Originally an epilogue for the short story "A Few Steadfast Friends," I decided to publish this short snippet here on Substack to further develop the backstory of Nikephoros and his difficult relationship with his father.
Reading “A Few Steadfast Friends” first is, of course, preferable. You can find the first part here or get the whole PDF here. However, I do believe that this short piece can stand on its own.
Dictionary:
metic - a resident of ancient Athens who lived in the city but wasnot a citizen
palaestra - a public area in ancient Greece dedicated to the teaching and practice of wrestling and other sports; a wrestling school, a gymnasium
thalamos - a master bedroom belonging to the master and mistress of the ancient Greek house
Pisistratos - a notable figure in ancient Athenian history, remembered primarily as a tyrant who seized power in Athens in the 6th century BCE. He ruled with the approval of the people and was responsible for a period of major growth for Athens
The Old Man
Autumn, 508 BC, Nikephoros’ estate
“We are back, father,” said Nikephoros softly, lingering at the doorstep. There was no reply.
It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the dark. Shadows consumed the small, rectangular room, its walls of polished mudbrick almost indistinguishable in the setting sun. Only a narrow cone of golden light shone through the window, illuminating the faded wall painting of the Sirens and Odysseus. He always disliked the figure of the hero, being tied to the mast of his ship. For some reason, though, this was the deed that impressed his father the most.
Memories. So many of them. They swirled in the gloomy room, making Nikephoros dizzy. Memories of his infrequent visits to the thalamos. Of the scoldings. Of the beatings. Of a few gentle moments, lost in time… blended together with all the bad and ugly that happened here.
Reluctantly, he stepped in, and, careful not to bump into anything, walked around the bed and knelt next to the frail figure of Anatolios.
Silence was hanging heavily in the air. As heavily as the scent of sweat and urine. Anatolios didn’t move. He had his eyes closed, as if he didn’t hear him enter.
Nikephoros started talking anyway.
“We made a profit — and I earned us a good name in the competition at Samos.” He paused briefly, then he added: “Well… mostly.”
“Hmmm…" rasped Anatolios’ voice finally. He opened his pale eyes and pierced him with a sharp look. “Did you win?”
Nikephors winced and remained silent for a moment. Then he lowered his head and said: “No. A giant from Miletus took my prize.”
“Ah,” was all Anatolios answered, yet his cold tone was telling. After a moment, he added: “But that’s not all, is it…?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Nikephoros,” snapped the old man. “I’ve already heard everything. You maimed a man. And not just any man. An aristocrat from Chios, of all places! What were you thinking? How do you expect our island trade to continue like this…?”
“I didn’t have any —” started Nikephoros, but then he just shut his mouth and lowered his head. It felt as if he was a little boy all over again.
The silence lingered. After a while, almost mercifully, Anatolios’ voice interrupted it.
“It’s just you now, Nikephoros.”
The sudden change in his father's tone took Nikephoros by a surprise. Father now sounded almost… gentle. That alone was far more unusual than any possible scolding.
“Father?”
Cough overwhelmed Anatolios. It screeched and cut, disrupting the evening silence with unnerving acuteness. An ugly sound that made Nikephoros wince. A sound of death.
When the frail man was finally able to speak, he groaned: “I’m old… In fact, I’m as good as dead, as you can see. Charon has already made a room for me on the boat.”
You still have years ahead of you, Nikephoros wanted to tell him. He considered many things to say. That this was just a fleeting illness, nothing serious. That he would be back on his feet in no time. Then, however, the falseness of it hit him. And so, he rather remained silent.
Anatolios was speaking again, but his look was absent. Now it was lost in a distant memory. “The level-headed Alexios, taken by illness… The clever Philemon, by the damned Thessalians. Your brothers are long gone, son. And now it’s just you, who remains. You… Who never cared for any of this. This estate. These lands.”
“Father, that’s not —“
“Don’t, Nik. Just, don’t… I know all about you.” Anatolios shot him an impatient look and his gaze became clear. Even his voice now transformed. It sounded strong again, as Nikephoros remembered it from before the illness.
“The wealth and influence that our family gathered here over the generations — I know how very little it means to you. Your heart is at the deck of a trireme. In the sand of the palæstra. But never here, never at your own doorstep, never with the latest harvest, or the newborn calf. It’s just not in your nature. So stop fooling yourself.”
Nikephoros raised his head as if to oppose him. But in his heart, he had to admit it to himself: Father was right.
“It doesn’t matter,” Anatolios shrugged. “I don’t mean to hold this against you anymore. I’ve accepted it some time ago. You probably take it after you grandfather. That brute blood runs strong…”
Nikephoros winced. He hated it when his father talked about Nikomachos. The old man always had a word of sympathy for him… always seemed to understand him better than Anatolios. And even though he was long gone, Nikephoros still remembered the old warrior fondly. Hearing the detest in his father’s voice made his blood boil…
Anatolios frowned, recognising his son’s anger. He waved his hand and in a conciliatory tone said: “Never mind that. Things are what they are. And you will be in charge soon. Once I’m gone. Fortunately, you’ll have far more capable people at your command. He will be able to make things run smoothly.”
“Bias…”
“Yes. You make a good team. Make use of him, son.”
“I will, father.”
