by Gary Corby
Someone hissed, “She’s saying she did it. She killed him!”
This was taken up and passed around the crowd in wonder.
“She killed him!”
“She says she did it!”
Everyone could believe anything of a madwoman, cursed by the Gods. I could feel the waves of relief wash across the crowd. Of course she was acting strangely, the spear had promised vengeance, and now the Gods were exacting justice even as Ephialtes departed for Hades.
All thoughts of the Areopagus being responsible fled their minds. Somebody called out, “Kill her!” But no one was brave enough to take the first step. There was something about Stratonike that was positively evil.
Diotima was doing her best to ignore the terrible sacrilege. She didn’t raise her eyes, nor did she hurry her gruesome task to get it over with. She would make a fine high priestess one day.
When she was finished, she placed the cloth bag with the ashes into the funerary urn, which was Ephialtes’ final resting place. Then she picked up a cup and poured honey upon the urn. She followed this with a cup of milk, then water, wine, and oil in succession. When she had poured this final libation she placed her fingers to her lips, kissed them, and slowly touched the urn. Her final kiss was not part of the ceremony, it was the only act that had been truly Diotima’s.
Diotima turned and began the slow march back to the house. She passed me, but took no notice. Her face was blackened by the soot of the fire. Her hands were filthy and clenched. I saw that there were tears in her eyes.
There should have been a banquet for the relatives, but with only Rizon qualified to attend, such a thing would have been a farce. Diotima was now required to purify Ephialtes’ home, room by room, with seawater. She would be doing that at dawn tomorrow.
“That was an outstanding performance,” Archestratus said to me approvingly. “So many of these young women feel the need to make an emotional ordeal of the whole thing. That young lady knows how to carry off a funeral with dignity.”
Stratonike was dragged past us by the grim-faced nurses, not caring if she stumbled. Two of the Scythians had held her down while a third looped rope around her. Stratonike cursed them with every step, shouting vile obscenities interspersed with hysterical laughter. Blood was dribbling from her mouth where the nurse had struck her.
Archestratus stared at this spectacle. “She, on the other hand, is entertaining for a short period, and then becomes merely grotesque. When I see that, I wonder if poor Ephialtes might not be better off dead. He had to live with that every day? Still it’s a huge relief.”
“It is?”
“We’ve saved the constitutional crisis, my boy. The wife confessed. The constitutional crisis is averted. She isn’t a judge, she isn’t a conservative or a democrat, or a member of the Areopagus. No one cares if it was her that killed him.”
“Do you think she was telling the truth?”
“I know she confessed!”
“But it might not be true.”
Archestratus sighed. “Truth is not a major component of most court cases, young man. Public opinion-what the jury thinks-is much more important. And here we have a truth far too convenient to be lightly disposed of. At last we have someone we can try, judge, and chain to the pole to be stoned to death without offending anyone. And Athens will breathe a sigh of relief when she’s gone. Democrats will stop blaming the conservatives, and the conservatives can stop looking over their shoulders in fear.”
I thought back to what Pericles had said, should the man beside me be the murderer, and had a horrible feeling Pericles would agree with Archestratus. And I had to be honest, Archestratus might be right. Stratonike had confessed after all, and she might have known Aristodicus of Tanagra.
“So you think the city will calm?”
“I hope so. All we politicians can get back to business as usual, and openly backstab each other in the Ecclesia, rather than secretly on the Areopagus. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Archestratus, will the people make you the new democratic leader?”
“It’s my right. I had a right to the position after Themistocles left, he favored me, you know, I should have been leader after him. But Ephialtes was popular, more so than I who had always worked quietly in the background for the good of the people. I didn’t make that mistake again after Ephialtes took power, I can tell you.”
“Then Pericles came along,” I said, not as a question but as a fact.
“Ah yes, Pericles, son of Xanthippus. Xanthippus was a democrat in his youth, did you know that? The power corrupted him.”
“But Pericles?”
“Should the people trust a man whose father has already gone over to the oppressors of the poor? Xanthippus leads where Pericles will follow given half a chance, once the power corrupts him too.”
I thought back to what I’d overheard Xanthippus say to Pericles. After removing the political bias in each case, both men were actually much in agreement on Pericles’ future.
“But Ephialtes favored Pericles, didn’t he?” It was a stab in the dark.
Archestratus scowled. “You’re his agent, I forget that. Yes, of course you’d say such a thing. Have you thought upon what I said to you before, young Nicolaos, when I rescued you from that beating?”
“Yes, I have, Archestratus, several times.”
“And?”
“My faith in Pericles has not been broken, but it’s been sorely tried one or two times. I cannot honestly say I trust him completely.”
“Some sense begins to penetrate!”
“But nor has he betrayed me, nor done anything to hurt me.”
“Waiting until he does is not a sign of high intelligence.”
I decided to bore on. “It provides you with a motive, doesn’t it? Remove Ephialtes before he can declare for your rival.”
