Bacchae of Bureaucracy T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s Athenian Mysteries Bacchae of Bureaucracy Thanos Kalamidas Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Bacchae of Bureaucracy Bacchae of Bureaucracy Thanos Kalamidas Athenian Mysteries Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Bacchae of Bureaucracy T he year was 406 BCE. The Acropolis shimmered under the weight of high summer, and the air hung thick with the scent of olive oil, fish stew, and anxiety. In the bustling heart of Athens, playwright Euripides was not preparing a chorus for his next tragedy but instead adjusting the ill-fitting tunic of a prisoner awaiting trial. His crime? Impiety. A charge as fashionable among the pious elite as white chitons during the Dionysia. “I’ve written plays where women tear men limb from limb!” Euripides declared, hands tied with a rope that still smelled of goat. “And this is what gets me arrested? A missing statue of Apollo? Have they seen my reputation?” Thanos Kalamidas “You’re not helping your case,” muttered his cellmate, a drunken flutist who’d urinated on the Temple of Hephaestus and was now composing odes to bladder control. * * * * * * Enter Investigator Philostratus of Piraeus, a former hoplite with a limp, a love of figs, and a distaste for anything that required paperwork. Athens hadn’t asked for a detective, but corruption had grown in the city like mold on an amphora, and someone had to scrape it off. He strode into the agora with a scowl and a pair of sandals held together by divine will and aggressive optimism. “Philostratus,” called a peddler, “want a wreath of laurel for your head? It hides the receding hairline.” “Keep your wreath,” Philostratus replied. “I’d rather keep my dignity and you’d best wash your hands before touching sacred leaves, Thrasymachos. You sell figs and curses from the same basket.” The marketplace parted as he made his way to the strategoi’s office, where a sweaty bureaucrat named Bacchae of Bureaucracy Cleon the Lesser (no relation to Cleon the Greater, who’d died choking on a chicken bone mid-speech) handed him a scroll. “Euripides is accused of stealing the statue of Apollo from the sanctuary at Delion,” Cleon said, scratching his ear with a quill. “He was last seen near the site, probably muttering something tragic about man’s fate.” “Euripides couldn’t steal his own socks, let alone a twenty-talent gold statue,” Philostratus said. Cleon shrugged. “Impiety is the new adultery. Easier to prosecute. Cleaner.” “Cleaner?” Philostratus raised an eyebrow. “You call this ‘clean’? Half the Boule is taking bribes from aristocrats who think democracy is a venereal disease.” “I don’t deal in politics,” Cleon said, turning to file a completely blank scroll. “Just accusations.” * * * * * * Back in the cell, Euripides was rehearsing lines. Thanos Kalamidas “‘The gods are but shadows of man’s fear’ ...No. ‘The gods are drunk shadows of man’s fear’ hmm. Too accurate.” Philostratus arrived, ducking under a lintel beam carved with the words Know Thyself , which he found unnecessary advice from a building. “Euripides. You’re innocent.” “I know I’m innocent,” Euripides snapped. “Why do you think I’m so miserable?” “I need to retrace your steps. You were in Delion?” “Yes, gathering inspiration. I find war-torn ruins calming. Until someone screamed, ‘The statue is gone!’ and the next thing I knew, an old woman was hitting me with a fennel stalk.” Philostratus rubbed his temples. “Delion. That’s Boeotian territory. And if I know Boeotians, they’d sell their mother’s ashes for a new amphora of cheap wine.” * * * * * * They travelled to Delion by donkey because Athenian budget cuts were as real in 406 BCE as Bacchae of Bureaucracy they would be in any democratic republic centuries later. The temple ruins sat sun-drenched and lizard- infested. A few priests were debating whether the theft was divine punishment or just terrible Athenian insurance policy. Philostratus crouched by the altar. “No sign of forced entry,” he muttered. “But here, these footprints. Sandals, worn at the heel. Light step. Someone used to sneaking.” “Sounds like Sophocles,” Euripides offered helpfully. “He always moves like he’s avoiding praise.” “I said someone clever,” Philostratus retorted. A trail led them to a cave above the coast. Inside, a priestess was lighting incense in front of... a very familiar statue. “By Athena’s left sandal...” Philostratus whispered. The priestess turned. “You can’t take it!” “Care to explain why a statue sacred to Delion’s temple is in your sea cave next to three jars of Mytilenean wine and a wig made of goat hair?” Thanos Kalamidas She looked sheepish. “It was a prophecy. The Oracle said if Apollo saw the sea, the city would thrive. I... improvised.” Euripides leaned in. “You stole the statue for a better view?” “It was symbolic theft! ” she protested. “Artistic recontextualization.” “Woman,” Philostratus sighed, “you’d make a fine playwright. Too bad we already have one who’s going to rot unless I drag this truth through the Assembly like a goat on Dionysia morning.” * * * * * * Back in Athens, Philostratus stormed into the Boule assembly, Euripides in tow, covered in cave dust and poetic indignation. “I have proof,” Philostratus announced, “that Euripides is innocent. The statue was relocated for ‘symbolic’ reasons by a priestess who believes Apollo wanted a sea view. And while I admit Apollo may enjoy scenic real estate, this hardly qualifies as theft.” The archon, a man with the face of a baked olive, scowled. “Do you have witnesses?” Bacchae of Bureaucracy Euripides raised a hand. “I do. The gods themselves. For had I truly stolen Apollo, I would not be here. I would be dead. Or worse, reviewed by Aristophanes again.” The crowd chuckled. Even Cleon the Lesser let out a wheezy laugh. Philostratus stepped forward. “Let this be a lesson, my lords. Not every statue is a crime. Not every playwright a heretic. And not every priestess an interior decorator.” * * * * * * Euripides was acquitted. The Assembly, having grown bored and hungry, voted 281 to 19 to exonerate him and adjourn early for oysters. Later that night, Euripides sat at a symposium with Philostratus, both tipsy on watered wine. “You saved my life,” Euripides said. Philostratus shrugged. “You’ll probably ruin mine by putting me in your next play.” “Already writing the chorus,” Euripides grinned. Thanos Kalamidas “‘O! Investigator bold with limp and frown / He dragged the gods back into town!’” Philostratus groaned. “At least give me a heroic death.” “Oh no,” Euripides smirked. “You live. And live. And live. Just like bureaucracy.” End Bacchae of Bureaucracy Bacchae of Bureaucracy Athenian Mysteries Thanos Kalamidas Ovi eBook Publishing 2025 Ovi magazine Design: Thanos Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Thanos Kalamidas T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s Athenian Mysteries Bacchae of Bureaucracy Thanos Kalamidas , a multipublished writer, cartoonist and illustrator; born and grew up in a picturesque neighbourhood on the moun- tainside of Hymettus in Athens, Greece. Then his life took him to Berlin, Germany and to London, UK for studies. After a brief stay in Yorkshire he moved his life to Paris, France while working in Tokyo, Japan and in Cape Town, South Africa. In the last 25 years he became a permanent Scandinavian resident and recently, in his glorious sixth de- cade, he moved to a scenic village in the Växjö area.