Pericles: A Private Life

429 BCE, Athens

The air does not move enough in the house, and when it does it carries smoke, sweat, and the sweet foulness of sickness from the lanes below. Even with the shutters open the room feels used up. Athens has packed itself behind its own walls and now breathes back upon itself like a fevered man. I cannot cross the floor without feeling the pull in my chest; twice this morning I had to stop with one hand against the table until the weakness passed. Outside, carts grind over stone, mourners quarrel, and from somewhere near the sanctuary a voice keeps calling for water as if anyone still has enough to spare. Men come to discuss policy and look at my face before they look at the papers. That is new. They want certainty from me while the city rots around us and inside us. I chose endurance over retreat. I know what they are preparing to call that choice if I fail before I can name it myself.