“Point taken. But wait! That means you must have seen your father.” Diotima nodded.
“So what was said?”
Diotima hesitated. “What do you mean?” She chewed at her thumbnail. “We just talked. I didn’t know he was about to be murdered. I didn’t know to say, ‘Farewell forever, my father.’” She paused. “I think I complained about the milk. It was curdled. I said I’d talk to the cook about it.”
“Did you?”
“Forgot completely.”
“It all sounds too domestic. I can’t imagine what it must have been like in your household, having a father married to another woman. Did he stay often?”
“Maybe two nights in five. But that wasn’t the problem. If you ask me, the unlucky one was the wife. I doubt she saw as much of him as we did-I think he was too busy with his politics to pay her any attention-and at least when he came home to us he brought love with him.” Diotima muttered to herself, “If anything, he loved us too much.”
“Did he talk about his…er…other family?”
“There weren’t any children. I’m his only child. He never said anything about his wife. But then, if you were with your mistress and the daughter you got on her, would you talk about your wife?”
I didn’t bother to ask why Ephialtes didn’t divorce his wife and marry Euterpe. In Athens that would have been social and political self-destruction. All marriages are arranged, and if a man doesn’t like what was arranged for him he can always find his pleasure elsewhere. What made Ephialtes odd was being fond of his alternative. Keeping the girl-child of a hetaera was unheard of; normally such children are taken to Mount Lycabettos and left there to die. Ephialtes’ reputation for kindness must have been deserved.
“Did Euterpe or you ever meet-”
“Never. And I don’t want to meet her now either. From what Ephialtes said she’s as boring as wash water.”
“But there’s something I need to know.”
“What’s that?”
I told her of Pericles’ theory that Ephialtes’ wife might be behind it. “But, of course, I’ll never be permitted to speak with her. I don’t even know the woman’s name.”
“Stratonike,” she said absently, considering. To my surprise Diotima didn’t reject Pericles’ idea out of hand. She was as intelligent as I’d thought.
“You want to know whether she might have asked a relative to murder her husband. Risky business. I don’t know what sort of a death they’d impose for that, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
“Stoning, I think, beside the old quarry pit. They tie you to a post and anyone can throw rocks. There’s a competition to keep the victim alive as long as possible. So you’ll do it, talk to his wife?”
“Are you going to tell me everything you discover?”
“No.”
“Then if you want to know what I find, you’ll have to trade for it. And I can think of a few other lines I might try as well.”
“Diotima, you mustn’t continue with this delusion you can find Ephialtes’ killer. A woman can’t move around Athens the way a man can, and the men certainly aren’t going to talk to you, priestess or no.”
“I have a big advantage over the men though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m smarter than most of them. Come talk to me when you need more help, Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus.”
I stood to go.
“Wait!” she said, raising her hand in alarm. She touched my arm, as a supplicant might, and looked up at me with big brown eyes. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, that I was following you dressed as a man? No one must find out, or I’d lose my position at the temple.”
She’d just given me the perfect hold over her. I thought of several nasty things I could say, but I swallowed all of them. She seemed genuinely frightened.
“I’ll tell no one if I can avoid it.” I walked briskly away from Diotima. I had no intention of seeing her again. I’d set her the job with Ephialtes’ wife only to get her out of my hair. As soon as I was out of sight, I began to run.
I ran all the way to the Rock of the Areopagus. Thank the Gods, they were still there, the same two slaves who’d been cleaning the day Ephialtes died. Their faces were weathered, old, and lined, their hands gnarled where they gripped their brooms. I suppose this light cleaning was the only job they could do.
I grabbed the first slave and started dragging him along. “Quick, show me where you sat while you were waiting for Xanthippus to finish.”
They took me down and up, to the edge of the Acropolis, not quite directly across from the point where it is closest to the Areopagus. I could see everything: the Agora in all its chaos, the sturdy walls surrounding the city, and close by the top of the Areopagus.
“Men, I don’t give a curse about the legal process. I promise I won’t tell anyone where I got the information. Now, you are going to tell me everyone you saw while you sat here this morning.”
One of the slaves crossed his arms and pouted. “Why should we? There’s nothing for us but trouble.”
I said, with a quiet but firm voice, “Because if you don’t, I will report that you witnessed the murder.”
The men turned visibly red, even beneath their weathered skin. “That’s a lie!”
“I know it is, but that won’t help you after they’ve finished torturing you, will it? Come now, if you tell me who you saw, I promise on the shades of my ancestors to hide you from the law. Whatever you tell me, I’ll confirm some other way before I reveal it.”
The slave was glum, but I had left him no choice. “There was Xanthippus first. He told us to clear off. We never saw Ephialtes. He must have come up the path as we were walking to the Acropolis. Some time later there was Pericles. He walked up here to the Acropolis, went behind us, and we didn’t see him again. Then Xanthippus left the Areopagus. We saw him leave, but figured we’d stay here until he found us. No point in lining up for work early, is there? That was all we saw until you came along.”
“That’s it?” I asked, disappointed.
“Oh, and there was a city guard loitering about.”
Dear Gods, a guard! How could I have been so slow? In Athens, it is illegal for any citizen to lay hands on another for any reason whatsoever. This makes arresting citizen-criminals something of a problem. How do you arrest someone you’re not allowed to touch? So to get around this silly rule, the city owns a force of three hundred Scythians-northern barbarians-who keep the peace, do crowd control, and arrest Athenians when an archon orders it.
Everything about the Scythians made one of them perfect for this crime. Their barracks lies at the side of the Areopagus, where they can defend the Council in an emergency, and they’re known for their favorite weapon: the bow.
I rushed to the barracks immediately. Pythax, the chief of the Scythians, was there watching some young men exercise with swords: a tough, leathery, scarred man with bulging muscles, who looked as if he would as soon squash me as talk to me. This was a man who regularly intimidated archons.
He looked me up and down. “We don’t take piss-poor little mama’s boys in this outfit. So if you’ve run away from home, go find some other place to cry,” he greeted me.
“You misunderstand, sir! I’m on an errand to ask you something, from Xanthippus, sir.” I decided immediately, if I didn’t embellish my authority I was going to be kicked out.
“Xanthippus, eh? Well, ask away then.”
“Who of the Scythians were here four mornings ago?”
His eyes narrowed. “That would be when Ephialtes bought it. Is that what you mean?”
I nodded.
“No one.”
“ No one was here?” I was amazed.
“Every Scythian not on duty in the city was with me on a field exercise. We ran to Piraeus and back, in full armor.”
