Work Text:
Sing now, O wine-dark servants of Aigialos,
of Koiranos, king by crown yet not by appetite,
who ruled the halls as one rules summer rain:
lightly, lazily, and only when reminded.
The queen walked bright through cedar-shadowed courts,
while counselors bowed twice, once to the throne
and once to the smile behind the throne.
Thus were decrees carried swifter than spears.
Koiranos loved the hunt, the lyre, the sea,
and certain companions whose names the tablets lost
through either water damage or embarrassment.
Historians remain divided.
“Guard the royal line,” cried the priests.
“Very well,” said Koiranos, drinking calmly,
“but let it be guarded by men of quality.”
The court scribes developed headaches thereafter.
In the market they whispered:
“Who fathers the princes of Aigialos?”
Old women laughed into their figs and answered:
“Whichever god was least busy that season.”
Yet grain filled the storehouses, ships filled the harbors,
and enemies feared the bronze of Aigialos.
So the people forgave the palace its mysteries,
as people forgive all things during prosperity.
In the seventh year of the queen’s long festivals,
Koiranos appeared upon the palace balcony
wearing Tyrian purple, gold sandals,
and an expression suggesting he had forgotten the meeting entirely.
The generals demanded fortifications.
The merchants demanded lower tribute.
The priests demanded sacrifice.
Koiranos demanded musicians and softer cushions.
Strangely, the kingdom continued functioning.
Sailors returning from foreign shores asked:
“Who truly rules Aigialos?”
The dockworkers answered:
“The queen at daylight, the scribes at dusk,
and gossip for all remaining hours.”
A young prince once asked the king,
“Father, how does one command men?”
Koiranos replied,
“Preferably without standing up.”
Thus ended the lesson.
The palace walls bore painted lions,
fierce bulls, chariots, and sea serpents.
Yet none frightened ambassadors so deeply
as the queen’s moans
behind closed doors in absence of the king.
One scholar wrote:
“Aigialos prospered because its rulers understood desire.”
Another wrote:
“Aigialos prospered despite its rulers.”
Both were rewarded with state-funded wine.
In old age Koiranos wandered the gardens at night,
perfumed with cedar oil and foreign incense,
while attendants carried lamps behind him
like priests escorting a mildly irresponsible god.
When at last the king died,
the city mourned sincerely for twelve days.
Then immediately resumed arguing
over which prince resembled him least.