by Gary Corby
What the slave could not have anticipated was the raised voices, and the way the sound floated down to me from Pericles’ study.
“You will go to the estates,” Xanthippus’ voice roared.
I looked up to the second floor, startled, to see two heads framed within the window, facing each other, as if they were putting on a show for me.
“With the greatest respect, Father, I must say again that I decline. There are too many issues needing my personal attention here in town. I’m sure you understand that. Perhaps after this crisis has died down-”
“You must leave Athens, for your own sake, at least for a few months. The family estates need more attention than we’ve given them. This is the perfect time for you to learn the management of our property. I am sending you as your father, I expect you to obey as my son.”
It was going to be embarrassing if they looked down and saw me. I moved to stand directly underneath the window, where I wouldn’t be noticed if they glanced out. Besides, this was interesting and I didn’t want them to stop.
“I’m not a child any longer, Father.”
“In law you are.”
“I owe you all the loyalty and obedience a son owes a father, but I will not run away from Athens like a coward. We both know this has nothing to do with managing the family wealth.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. I’ve done my best to protect you from your actions, but I can’t keep it up much longer.”
There was a lull in the conversation. I edged closer to the window.
“Son, I made a mistake when first I walked in here. I should have asked you to go, not told you outright. If you wish, I will apologize. But the fact remains it’s in your best interests to leave Athens for a while.”
“I disagree.” Pericles’ tone could have frozen water. “My interests lie right here. May I say, Father, how disappointed I am that we cannot seem to have any conversation these days without it turning into an argument.”
“I wonder whose fault that might be?”
“Both of us, I should imagine. I remember when we could discuss almost any subject, and even if we disagreed, it never became an issue for personal antagonism. I wonder what changed?”
“You became obsessed with this democratic movement.”
“I think rather had you been born at the same time as me you would have become a democrat yourself. You were a reformer as a young man. You were a champion of the people before the time of Themistocles. Where did it all go wrong?”
“It didn’t go wrong, young man. I still champion the best interests of the people. What I realize is the people cannot be trusted to champion themselves. Under this democracy of yours Athens will make mediocre decisions at best, and sometimes very bad ones.”
“Are you sure, Father, that that is not the opinion of a man accustomed to wielding power?”
“No, it is reality. When you are fighting in the ranks of the army, do you want the smartest, most experienced man to command, or an incompetent, the least experienced?”
“The answer is obvious.”
“Just so, it is obvious. Yet as soon as we start to talk about the leadership of our city, a subject of infinitely greater importance than any one battle, suddenly the idea of choosing the best man for the job disappears.”
Their voices had calmed, and were quieter. I edged my way up the stairs to a position where I could hear more clearly. Pericles was speaking.
“The Ecclesia can be persuaded by the wisdom of our best men. Men like you, Father. Trust them to respond to good advice.”
“Pericles, I am going to say something I don’t think I have ever said to you before: you are a fine man. I’m proud of you, son. But intelligence makes conservatives of us all in the end. Young men should have a social conscience. Old men must work with reality.”
“If you were proud of me you’d at least consider my words before you reject them.”
“I could wish you were prouder of me, and listen to the wisdom of my old age.”
“I will not leave Athens.”
“If you stay here, you will die.”
“If I leave, I might as well be dead.”
The door flung open without warning and Xanthippus stamped down, pushing me out of the way.
“You again!” he shouted. Then he stopped and turned to me. His face twitched into a bleak smile. “I think my son is looking for you.” Xanthippus continued on his way in a cloud of anger.
Pericles was not in a good mood.
“You again!” he shouted, sounding remarkably like his father. “What in Hades is this?” He snatched something from his desk and waved it in the air.
“It looks like a bill,” I said.
“And this?” He picked up another, which lay beside a rotting fish. The fish was propped up so that one eye stared at me accusingly.
“Er-another bill?”
“You trashed the Agora? What were you thinking?”
“Actually, the man I was chasing was doing the trashing,” I muttered. I didn’t think I’d be doing Diotima any favors if I told Pericles a priestess was stalking the streets, destroying everything in her path.
I shifted uncomfortably where I stood. My mother Phaenarete had bandaged my feet, both of which were cut to shreds. I had a black eye where the fish had hit me. I could barely move my left arm; the right was black and blue but at least I could use it. My head ached. This was not a good time for Pericles to be offering a critique of my work.
“He had information to do with the murder,” I said.
“And you know this how?”
“I caught him. Archestratus has no alibi for the time of the murder.”
“That’s the information I get for the price of one large fish, twenty-four jars of figs, and a small farm’s worth of olive oil?”
I didn’t think this would be a good time to mention the wine and the well-washed innkeeper, so I said meekly, “Yes, sir.”
“If you catch this killer, when you catch him, I will be deducting the cost of this mess from your reward.”
