by Corby, Gary
Before long we’d reached the middle of the neighboring property. We picked up an uneven dirt track into which dry, tough grass was determined to encroach. We followed the track until we saw at the end a farmhouse.
Diotima consulted her map. “This is the place where the farmer died.”
Doris had told us, when we first met her, that a farmer had been found dead in his fields. There was nothing suspicious about his death—he’d been an old man—but Diotima and I had agreed that it made his farmhouse singular: it was the only one in the area that was empty.
Which made it a good place to hide.
The building—the sole structure but for a pen beside—was more than a hut but less than a house, built of age-grayed wood that had seen better days. The windows had no shutters. It took no great imagination to see it was once the home of a lonely man.
From where we stood, the place looked empty. That was a disappointment. We’d hoped to find Ophelia here before trying the surrounding countryside with the goat in search of the bear.
The goat was bleating again. Diotima tied it to a shrub rather than have it warn anyone within the farmhouse as we approached. The goat instantly took a bite out of the shrub and munched contentedly.
We left the goat behind and, when we came close to our target, we split up. Diotima stayed on the near side, and I circled around to the other with some caution. I was all too aware that someone had taken potshots at us the day we first arrived at the sanctuary, and that the attacker had run in this direction.
I crept quietly through the long grasses, bent low, sometimes crawling when the ground rose, determined not to give away my position. When I reached the other side, I pushed aside the barley stalks to see through the open window. What I saw within took my breath away. With even more caution, I made my way back to Diotima. From the look on her face, I knew she’d seen what I’d seen.
“There’s a bear in there,” Diotima whispered.
“And a chair as well,” I whispered back. “I can see it from the other side. Diotima, someone’s sitting in the chair. I saw them from behind.”
“What sort of crazy person would sit in a house with a bear?”
We crept up slowly. When we reached the wall, with the greatest caution, we poked our heads up over the window base to peer inside.
All our caution didn’t do us the least good.
The bear got down on all fours to lumber through the doorway. He must have smelled Diotima and me, because he turned the corner and came straight at us.
“Don’t turn your back,” I said to Diotima.
She didn’t. We stepped backward, away from the approaching bear. In the distance I could hear a goat bleating. That was the goat we’d brought along to distract any bears; the goat we’d tied up a hundred paces away.
The creature was massive, like a walking wall of fur. Its beady little eyes fixated on Diotima and me, and I knew he wouldn’t let us escape. I thought of Allike, torn to shreds, and wondered if it had hurt for long.
“We could run in opposite directions?” Diotima suggested.
“With a one-in-two chance of either of us being the victim?” I said. “Thanks anyway. What say you turn and run right now?”
“Leave you here? No.”
I hadn’t expected any less. But it left us with a problem.
I was suddenly aware of fencing to both our sides. We’d retreated into the pen beside the house. Three steps later and our backs were against a wall.
The bear kept coming, and I prepared to fight for our lives. I pulled my knife and my backup, a blade in each hand. If I could keep it busy, perhaps Diotima might run past.
“Don’t you hurt Rollo!”
Rollo?
A child slipped past the bear. We hadn’t seen her behind him. She flung her arms protectively around the creature five times her size and a hundred times her own weight. The bear hugged her back, with the greatest delicacy.
Diotima and I stared at the bear and the girl. The girl and the bear stared at us. I understood then that the bear had been protecting the girl.
I put away my knives.
“Hello, Ophelia,” I said, “I thought we might find you here.”
WE SAT IN the abandoned farmhouse. Dirty bowls lay piled on the one small table. It was the leftovers of many meals. The deceased farmer had stored food against the coming winter, in amphorae Ophelia had broken open with a hammer. Mostly barley and lentils, and weak wine, and from somewhere she’d found some milk. The shards of the broken amphorae had been pushed into a corner. It seemed Ophelia wasn’t one for housework.
