hands on either side helped to steady me. I opened my eyes again, and the world was spinning about, but slower than before. When it stopped, I found myself looking into the eyes of Archestratus.
Archestratus poured a cup of watered wine and set it down beside me. “Did you get a look at him?”
We stood in his courtyard. One of his slaves who knew something about injuries was checking me for broken bones. I flinched every time he poked me.
I shrugged. “Not good enough. He came at me from the shadows, and I’d walked from bright sun into the shade. My eyes hadn’t adjusted. He had a beard, dark hair, average height, bad clothing. That should narrow it down to half the men in Athens.”
“Just so. What about the second man?”
“The best I can tell you is he needs to cut his toenails.”
“That would describe almost every man in Athens.”
“Just so,” I said, imitating his way of speech.
The slave ceased his prodding and stood up.
Archestratus said, “Well?”
“There will be many bruises, sir. But as far as my humble skills can say, the bones are whole. He was lucky we came along when we did; if it had continued much longer, I feel sure something would have broken inside. The young man should see a healer to be sure. Sometimes a man might walk away from such a beating but die without warning a day or two later.” Such a cheery fellow.
I immediately said, “No thanks, I have my own resource in that area.”
Archestratus raised an eyebrow.
“My mother is a midwife.”
Archestratus said, “Terrible as your ordeal was, I don’t think you need fear pregnancy.”
Another slave came running with a chitoniskos in his arms. I took off the soiled one and tipped a bucket of cold water over my body before putting on the fresh.
Archestratus said, “This will be laundered and sent to you.”
“I am in your debt.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
I sat and sipped at his wine. He sat down beside me with his own cup and lay back on the dining couch. A slave brought a bowl of figs, olives, and grapes. You can tell a lot about a man from the way he treats his slaves, and Archestratus thanked his boy, who smiled and departed.
“Tell me, how goes your investigation?”
I hesitated.
“If you would like to repay that debt you mentioned, let me help you if I can. Pericles does not hold a monopoly on revering Ephialtes. I beg you recall he was my friend too, and my leader. His murder affects me and many other men.”
That was a hard appeal to deny. “So far, all I’ve done is ask questions.”
“Yet even that small effort appears to have offended somebody,” Archestratus observed with some justice. “Are you so objectionable in your conversation, or do you think perhaps you are asking the right questions?”
“Let us hope the latter.”
“How did a young man like you come to be embroiled in such a murky situation?”
I told him of the falling corpse and of meeting Pericles as he came down the path.
“And you saw Pericles descending? How interesting.” He took a handful of grapes, popped one into his mouth, and sat back.
I said, “I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t necessarily work. He could have been coming down from either the Acropolis or the Rock of the Areopagus. He says it was the Acropolis.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t believe anyone yet! Is it possible Pericles used the bow, threw it away somewhere I missed, and then walked calmly down the path? Yes, it is.”
“So your employer might be the man you’re looking for. What a piquant thought. What would you do if the evidence led to Pericles?”
Panic, most probably. I’d wondered the same thing.
“You feel a little bit lost, don’t you, young man? I wish I could sympathize with your plight, but I must be honest and welcome you to the twilight world of Athenian politics, where the man who proclaims friendship in the morning is the one who stabs you in the back over wine that evening. If there is one piece of advice I hope you will take from this conversation, it is trust no one who is a player. Trust their motives least of all. Take Xanthippus for example. I imagine he told you he has the purest motives for opposing Ephialtes. I expect the phrase ‘for the good of Athens’ came into play?”
“It didn’t, but the sentiment was there.”
“I am surprised. It’s a phrase Xanthippus repeats endlessly, as if he were the only judge of benefice. Xanthippus used to be a man of the people himself. But something warped his spirit; perhaps it was the war against the Persians. The war certainly proved he’s capable of killing in cold blood, and with the greatest cruelty.”
“It did? But Xanthippus was one of the heroes of the war.”
“Do you know the story of the Persian commander? No? There was among the Persian force a commander called Artayctes. This man stole great treasures from a Hellene sanctuary at Elaeus, in Thrace, far to the north and east of here. Much later Artayctes and his son were captured by a force led by Xanthippus. Artayctes tried to bribe his way out of trouble; he offered to restore the treasure, to pay the sanctuary one hundred talents-that’s six hundred thousand drachmae! — and twice that amount to the Athenians, if only they would release him.”
“No wonder Xanthippus is so wealthy,” I said. For surely he would have pocketed some of that.
“You think so? Then let me tell you, Xanthippus had Artayctes led to the shore, where they nailed him to a plank and raised the plank high so he could see. Then they chained his son to a pole set in the ground. They stoned the son to death, before the eyes of the father, whom they left to die slowly of crucifixion.”
The thought of it made me shudder. Had the grumpy, cantankerous old man I’d met truly done such a thing?
Archestratus continued, “You see that Xanthippus is not a man one crosses lightly. He’s been living off his hero reputation and his power base. That base is the Areopagus. It’s what gives him the ability to influence policy without having to justify himself to the people. Without it, he’d be nothing.”
“You aren’t exactly free of that ambition yourself, are you?” I challenged him. “Isn’t everyone looking for power?”
“They certainly are! But the difference, young Nicolaos, the important difference, is that I seek leadership of the people, not control over them. So too does Pericles, or at least, that’s what he says.”
“You think he doesn’t mean it?”
Archestratus mused, “It must be difficult, having grown up the son of a wealthy, aristocratic family, groomed to lead Athens from his earliest days. His distinguished ancestors merely reached out to take the reins as their birthright, and yet he must ask the people for permission to lead, must persuade, where his ancestors had only to command. The temptation to reach out and take as his ancestors once did must be almost overpowering at times. And then, of course, there’s the matter of your employment. Odd, wouldn’t you say?”
“What?” I said, startled. “What’s odd about it?”
“My dear young man! How many friends do you think Pericles has? How many allies? And how many of those do you think are more experienced than you, more skilled in diplomacy, with a better knowledge of the power game? Yet he chose you, a young man of no experience, to carry out this important task. Why? I speculate, of course, but could it be Pericles wants to be seen to be doing something without wanting to risk an unfortunate result?”
I bristled at that. “Archestratus, I was hired to find the truth, and I swear by the Gods that’s what I’m going to do.”
“My boy! My boy! I never suggested otherwise; you wear your integrity like a cloak. It’s not your motivation I question.”
“What are you saying?” I demanded.
“Simply this: if you reach the point where you can no longer fully trust Pericles, come to me.”
I found the fine artwork missing from Ephialtes’ home. It was all in the home of his mistress. One of them