“I have other important information.” I gave Pericles the story of the bowman and the bowyer. Pericles’ reaction to this news was predictable. “It’s the Areopagus, of course. They must have hired this man from Tanagra.”
Pericles’ determination to implicate the Areopagus was starting to irritate me. Of course it would suit him politically for it to be true. But we hadn’t a scintilla of evidence to prove it.
“Find this man, Nicolaos. We must be able to prove who he’s working for.”
“I will. There are some things I need to know, Pericles, about politics.”
“Ask.”
“Ephialtes was killed by a man from the city of Tanagra. I think that very likely. But what does a man of Tanagra want with an Athenian populist politician? Could this be a political killing?”
“You are asking whether Tanagra has a reason for wanting Ephialtes dead; could the assassin have been sent by his city?”
“Precisely.”
Pericles considered for a moment. “Tanagra is a minor city, of no political power. I cannot imagine the Tanagrans doing anything that might bring the wrath of Athens upon them. No, the Tanagrans’ best strategy is to keep their heads down and hope no one notices them.”
“Then the odds are the Tanagran is a hired assassin. His city had nothing to do with it, and I am searching for his employer.”
“You’ll have to find the assassin first.”
“I doubt I can come to his master any other way.”
“You overheard my argument with Xanthippus?”
“Yes.”
“My father has become my enemy, Nicolaos, because of whoever is behind this plot. When you find him, you will come to me immediately. Tell no one else first.”
“So that you can hide the truth, Pericles, if it doesn’t suit you?” Archestratus had invited me to see him should I ever lose trust in Pericles. At the time I’d been sure it would never happen. Now I dismayed myself by contemplat
ing the possibility.
“So I can extract revenge, regardless of whether my revenge must remain hidden for the good of the city.”
I turned to go, but Pericles stopped me.
“And Nicolaos?”
“Yes?”
“I hope you like fish.”
He picked up the rotting fish and threw it at me.
I started on my way home, pondering the relationship between Xanthippus and Pericles, and couldn’t help comparing it to mine with Sophroniscus. Did all fathers object to their sons’ careers, and if so, why? Was it some sort of initiation ceremony they gave you after your firstborn? It seemed no matter how much wealth, power, and privilege a family had, you still got the same argument.
I must have been deep in thought, because two Scythians appeared so quickly they might have been shades rising up from the earth at my feet, one on each side of me. There were beads of sweat and street grime on their faces and they were panting slightly. That and the dank, warm aroma wafting from beneath their leather jerkins told me they’d been running about for some time. I recognized them as having been in the exercise yard when I visited Pythax.
I grinned and greeted them. “Hello! Has Pythax been making you run again?”
Without a word they grabbed an arm each, picked me up so that my feet barely touched the ground, and marched me down the street. Men talking to one another stopped and stared as we passed.
I said, “Hey, what is this?”
They didn’t answer.
“You know it’s illegal for a citizen to lay hands on another!”
One of them spoke at last. “We’re not citizens, we’re slaves.”
That shut me up. So they were, and this was precisely why we had the Scythians: to manhandle citizens when they needed it.
I thought of fighting back, but decided I didn’t need my fellow citizens to see me being beaten by slaves. So I acquiesced to the ride and let them guide me where they would.
We wound our way through the narrow streets that make up most of Athens. Citizens were going about their business along the sides, we three abreast filled a lot of the width, and my captors were in a hurry, so they marched me straight down the center where no one walks, because that’s where the sewage always pools. Streets in Athens are raised at the edge and low in the middle, so when people throw their buckets of slop out the window it flows away from their walls. If they’re lucky, the street is on a slope and the sewage flows away; if they’re not lucky, it doesn’t. Either way, my feet were dragged through the muck; all manner of vile objects became lodged between my sandals and the soles of my feet. Some of the things were squishy. I had to hop on one foot so I could shake the other loose of rubbish, then swap feet and do the same again.
The guards stopped at a small crowd of people at a crossroad. A herm, a bust of the God Hermes, rose above the crowd, upon a tall, narrow plinth, looking down upon the confusion. Besides being Messenger of the Gods, Hermes is also, logically enough, protector of travelers; every cross street in Athens has a herm as a charm for passersby. My guards demanded the crowd part to let us through. Men shuffled back to reveal what all the fuss was about.
Unfortunately the herm at this cross street had failed Brasidas. He lay faceup in the dirt. His throat had been slit from side to side. I’d seen pigs slaughtered, and this looked just the same. His eyes were dull but wide open in horror, telling me he’d known what was happening to him. The blood had spurted, but a pool had encircled his head and then trickled to the center to mix with the garbage lying there. I saw some paw prints that suggested a couple of dogs had licked at it.