Rollo lay on the floor with his head resting on his enormous paws. Ophelia shoved at his torso, to no visible effect, until she was satisfied, then settled back against the bear, who ignored the indignity. Diotima and I kept our distance. We knew the bear was tame. We knew Egesis, his owner, had assured us that the bear wouldn’t hurt anyone. We knew he was gentle with Ophelia. And we knew he had threatened us when he believed Ophelia was in danger.
One thing I was now certain of: Ophelia didn’t need our protection.
“Why did you run away?” I asked her.
“After Allike died? I knew whoever had killed her would kill me too. They said the bear had killed Allike, but I knew for sure it wasn’t Rollo. Rollo’s tame,” Ophelia explained. “I know, because he’s … ah—that is, he’s … er—”
“Is ‘stolen’ the word you’re looking for?” I suggested.
“Oh, you know about that,” she said, crestfallen. “Will I have to give him back? His owner was very cruel. That’s why we saved him. Allike and I saw him in Brauron. He hit Rollo over and over until the poor thing danced, so people would throw coins. Poor Rollo’s feet were so sore, too. There was blood where he stepped. Look!”
With both hands she turned over one of the bear’s massive rear paws. They were indeed scarred and crusted with blood.
“I think it’s because the bad owner made him walk so far,” Ophelia said. “Allike and I knew we had to save him. So we waited till that night to release him.”
“Weren’t you scared?” Diotima asked.
Ophelia stared at Diotima as if she’d suggested a crazy thing. “No, why would we be? Everyone knows the Little Bears were founded when a girl played with a friendly bear. We knew the Goddess would protect us.”
It seemed the Goddess had. Either the two girls were unbelievably lucky, or they really did have divine protection.
I said, “So you didn’t believe Rollo killed Allike.”
“I screamed when they brought Allike in. That was my friend, lying there, and she was …” Ophelia shuddered. “And I imagined myself lying there like that, and I got very scared. I was shaking so much I could barely stand. That night I crept out of the rooms and came here. Allike and I brought Rollo here when we got him. Well, when I came that night, Rollo was still here, waiting for us to bring food, like he always did, and there was no blood on him, and I knew for sure Rollo hadn’t hurt Allike, and I knew for sure someone else had, and whoever it was had made it look like our bear had killed Allike, which meant I’d be next. But if I told the priestesses, then I’d have to confess we’d stolen Rollo, and besides, no one would believe me. Not even Gaïs.”
“Not even Gaïs?”
“Gaïs is nice, she’s not like the others, and she likes me. She’s more like a big sister than a priestess.”
“Big sister. Right,” I said.
Ophelia shot me an angry look. “It’s true! I cried every night when I came to the sanctuary. You don’t know what it’s like to lie in your bed and listen to your fears.”
“Oh yes I do. Believe me,” Diotima said with feeling.
“Gaïs held me and told me how wonderful the sanctuary was. She told me the sanctuary was started by a princess whose father wanted to sacrifice her, but the Goddess wouldn’t let the girl die. She saved the girl and sent her here.”
“Gaïs was right,” Diotima said. “The girl’s name was Iphigenia. Her brother was Ores
tes and her sister was Elektra. Their father was Agamemnon, who led the Greeks at Troy. This all happened long ago, obviously, when the gods still walked the earth. Artemis commanded Iphigenia to settle here and found the temple. She was the first High Priestess.”
“Gaïs is always so sure of herself,” said Ophelia, wistfully.
Diotima’s mention of Elektra reminded me of the last scroll in the case. The one in which Hippias had written that he didn’t need another Elektra. The tyrant had said that in reference to a child of fifty years ago, one whom he’d listed to die. I hadn’t realized until Diotima said it that the sanctuary had been founded by Elektra’s sister.
“Does Gaïs know you’re here?” Diotima asked. “Does she know you’re safe?”
“No. I wanted to tell her, but how could I without returning?”
Suddenly I realized why Gaïs spent so much time out running. Like Melo, she was in search of Ophelia. Then Ophelia thought to ask the question I’d been expecting. She said, “How did you know where to find me?”
“We deduced it from Melo. He thought to look here.”