Nikephoros found himself surprised that he did not detect even a hint of jealousy in his own heart. In fact, this wasn’t a revelation. The freed slave Bias already handled most of the administrative duties of the family. And that enabled Nikephoros to do whatever he really cared for. It suited him well enough.
“I’m glad to have him with me,” he added.
“That’s good…,” sighed Anatolios. “Really good to hear. I was afraid there would be bitterness… But you work well together. Like brothers, in fact. Everything worked out, in the end…”
Their eyes met. For a long time, father seemed as if he was searching for something in his face. Then, a rare smile brightened his features.
“I… I remember now — you must have been six or seven.”
Nikephoros blinked. He hardly recalled his father ever taking notice of him for such a long moment. Let alone remember anything from his childhood. But he listened.
“Gods, it seems so long ago… Back when Pisistratos still ruled. I took you to Athens with me, to show you the big city. You and your brothers. It was in Kerameikos — I think we went to visit the cemetery there… and I got delayed. You boys grew bored and so I sent you ahead, to wait for me outside on the street. When the rites were performed and I returned, there you were, surrounded by this… group of little mongrels, the feral kids of the metics. You know the sort…”
Nikephoros nodded. It baffled him that there was this event that he himself barely remembered. And yet, his father father seemed to recollect it with clarity.
“I did not step in at first,” continued Anatolios. “I remember watching you from afar… I wanted to see what would happen. Oh, and I saw. All of you, all your personalities shining through, right there. Alexios immediately realised you’re outnumbered. All he cared about was getting Philemon out. But Philemon wasn’t about to run. As usual, he wanted to talk his way out of it. I don’t remember what he said to the oldest kid — a big one, probably a head taller than himself. But it didn’t go the way he planed. The little brute hit him directly in the nose and down Philemon went.”
Anatolios chuckled, his gaze once again lost in his memories.
“I wanted to step in by then. I saw Alexios, trying to pick up the bleeding Philemon, and the rest of the mongrels approaching you, to join the beating. But then, there you were. You were the smallest and everyone overlooked you — up until that moment. Like little Ares, you kicked the big boy with such ferocity that it took my breath away. And not just kick. You stepped through his knee, probably crippling him for life. Most kids hesitate after such an act. I would. But not you. You followed up with your little fist, straight into his neck. The boy collapsed and everyone else hesitated.”
Anatolios was back in the present, gazing at Nikephoros with the piercing look of his eyes.
“After that I stepped in, chasing the little bastards away. But I have no doubt that you would fight them all, no matter the cost. To this day, I’m not sure if you’ve done it to protect your brothers… or just to destroy the attacker. All you told me was — I had to do it, father. No anger in it, no guilt. Just a fact. And I know you had to, Nikeporos. Because this is who you are… And to be honest, as much as I always detested it in you… also, in a way, I admired it.”
He stopped, looking outside the window for a moment, where in the distance, the sea was glittering in the evening sun.
“And by the gods, son… I fear that very soon, warriors like you will be exactly what Athens needs.”
He started coughing again. It took longer than before. Nikephoros was almost glad for that distraction — at least he could hide how moved he was by his father’s words. But this time, the outburst seemed to drain Anatolios. Even before his eyes, the old man grew frailer.
“I will let you rest, father,” said Nikephoros and got up to leave. “I’ll call Lidy to take care of you.”
“Not just yet,” groaned Anatolios, raising his hand. “I will be gone soon, Nikephoros. Hear what I have to say. One last lesson from an old man. Sit down.”
There was no place for argument in his voice and Nikephoros obeyed.
“Listen to me well,” he said, and his speech suddenly became hectic, as if he feared he wouldn’t manage to say everything in time.
“Practice self-restraint. Far too often you act without thought or foresight. Be smart in finding allies, and never trust a man who lied to you once. Treat your slaves hard, but with fairness, and always give them hope of being freed. Most importantly, be stern with your woman. You are too soft when dealing with that pretty face… Trust me on this: pretty faces are the cause of many a man’s downfall.”
Nikephoros frowned at that point, but he didn’t dare to interrupt.
“Make children with her. Sons. Be strict with them too, but don’t seek to break them. Don’t mold them in your image. It never works… I know — I tried… Instead, seek to find out what makes them who they are, what brightens their faces in excitement. Then, hone it in them. But don’t take them by the hand. Instead, let them try and fail often. Let them discover things for themselves. That way, they’ll grow up to become who the gods meant them to be.”
Anatolios took his son’s hand in his and squeezed it tightly. Nikephoros could feel the leathery skin on his, and suddenly, unexpectedly, there were tears in his eyes. It seemed like yesterday since his father was an unbreakable giant. And now…
“That is my advice to you, son. Use it wisely,” rasped Anatolios, pale and exhausted. “Now go. Leave this dying man alone. I am tired, and I need my sleep. Waiting for your return cost me… too much…”
***
They found him the next morning, with a serene expression on his old face. He died in his sleep. The burial followed soon. The hired mourners did their duty. As was proper, the event was accompanied by their loud weiling and tears. But the lamentations died out soon after. The tears dried almost instantly. Very few would truly miss Anatolios.
Nevertheless, all the honours were performed, and after the ritual, Nikephoros was pronounced the head of the family.
Nothing has changed. And yet, everything’s changed. The old times were dying — and something new was coming in their stead.
It's honestly so good! Keep up with the work!!