The Weight of Gold

Chapter 7: The Weight of Gold

"The chains we wear are often forged by our own hands."

The morning air was heavy, carrying the faint scent of the sea as Diogenes walked toward the grove. His thoughts churned like restless waves, unsettled by the task Antisthenes had given him the day before: bring the thing you value most.

He had spent the night staring at the cracked ceiling of his small room, wrestling with the question. What did he value most? It wasn't wealth—he had scorned that since his father's disgrace. It wasn't comfort; his simple life in Athens had left little room for such indulgences. Yet something gnawed at him, an unease he couldn't name.

In his bag, he carried a small bronze coin—a relic of his father's life as a banker in Sinope. It was all he had left of Hicesias' wealth, a symbol of the life he had rejected. It felt heavy in his hand, but was it truly what he valued most?

When he arrived at the grove, Antisthenes was already there, sitting cross-legged on the ground. A sparrow perched on his shoulder, its tiny head tilting as it studied Diogenes.

"You're late," Antisthenes said without looking up.

Diogenes scowled. "You always say that. Do you live here, or do you rise earlier than the gods?"

Antisthenes smirked, brushing the bird away with a slow movement. "Time is a tool, not a master. Sit."

Diogenes obeyed, dropping his bag onto the ground beside him. Antisthenes gestured toward it. "What have you brought me?"

Wordlessly, Diogenes reached into the bag and pulled out the coin. He held it up between his fingers, the bronze catching the morning light.

"A coin," Antisthenes said, his tone flat. "Is that what you value most?"

Diogenes hesitated, then nodded. "It's all that remains of my father's wealth. A reminder of what I left behind."

Antisthenes reached out, and Diogenes placed the coin in his hand. The older man turned it over, studying it with an unreadable expression.

"And what does it remind you of?" Antisthenes asked.

Diogenes frowned, unsure how to answer. "Of my father's greed. Of the shame he brought upon us. Of the life I refused to live."

Antisthenes looked up, his gaze piercing. "Then why keep it? If it represents everything you scorn, why not cast it away?"

Diogenes opened his mouth, then closed it again. The truth was, he didn't know.

Antisthenes placed the coin on the ground between them. "This is not what you value most, Diogenes. It is a mask."

"A mask?" Diogenes repeated, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Yes," Antisthenes said. "You tell yourself it's a symbol of rejection, but it's not. It's a chain. You carry it because you're still tied to what it represents—your father's failure, your own anger, your fear of becoming him."

Diogenes' jaw tightened. "I'm nothing like him."

Antisthenes' eyes narrowed. "Aren't you? You despise him for valuing wealth, yet you cling to this coin as if it holds power over you. Perhaps you scorn him not because he failed, but because you fear you might fail too."

The words struck Diogenes like a blow. He stood abruptly, his hands clenched at his sides. "You don't know me," he said, his voice trembling with anger.

Antisthenes remained seated, calm as a stone. "No, but I see you. And you're not as free as you think you are."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Diogenes turned away, pacing the edge of the grove. His mind raced, Antisthenes' words echoing in his ears.

Was it true? Had he been fooling himself all along? He thought of the nights he had spent railing against his father's greed, his proclamations of disdain for wealth and power. But had he truly let go of the life he had left behind, or had he simply replaced it with a different kind of bondage?

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "If the coin is a chain, then what do I value most?"

Antisthenes stood, brushing dirt from his robe. "That is for you to discover. But first, you must decide what to do with the chains you carry."

Diogenes turned to face him, his eyes burning with determination. "Then I'll cast it away."

Antisthenes shook his head. "No. To cast it away without understanding it would be meaningless. You must confront it. Hold it, study it, and ask yourself why you cannot let it go. Only then will you find freedom."

That evening, Diogenes returned to the city with the coin still in his possession. He wandered the streets aimlessly, his thoughts a tangled web of anger and uncertainty.

As he passed through the Agora, the bustling marketplace at the heart of Athens, he spotted a beggar sitting against a wall, his clothes tattered and his hands outstretched. The man's eyes met Diogenes', and for a moment, they stared at each other in silence.

Diogenes reached into his bag and pulled out the coin. He held it out to the beggar, who hesitated before taking it.

"Why give this to me?" the beggar asked, his voice hoarse.

Diogenes paused, unsure how to answer. "Because it's all I have."

The beggar studied the coin, then looked back at Diogenes. "If it's all you have, why give it away?"

Diogenes opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no answer.

As he walked away, he felt no lighter. If anything, he felt more burdened than before. The beggar's question lingered in his mind, gnawing at him.

When he reached home, he found his father sitting by the fire, his expression somber. Hicesias looked up as Diogenes entered, his eyes narrowing.

"You look troubled," Hicesias said.

Diogenes sat across from him, the fire casting flickering shadows on their faces. "What do you value most, Father?"

Hicesias raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Just answer," Diogenes said, his voice firm.

Hicesias sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I suppose I value security. Stability. Knowing that I've provided for my family, even if it wasn't always enough."

Diogenes frowned. "And the coin? What did it mean to you?"

Hicesias' expression darkened. "It was a means to an end. A tool to build a life. Nothing more."

"Then why did you risk everything for more of it?" Diogenes asked, his voice rising.

Hicesias' jaw tightened. "Because I was afraid, Diogenes. Afraid of losing what I'd built. Afraid of failure. And in the end, that fear destroyed everything."

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy and raw.

That night, Diogenes lay awake, his father's words mingling with Antisthenes' teachings. He thought of the coin, the weight it had carried in his life, and the chains it represented.

Perhaps Antisthenes was right. Perhaps freedom wasn't just about rejecting what others valued—it was about confronting the things you feared most, even if they were pieces of yourself.

As sleep finally claimed him, Diogenes resolved to return to the grove the next day—not with answers, but with a willingness to ask the right questions.