A week passed, and all was well in the Hermenides household. Pelleus, or Pusanella, as he was calling himself, slotted into the life of the family as if he had always been there, although this natural-seeming conformity really relied a great deal on the imaginative powers of his hosts. That is to say, it didn't take much effort on his side to impress them with his "stateliness," "maturity," and "clear-mindedness". He said very little, and maintained his silence with a dignity that came easily to him after his time serving a noble household in Sardanapolis.

  By no one was his presence more deeply appreciated, nor his character more artfully filled out than by Chrysanthe, Agon's daughter. She read volumes into Pelleus's pregnant pauses in conversation, and saw in his simplest habits the height of sophistication. Most likely it was because she had always dreamed of having a sister and a close confidant of her own sex that she projected such admirable qualities onto her new companion, who was really rather dull from an objective point of view.

  But we should not neglect to mention Agon, and his positive appraisal of Pusanella. His cunning mind was less imaginative and thus more grounded in its assessment of Pelleus. He was thus more critically aware of Pelleus's character and real virtues, such as his sharp intellect and wit.

  It takes one to know one, and often intelligent people will recognise each other right off the bat. A coarser, stolid-minded man might have taken Pelleus's reserve as a sign of stupidity, but Agon knew better. He knew that a wagging tongue was often a mark of more shallow intelligence, and had met plenty of eloquent fools. Much as he admired Pusanella's fiancé, Marinus, he knew that handsome lad was no philosopher or sage. And there was nothing wrong with being a charmer and a chatterbox – society demanded no more of any man – nevertheless Agon valued intelligence. He "esteemed" Pusanella for it. That was the word that came into his mind one morning, on the second week of her stay at the house, as he was dressing for the day's labours.

  "Yes, I 'esteem' her, for her great mind. If someone were to ask me what I thought of my new ward, I would say exactly that. 'Admire' is a bit strong, maybe, but quite true also. I could say I 'admired' her intellect, which is most like a man's when I think about it... Why, just the other day when I was taking my evening walk in the orchard, and I found her reading there quite by chance... what an original point of view she displayed. To think, if I had had such insights into Homer at her age... well, I should have devoted my life to philosophy."

  He sighed, and coming back to his senses he realised that he had been putting his sandals onto the wrong feet, he was so distracted.

  He thought back to that encounter in the orchard.

  Unbeknownst to him, Pelleus had managed to give Chrysanthe the slip for an hour, stealing some much-needed time alone to read and sit with his thoughts (introvert that he was, in a household full of people). He had claimed to be meeting Marinus – as was his habit – on the border between Agon's land and Onesimus's, and he had wanted privacy.

  But almost as soon as he had spread out on the old garden seat, nestled between hawthorn bushes, a long shadow had fallen over the scroll he had been unfurling. Agon stood there, looking just as perplexed to find Pelleus in that place as the lad felt at being discovered.

  "Ah, my lady Pusanella, fancy meeting you here! Forgive me for disturbing you – it is my custom to walk in the orchard each evening, for my health and peace of mind," Agon said, not knowing why he was explaining himself at such length. He should have bowed and walked on, continuing according to his habit, but something held him to the spot.

  "Is that... Homer's Odyssey?" he asked in a different tone of voice. Pelleus nearly dropped the scroll he was holding. He had not expected this kind of attention.

  "Oh, yes, are you familiar with it?" he asked in his unbroken voice.

  "My dear lady, I adore Homer!" Agon replied warmly. "Of course, it is seldom that I get the chance to read these days – for pleasure and not business, that is. Do you; why... would you mind?..."

  His wide eyes sought out Pelleus's own, and the lad was struck by the sincerity in Agon's hopeful expression. Pelleus had so far regarded his host with suspicion and dislike, but now he was seeing him in a new light.

  "You would like me to read some?" he asked, and Agon nodded vigorously. Pelleus cleared his throat and started at the first line that caught his eye.

  First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint

  The minds of all men whom they can acquaint

  With their attractions. Whosoever shall,

  For want of knowledge mov’d, but hear the call

  Of any Siren, he will so despise

  Both wife and children, for their sorceries,

  That never home turns his affection’s stream,

  Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them.

  The Sirens will so soften with their song

  (Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong)

  His loose affections, that he gives them heed.

  "Wonderful..." Agon breathed. He was leaning against the trunk of one of the fruit trees, hands behind his back, and his eyelids were lightly closed as he listened to Pelleus's soft, lilting voice.

  "The sirens..." Pelleus said aloud to himself, "symbols of the passions, luring man to his destruction. And the noble Odysseus is like the man of wisdom, who curbs his own appetites and will, listening to their ravishing song with impunity..."