“That idiot!” she said with contempt.
I thought this was a trifle harsh, considering the lad had died trying to help her.
“If you didn’t like him, why did you sneak out of the sanctuary to meet him?” Diotima asked. “More than once, even?”
“I was trapped. It’s not like a girl gets much choice who she’s to marry. I thought I might as well make the best of it. At least I could find out what he was like before I had to … you know … with him.”
“You’re not interested in boys?” Diotima said.
Ophelia shrugged. “I can take them or leave them.”
No wonder Ophelia wasn’t in with the popular crowd.
“As it turned out, Melo’s nice enough,” Ophelia went on, blithely unaware of what had happened. “He’s a lot easier to get on with than my father. I guess I can stand him.”
“There’s only one problem, Ophelia,” I said. There obviously wasn’t any need to break the news gently. “Melo’s dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“WELL HOW WAS I supposed to know she’d get upset?” I complained. “She was acting like she didn’t care about him at all.”
“Oh, Nico, that was mere pretense,” Diotima said. “Girls do that. Obviously she was desperately in love with him.”
“Oh yeah. Right.”
I didn’t believe it for a moment. But Ophelia had wailed, and tugged at her hair, and beat the ground with her fists, until the bear, who’d been becoming increasingly nervous throughout the conversation, decided once again that I must be a threat to the child and advanced on me. I faced a large wall of angry fur and backed away until I was caught in a corner. It was only when Ophelia ceased her wailing long enough to save me that I escaped. She took one of the bear’s giant paws and stroked his arm and led him back to the entrance. The bear followed her obediently.
I’d learned an important lesson: never upset a girl with a bear.
Diotima and I returned to the sanctuary, without Ophelia, to find a small convoy of carts and horses. I shot Diotima a triumphant look. The answer to my urgent message to Athens had arrived.
Callias stood in the grassy courtyard, where he spoke to Thea. When I approached he greeted me and said, “Nicolaos, I’ve brought everyone you asked me to bring.”
Callias gestured behind him. Standing amongst the columns of the stoa were Aposila, the mother of Allike, and Malixa and Polonikos, the parents of Ophelia.
Callias might be aged, but his management skills hadn’t slowed one whit. The man who ran a mine with a thousand slaves had rounded up three citizen parents with admirable speed.
Callias said, “They’re as puzzled as I am. Why are we here?”
I said, loudly enough for Polonikos and Malixa to hear, “I have some good news for you—”
“The bear! The bear’s come to eat us!”
One of the girls screamed and pointed at Rollo, who lumbered his way over the hill south of the sanctuary. A moment later Ophelia was visible beside him.
This was why we’d returned without Ophelia. She’d insisted that Rollo must return with her, and then only on condition that Rollo the bear’s good name be cleared of murder.
“Or I will never, never, never go back,” Ophelia had finished, not realizing that now that we knew where she was, I could return with enough men to force her home. I had solemnly sworn upon Artemis that I would clear Rollo of the false charge against him, and Ophelia had agreed.
WHEN OPHELIA CAME down from the hills, leading behind her a large brown bear, it caused utter chaos, fear, consternation, panic, and wonderment. Women gasped. Aeschylus, Callias, and Zeke all swore mighty oaths. Socrates explained his new theory of bears, to which no one listened. Malixa cried, “It’s my baby!” and fainted dead away.
Ophelia acted like a girl possessed, unaware of the spectacle she posed. She was sure footed as she stepped down the slope, and upon her face was a smile. In her left hand was a thin chain, and on the other end was Rollo. The bear could have snapped the chain in an instant if he wished. He could have torn Ophelia apart in a trice. He could have swallowed her in three gulps. But instead he followed the girl, as docile as a lamb. Rollo followed Ophelia because he chose to.
“It’s like something out of the legend,” Doris said in wonder.
“The legend of how the Little Bears began. Do you think this is how it happened?”
“I think the Goddess is close,” Diotima said.
“You think the goddess Artemis inhabits the body of Ophelia?” I said in awe.
