Death on Delos

by Gary Corby

  “Apollo gets the glory on Delos,” Meren said. “But we who serve the Goddess have the oldest temple.”

  I was prepared to believe it.

  Diotima asked, “You are a priestess, Meren, but you also seem to be a villager.”

  Meren nodded. “I am both. The only one, in fact.”

  “Don’t the other villagers want to be priests?” I asked.

  “Well, first of all, you need the education, and not everyone’s interested,” Meren said delicately. “I grew up on the island and absorbed the lore and the rituals quite naturally.”

  I thought that must have been a lonely upbringing, especially if she was bookish. I’d seen children playing in the agora, but not many.

  “There are other priestesses,” Diotima said. “There were two who greeted us when Nico and I arrived.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Meren shrugged. “They are the wives of some of the priests of Apollo. If a man is offered a position as priest, you see, then he moves to Delos and brings his family with him. If his wife is bored then she might volunteer to serve Artemis.”

  “Ah, I understand.” Diotima nodded. “The priests are chosen men, but the priestesses are afterthoughts. I’ll wager no one ever directly appoints a priestess, am I right?”

  Meren sighed. “Yes, you’re right. Except for me. When I asked the High Priest if I might be a priestess, he made me recite all the hymns, and then perform the rituals. I did them all perfectly, and he appointed me at once.”

  “You should apply for the Artemision at Ephesus,” Diotima said. “It’s the largest, most beautiful temple to the Goddess in the whole world. You would love it there.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t!” Meren said. She seemed genuinely shocked. “Then who would serve the Delian Artemis?”

  We had just pointed out that there were other priestesses, but Meren obviously considered herself essential staff.

  “How old is the temple, really?” I asked.

  “Nobody knows,” Meren said. “They say that Homer himself worshipped in this place.”

  That made me feel strange. I was standing where the greatest poet who had ever lived had once stood.

  Meren beckoned. “Come inside.”

  We squeezed through the door, which was low and narrow, like the temples of old. The Temple of Artemis was a bit roomier than it looked from the outside. The door had been cunningly placed so that in the morning, the light shone within, but there was no window at the west end and now in the afternoon, it was quite dark. It took a moment for our eyes to adjust.

  “Look left,” Meren said.

  Diotima and I both swiveled our heads. To the left of the entrance were two sarcophagi, side by side, both carved of local stone.

  “Here lie the two women of Hyperborea,” Meren said. “Their lives were of the greatest holiness.”

  “I’ve never heard of Hyperborea,” Diotima admitted. “Yet I am a priestess.”

  “It is a strange tale,” Meren said. “They say it happened more than a century ago, when two women arrived on Delos. With them came five great warriors for their escort. The women were . . . unusual. Their skin was fair, as fair as the moon. Their hair was fair too, as bright as the stars. It is said that they were very beautiful.

  “At first no one knew what they wanted, because they spoke a language no one had ever heard before. When they had learned our words, the women explained that they had brought with them a gift for the Goddess Artemis. They said that the people of their tribe had received a vision, that the goddess required this of them, and in their holiness they had sent two priestesses.”

  “What about the men?” I asked.

  “The warriors who protected the women were fierce. They wore skins, like Heracles of old. The priests asked the women whence they had come. They said that their people lived beyond Boreas, the freezing cold wind that blows to the far north, that they had traveled for many months and faced many dangers to be with us.”

  “So the women from Hyperborea delivered their gift,” Diotima said.

  “Yes,” said Meren sadly, “and then they died.”

  “What!”

  “It was illness,” Meren said. “They both fell sick and died. The whole island wept. The women were buried with highest honors, here inside the Temple of Artemis. They are the only people ever to be buried within a temple on Delos,” Meren said. “As the youngest of the priestesses of Artemis, it is my job to tend their graves.”

  “Did the men remain?” I asked.

  “The warriors in their sorrow returned home.”

  “The tale is sad, and strange,” Diotima said.

  “It gets stranger,” Meren replied. “People thought that was the last that we would ever hear from the Hyperboreans. But the next year, another gift arrived, sheathed in wheat for protection. With it came a message, that the Hyperboreans would never again risk their finest women on such a dangerous journey, but that every year they would send the Sacred Gift that was due, passed on by whomever was kind enough to carry it.”

  Diotima clutched my arm. The pressure was quite strong. I knew she had heard something.

  “Ever since then, the Gift has arrived?” Diotima asked.

  “Every single year,” Meren said. “Passed on by one traveler to another. No one has seen the Hyperboreans since that first visit.”

  “That is remarkable dedication. Where is this land of Hyperborea that you speak of?” I asked.

  Meren scratched her head. “That’s the strange thing,” she said. “Nobody knows.”

  We thanked Meren and went on our way.

  “Why did you clutch my arm in there?” I asked.

  “Because the epithet of Nemesis is She Who Gives What Is Due, and the retribution she brings is often called her gift.”

