by Gary Corby
Cheers erupted amongst the Athenians. It wasn’t these men who had fought and destroyed the Persian fleet at Salamis; it had been their fathers, and my father too. But it all came to the same thing. Geros had made his point. If there was anything a Hellene believed in, it was luck. Good luck sent by the gods to reward righteous behavior, bad luck sent by the same gods to punish those who had offended.
Geros spoke more softly. “That is why your League is the Delian League. It is why the treasure must remain. For I remind you, men of Athens, that as Lord Apollo approved the investment of your treasury in this, his sanctuary, so he would be angered by its removal.”
Geros didn’t need to say the fateful words “bad luck.” Every man who listened was already thinking it.
I didn’t agree with a word he had said—Athenian sailors had won those victories against the odds, with not much luck to help them—yet even I was impressed by the old priest’s passion and his belief in Apollo. The sailors of the Athenian Navy were convinced. I could see it in the way they stood, how they muttered amongst themselves and glanced at Pericles with worried looks. If Pericles at that instant had been handed the treasure to take with him, his own sailors would have refused to carry it.
Pericles knew it, too. “Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?” he said, as if to himself, but I heard him clearly, and so did the men standing closest. They looked askance at their leader. Among these was Philipos, a soldier to whom Pericles often assigned minor tasks.
“Surely you don’t mean that,” I said to Pericles. At the same time, Philipos asked, “Do you really mean that?”
“That was my frustration speaking,” Pericles replied to us both. “When I first spoke to Anaxinos, he was about to agree with me.”
“He did seem about to consent,” I agreed.
“It fell apart when that old man opened his mouth.”
In Geros, Pericles might have met his match. He gauged the reaction of the crowd. “I admit, I’m not sure how to proceed here.”
“You could give up and go home?” I suggested hopefully. That at least would solve my marital issues.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pericles said shortly. “No matter what that foolish priest says, the logic of my position is unimpeachable.”
“Geros isn’t using logic. He’s using emotion,” I said.
“Yes, you’re right, Nicolaos.” Pericles looked thoughtful.
Anaxinos had been standing well to the side, watching events unfold. I was amazed he had not tried to take control. Perhaps he felt that it would be better to let things run their course. Now he walked over to where we stood. Diotima and a handful of priests were in his wake.
“Pericles, this situation is not good,” Anaxinos said.
That was something we could all agree with.
“Have you reconsidered?” Pericles asked. “Can you order Geros to desist?”
“I am sorry, Pericles, but Geros is in the right,” Anaxinos said. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had agreed to my suggestion for a full meeting of the League. I want to repeat that offer.”
“To ask a three-hundred-man committee to make a single decision?” Pericles said derisively. “No thank you.”
“Then the standoff will continue,” Anaxinos said unhappily. “I regret it.”
Diotima shot me a frown, then shifted her eyes meaningfully toward Pericles. She seemed to expect me to talk him round. I shook my head very slightly.
“I have come to you for another reason,” said the High Priest. He indicated Diotima. “This young priestess is scheduled to dedicate the holy offerings. Whatever the difficulties between us, the Gods cannot be neglected.”
“I certainly agree,” Pericles said at once.
“I am glad to hear it. Tomorrow we prepare. The ceremony will be the day after, precisely as Apollo rises.”
“I understand,” Pericles said. “My men will not impede the movement of any holy person.” He glanced over at the protesters and smiled wryly. “Indeed, it seems to be the other way round.”
“Quite so,” Anaxinos said. He seemed embarrassed. “I bid you a good night, or as good as you can manage. Do your men have places to sleep? Have they been fed?”
Even in the midst of rebellion, Anaxinos was the perfect host.
“The men are accustomed to sleeping by their boats,” Pericles said. “As to food, I’m not sure. We have a small number of supplies, but we didn’t expect to be . . . er . . .” For once Pericles seemed lost for words.
“You thought to have the treasury loaded and be gone by tomorrow morning,” Anaxinos finished for him. “Well, we’ll see what we can do about dinner.”
The High Priest turned away. The other priests followed, as did Diotima, who, before she departed, came to me as a wife should, squeezed my hand, leaned close, and murmured. The other Athenians probably thought it was a wifely endearment. What she actually said in my ear was, “Talk to Pericles.”
Indeed, that was my plan. Somehow we had to quell the tension, if only for my wife’s sake so that her ceremony wasn’t a disaster. I squeezed her hand back to show I understood.
I didn’t get a chance to talk to Pericles. Instead, he talked to me. Once the Delians were gone he led me by the arm away from our fellow Athenians. Philipos watched us go with an odd expression. Was he curious? Or even jealous? If so he needn’t have been. I’d never known a conversation with Pericles to be anything other than trouble.
“I misstepped in my approach to the priests,” Pericles said to me quietly. “Though in hindsight it is hard to see what I could have done better.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t bluntly threatened them with the force of the navy?” I suggested.
