“True enough. Go on.”
“I would prefer not to be executed in the morning.”
Xanthippus said, “It’s an imposition, but I suppose I’ll have to forgo the pleasure this time around. No doubt, given your propensities, I’ll have other opportunities. But, young man, if you expect to live to see the next noon, you must give the Council something in return for rescinding the execution order.”
I sighed. I’d expected this. “I must never breathe a word to anyone that the Council made a deal with Themistocles.”
“I see you can manage a firm grip on political necessity when it’s your own life in jeopardy. Swear it.”
“I swear. May I be visited by the Friendly Ones should I ever utter a word on the subject.”
“That will do. Are we done with the demands?”
“Not quite. Diotima’s intended is lying over there with his guts decorating the sand. Therefore she is now a ward of the state, not required to marry anyone.”
Pericles sneered. “And the estate of Ephialtes becomes her dowry. So now we see some cynical dealing from the man who prides himself on his honesty. I suppose you’re going to swear you have no plans for the lovely heiress yourself? You’re no better than Rizon.”
I felt my face become warm. “As long as she’s a ward of the state her guardian is Conon. I don’t imagine him giving her to me any time soon. My father probably wouldn’t be too happy either, come to think of it.”
“Conon’s year will finish soon. The new Archon will most likely be happy to get her off his hands.”
“That’s as may be. The requirement is she not be forced to marry against her will.”
Xanthippus said, “You know we can’t guarantee that. The whole question lies with the Archon.” He paused. “I think I can undertake to ‘persuade’ Conon to take no action during his term. That leaves you a clear run with his successor, and the Gods know who that will be with this ridiculous lottery system. Your father is your own problem to solve. In fact, I’ve noticed recently that fathers are often a problem for their sons. And, son”-Xanthippus turned to Pericles-“consider, the estate has to go to someone. This young man is probably as good as anyone. At least he has some talent to serve the State.”
Pythax said, “Watch yourself, little boy. It’s a bad sign when Xanthippus thinks the city might need you.”
“I’m satisfied.”
Diotima returned silently to the torchlight circle and nodded silently. “What happens now?” she asked.
“We go home,” I said.
Pythax and I saw Diotima to her door as dawn exposed the disaster area that was the Agora. We skirted around smoldering bonfires made up of the building material that had been stacked waiting for use. Thick, half- burned beams poked out of the heaps, and the whole scene reminded me of the ruins on top of the Acropolis, except that this time we did it to ourselves. Building bricks and roof tiles lay scattered about the Agora and the surrounding streets; men had been using them as missiles. There were bodies, though not as many as I feared; perhaps a dozen sprawled in the Agora, and we passed three others. Many other men sat in the streets nursing wounds or sore heads; one man sat with his head in his hands, apparently unhurt but weeping.
Diotima insisted we collect Achilles and the other slaves from Ephialtes’ home, and we saw them all through Euterpe’s doorway. I gave Achilles firm instructions to lock all the doors, and I heard the bolt thud home the moment the door shut. Then we went our separate ways, Pythax to see what had become of his Scythians and I to return home.
I banged on our door until the sleepy house slave opened it to great astonishment. Neither Phaenarete nor Sophroniscus had slept, with the rioting in the streets and the expectation of seeing their elder son have his neck snapped in the morning.
My parents rejoiced but were intensely curious. I told them the Council had had a change of heart, which after all was true. But I had some difficulty explaining away the large amount of other men’s blood splattered across the front of my clothing. I put it down to being accosted by rioters on the way home and having to defend myself. Sophroniscus knew better, but chose to say nothing, except to ask if I was quite sure I shouldn’t be running for the border.
Sophroniscus brought out his best amphora of wine, but the celebration didn’t last long. I’m told that I lay back upon the dining couch and fell asleep immediately. I don’t even remember that.
20
I woke at midday still upon the couch. Phaenarete, normally the mildest of women, had threatened the slaves with a whipping if they woke me, so everyone was tiptoeing about.
Phaenarete gave me a mirror and asked me to take a look. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The first thing I did was pick up a bucket of water and pour it over myself. A slave scrubbed me raw. Phaenarete herself bandaged my numerous cuts and applied salve to the bruises, or, as she acidly put it, the bruises upon my bruises, for I hadn’t fully recovered from the beating, nor the fight to the death with Aristodicus, before going the same round with Rizon. When she was done, I looked into the bronze mirror once more. The face that stared back at me was Nicolaos, not counting the bandages and salve, but an older, harder Nicolaos. I knew I was looking at the man I would become in middle age. Partly it was because I had lost weight during the stress of the investigation and my imprisonment, to the point I had become gaunt, but more so it was the face of a Nicolaos more confident in his own abilities, and more aware of the perfidy of his fellow man.
Phaenarete tsk-tsked over my strained muscles and advised me to see a trainer at the gymnasium immediately. After all, a midwife can only do so much for a grown man.
I said, “So I shall, Mother, but first I have to see some men.”
Sophroniscus overheard. “You’re not still intending to pursue this ridiculous path, are you? Surely not after everything you’ve been through.”
“Yes, Father, I am. It might be tough, and you are right that it’s dangerous, but I’ve come through alive, and what’s more, I did it, Father. I did it!”
He looked at me curiously. “What are you saying? You told us you were released because the Council took pity upon you.”
“Uh, it’s a little bit more complex than that, Father. I can’t tell you everything, but I think you’ll find the city will quiet down now. The democrats and the conservatives are going to cooperate to return Athens to calm.”
“And you had something to do with this?”
“Yes, Father, I did.”
Sophroniscus threw his hands up in despair.
I found Xanthippus at home, in his courtyard. He looked the worse for wear for his adventure. He was wrapped up in a blanket with a glass of watered wine beside him. A slave was massaging his shoulders.
He looked at me sourly. “You have a habit of appearing where you are least wanted.”
“There is one little detail I need to clear up before I present the result of my commission to Pericles.”
“And that is?”
“The man who arranged the death of Ephialtes.”
“Archestratus. You said it yourself.”
“There are witnesses who say Aristodicus had separate meetings with two quite different men before the assassination, and yes, the description of one of these mystery men matches Archestratus, but the second man was older. It was the older man who brought coins to their meeting. Archestratus was paying Aristodicus via his son’s bank, so who was the older man and what was he doing? I can think of two possibilities.”
“Who are these witnesses?”
I ignored the question and said, “Let me tell you what I think happened. Archestratus approached a few powerful and influential men-the inner circle of the Council-with a letter from Themistocles, offering to supplant Ephialtes and restore the powers of the Areopagus if they would drop the treason charge and allow Themistocles to return home. The inner Council agreed. But we know Archestratus also imported a hired assassin-Aristodicus-at the same time. Now why send a killer if the return of Themistocles was in the bag? The only possible answer is that death was part of the deal the Council agreed on. It follows immediately that the plan to supplant Ephialtes consisted of removing him permanently.” I paused, wanting to see his reaction.