“The leadership is rightfully mine. I worked for it. I slaved for it. I earned it.” Archestratus’ eyes were wide, he was breathing heavily, and his voice became harsh. “I will not listen to ridiculous propaganda put about by the stooges of my, as you put it, rival. And you forget one thing: if I were going to kill for the leadership, the man I’d remove wouldn’t be Ephialtes, it would be Pericles. Then Ephialtes would have had no choice but to support me.”
Archestratus stalked off in a huff. I trudged along more slowly, feeling drained. Archestratus would have made the perfect suspect, except that everything he said in his defense made perfect sense.
“What do you think of him?” Pericles walked up to me. “I saw you talking to Archestratus.”
“What do I think? He’s a bitter man beneath a pose of elegance and urbanity. I don’t know if he’s the master legal technician everyone says he is, but I do know he’s going to do everything in his power to get the leadership of the democrats.”
Pericles nodded. “Yes, I think you read him correctly, but I would add that he’s a man who hates, but doesn’t want to advertise his hatred. He’s also an incisive logician.”
“Dangerous enemy?”
“Very much so.”
“He has similar thoughts about you.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was right too.”
Pericles chuckled. “So nice for all we democrats to be of one accord, even if it consists mostly of mutual suspicion and nastiness. Let me add another suspicion to your already teeming collection, Nicolaos. I was talking to my father during that appalling spectacle of a funeral. He mentioned to me in oh-so-casual innocence that he will propose a bill before the Ecclesia to promote Pythax to citizen.”
“Why?”
“Inestimable services to the state.”
I considered. “That might be a fair judgment.”
“There’s no such thing as altruistic fairness when it comes to my father.”
“So what do you think?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to ponder it.”
Pericles left me for other men waiting to speak
to him. I took the path home.
A form I barely recognized ran out of the nearby bushes, grabbed my arm, and dragged me out of sight among the branches.
“Euterpe, what in Hades do you think you’re doing!”
“Silence!” She put a hand over my mouth. “If you must speak, do it quietly.”
I nodded and she removed her hand.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
“Did you think I would let them bury the man who was the closest I’ll ever have to a husband without seeing him off?” She was dressed in mourning but her hair was uncropped.
“All right. That doesn’t explain why you dragged me in here.”
“Do you want Diotima married to that weed Rizon, and bound to the same house as that revolting madwoman?”
“No, but you should be happy. You’re the one who was insisting she marry. Now she has no choice.”
Euterpe hissed, “Not him! Ephialtes would never have chosen Rizon. He was going to find a sensible older man from a good family.”
“What do you expect me to do about it? You need to talk to the Archon.”
“I did,” she surprised me. “He told me he hadn’t much choice. I offered him anything he wanted if only he would marry her to someone better.”
My mind dwelled on the contents of anything.
“Nicolaos, are you listening to me?” she demanded.
“I’m considering your words very closely indeed.”
“The bastard took the anything and then walked out, saying he still had no choice.”
“There’s nothing I can do, Euterpe. I’m a nobody in this game. Everyone I’m dealing with is a high official or a powerful politician, and I’m just a young man.”
“Yes there is, there’s something I didn’t tell you before. Ephialtes was planning to prosecute the Eponymous Archon and the Polemarch as soon as they left office. He believed they’ve been stealing public funds.”
“Ephialtes told you this?”
“Yes. Days before he died.”
“Did he have proof?”
“He must have. He couldn’t take them to court without it. He wouldn’t have talked of it to me unless he was certain.”
Footsteps approached, two men talking. Euterpe and I remained silent while we waited for them to pass, which to my relief they did. If I was discovered under the bushes with Euterpe I would never hear the end of it from Diotima.
When we were alone once more I said, “Then Ephialtes was going to hit the Archon and the Polemarch with this when they went for their public review after their year in office?” It wouldn’t be the first time Ephialtes had prosecuted a high official for corruption or negligence, and he’d nailed quite a few of them.
Euterpe nodded. “That’s what he said. He said the scandal would at least destroy them politically, and perhaps a jury might fine them heavily.”
“What about the Basileus?”
“Ephialtes only mentioned the Archon and the Polemarch.”
“Do they know what Ephialtes had planned for them?”
“I don’t know. They might have. When Ephialtes prosecuted in the past, he told the men beforehand and gave them a chance to withdraw.”
It all made a certain amount of sense, though given what I knew of Euterpe, one thing surprised me. “Why didn’t you blackmail Conon with this? You could have stopped the marriage.”
Euterpe laughed, not her usual light tinkling laugh, but a sound full of scorn. “My word against his? Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not even allowed to testify in court. But I know that somewhere there’s something to prove it. There has to be.”
“You searched your home.”
“Of course. Nothing. I wouldn’t expect it, he never brought work to my house.”
“But he had another home, and that’s where it would be.”
“It’s not a home I can enter, and I thank Aphrodite for that small mercy.”
“But Diotima can. She’s there now.”