  “Hello!” a voice hailed us.

  We both swiveled to see Karnon walking along behind us.

  “I suppose you’ve come to see the treasury, like you said you would.”

  We had indeed said that we would. I’d forgotten about it. Karnon seemed enthusiastic about his job.

  Although at the moment he looked embarrassed. He shuffled his feet, looked around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned close and said, “Also, there’s something I’d like to say to you. In private.”

  “Then lead on,” Diotima told him.

  The Treasury

  Karnon led us across the sanctuary, to a temple building in the northeast. “This is the Porinos Naos,” he said. “It’s a temple to Apollo, but these days it serves another purpose. This is where we keep the treasury of the Delian League.”

  Porinos Naos meant limestone temple in our language, which was appropriate enough, since this temple to Apollo was made of limestone. The blocks that made the walls were very, very weathered. Some of the decorations etched into the facade were almost completely worn away. The columns were broken in places, but still doing their job. The paint had worn to almost nothing, so that bare stone was the only color.

  “I’d hate for all our temples to end up looking like this,” Diotima muttered under her breath, but the accountant heard her.

  “The priests stopped worrying about upkeep when the building was taken over by the League and lost its sacred status,” Karnon explained.

  This nondescript temple contained more wealth than perhaps any other building in all of Hellas. I marveled at what an odd thing that was.

  Karnon walked up the steps. At the top there were two guards in armor and carrying spears, with their helmets pushed back upon their heads.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Only two?” I asked.

  “Two are enough to keep away inquisitive tourists,” Karnon explained. “A hundred would not be enough to repel a serious attack from outside.”

  I didn’t like that answer at all. The more I saw of the security on Delos, the more I was convinced
that Pericles was right. The treasury was not remotely safe here.

  I said as much. “Then some city-state, say, Sparta, could land here, grab the money, and sail off with it,” I said.

  “You mean like Athens is doing right now?” Karnon said sarcastically.

  “Here!” I said. “That’s uncalled for.”

  “Is it?” Karnon said. “I may be an Athenian, but I’m not blind to how the rest of the world will see our actions.” Karnon took the key, which he’d been carrying over his shoulder. “Have you seen one of these before?” he asked.

  “We were there when Anaxinos recovered Geros’s keys. But I’ve never seen one used. How does it work?” I asked, fascinated.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Karnon said. “See this slit in the door?”

  Diotima and I nodded.

  “This key goes in that hole, but you have to angle it just right.”

  He moved the key to the hole, but the unwieldy tool slipped from his fingers. It fell to the stone floor and rebounded with an enormous clang.

  “Curse it,” Karnon muttered. “I hate it when I drop my keys.”

  He picked it up and tried again, this time with two hands, holding the key at the long end so that the kink was down. He pushed it through, jiggling hard as he did.

  “These things are always sticky,” he explained.

  When it was all the way in he turned it in place.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “As I turn the key, the big curve in the metal is turning to lift the bar on the other side. That’s why only this key works,” Karnon said. “The bend has to be in just the right place to meet the bar.”

  Personally I didn’t think these new-fangled keys were likely to catch on, and said as much to Karnon. “A slave behind the door is a much better idea,” I said. “The slave can identify you, that key can’t identify anyone, and then the slave only needs to lift the bar. What could be simpler?”

  “I somewhat agree with you,” Karnon said. “That works in every home in Athens, but in this case we’d have to leave the slave standing in that enclosed temple for days on end with nothing to do. We don’t open this treasury every day, you know.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean.”

  We heard a clunky bang on the other side.

  “That’s it,” Karnon said. He put a hand on the door handle.

  “Is there any other access in?” I asked.

  “What do you think?” Karnon laughed. “No, of course not.”

  “Then what if you lose the key?”

  “I’ve never lost the key,” he said flatly. “But if I did, then at great expense and at the cost of my job we could dig a hole through the wall.”

  Several priests passed by in a group. Karnon ceased speaking until they had passed.

  “You shouldn’t confuse the key with any security, in any case,” said the accountant. “I have no delusions that it would stop anyone for long. The real security are the guards, and the fact that no one, and I mean no one, could run off with that treasure anytime soon.”

  Diotima said, “Karnon, a moment ago you seemed upset about Athens taking the treasure. But at your home, you said moving the treasury didn’t bother you.”

  “You asked me whether the removal would affect me personally,” Karnon said. He looked from one of the guards to the other. They were, of course, listening to every word we spoke. Both stared straight ahead, expressionless, and made no movement.

  “Let’s go inside,” the accountant said. He opened the door.

  “This is the most private place on all of Delos,” he continued, when the door was shut behind us. “It’s the only place I know of where nobody can overhear us.”

  “You brought us here on purpose. What did you want to say?” Diotima asked.

  “Of course at my home I spoke the words that I did. Marika was listening. I don’t want to distress her. Above all else, I don’t want her unhappy.” Karnon let us think about that for a moment, then went on. “This move by Pericles affects her deeply. How do you think she feels?”