Pythax crouched over the body. I shook my arms free, and now the guards let me go but stayed at my back. I walked over, careful to avoid the blood, until my shadow crossed Pythax. He looked up and grunted. “Oh, it’s you. You took your time getting here.” He sniffed twice then screwed up his nose. “Zeus, your feet stink! Don’t you ever wash?” I tried to think of something witty to say, but failed, unable to take my eyes off the corpse. Brasidas was staring straight up at me.
“Hey!” My gaze shifted from Brasidas to Pythax. He looked into my eyes. “Is this your doing, little boy?”
I had a horrible feeling it was, but not in the way Pythax meant.
“I had nothing to do with it, Pythax.”
He grunted again and rose, wiping his hands on his tunic.
“I found this lying beside him.” Pythax held out a potsherd.
I recognized it immediately and nodded. “Yes. I scratched in my name myself. I left it with Brasidas to come to me if he remembered anything else. I guess he was carrying it.”
“Sure. Or else you didn’t notice dropping it when you were here cutting his throat.”
There were splashes of blood high on the wall next to us. I noticed one drop had landed on the nose of the herm.
“He was killed standing up,” I said.
Pythax said, “Way I see it, whoever did him came up behind, probably covered Brasidas’ mouth and pulled his head back, and then killed the poor bastard with one stroke. Real neat. I like his work.”
“Well, that proves it couldn’t have been me then, doesn’t it?”
Pythax glared at me but said nothing.
There may have been more clues on the road, but if so they’d been trodden in by the feet of the crowd. A few men had stood in the blood, which was still gooey enough that they had tracked bloody footprints all over the place. Any hope of finding the killer’s prints was gone.
Pythax asked, “Could he have been going to see you?”
I thought about it, then shook my head. “I don’t think so. My father’s house isn’t in this direction if he was traveling from his own home.”
“So what do you reckon he was doing, little boy?”
I had a feeling I knew. He was heading in the right direction for Pericles’ house. I cursed silently. Brasidas must have found the man from Tanagra. And the man from Tanagra had found him.
“I couldn’t say, Pythax.”
“What I don’t like about this, little boy, is I tell you where to find Brasidas. You go straight there and threaten to kill him, and the next day he’s dead. It don’t look real good, does it?”
“That’s a lie! Who says I threatened him?” I demanded.
“He does.” Pythax pointed, and for the first time I noticed the son of Brasidas, standing apart, head bowed, with a guard beside him.
“He says his dad left before dawn, and didn’t say where he was going. When he failed to return to meet customers, the son went looking for him, and found him here. He called the guard.”
At mention of this, the son looked up, and his dark, angry eyes stared straight into mine.
“Murderer! Murderer!” He started toward me but the guard held him. Every eye present turned to me. I knew the crowd was waiting to see what I would do.
I stood my ground and said quietly, “The best I can say is I didn’t kill him, Pythax. Are you going to arrest me?”
“I can’t do that. It’s for the man’s relatives to charge you, if they think they can prove it.”
“The son?”
“He’s not of age. They say there’s a brother.”
“So I’m free to go.”
“All the way to Hades if you like.”
I made to go but Pythax called to me. “Hey!”
“Yes?”
“Watch your back, little boy.”
“I’ll do that.”
Several men stood in my way as I tried to leave, silent but plainly sympathetic to the boy now fatherless. I wasn’t willing to give them the satisfaction of turning away, so I pushed my way through. It was reckless, but I calculated that with the city guard watching, they wouldn’t make anything more of it. Luckily for me, they didn’t, but once around the corner I departed at a trot.
I didn’t stop moving until I reached my door, berating myself every step of the way. How could I have been so stupid as to let Brasidas go searching without me? The moment he reacted to the
mention of a reward, I knew he had more than he’d told; why didn’t I force him to tell me? I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I should have assured him he could have all the reward. I should have waited outside and followed to see where he went. I should have done any number of things other than what I did do. For the first time, I wondered if I had the skills to do this, and contemplated failure.
A messenger boy was waiting for me in the anteroom.
“Are you Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus?”
“Yes, that’s me, what do you want?”
“My mistress sends this.” He handed me a note, and disappeared. The note said, “Come to the house of Euterpe. News.” Now what could she want? Then I noticed the name at the bottom, and I worried.
I was back at the home of Euterpe once more, but this time I gave the house slave the name of her daughter Diotima. In any decent household I would have been thrown out for daring to ask after a maiden. In this highly unusual home, the slave raised his eyebrow and led me to the courtyard, where I was left standing. I gathered the public room I’d been taken to last time was reserved for Euterpe’s clients.
I admired the frescoes on the surrounding walls, which were predictable and rather interesting, while wondering whether Diotima would come with a chaperone, and if so who in this house could possibly be appropriate for the job. Euterpe as a chaperone would be like throwing oil on a fire.
Euterpe must have seen me through one of the upper-story windows, for she came gliding down the staircase wrapped in something tight.
“Have you come by your fortune then?” She smiled at me.
“Not yet, Euterpe. It’s only been a few days.” I said, backing away.