“Yes. Tell her, Nicolaos, when she purifies the house, to take every piece of paper, every scroll she finds. Tell her quickly. I don’t know how long she’ll be allowed to remain there.”
I grimaced and shook my head. “I’ve been warned if I compromise her, Rizon might declare her an adulteress.”
“I accept the risk of my daughter’s death in return for not having her married to that man.”
“Are you going to offer me anything to help her?”
Euterpe smiled and leaned forward so that I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest. She put her lips close to mine. “I made that mistake before, but I know you now, Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus. I don’t need to offer you anything.”
I hurried along to Ephialtes’ house in a state of anxiety and sexual frustration. It was nighttime now, and surprisingly quiet after the morning’s tumult. I put my hands on my hips and stared at the front door. Diotima was in there somewhere, I couldn’t go in, and she didn’t know to come out. I went round the back of the house. The back gate was open, with buckets lying beside the entrance. This must be where the slaves were storing the seawater for the morning’s ritual. I stood by the gate and waited. I waited a long time. Eventually Achilles came shambling out to set up things for the night.
“Achilles!” I called softly. He looked up, startled and fearful, and squinted. I realized he didn’t recognize me in the dark. “It’s me, the one who helped you with the wine.”
Achilles hobbled to the gate and looked at me closely. “So it is. I hadn’t thought to see you again, sir.”
“I have a favor to ask, Achilles, a simple one.”
“The new mistress is in the house, sir. I won’t be letting you in.”
“Of course not, I wouldn’t ask that of you, Achilles. Instead I want you to bring the new mistress to me out here.”
“Oh dear, sir. Is this in the nature of a jest?”
“Not at all, we’re acquainted, believe me.”
“That is not necessarily a reassuring statement, sir. The new mistress is to be married, sir.”
“Achilles, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.”
“I am, sir?”
“You are. You’re thinking that you work for the new mistress now, at least until she marries, and she will reward you greatly if you do the right thing by her.”
“Is that what I’m thinking, sir?”
“It is,” I said firmly. “And reward you she will if only she receives the message I have for her.”
“As to that, sir, I have spoken to the new master and I suspect he is not one for rewards, sir.”
“All the more reason to get in now before he takes control.”
Achilles thought about that. “Tell me your message, sir.”
Diotima marched across the courtyard to the back gate; I could hear her teeth grating all the way. She halted in front of me and put her hands on her hips.
“Before I kill you, answer one question.”
“My pleasure.”
“Why did you send Achilles to tell me my mother has just dragged you into the bushes?”
“I thought it would get you here fastest.”
“So you couldn’t wait to brag about your sordid activities.”
“So I could tell you what she told me.” I repeated the entire conversation.
“That’s it?” she asked suspiciously. “That’s everything that happened?”
“I swear it,” I lied. I’d left off the bit about asking if Euterpe would offer me anything.
I was shy about mentioning the funeral, but I thought it needed to be said. “I thought you did exceptionally well during the ceremony. So did Archestratus. He said you pulled off a difficult job with dignity.”
“The Gods know I could have killed that bitch.”
“It must be tough, having to bury your father and deal with that at the same time.”
“Has it occurred to you I left my father in an urn in Ceramicus, exactly where he wanted to leave me when I was born?”
There wasn’t anything I was going to say to that!
Diotima continued, “I hope you never have to do it.”
“How is she?”
“Do you care?”
“You have to deal with her tonight.”
“Those two nurses gave her a sleeping potion. I haven’t gone near her and I don’t intend to. Nico, do you realize once I’m married I’m going to have to live with that thing, every day?” There was a catch in her throat, I wondered if she was about to sob. In her place, I would have.
“We just have to hope your mother’s plan works.”
“Nice of her to worry about me. I can’t remember her ever doing that before.”
“You know, she might care for you more than is immediately obvious.”
“You mean beneath that exterior of professional lust and obsessive self-regard there lurks a compassionate, loving, maternal woman?”
When she put it like that, my suggestion did seem mildly ridiculous. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, but you must admit she’s gone out of her way to save you from Rizon.”
“Tell me about the papers, where do I find them?” Diotima asked, bluntly changing the subject.
“I know what his office looks like. There’re a lot of scrolls, and there’s a box of papers. You better check all the scrolls to make sure I didn’t miss anything, but my guess is any evidence is going to be in the box.”
“Wait here.”
I waited, and waited. I strolled up and down the lane. I tried not to look like someone waiting to collect stolen property.
Diotima returned carrying the box. “The scrolls are all books. Here’s the box of papers. Keep them safe until I’m out of here tomorrow afternoon. Don’t you dare read them without me. The only reason I’m not keeping them here is that I fear the Archon will arrive in the morning and forcibly remove them. He seems to be able to do whatever he likes to me, so I wouldn’t put that past him.”
“I’ll keep them at my house. No, better still, I’ll keep them at Pericles’ house. Conon wouldn’t dare raid him, and if Pericles has to replace me my successor will have them.”
