldn’t take long. The goddess Athena would hasten them on their way, allowing them to cover the distance quickly. Bremusa had never been a talkative woman, and marched in silence. It made her companion’s constant chatter all the more annoying.

‘It was so exciting to meet the Goddess Athena! It just shows you never can tell what’s going to happen. Only yesterday I was telling Pholus the centaur that I was sure things were going to pick up soon, and now I’m going to the festival in Athens!’

Bremusa did not look like a woman on her way to a festival. She carried a long sword on her back and wore leather armour the like of which had not been seen in the world for several hundred years. Around her neck was a necklace made from boars’ tusks, something else rarely encountered in the world these days.