  He looked up, suddenly self-conscious, and saw that Agon had opened his eyes. He was looking at Pelleus with something like wonder.

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  "You talk like a philosopher... tell me, who taught you to read and to interpret Homer like that?" he said in a low voice, as if he was anxious not to startle the youth.

  "My father, Actaeon did," Pelleus answered instinctively. "He was – is – a learned man who wished to pass on his knowledge to an heir, though he has no sons."

  "Well, either your father is the head of a great academy, or his pupil has surpassed his instruction," Agon said, and he was smiling. Pelleus couldn't help looking pleased – his academic prowess had been one of his few points of pride, and in this area alone he was susceptible to flattery.

  Agon was about to follow up this remark with something else when he caught sight of someone approaching from the other end of the orchard.

  "Ah, excuse me," he said, sounding flustered, "I see you have company."

  And he marched off briskly back to the gardens by the house. Pelleus looked round at the approaching figure, inexplicably annoyed by the interruption. It was Marinus.

  "I thought I might find you here," he said. "What were you saying to the old man?"

  He gave a nod in the direction Agon had gone.

  "Oh, nothing of consequence," Pelleus said hastily. "Do you have any news?"

  Marinus crossed his arms and leaned against the same tree Agon had rested on. He looked troubled, as if he were reluctant to say what was on his mind.

  "Not exactly. More of a confession..."

  He sighed heavily, and took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was to reveal.

  "I have just come from a conversation with Agatha – you know, Onesimus's housekeeper," he said, jogging Pelleus's memory.

  "Oh yes... and?"

  "And she suspects us. More than suspects – she knows about you. I wanted to tell you sooner, but, well..."

  "You lost your nerve," Pelleus surmised. His hand clenched the scroll in a tight fist, and he glared at Marinus resentfully. "Well, what else have you concealed from me? Does Onesimus know now, as well?"

  Marinus was looking at him fearfully, as if he had expected a worse outburst.

  "You're taking it very well," he said. "I thought you might be more worried."

  "Of course I am worried! But I suppose I did wonder about Agatha... Anyway, you're here and you say you have just spoken with her. Have you come to some sort of understanding?" Pelleus said, taking confidence in how calm he felt. He couldn't explain why he was not more afraid. Perhaps his meditations with Agon had put him in this more dispassionate frame of mind. Then there was Marinus, whose own anxiety was written on his face and in his body language, though he drew himself up now with fresh courage.

  "Agatha tried to blackmail me. She said she would keep quiet if I agreed to... to steal something off lady Hippolyta," he said.

  This was too much for Pelleus's composure. He leapt to his feet, aghast.

  "You didn't!" he said, clutching Marinus by the shoulders. He nodded.

  "What choice did I have? She threatened to expose us on the spot. It was the very day we met Onesimus. I've been putting her off ever since, but she's running out of patience..."

  He looked so thoroughly miserable that Pelleus had to let him go, and started to pace instead, thinking carefully about what had been said.

  "What did she want from Hippolyta?" he asked.

  "Her necklace, a diamond-"

  "Yes, of course..." Pelleus mused. "And she wants it badly, does she?"

  "Believe me, Pelleus, I have tried to reason with her..." Marinus began, but Pelleus interrupted.

  "Just wait a moment. If she really wants this necklace, then she is at our mercy, do you understand? We are in the position of power," Pelleus said, taking his friend by the arm. "This disguise of mine – our good standing with the Hermenides – these give us a lot of leverage against that crafty housekeeper, who only has threats on her side. You will have to remind her of that, Marinus."

  He looked his friend in the eye, and Marinus could have sworn he had grown taller in the last few minutes.

  "Listen to me: you must tell her that if she wants the necklace, and not to be thrown out of Onesimus's service empty-handed, she needs to give us more time. Make it clear to her that this is a one-of-a-kind opportunity, and these things can't be rushed."

  "All right, I will try," bossy boots, Marinus thought. Some of his old optimism had been restored by this plan, all the same. He shook off Pelleus's arm.

  "Don't tell me you're going to try and steal it," he said, seeing his friend's look of determination.

  "Do I look mad to you?" Pelleus replied. Seeing him in his ruffled peplos, his braided hair in disarray, Marinus wished he could honestly answer "no".

  The fact was, he had feared Pelleus's reaction even more than he feared Agatha and her treachery. He was far more reliant on his friend's cooperation in this risky plan than any support from strangers. Seeing that this bad news had galvanised Pelleus to action had filled him with courage, however. As he went back to Onesimus's house he even laughed aloud at the exchange.

  Well, Pelleus has really risen to the challenge this time, he thought. I've never seen him so assertive! It must be all that sitting around, putting on dresses and combing Chrysanthe's hair. He's got to vent his frustration somehow...