“Antipater is banging your wife?”
Deuteros gave a weak smile and pulled out the little cup he kept under his clothes. Swallow poured out two fingers’ worth for him.
“Big trial today. It’s listed right in the middle of the dais. And it’s not just some crappy inheritance case…”
Deuteros downed the wine, looked around nervously. Swallow had been going to the courts with him for years, shared the cup with him countless times, and yet never known him to show the slightest effect of drink. He was always sober, always with that subtly hunted look. The reason may have had to do with marrying a girl far too personable and pretty. While this seemed enviable to Swallow (and, indeed, would to most men), Deuteros had contrived to be out of the house virtually all the time since his marriage. Even then, he still seemed to be keeping a permanent watch on the streets, as if expecting to see his wife humiliate him by going out in public.
Swallow poured out another two fingers. “Tell me why I’m buying you drinks, Deuteros, when you live in a nice house up on the hill?”
“The defendant is Machon.”
“Alexander’s boy?”
“The same. And the prosecutor is Aeschines.”
“What, he’s back?”
“Apparently. The charges are ‘betrayal of the public trust’ and ‘impiety’-or something.”
“Sounds like Aeschines. But he must be very long in the tooth by now. And to come back from such a long way…”
As his friend was standing and thinking and not drinking, Deuteros tipped more wine from Swallow’s cup into his own.
“A trial like that has big stakes. What, to try somebody from Alexander’s staff, with his regent’s army breathing down our necks? It’s stupid if you ask me, dear Deuteros. Antipater could bring his rabble right down here. What can the old man have in his mind?”
The other issued a resonant snort through his nose as he drank.
“Or maybe that’s the whole point,” Swallow went on. “If Machon ran afoul of the Boy, maybe Aeschines thinks his indictment will keep us in Antipater’s good graces. It seems like a big risk to me, anyway. Nothing can stop those Macedonian dogs! Just to be safe, we should probably vote ‘guilty’ if we get on the jury, right?”
Deuteros looked around furtively. “You asking me?”
“Who else is standing here?”
“Sure, guilty-I guess.”
“There he stands, an adept of Themis herself!” Swallow laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Athenian justice is safe with men like you, Deuteros!”
They made their way across to the courthouse. There already seemed to be a throng of men milling outside, though only a few could have been eligible for service. The spectators’ box would be filled today.
“Good luck!” said Swallow loudly, and then leaning in to Deuteros’s ear, whispered, “Remember the verdict.”
They parted, each proceeding to the entryway designated for his tribe: Swallow to ‘Kekrops,’ Deuteros to ‘Erechtheus.’ Just inside, the former dropped his juryman’s tag in the box. The archon’s assistant immediately fished the tag out, scrutinizing the name.
“You again! The state can’t afford your civic-mindedness-unless we start charging you the cost of fumigating the place!”
“I resent that,” Swallow replied, adjusting his blanket in a manner reminiscent of one of Demosthenes’ dramatic pauses. This got a big laugh from the other jury candidates.
“Get out of my sight!” the secretary cried, dropping the tag back in the box.
Before the allotment began, Swallow encountered someone he’d find less welcome on the jury than little Deuteros. Eteocles of Kikynna saw him at the same moment, registering his recognition with a scowl. At that, of course, Swallow had to go over to welcome him.
“My dear Eteocles! It’s no surprise to see you here, for this event. And not alone, it seems!”
Eteocles was standing with two other well-kitted nobles, all sweetly redolent of leather and horseflesh. Neither of them would even look at Swallow. With proper reverse snobbery, Swallow despised anyone who rode in on a horse-the conveyance of the old guard, tyranny-loving, fish-feasting, sympotic leisured prickocracy.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Eteocles sneered. “when your beloved Demosthenes is not party to the case.”
“But your beloved Aeschines is-and after so many years away! Don’t we all enjoy the sweet ooze of his oratory, like some unglued beehive! I can hardly wait.”
“May you enjoy the spectacle, dear Swallow! Who knows how long such events will be open to persons like yourself?”
“And may I return your sentiment! I, for one, would miss the charming futility of your ambitions.”
Before their exchange could begin its usual descent into undisguised insult, the jury selection began. The magistrate at the door forwarded the box of juror tags to the junior archon in charge of the allotment. The tags went into the rows of slots in the face of the machine, and the mixed black and white cubes poured down the metal tube mounted on its side. As the secretary drew tokens from the bottom of the tube, their color either nominated or rejected the respective row of tags.
The drawing was repeated ten times. That made fifty citizens randomly chosen from each tribe, so the jury would have, alas, only 500 members. Swallow was hoping for a 1,000 or even a 2,000 man allotment, as the really big juries tended to be have a far more refreshingly democratic rowdiness.
After the last name was read out, Swallow couldn’t restrain his impulse to tease Eteocles.
“It seems the gods favored me today, my dear friend! And you, I presume, will return to your barn?”
“I will be with the spectators. Respect your good fortune, Swallow!”
This was an unexpectedly gracious response, and it made Swallow ashamed he had gloated.
II.
The trial was held in the courthouse chamber with the most room for spectators. The jurors were knotted outside, each holding a short wooden staff painted the same red color as the door lintel. Swallow had just turned in his token to the clerk when he looked back and saw Deuteros waving a red staff at him from the back of the crowd. Both of them had made the jury.
Swallow saved a spot on a front-row bench for his friend. Since the benches were covered only with straw, naive jurors expended the precious minutes before the session began fetching cushions to sit on. But Swallow knew the key to comfort in the courtroom was to forget the rear and tend to the stomach. The hour was already late to complete such an important trial; most likely the verdict would be delivered after sundown and all would be going home in the dark (though to his “home,” fortunately, Swallow did not have far to go). In anticipation of the inevitable longeurs, he carried in the fold of his blanket a hunk of white cheese and a handful of olives. Seeing this bounty, Deuteros nodded his appreciation, then opened his cloak to flash a loaf of good bread.
“Now if they only allowed wine!”
The clerk gavelled the room to order. Since this was an Athenian court, the task took several attempts. Some bumpkin had sneaked a sick lamb to the proceedings, no doubt hidden under his cloak, which bucked free and scampered under the benches. There was some commotion as the baying animal was cornered; the uproar gave the Scythian bailiffs, who looked like vain bears in their animal skins and city jewelry, a relished opportunity to shove people. The lamb was ejected over the vigorous objections of its owner, who also insisted on leaving despite the fact that the doors were sealed, with no one permitted to enter or exit. The dispute was resolved by the application of a club to the juror’s head. Out cold, the man was returned to his seat-hopefully to revive in time to cast his ballot.
All this time Swallow kept his eye on Aeschines, who was seated on the prosecutor’s bench to the right of the magistrate’s bema. The old master was sitting very straight, eyes moving over some scribblings before him, lips
