Just Myrto by Laurie Gray Page B

questions swirled in my mind as we walked home from the Agora. Unlike the morning journey, few traveled the road outside the city wall. Lamprocles alone spoke. His voice buzzed on in my ear about Plato and the Thirty Tyrants and Alcibiades.
What does any of this have to do with me as a woman?
    â€œAlcibiades calls himself your student!” exclaimed Lamprocles. “People will say he learned his treachery from you. Plato calls himself your student, too!” Lamprocles continued. “What will people think?”
    Socrates strolled along at a leisurely pace. “People will think what they want to think.” He looked at me and smiled. “They always do, you know.”
    Lamprocles huffed and shook his head. “But you’re turning everyone against you. And for what? It’s not like they’ve paid you anything.”
    Socrates shrugged. “I’m only interested in discovering Truth and Goodness. You can’t buy that with money.”
    â€œThe truth is that the Thirty Tyrants want to kill you,” retorted Lamprocles. “And if they don’t get the chance, the citizens of Athens will do it for them if they think you’re in cahoots with Alcibiades.”
    I waited for Socrates to dispute these accusations. He did not. Nor did he look the least bit concerned.
Can someone seeking Goodness acquire mortal enemies?
    â€œIs what Lamprocles says true?” I finally asked. Still, my concern was my own. Socrates’ death would leave me in an even worse place than my father’s had. My brother Aristides might have no choice but to give me to Uncle or sell me into slavery.
    Socrates raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œOf course it’s true!” cried Lamprocles. “Last week the Thirty summoned Father and four others to the hall and ordered them to bring Leon from Salamis to be executed. And do you know what Father did?”
    I stared at Socrates who appeared as serene as ever. “No, I don’t,” I replied.
    â€œTell her, Father,” insisted Lamprocles. “Tell your new wife of the danger you’re in.”
    A coldness overcame me. I pulled my cloak more tightly around my shoulders and waited to hear what Socrates would say.
    Socrates cleared his throat. “I did what any just and pious person would do,” he replied.
    â€œThe other four men ran to Salamis to get Leon,” said Lamprocles. “They brought him directly to the Tyrants for execution.”
    â€œLeon did nothing to deserve execution. His blood is on their hands, not mine,” said Socrates.
    â€œNo one seems to mind having Leon’s blood on their hands,” said Lamprocles. “And now that you’ve directly disobeyed the Thirty Tyrants, they’ll mind your blood on their hands even less!”
    Socrates said nothing.
    â€œIs he really in danger?” I asked Lamprocles. I tried to keep Socrates’ calm, easy pace, but inside I was running with Lamprocles.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Lamprocles snapped. “How long do you think the Tyrants will let someone live who directly defies them?”
    Lamprocles turned to me. “And don’t think people didn’t notice that he’s teaching young women now, too.” He looked to Socrates. “If they disapprove of your influence over the young men of Athens, what will they say about including young women among your followers?”
    â€œShe is my wife,” Socrates said sternly. “I may do with her as I please.”
    Tears welled up in my eyes. Impiety of any sort could be charged as a crime punishable by death.
If something happens to Socrates, where will I go? What will become of me?
    Socrates’ face softened as he looked upon me once again. “It’s not as bad as all that,” he said, taking my hand. “I fought face to face against Spartans, swords in hand and raised to kill me. During the campaigns in Amphipolis, Delium and