I had done it. I had found the man I’d been sent to find.
All I had to do was get a few soundbites from him. Then I could go back home, collect my money, become an avatar on the coolest computer game in history and sit back to enjoy a life of fame and fortune.
We moved closer in order to hear what the wisest man in the world was saying. He was speaking with a young man in a dusty pink himation, the same colour as the one Hippias had been wearing.
‘One of Hippias’s disciples, no doubt,’ whispered Kid Plato in my ear.
‘Tell me, Lysias, son of Hippomachus,’ Socrates was saying, ‘do not all men want to be happy?’
‘Of course!’ said the young man. With his bronze-coloured hair and skin he reminded me of a famous statue called The Charioteer.
‘Then how can we be happy?’
‘I don’t understand the question.’
‘Will we be happy if we have good things?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what sorts of things make us happy? Wealth, health and physical beauty?’
‘All those things.’
Socrates smiled encouragingly. ‘How about good birth, power and honour?’
‘Those too.’
‘What about self-control, justice and courage?’
‘Also good.’
‘And what about wisdom? Is it not the greatest of those good things?’
The young man frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Say we had lots of food but did not eat it, would that good thing benefit us?’
‘Ooda moce,’ he said. No way.
‘Or take a craftsman – a shoemaker, for example. If he had leather and cork and adzes and awls but left them to one side, would they be of any use to him?’
‘No use at all.’
‘And if a person had all the good things we mentioned above – wealth, power, courage – but did not make use of them, would he be happy simply because he possessed them?’
‘Ooda moce,’ he said again. No way.
‘So shall we say that those good things will only benefit a person if they use them?’
‘That seems right.’
‘But is that enough?’
‘What do you mean, Socrates?’
‘What if he uses them wrongly? The shoemaker, say. If he were to try to make a tunic from leather and cork using awls and adzes. Or if the brave man mustered up his courage and raced to certain death.’
‘Why, then those good things would be worse than useless.’
‘So do you agree that the wrong use of a thing is worse than the non-use?’
‘I do.’
‘And the best use of a thing is when it is used rightly?’
‘Of course.’
‘And in the use of those other things we mentioned – wealth, health, courage and so on – isn’t it wisdom that directs us in the best use of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, in themselves they are worth nothing or even less than nothing. But only when used with wisdom can they bring happiness.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we then conclude that, to be happy, a man must seek wisdom before all other things?’
‘Yes!’ The young man’s tanned face shone, making him look even more like bronze.
‘Now,’ said Socrates, looking around happily, ‘shall we discuss how to get wisdom?’
I think he might have gone on for hours but at that moment he caught sight of me and his bug eyes widened. They were twinkly and bright and I could almost feel invisible beams coming from his eyes to mine, like a fishing line drawing me closer. Then his gaze slid beyond me to Kid Plato and his smile grew wider.
‘Ah! Young Plato!’ he said, and beckoned us both forward.
People were taking this opportunity to leave, and as a man crept away, I noticed the only other kid I had seen so far in the whole Agora. He sat on a marble bench behind Socrates with his head in his hands. From his grubby tunic and shaggy brown hair I guessed he was a slave. But something about him was oddly familiar.
‘It is good to see you again,’ Socrates said to Kid Plato as we approached. ‘And who is your friend?’
‘My name is Alexis, son of Philippos.’
Up close I could see that Socrates wasn’t as old as Santa. He looked to be about forty-five years old. I was wondering if ancient Greeks shook hands upon meeting.
But I never found out.
The boy on the bench had lifted his head to look at me.
It wasn’t a slave boy.
It was Crina with her hair cut short.