The market was the meeting place. One could afford not going to the assembly, not participating in city-wide events, or not socializing with their peers, but everyone—at one point or another—needed something from one another.



It was these necessary visits to the Agora which broke up the monotonic routine of Leonidas’ life between the Barracks and home in the Outer Circle. If not for these visits, he would’ve lost contact with a handful of childhood friends and neighbor elders after he joined the Athenian Guard.



He wore a simple tunic sewn by his mother, with a leather pouch fastened on his waist carrying just enough coin for his shopping. “Phaidra, the breads look so fresh today. Are those figs?” He stopped by the plump woman’s stool to check out the baker’s latest stock, raising his brows at the black, aromatic gems embedded in the round body of the bread.



“Phaidra’s bread is always fresh!” The woman huffed ineffectually with barely an eyebrow raised at Leonidas. She cut a loaf in half, wrapping it up with nimble and precise movements before handing it off to a customer. Only after the customer left did she turned her attention to Leonidas, propping her fists on her full waist like a kettle. “Where have you been? My son hasn’t seen you by the square all week. You’re not slacking on your job, are you?”



“I got temporarily reassigned. We don’t pass by the square anymore on our new route.” The route being in the Palace, after all. Leonidas left that part unsaid and continued with a reassuring smile, “It’s only temporary though. Tell your son we will be needing him to brush down and feed our horses again very soon.”



The hard lines on Phaidra’s face relaxed some when she heard that her son did not lose some of his most stable customers forever, especially when Leonidas doubled down with: “And a drink of water. In this weather, if he could have a few jars of water ready for the animal by mid-day’s shift change, there will be coin in it for him.”



“Well, that’s good.” The hands were dropped from her waist. The fishtails on the corners of Phaidra’s eyes became animated as she downcast her glance nod at the bread on the table, “Yes, those are figs. They came in early and sweet this year on account of this heat. Don’t let it sit for too long, or the flies get it. Vermin sure like things sweet.”







Coin and goods exchanged hands. Leonidas put the half loaf of fig bread under his arm and continued down the market street. As he past the fruit and pottery stands where water was needed to keep the goods fresh or maintained, he ventured fabric stands where the dirt under his sandals was drier.



The customers were mostly women and their maids, or slaves who were sent on the errands. Some of the ladies appeared to be of higher social class by their clothing, but none were outstandingly so. None until the crowd would automatically part at someone noble. Not many would acknowledge the presence of the noblewoman besides a cordial bow and shuffling out of the way. As a member of the Guard, Leonidas adhered to a stricter set of social codes. He tucked the bread behind his back and stepped to the side, bowing his head at the noblewoman, “Lady Chara.”