I’ve got an attic and two apartments full.

Come on, let’s have a look. These oracles— who do they come from?

Mine are from Bacis.

Who do yours come from?

They’re from Glanis, Bacis’s elder brother.

What are they about?

About Athens, about Pylos, about you,

about me, about everything.

And yours? What are they about?

They’re about Athens, about lentil soup, about the Spartans, about fresh mackerel, about flour merchants who give false measure in the marketplace, about you, about me. That man there—

let him suck his own cock.

Well, come on then, read them to me—especially that one which I enjoy so much, that I’ll become an eagle in the clouds.

Then listen,

and give me now your complete attention:

“Son of Erechtheus, hearken to the intent of Apollo’s oracles, which he pronounces through holy tripods from his inner shrine. He has ordered you to keep safe the sacred hound with the jagged teeth who barks in your defence and on your behalf yowls out alarming noises. He will furnish you with payments, and if he fails, he will go under, for there are countless jackdaws who hate that dog and keep screaming after him.”

By Demeter, I do not understand a word he says. What does Erechtheus have to do with jackdaws and a dog?

I am that dog. I howl in your defence. Phoebus tells you to protect your dog—me.

The oracle says nothing of the sort. This dog here . . .

. . . is chewing up your oracles the way dogs chew on doorposts. I have here the proper prophecy about the dog.

Then state it. But first I’ll pick up this stone,

so the oracle about the dog won’t bite.

“Son of Erechtheus, beware of Cerberus,

the dog which kidnaps men. When you are at a meal he fawns on you with wagging tail, but he’s watching to devour your dishes, when you look away, your mouth agape. Often in the night he sneaks into your kitchen rooms, while you are unaware, and, like a dog, licks clean your plates and islands.”

By Poseidon, Glanis, that’s much better!

Well, listen to this one and then decide:

“A woman in sacred Athens will bear a lion, who will fight for the people against huge clouds of gnats, as if he were protecting his own cubs. Look after him. Build wooden walls around him

and towers of iron.”

Do you know what that means?

By Apollo, I don’t.

The god clearly states you should look after me, because I am that lion symbol.

How did you become the lion Simba without my knowledge?

He’s quite deliberately not explaining

something in that saying—the only wall made out of iron and wood inside which Loxias has told you to preserve the man.

Why does the god say these words?

He’s telling you to tie this man down in those wooden stocks, the ones which have five holes.

I think that oracle

is just about to be fulfilled.

Don’t believe him! The crows are jealous. They keep cawing at me.

“Cherish the hawk, and remember in your heart he was the one who on your behalf brought back

those young Spartan ravens all chained together.”

The Paphlagonian was drunk that day— that’s why he took such a dangerous risk.

“O poorly counselled son of Cecrops, why believe that was a mighty deed? For even a woman can bear a load if a man places it on her. But she won’t fight.”

If he went into battle, he’d crap his pants.

But consider the phrase “Pylos before Pylos,” something the god has drawn to your attention—there is

“A Pylos before Pylos.”

What does he mean by that expression “Pylos before Pylos”?

He’s saying he will pile up piles of bath tubs

and take them from the wash house.

So today I won’t be having my bath?

No, you won’t, since he’s taken away our tubs. Here’s one— an oracle about the fleet. You should give it your very close attention.

I’m listening. You read it. First of all, how my sailors are going to get their pay.

“Son of Aegeus, beware of the fox-dog, in case he tricks you. He’s full of deceit, runs fast, and is cunning and resourceful.” Do you know what that means?

Well, the dog fox— that’s Philostratus.

That’s not what it says.

It’s about the fast ships which collect the cash, the ones this fellow here keeps requesting. Loxias is telling you not to give them.

How does a warship become a fox dog?

How come? Because warships and fox dogs

both move fast.

Then why does it say fox dog instead of just a dog?

It’s a comparison. It’s saying fox dogs resemble soldiers, who, like them, feed on grapes from vineyards.

All right, then. Where’s the pay for these fox cubs?

I’ll see to that and within three days, too. But pay attention to this oracle,

where Leto’s son tells you to shun the port called Crooked Harbour—that place may trick you.

What’s Crooked Harbour?

It clearly states here

that Crooked Harbour is this fellow’s hand— since he’s always saying, “My hand’s crooked, so put something in it.”

He’s telling lies! The correct reading of that cryptic saying is that Phoebus means by “Crooked Harbour” the hand of Diopeithes. But look here, I have an oracle with wings—about you. You will become an eagle and a king ruling all the earth.

I have one, as well— you will rule the Earth and the Red Sea, too,

be a presiding judge in Ebatana and lick up decorated cakes.

In a dream I have seen Athena herself. I saw her

pouring health and wealth all over Demos with a bucket.

I’ve seen the goddess, too. I saw her come in person, moving out from the Acropolis—she had an owl perched on her helmet. Then over your head she poured ambrosia from a little jug, and over his head . . .

. . . she dumped pickled garlic.

That’s splendid! It’s really true that no one is cleverer than Glanis. And so now I commit myself to you, to guide me in my old age and to educate me once more from the start.

No, no! Not yet! I’m begging you. Just wait a little while,

so I can provide some barley for you and what you need to live on every day.

I can’t stand to hear you talk of barley. I’ve been cheated too many times by you and by Thuphanes.

How about flour cakes? I’ll provide some, especially for you!

I’ll give you well-kneaded scones and nicely roasted meat, All you have to do is eat it.

All right. Get a move on with what you’re going to do. Then I’ll hand over the keys to the Pnyx to whichever one of you is better at giving me good service.

I’ll be the first to run inside.

No you won’t. I will!

O Demos your rule

is surely so fine, you’re like a tyrant men fear all the time. But you’re easy to fool— you like flattering cries and love to be praised and told plenty of lies. You listen to speakers with mouth open wide your mind may be present

but it’s gone for a ride.

O Demos your rule

is surely so fine, you’re like a tyrant men fear all the time. But you’re easy to fool— you like flattering cries and love to be praised and told plenty of lies. You listen to speakers with mouth open wide your mind may be present

but it’s gone for a ride.