8
Diotima’s news that Stratonike was mad posed an interesting conundrum. Archestratus had said Ephialtes’ wife would be forced to marry Ephialtes’ nearest male relative. But who would marry a madwoman? Maybe someone else stood to inherit his property. I had to find out, and there was only one man who could tell me: the Eponymous Archon, the chief executive of Athens, in charge of all business relating to citizens, including the estates of orphans, widows, and heiresses.
I found the Archon the next day in his suite in the row of offices in the new Stoa next to the Agora. I had to sit on a low stone wall with the other men who wanted business with the busiest executive in Athens. Some of the men whiled away the time playing games, using boards that had been scratched into the stone, and pebbles of different sizes for the pieces. It was close to midday by the time a man with a paunch, tired eyes, and garlic on his breath came to tell me the Archon would see me.
Conon was balding, with a few thin strands of hair surviving above his ears. He had a rounded, lined face. “What do you want, and it better be simple,” he snarled.
“It’s about Ephialtes’ death-”
“ Everything’s about Ephialtes’ death,” he interrupted me. He pointed to the low stone wall where I’d been waiting with the other supplicants. “Every accursed man sitting out there wants something done right now, before the civil administration collapses in the fighting.”
“You think there’s going to be fighting?”
“What do you think? The only line longer than that one out there is the one before the courts for disorderly conduct. I’ve already had three wealthy men from good families in here this morning demanding action because their sons and slaves have been assaulted by rioters. One of the sons is dead. Two of them insist the army be called to attack the next mob that appears. They forget the mob is the army. Oh Gods! I can’t believe I volunteered for this job.” I suppressed the temptation to pat him on the back and make soothing noises.
“I think my problem might be simpler,” I encouraged him.
“I hope so.”
“Who inherits Ephialtes’ estate?”
“Simple, you think?” He paused to shout through the door. “Tiro! Get your ass in here!”
Conon’s secretary entered with barely a raised eyebrow. “Yes, Conon?”
“This young fool thinks Ephialtes’ estate is simple.” They both shared a good laugh at my expense while I sat there.
Tiro relieved my ignorance. “The case is one almost beyond any experience of the law. Ephialtes had no male issue, so the wife should be forced to marry the nearest male relative. The problem is she’s insane, mad as a crazed cow, and it is impossible to force any man to marry such a woman. In fact there’s an ancient edict that forbids it, since the mad are cursed by the Gods, and no man may be forced to incur a curse he doesn’t deserve.”
Conon added, “Besides which, if what I hear is true, any man who did marry her is likely to get a knife between his ribs, or his head cracked in.”
I said, “So on the face of it Stratonike gets the property herself.”
Tiro shook his head. “No. It is absolutely impossible for a woman to own property.”
“But wait! What happens if a man dies and there are no male relatives of any distance?”
“Then the state takes control of the property and administers it for any girl-children until the time they marry, after which the property is sold and the sum goes to the state, after allowing for suitable dowries. But that doesn’t apply here, because there is a distant male relative. What’s his name, Tiro?”
“Rizon. And we must find a way for him to inherit.”
“Then it seems to me there’s no solution at all.”
“That’s because you don’t credit me with doing my job well,” Conon said. “It’s radical and controversial, but I found a way out. Ephialtes had a daughter by his mistress. She’s a metic, so we can do whatever we like to her. She will be allowed to inherit and be forced to marry in place of the insane wife. Her name is…here, let me see…ah yes, Diotima of Mantinea.”
I stumbled from the Archon’s office in a state of shock. What sort of man was this Rizon? I had to find out.
I banged on his door harder than is polite. When his house slave answered I demanded an immediate interview on a matter of importance to the state. This got me to his public room.
I saw quickly that Rizon was a man of low means. His house was of the smaller sort. I spotted only two slaves, both men. His furniture was wooden but rough.
Rizon walked in. He was a middle-aged man, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He had a thin face and was balding, but I could see he was reasonably fit. The puzzled expression on his face turned to startlement as soon as he saw me. I was startled too. I had seen Rizon before, in the company of Archestratus, when I first interviewed him. He had been one of the men present when Archestratus explained the laws of inheritance.
He said, “I know you, but I can’t place where.”
“We met at the home of Archestratus.”
“Ah yes, Pericles’ agent. What do you want with me? I assume Pericles is not asking for an alliance with an unknown sandal maker.”
“That’s what you do for a living?”
“It is. Would you like a new pair?”
“I’m more interested in what you were doing with Archestratus.”
“The same as everyone else you saw there, sucking up to the next leader of the people. Unlike your master, I believe in the democracy.”
“Pericles is not my master-”
“Oh?”
“And in any case Pericles is more a democrat than Archestratus, if what I’ve heard from Archestratus so far has any meaning.”
“Or Pericles hides his aristocratic leanings better.”
“I’m not here to bandy words about politics.”
“Then I wish you would tell me why you are here, so I can get back to my work.”
“When Archestratus said he didn’t know who inherited Ephialtes’ estate, why didn’t you declare yourself?”
Rizon held out his hands palms up and said, “For a very simple reason. I had no idea then. Of course I knew I was distantly related to Ephialtes, but it came as a shock when the secretary to the Eponymous Archon came to me the next day and informed me that not only do I inherit, but I am the only male relative of any sort.”
“Where were you on the morning Ephialtes died?”
“In my workshop, of course. Are you suggesting I might have shot him?”
“You inherit. It’s a motive.”
“Only if I know it.”
“There’s only your word you didn’t.”
“Then accuse me before the judges and we’ll see what evidence you’ve got.” He threw down the challenge confidently. Unfortunately I shared his confidence. An accuser whose charge fails pays a heavy penalty to the accused, and I couldn’t afford it.
“Do you know about Stratonike?”
“His wife? I gather she’s mad. But it shouldn’t be a problem. They tell me I have to marry the daughter of some whore he got a child by. Frankly I’m looking forward to it. I hear she’s a decent-looking tart, and her mother’s probably taught her all the tricks of the trade.”
I pushed my way out of the house, desperate for some fresh air. Behind me, Rizon’s slaves were picking him up off the ground. I hoped his jaw hurt as much as my fist.
I felt completely drained, I could feel the investigation slipping away from me, and I’d lost the will to continue. I decided to go to the Agora and find somewhere I could sit quietly and drink.
I never got the drink. A mob was pushing and jostling about. I thought, rolling my eyes, that it was another
