Dio Chrysostom of Bithynia, a wandering sophist with Cynic tendencies, taught Ancient Greek at the school. Although he enjoyed sophistic disputes, various tricks, and provocative antics, and his senior-level classes usually stretched into the evening and ended with all-male feasts, it must be acknowledged that at these feasts not a word of Welsh was permitted. All bawdy jokes were invariably delivered in the Attic dialect of Greek, and the wines were exclusively from southern regions and of genuine vintage.

At the beginning of Greek lessons, they would sing the alphabet in unison, arranged into four iambic verses:

Here’s α, β, γ, δ, ε, and there’s ζ, η, θ, ι, κ, λ, μ, ν, ξ, ο, π, ρ, σ, τ, υ, and through φ, χ, ψ, we come to ω.

Then Dio ordered everyone to acquire wax tablets and styli—pointed writing sticks—exclaiming, “Which of you, in the coming years, will write something in Greek worthy of being carved in stone?” The wax tablet was set into a wooden frame, and when two such tablets were tied together into a “little book,” they wouldn’t stick together if closed. Tablets tied not in twos but in fours were called tetras. Now, when Dio announced, “Open your tetrads,” a sound pleasing to his ears—of wooden tablets clapping open—came from all around.

The flat, reverse side of the stylus served as an eraser when needed, and when Dio slyly asked the first-years how they would translate into Welsh the well-known Greek proverb, “Turn your stylus more often,” correct answers rained in from all directions, demonstrating a deep understanding: “Use your eraser more often,” “Cross out more,” and “Tear mercilessly and throw it away more frequently.”

“And who among you can conjugate the verb φιλέω?” Dio Chrysostom suddenly asked, half-reclining on a bench at his teaching spot, dressed in a light-blue chiton patterned with olive leaves, his red hair disheveled, barefoot. His discarded sandals lay under the bench. “Why don’t I see smiles? Why don’t I hear shouts of joy? Where are the timpanis and kitharas? Why the sour faces? Come now, someone—make your poor old teacher happy!”

Dio Chrysostom was exaggerating—he looked very, very young.

“Oh, woe is me, woe! This is how ancient Hellas fell. Everyone has forgotten how to conjugate the verb φιλέω, forgotten even the very existence of that verb! No, I will never get to the Catalogue of Ships from the Iliad with you! All the ships will sail without us, for we will sink into the depths of verb conjugations! Only darkness and desolation will be our lot! … Oh, why didn’t they send Aristides to you instead of me? Let him freeze in these snowy drifts of distant Britain! Is he complaining about his ailments? He’d forget all about his illnesses in no time! A morning run in the snow, and an evening bath in the Usk!”

When Dio had spoken in this manner for about five minutes, raising his hands to the heavens, Clidno, son of Morvran, calmly stepped up to the board, quickly conjugated φιλέω in all its tenses, dramatically rinsed his chalk-covered hands in a large stone basin, and returned to his seat. The students had no intention of tormenting Dio on purpose; they were simply captivated by the sound of his speeches.

Dio swung his legs off the bench, groped for his sandals, put them on, and, yawning, began walking between the rows to check what each student had written on their tablets, saying:

“You, of course, can chalk up this wall as much as you like—it was probably put here for just that purpose—but the most important thing is your individual work in your tetrads. The main thing is to learn to write on papyrus … and to turn your stylus more often.”

Dio completely rejected the use of the school’s blackboard. He believed it had been installed purely for amusement, and that whatever the students scribbled on it, it did nothing to increase their knowledge.

Notes and Clarifications:

1. Dio Chrysostom:

   • A real historical figure from Bithynia (modern-day Turkey), Dio Chrysostom (c. 40–120 CE) was a philosopher and orator. Though not a Cynic in the strictest sense, his works often reflect Cynic influences, emphasizing simple living and moral critique.
   • His inclusion as a teacher at the school adds a playful historical twist, blending his philosophical persona with the whimsical nature of The Carmarthen School.

2. Attic dialect:

   • The most prestigious form of Ancient Greek, used in classical Athens, especially in literature, oratory, and philosophy.
   • Its exclusive use during feasts underscores the school’s adherence to classical authenticity.

3. Wax tablets and styli:

   • These were common tools in antiquity for writing. The wax-coated wooden tablets allowed for easy correction, and their portability made them ideal for learning and temporary notes.
   • A tetrad (τετράς) refers to four tablets bound together, essentially an ancient precursor to a notebook.

4. “Turn your stylus more often”:

   • A Greek proverb encouraging revision and refinement of one’s work. It emphasizes the iterative process of learning and creating, akin to modern ideas of “editing often.” In Greek: Πυκνότερον τὸν καλάμον τρέπε.

5. Catalogue of Ships:

   • Refers to the famous section in Homer’s Iliad (Book 2) listing the Greek contingents and ships that sailed to Troy. It’s often cited as a pinnacle of epic storytelling, requiring extensive knowledge of names and locations.

6. Clidno, son of Morvran:

   • Likely a nod to Clidno Eiddin, a figure from Welsh tradition, associated with the Men of the North in Celtic lore. Morvran (possibly Morfran fab Tegid) is a character from Welsh mythology, known for his dark, unattractive appearance and connections to the bard Taliesin.

7. Usk (River):

   • The author’s choice to call the town Carmarthen-on-Usk, despite no such river existing near the real Carmarthen, serves as a literary device. This fictional river could symbolize inquiry, transformation, or even draw inspiration from Norse mythology.

8. φιλέω (to love):

   • Conjugation provided in present, imperfect, future, aorist, and perfect tenses to illustrate Dio’s teaching emphasis.

Present Indicative (Active):

1st person singular: φιλῶ
2nd person singular: φιλεῖς
3rd person singular: φιλεῖ
1st person plural: φιλοῦμεν
2nd person plural: φιλεῖτε
3rd person plural: φιλοῦσι(ν)

Imperfect Indicative (Active):

1st person singular: ἐφίλουν
2nd person singular: ἐφίλεις
3rd person singular: ἐφίλει
1st person plural: ἐφιλοῦμεν
2nd person plural: ἐφιλεῖτε
3rd person plural: ἐφίλουν

Future Indicative (Active):

1st person singular: φιλήσω
2nd person singular: φιλήσεις
3rd person singular: φιλήσει
1st person plural: φιλήσομεν
2nd person plural: φιλήσετε
3rd person plural: φιλήσουσι(ν)

Aorist Indicative (Active):

1st person singular: ἐφίλησα
2nd person singular: ἐφίλησας
3rd person singular: ἐφίλησε(ν)
1st person plural: ἐφιλήσαμεν
2nd person plural: ἐφιλήσατε
3rd person plural: ἐφίλησαν

Perfect Indicative (Active):

1st person singular: πεφίληκα
2nd person singular: πεφίληκας
3rd person singular: πεφίληκε(ν)
1st person plural: πεφιλήκαμεν
2nd person plural: πεφιλήκατε
3rd person plural: πεφιλήκασι(ν)