  “Not good?” I suggested.

  “What am I supposed to do if I’m forced to return to Athens?” Karnon put his hands to his head. If he’d had hair, I was sure he would have pulled it out. “You guessed the truth, didn’t you?”

  “The moment we saw you together,” I told him. “The boys look too much like you to believe any other story.”

  “My wife will see it too. If Marika and the boys return with me, my wife will make their lives miserable.”

  “Marika is truly a slave?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Karnon had a terrible problem. Household slaves are traditionally under the orders of the lady of the house. Karnon’s wife could persecute Marika.

  “Is your wife the vindictive sort?” I asked.

  “Why do you think I volunteered to live on this miserable island?” Karnon said with feeling.

  “You could free Marika,” Diotima suggested. “If you were forced to go home, that is. Marika and the boys could live here, or some more pleasant place, and you could see them from time to time.”

  “And Marika should live on her own?” Karnon said.

  That was a good question. Freed slaves often had trouble making a living. Freed female slaves with children had very few options indeed, and none of them were pleasant.

  “Besides, Marika’s the one I want to be with, and she wants to be with me. What would my boys think of me if I abandoned their mother?”

  I was pleased to hear that the accountant wasn’t prepared to abandon his slave woman. There were plenty of men who would. The child of a citizen and a slave is a slave, by law. Karnon could have sold Marika and his two boys, and no one could have objected.

  But I knew, from the tone of his voice and the set of his shoulders, that if I had suggested such a thing then Karnon would have punched me in the face.

  I didn’t bother to ask why the accountant didn’t divorce his wife to marry his lover. He had already mentioned that the wife’s father was a wealthy merchant, and Karnon would not be the first man dependent on his wife’s dowry. If he divorced her then by law the dowry remained with the lady.

  “Did you know Geros was preparing to hand the treasure over to Athens?” I asked.

  “Yes. Or rather, I suspected. Geros has always had an unhealthy interest in the treasuries.”

  “The Delian League’s treasure?”

  “All of them,” said Karnon shortly. “We’d had words in the past.”

  “Oh?”

  “I caught him trying to talk his way in here once. He argued that since he had access to all of the sacred treasuries, he must also have access to this one. He was wrong. The Delian League has its own rules.”

  “Who does have access?”

  “Me. That’s it. No one enters unless I am present.”

  “Is it that precious?” Diotima asked.

  “You tell me. I’ll show you,” Karnon said.

  It was dark within the temple. Karnon lit a torch, using the flint that he had brought with him. His actions were so automatic, moving in the dim light, that I knew he had done this hundreds of times before.

  As light filled the room I saw the temple was full, stacked from wall to wall and floor to ceiling with box upon box of coins, more coins than I could count if I lived to be a hundred. Stacked to both sides of the boxes were bars of silver, all the way to the roof.

  I stepped forward to inspect the treasure, kicking something on the ground.

  I looked down. The doorstops in this place were blocks of solid gold.

  “Dear Gods!”

  “You see before you the treasury of the Delian League,” Karnon said.

  “Why haven’t you run off with all this wealth?” I asked. “I certainly would.”

  “How would
I lift it?” Karnon asked. I could hear the humor in his voice.

  It was a good question. I could see now why Pericles had turned up with fifty triremes. It would need that many to carry this much metal without risking the boats sinking.

  “Does Pericles know there’s this much in here?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Karnon said. “I showed him in here once, when he visited for a meeting of the leaders of the League.”

  “Then the other leaders know how much gold you hold too,” Diotima said.

  “Of course they know!” Karnon said. “They read my accountant reports. Or at least, I hope they do.”

  “So since you know exactly, how much money are we talking about here?” I asked.

  “There are something like four thousand talents in this room.”

  He spoke calmly, but I staggered in shock. I’d had no idea the treasury was that large. One talent was six thousand drachmae..

  It was mind-boggling.

  “How in Hades do you store that many coins?” I asked. “It must make a mountain.”

  “No, there aren’t that many coins in our treasury,” he said, laughing at my question. “Most of it is in the gold and silver bars that you see.”

  “Where does it all come from? All those bars of solid metal, I mean.”

  “Either delivered by the wealthier states, or converted by us from silver coin sent by the poorer states.”

  “You turn silver coins into gold? Are you magicians?”

  “It’s a bit simpler than that,” he explained patiently, even perhaps with a touch of enthusiasm. “Most of the contributing states are poor island nations of fishermen and farmers. All they can send us, in accordance with the tribute lists, is an amphora or two of coins.”

  “Such a measly sum?” I said in mock horror. I’d never owned as much as an amphora of coins in my life, and I never hoped to.

  “It’s not much,” he agreed, oblivious to my sarcasm. “But it would be inconvenient to store so many random coins. I take the contributions from several member states, merge them together, and use the sum to buy gold bars. The bars stack much more easily.”