“I take your point,” Pericles conceded. “The fact is, Nicolaos, despite appearances we are very close to agreement. Anaxinos sees that the Delian Treasury is really the property of the Delian League, but he cannot release the money because of doctrinal issues raised by the old priest Geros. Geros is the sticking point. Nicolaos, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to deal with the old priest.”
“You want me to what?” To say I was horrified would have been an understatement.
A voice from behind me said, “Pericles, the villagers are driving sheep towards us.”
Sheep?
“Not now, Philipos,” Pericles said in irritation. “I don’t think a flock of sheep are likely to savage our troops too badly, do you?”
“No, Pericles.” Philipos sounded abashed, even sheepish.
“Then show some initiative, man!” Pericles barked. “Do what you think is best.”
“Yes, Pericles.”
When Philipos was gone I said, with some heat, “Pericles, I’m not going to kill an old man—”
“I didn’t say kill him,” Pericles interrupted quickly. “I said deal with.”
“What does that mean?” I asked suspiciously.
“I want you to talk to him, to persuade him.”
“Why me?” I said. Pericles had never praised my negotiation skills. Usually, he complained about them.
“You’re the perfect person,” Pericles said. “Geros knows you didn’t arrive with the main force. Your wife is a priestess. She’s to dedicate our offerings. Technically, you’re here as a private individual. Geros will listen to you, Nico, where his ears will be closed to me.”
“What am I to say?” I asked doubtfully.
“Tell the old priest that your sole interest is to avoid conflict,” Pericles said confidently. “Emphasize the high regard in which Athens holds Delos. As gently as possible, ask what might persuade him to take a more relaxed view of relocating the treasury.”
I’d been working for Pericles long enough to know what he meant by that. “I don’t think Geros is open to bribes, Pericles.”
“You’re asking me to suborn a priest,” I said.
“In a word, yes,” Pericles agreed. “But I have every confidence in you, Nicolaos. You can do it.”
The Deal
I wasn’t quite sure how to go about bribing someone—until now, no one had ever hired me to do such a thing—but I was fairly sure it didn’t involve making the offer in front of the target’s friends, admirers, colleagues and acquaintances. Geros was surrounded by many people who would fit that description. Somehow I would have to get the priest alone.
In the meantime all I could do was watch and wait for an opportunity. I found a good observation post away from the crowd, upon the steps of the Oikos of the Naxians. The Oikos was the sanctuary’s administration center, built a hundred years ago by the people of Naxos, who back then had been the benefactors of Delos, just as the Athenians were today. The Naxians in their time had made their names immortal, and exceeded all of Hellas in piety, by donating many fine buildings of outstanding merit. One such gift was the Stoa of the Naxians, a beautiful covered portico that adjoined the Oikos and ran to the east.
The Athenians had assembled on the well-trodden field in front of the Stoa of the Naxians, which was the largest open space within the precinct. The four treasury houses lay on the other side of the field. That was where the protestors had set up camp, to block access to the doors. Between the protestors and the Athenians lay the small but elegant Old Temple of Apollo, called by the priests the Poros Temple because it had been built from poros limestone.
Anaxinos and a party of priests stood at the entrance of the partially-built New Temple, beside the Poros Temple. Diotima stood with this group. She saw me alone upon the steps of the Oikos and came to join me.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
“I’m tired,” she said.
She looked it, which was why I had asked the question. Her face seemed somewhat drawn, though perhaps that was an effect of the inconstant light from the bonfires. Diotima’s black hair was invariably perfect—she favored carefully curled tresses that outlined her lovely neck—but tonight her hair hung limp and unkempt, and her face seemed thin.
I took her hand and helped her to sit down. “I’m not surprised,” I said. “It’s late at night, we woke at dawn, sailed from Athens to Delos, ever since have been caught up in a minor rebellion, and you’re carrying an extra passenger. You should be dead on your feet.”
“I saw you talking to Pericles,” she said. “Could you persuade him to give up this scheme?”
“No, but he’s worried,” I said, avoiding a more complete answer to her question.
“He deserves to be,” Diotima said in derision.
I debated whether to tell Diotima about the mission Pericles had given me, and decided against. This wasn’t the time to worry my wife.
I had never before not shared my work with her, but this situation seemed special. Diotima might not be particularly understanding about Pericles’s methods. The fact that Diotima and Pericles had never gotten along would incline her against his plan right away. Besides which, I had some dim presentiment that she might not approve.
Geros would either reject my offer out of hand, in which case Diotima need never know, or he would accept, in which case the Athenian forces would disappear with the treasury, and Diotima’s special day of dedication would be free of conflict. Surely that would please her.
Thus the best course of action was to convince Geros to acquiesce in the matter of the treasury, without bothering my wife with the details of how that feat had been achieved.
“You should sleep,” I told her.
“I will.” She rubbed her eyes, and yawned. “I suppose you want to stay, to see what happens?”
“Yes. I’ll escort you to the village first, though.”
