“Aphrodite wasn’t just a story to Botticelli, or the seasons either,” she said, sounding absolutely sure. “But go on, tell me what it is about it that’s appealing. I was a child. I remember chanting and prayers and some of the stories, but none of it was ever really explained clearly.”

I thought for a moment as we walked past a smithy, with the scent of quenched iron hanging heavily on the air. “I think what’s so appealing, both then and now, is the idea of forgiveness for sin. If you’re genuinely sorry for what you’ve done, you can be forgiven and your wrongdoing taken away.”

“You give up responsibility for it?” She was frowning hard.

“Yes. You’re washed clean of it.”

“Without making restitution to people you harmed?” she asked.

“It’s the spiritual side of it,” I said, feebly. “But you’re right of course, it’s between you and God, not you and whoever you wronged.” But Ikaros had come to apologize to me. My forgiveness had been important to him, not just God’s forgiveness.

“And God is all-powerful?”

“Yes. That’s appealing. And of course, there’s the whole thing where everyone is really sure, and there’s the hope of an eternal afterlife.”

“We’re really sure about Athene.” She was still frowning. “And Jesus incarnated himself as a human?”

“Yes, that’s also part of the appeal. Think of a god doing that, giving up his powers, to live like us, to redeem us.”

Simmea laughed. “If that’s why he did it! Maybe he just had questions he wanted answered.”

I was startled. “Questions?”

“About being human. Assuming he was ever real and actually did it. But thank you, I do see now why people might like it. Do you have an opinion on whether we ought to allow it?”

We walked past Crocus’s colossal statue of Sokrates Awakening the Workers. I was almost used to it by now. “Banning it gives it too much power. And it would be impossible to keep it out entirely now that it’s the official religion of the City of Amazons, if we’re going to have any contact with them at all. Forbidding it might make it seem attractive to rebellious Young Ones,” I said.

Simmea sighed. “Alkibiades is being rebellious, though not in religious directions, which considering everything is a good thing.”

“I think we ought to allow it but laugh at it, and keep showing how silly it is. Because it is silly. There are a whole lot of absurdities. And we know Athene is real and has real but limited abilities and knowledge. We can deduce certain things from that, but not that there’s an omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent deity who wants us all to become angels.”

“I’ve read some of Ikaros’s theses, but only some of them. They make my eyes cross. And of course they don’t have their holy book. Having a holy book nobody can read but which you can quote from whenever you want is a bit too convenient!”

“Lots of people here would know if Ikaros were misquoting,” I said. “I would myself—except that the Bible was a long book, longer than the Republic. If he misquotes the Sermon on the Mount, he’s going to be corrected, even after twenty years. But he’s much less likely to be caught out on verses from the book of the prophet Amos.” And of course, Ikaros probably did have a copy of the Bible among his forbidden books. But he wouldn’t be able to admit that.

Simmea sighed. “Will you talk to the committee and say what you’ve just said?”

“Of course I will.”

“We’re meeting next on the day after the Ides.” She grinned. “Letting them in and ridiculing them seems like a terrific strategy. Forbidden fruit is sweet, but nothing is appealing if people mock it.”

The mission from Psyche had been housed in an empty sleeping house near the agora. Maecenas, one of the captains of the Excellence, and another member of the Foreign Negotiations Committee, was entertaining them. They looked relieved when we came in, and so did the envoys. The envoys were all men, of course. Psyche did not admit women to full citizenship. But they accepted that the other cities did, and dealt with us when they had to. Two of them were Masters, whom I knew, and the third was one of the Children whom I only vaguely recognized.

“Joy to you,” Simmea said.

“Joy to you, Hermeias, Salutius,” I said, then inclined my head to the third man. “I’m Maia.”

“Aurelius,” he said.

We all sat down. I fetched wine and mixed it. “Have you had a pleasant journey?” Simmea asked, when we had all drunk a toast to Plato.

“Very smooth and comfortable,” Hermeias said, inclining his head to Maecenas. “We called at the City of Amazons, where I had a dispute with Ikaros.”

Simmea laughed. “Maia and I were just discussing the New Concordance.”

“It’s the most ridiculous misunderstanding of Iamblikius you could possibly imagine,” Hermeias said, stroking his beard. “I’m glad he didn’t live to see it. I managed to refute a few of Ikaros’s theses, and he was good enough to thank me for it.”

“Will you allow them to preach in Psyche?” she asked.

“We’ll agreed to allow them to debate, which is a slightly different thing,” Aurelius said. “It’s hardly likely to win many converts in a city made up of Platonists.”

“It does seem unlikely,” Simmea said.

“So what brings you here?” Maecenas said, blunt as ever.

Hermeias and Aurelius looked at Salutius, who had been quiet since exchanging greetings. “Art,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Simply put. You have it all, except for what has been produced by us since we left. The original art was brought to the City by Athene and the Art Committee.” He nodded to me, as the only member of the original Art Committee present. He had been serving on the committee designing the physical shape of the city at the time, and the one on Children. “It stayed in the Remnant City by default, and you have no more claim on it than the rest of us do. We of Psyche have decided that we ought to have a proportionate share of it. We have just over a thousand people, and we should therefore have ten percent of the art.”

I could hardly believe his effrontery in coming here and asking for it. Maecenas’s eyebrows were lost in his hair, and Simmea blinked several times before answering. “That’s a question we’ll have to debate in full committee, and probably in Chamber too,” she said. “I’m sure you see that it’s something where we can’t be expected to give an immediate response.”

“Indeed,” Salutius said. “We’ve done without it for ten years, after all. We’re not in a tearing hurry. But we have various proposals about how it could be equitably distributed.” He turned to Aurelius, who brought out a notebook which he handed to Simmea. She took it but did not open it.

“Am I right in thinking you mean that all the cities want a share in the art, not just Psyche?” she asked.

“Ikaros was most interested,” Hermeias said.

“How is this different from when the Athenians asked for a share of the technology ten years ago?” Maecenas asked.

The Psychians exchanged glances, and Aurelius replied. “We agreed about technology because we don’t really understand it, and because it’s all one thing and difficult to distribute. You argued that if we tried to share it out we’d risk losing what we had, and the very life of the Workers. And you agreed to help us make printing presses, and other such necessities.”

“Which you have done, according to treaty,” Hermeias put in. “But art is different. A statue can be in one city and a painting in another city. It isn’t all needed in the same place to get any of it working properly like technology.”

“I see,” Maecenas said.

Simmea was chewing her lip with her big front teeth. “I think—I can’t say anything until I’ve talked to the whole committee. But I personally feel it would be better for all of us to be making new art than arguing over the art we have.”

Salutius nodded courteously. “I know your own work. But we do feel very strongly in Psyche that we’re entitled to our proper share of the rescued ancient art.”