The Praise Singer by Mary Renault

the mood and strength were in me. But I knew also that here, at last, was something I had to give. “Another year; not this. Kleobis must compete this time, and I can’t enter against my master. He needs to be crowned again.”
    “Why? How could he grudge it you? He’s won a dozen crowns to your one.”
    “That is why. He is going down and feels it, and it’s no fault of his. He is losing pride, and with that he will lose everything. I can wait; he can’t.”
    He looked at me, in a patch of moonlight. “The old man took good care of you.”
    I nodded. I did not say, He has been my father. We never said things like that aloud. “When you meet him, don’t speak about my competing.”
    “Very well, Sim. If that’s the way of it, you must pay your debts.”
    Next morning at our lodging he kept his word. “Everyone still talks of Laertes’ wedding, sir. Your song must have brought good luck; two boys and a girl, and lively as young goats. It would be a great day if you came again.”
    Kleobis smiled, and his eye kindled a little. He sat stroking his beard. Presently he said, “My dear boys, it is part of a poet’s skill to judge occasions. There are times to compete, and times to present a pupil.. When the pupil returns to his native city, not having yet been heard there, he will arouse, if he does well, both pride and wonder. In these the teacher has his share.”
    Theas looked at me, meaning, “Just what I thought myself.”
    I, too, could see the truth in it. It was also true that if he entered, and someone of note should chance to come and win, that would be his death-blow; and I thought he knew it. He had not pushed me when I was afraid, and I owed him the like return.
    “Sir, if I can show Keos even half of what I owe you, it will be the best day of my life. But only if you are there to see it.” Never mind if I don’t win, I thought; if they see Black Sim, Leoprepes’ youngest, do anything at all, they’ll believe his teacher can work miracles.
    “You’ll honor our house, I hope, sir,” Theas said. I nearly jumped out of my skin; but he spoke with confidence.
    Clearly, he had come to be a power in the family; Leoprepes’ eldest was already a man to reckon with.
    As he left, he said, “If you want me later, Sim, I’ll be at the workshop of your sculptor friend, Theodoros. He wants to sketch my buttocks, or some such thing.” We exchanged mock punches, as we’d done when we were boys.
    What Theodoros really wanted of him was to have him pose for a bronze of Perseus. He did it, too, staying for some days as the sculptor’s guest. He always liked, he told me, to see how things were made.
    I too enjoyed the making of a bronze, though I’d seen it once already. It had a kind of magic, unlike the slow chipping and smoothing of stone or marble. Theodoros had been to Egypt to learn the art; there, they had been casting life-size time out of mind, when only little votives were being made in Greece.
    He had a huge yard down by the harbor, full of sheds and hoists and scaffoldings, all powdered white with marble-dust that got up one’s nose. The noise was dreadful, at least for an ear like mine, what with slaves sawing ?blocks or chipping them down for columns, grinding and polishing column-drums. There was also a clattering forge where they were making rivets to fasten wall-blocks together. Clang-clang went the great hammers, and tink-tink-tink the little ones, as some skilled apprentice made the trims for a bronze. Hands over ears, I threaded my way to Theodoros’ own workroom, which was swept and polished and had a great table full of drawings and plans. On a dais stood my brother, splendid in nakedness, one arm propped up on a wooden stand. He was to be holding up the Gorgon’s head, and the torso muscles had to show the lift. Before him stood Theodoros in his working dress, which was a small apron to keep the grit out of his private parts, and a great deal of clay daubed here and there on the rest