“No, you idiot. The bear.”
Behind me I heard a woman sob. It was Aposila, the mother of Alike.
Ophelia stopped in the courtyard of the sanctuary. Rollo stopped behind her. She faced the assembled Little Bears. I knew she was anxious about what sort of reception she faced. The assembled Little Bears were silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. Ophelia understood the problem. “He won’t hurt you,” she said. “He’s very gentle.”
Then Malixa rushed forward to envelop her daughter Ophelia in—appropriately enough—a bear hug. Rollo stood and watched over them. When Rollo failed to eat Ophelia’s mother, the girls saw that he was safe and rushed forward to mob Ophelia, squealing.
Rollo watched in calm approval.
THE CELEBRATIONS CARRIED on for some time. In fact they went on for so long that they threatened to stretch well into evening. Rollo was tied to a tree behind the stoa, and the girls took turns daring to go near him. The only person who managed to contain her joy was Sabina, who carried on with business as usual and pulled over a slave to send him running with a message—no doubt to let the Basileus know the latest developments before anyone else could claim credit. I waved my arms until people began to notice me.
“We need to talk,” I announced. “All of us.”
The children looked at me quizzically.
“All of the adults,” I amended. “There’s still a crime to solve.”
“You mean the names of the conspirators at Marathon,” Aeschylus said.
“He means who killed Hippias,” said Sabina. “And who hid him in that cave.”
“No, he means who murdered my daughter,” said Aposila.
“I mean all those mysteries,” I told them. “Each one caused the next, and if I read this right, there’s one other mystery here, buried so deep that no one’s even noticed it. It might be the most important of all.”
We filed into the temple. It was the only space large enough to accommodate every adult. Slaves lit torches to brighten the relative dark of the inner room. Then the slaves were ordered to depart. The torchlight flickered over our faces. It made for an eerie experience.
There was nowhere to sit. It was obvious from the frosty silence what everyone thought of the arrangement, but when they heard what I had to say, they’d thank me for leading them to the only place where the children couldn’t overhear. At least, some o
f them would thank me.
“When Allike and Ophelia discovered the skeleton of Hippias,” I began, “it unleashed anxieties that had lain unresolved for thirty years. Not in one person, but in many. The result was a sequence of disastrous mistakes.
“Hippias was supposed to have died at Lemnos, on the way back to Persia after the defeat at Marathon. The presence of Hippias at Brauron, even dead, was a blow to our peace of mind. The subsequent death of Allike clearly implied that someone among us felt threatened by the discovery, thirty years after the fact.”
I paused for a moment, to see what they thought of this. Aeschylus scowled. Callias was attentive. Thea clenched her hands in concern. Zeke stood beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Doris looked puzzled. Sabina’s face was blank, and Gaïs apparently bored. Of the parents, Aposila had tears in her eyes, Polonikos was plainly uninterested, and Malixa too happy at the restoration of her daughter to care about anything else.
I continued. “Most of us assumed that any man who felt threatened must be a traitor. And when we think of traitors and Hippias, we think of the signal at Marathon that flashed to the enemy from behind the backs of our men. Pericles himself mentioned the signal straight away when he gave me this job.”
“This is obvious,” said Aeschylus. “After the battle the traitors signaled to Hippias. Perhaps their message told the tyrant to meet them here at Brauron. It’s true I wounded him, but probably Hippias was coming to Brauron anyway. Hippias knew the names of the men he was about to meet, and he wrote them in his diary. That’s why they had to remove the fifth scroll. This is all very reasonable—”
“But it’s also wrong.” I spoke over the playwright. “The death of Allike had nothing to do with the signal at Marathon. Once you get that out of the way, the rest of the mystery becomes much clearer. What’s more, the signal at Marathon had nothing to do with Hippias being at Brauron.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Callias. “It must have.”
“No. We all assumed the flashing signal was sent by a soldier. But Socrates proved a soldier’s shield couldn’t reflect light that way. The sunlight had to have been reflected by something flat. It was a mirror.”
