Gary Corby
The Pericles Commission
1
A dead man fell from the sky, landing at my feet with a thud. I stopped and stood there like a fool, astonished to see him lying where I was about to step. He lay facedown in the dirt, arms spread wide, with an arrow protruding out his back. He’d been shot through the heart.
It was obvious he was dead, but I knelt down and touched him anyway, perhaps because I needed to assure myself that he was real. The body was warm to my touch. The blood that stained my fingertips, from where I had touched his wound, was slippery and wet but already beginning to dry in the heat, and the small cloud of dust his fall had raised made my nose itch as it settled.
It doesn’t normally rain corpses, so where had this one come from? I looked up. There was a ledge above me, and another to the left. The one directly above was the Rock of the Areopagus, home to the council chambers of our elder statesmen. The other to the left, but much farther away, was the Acropolis. There was no doubt about it; this man had fallen from the political heights.
I was about to rise when I heard the footsteps of someone coming down the road, and my immediate thought was the natural one: this might be the murderer coming to make sure of his victim, or perhaps the killer might lean over the ledge and shoot me too. I stepped backward to take cover at the side of the path, at a place deep in shadow, and waited, with no weapon other than the short dagger any citizen might carry. It wasn’t much but it would have to do, so I gripped the hilt in my right hand, and was aware of the stickiness of sweat in my palm.
A man came into sight, walking downhill from what could have been either rock above me. The man stopped and exclaimed when he saw the body lying in full view. He stepped forward and leaned over, much as I had done myself. A glance up the path showed me there was no one behind him. The opportunity was too good to miss, so I stepped out of the shadows, took two quick steps, and placed my dagger at his back.
He flinched and started to turn, but I pressed the blade firmly to dissuade him. I was ready to send it home if I had to.
“Do not move,” I said. “Do not stand up.”
He remained bowed over the victim, and without turning to look at me he said, “So, you are going to murder me too?”
“Me?” I said, surprised. “Of course not, I didn’t kill him.”
“There’s no point denying it, why else would you have a dagger at my back?” There was no fear in his voice, only contempt.
“Because you killed him.”
“Not I. You saw me come down the path.”
“That’s where he died. He fell from above.”
The man looked up and saw the ledge directly above us. “I see. Because I came down the path you think I’m here to make sure my victim is dead, but I give you my word I haven’t murdered this man.”
“That doesn’t count for much.”
“You’re right, though perhaps the fact I hold no bow helps?”
The same objection had occurred to me, and I had already thought of the simple answer. “You could have thrown it away before descending.” If he had, it would not be far.
The man nodded. “Yes, I had a feeling you were going to say that, but it seems to me a murderer is somewhat unlikely to throw away his weapon and then stroll past his victim. Shouldn’t I at least have walked in the opposite direction, knowing what I would find if I came this way?”
His point was very persuasive, and I’m sure he felt my hesitation because I saw the muscles in his shoulders relax a trifle. That irritated me, so without removing my dagger I said, “Let’s find out more. Turn him over.”
He said carefully, “To do so I will have to stand.”
“Go ahead.”
The man grabbed the body and heaved. The arrow made it difficult, but the body slowly turned and we saw his face.
I gasped. Lying in the dirt before us was the man who had brought full democracy to Athens.
“Dear Gods, it’s Ephialtes!” the man cried.
“B-but…why would anyone want to kill him?” I stammered. “Everyone loves Ephialtes.”
The man shook his head. “The people might have loved him, but think of the men he took the power from!” Then he snarled, “Could they be so brazen as to kill him in their own chambers? An undeniable crime?”
I boggled at what he was saying. “You think the Council of the Areopagus murdered Ephialtes?”
“Didn’t he just fall from their rock? They killed my friend in revenge for what he did to them.”
He ignored my dagger and fell to his knees to examine the body, confirmed Ephialtes had departed for Hades, and wept softly.
I stood with my dagger hanging from my hand, wondering what this meant for me. With Ephialtes’ death the Council of the Areopagus might resume their traditional rule, and if that happened then it would matter once again what family you came from, who your father was. If the democracy failed, I would have no chance of rising in society, and I would be doomed never to be more than apprentice to my father. It was a personal disaster that I couldn’t bear to contemplate.
The man still wept over the body, which was enough to convince me it was safe to turn my back on him. There was something I had to do, and quickly. I ran up the path to the fork in the road, took the turn to the right, and stopped at the edge of the Areopagus, where I peered about. If anyone stepped out from cover to take a shot I would be down the path and back to the Agora before he could put arrow to string. But no one did; the killer was gone.
I returned down the path up which I’d run, and inspected the bushes alongside, being careful to keep an eye at all times on the ledge above us. The man bent over Ephialtes was done weeping but continued to kneel as he watched me.
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“Looking for a bow.”
He sputtered, “You still suspect me?”
“No, not anymore. There’s no bow here, and you haven’t had time to lose it farther.”
He nodded. “Who are you, young man?”
“I am Nicolaos, of the deme Alopece, son of Sophroniscus the sculptor.”
He hadn’t anything to say to that. I hesitated, expecting his name in return, and not getting it. He’d called Ephialtes “my friend.” He looked down at the corpse and I followed his gaze, thinking as I did that it was astonishing how quickly a man can be reduced from greatness to nothing. The death of this man had the power to change Athens forever.
“And who are you, sir?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.
“I am Pericles, of the deme Cholargos, son of Xanthippus.”
I hesitated. “Would that be the Xanthippus who-”
“Is a member of the Council of the Areopagus, which has just murdered my friend Ephialtes. Yes, that Xanthippus.” Pericles spoke grimly.
My mouth hung open. This was a man with problems.
“It might not be as you think,” I said warily. If a whole Council of men had been atop the Areopagus murdering Ephialtes, they had managed to disappear with astonishing alacrity.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
I waved my hand at the arrow. “It’s not a close-range weapon. If someone pointed a bow and arrow at you, what would you do?”