“I can make it on my own,” Diotima said.
“I’ll escort you anyway.”
“I’m not a cripple, Nico!” She spoke angrily.
My father had warned me, when Diotima announced her pregnancy, that women with child could become a little bit irrational. “You just have to deal with it,” my father had advised.
I hadn’t believed him at the time, but I was starting to see that he was right. Of course my first duty was to look after my pregnant wife—in her current state she was hardly capable of doing it herself—but my perfectly reasonable efforts to protect her from all harm seemed to annoy her. It was inexplicable.
“What if you trip and fall in the dark?” I asked. “How would you get up?”
“What do you think I am?” she demanded. “A beached whale?”
“Well . . .”
“Thank you very much!”
“Can I help?” A voice emerged from the dark.
It was the young priestess who had shown us to our house in the village earlier that day. Meren could not have been older than sixteen, yet already she wore the robes of a fully initiated priestess.
“I heard you mention the village,” she said. “I’m headed that way myself. Would you like some company?”
“Thank you, Meren, that would be lovely,” Diotima said. “Your invitation is beautifully phrased.” My wife shot me a black look.
It seemed to me the young priestess knew the path to the village, as Diotima did not, and that Meren could run for help if anything happened to Diotima. I was content to watch the two of them disappear into the darkness, on their way to the other side of the island.
Meanwhile the standoff had turned into an impromptu party. The bonfires that lit the night were put to another use: villagers placed giant iron tripods over the flames and turned them into barbecues.
There really had been a flock of sheep approaching—Philipos had reported accurately. They proved to be older lambs, destined for the table. Despite the darkness, local shepherds had driven them from a nearby holding pen.
The barbecue proceeded at a great pace. It is the rule of our religion that no red meat can be eaten unless the animal’s life has been given to the gods, but on holy Delos there was no shortage of either altars or priests to sanctify the meals.
The Athenians watched this with growling stomachs. After a while one of the more friendly priests asked the salivating Athenians if they would like a bite of the perfectly roasted lamb. No one turned to Pericles to ask permission. The Athenian army rushed forward—not to battle, but to dinner—and in the blink of an eye the Athenians and the Delians were standing around the giant bonfires, chatting and eating. The Athenians had given up hope of obtaining the treasure—at least, those not in charge had abandoned their mission—while the Delians fed their unwanted visitors with admirable good cheer.
Pericles threw up his arms in a theatrical display of despair. He marched off in a huff, in the direction of the beach and the pier. I supposed he would sleep tonight on Harpy. Anaxinos would surely have offered Pericles a bed, but I doubted Pericles would have accepted generosity in this state of impasse.
Pericles had left, but I saw Philipos had remained. He was as hungry as the rest of us. I wondered about him. Was he like me, someone for whom Pericles had found a use? Or was he one of those useless men who were desperate to be seen in Pericles’s company? There were many such, these days.
When I first met him, Pericles had been an isolated figure. He had made himself the champion of democracy when it had seemed the democratic movement must fail at any moment. Friends for him had been scarce.
But now that the democracy was a huge success, now that Athens was in the ascendant, now that Pericles was universally acclaimed the greatest leader of our time, suddenly every social climber in the city wanted to call him friend. I would see these men
in his courtyard whenever I visited his home. Pericles himself was never among them—he was always to be found working in his office upstairs.
I despised the social climbers. Why Pericles tolerated their presence I could not imagine.
Philipos, too, always seemed to be at Pericles’s home. He hung about in the anteroom, beside the steps that led up to the office, like a loyal dog at his master’s door. I had never spoken to him except for polite greetings. Whenever he was absent, it always proved to be because he was off on a task for Pericles, usually something involving the army, for Philipos was a veteran soldier, and Pericles’s official position in Athens was strategos, one of the ten commanders of the armed forces.
Philipos had been a relative nobody until he began his work as assistant to Pericles. Like so many other men, Philipos had benefited from his association with our leader. I was embarrassed to admit to myself that the same could be said of me, though I liked to think that I maintained my independence.
The day’s tension had desperately needed to be dispelled, and that was exactly what the ordinary folk of both sides did without thinking. The Athenians were inadvertently performing the job that Pericles needed: the priests were warming to the invaders. I wondered if that had been Pericles’s plan. Or perhaps the plan of Anaxinos. Was either man that sneaky? I contemplated these deep thoughts as I watched the diners.
Geros was eating with his followers. They seemed to treat him with much respect. It seemed to me that Pericles was right. Geros was the key to the impasse. If he could be persuaded, all else would follow.
The sight of all that food was making me hungry. I was almost ready to abandon my vigil when a voice beside me made me jump.
“I think you’re someone like me.”
I turned to find a tall blond man with the broad shoulders of a laborer. He stood there, smiling at me in a companionable way. Whoever this new arrival was, I’d never heard him coming. Either I’d been concentrating on the scene more than I thought, or this man could move silently.
