riot by men angry at the death of Ephialtes and fearful of a coup, and expected Pericles to arrive at any moment to quell the disturbance. The crowd was too dense for me to see what was happening at the center, but I could see Archestratus on the other side, standing upon something to give him height and shouting at the crowd. I couldn’t hear a word he said, I could only hope he was having some effect.
A man on the fringe told me two dead men had been laid out on a trestle table in the Agora. I pushed my way through with a terrible feeling in my heart, and looked down to see the two old slaves who cleaned the Areopagus. Their throats had been cut. Their faces were masks of horror. They’d seen their fate coming to them, but had been too old and weak to resist.
They had given me the most important clue I’d discovered, and I never even knew their names. I whispered to them, “I told no one. No one!” But then I realized that I had. I’d told Pericles, and Diotima, and my family. And someone had known to kill them before they could testify.
I tried to search their bodies for any clue who might have done this, but the crowd were having none of it.
“Here, you! What are you doing?”
“He’s doing something to the bodies!”
“Sacrilege! Stop him!”
I became fearful and stopped. In this ugly crowd, anything might happen.
I don’t know who started it; the mob surged like cattle into the streets. I was carried along in the center whether I wanted to go or not. The men stopped outside a place I knew, the home of Xanthippus.
The guards were still on duty, but they were swept away like flies. Ten men in the face of hundreds would have been fools to stand and fight. They ran through into the house and slammed the door behind them and barred it shut. The mob began forcing the door. Fortunately Xanthippus was no fool, he had had the door reinforced when the troubles began, and the angry men couldn’t batter it down. Someone broke into a nearby home-the women inside screamed as they were invaded-and emerged dragging a dining couch. Others helped him carry it to the door and used it as a battering ram. A few men grabbed torches hung outside for night time, and lit them. They threw the torches high onto the roof of the two-story building. Arson is a terrible crime punishable by death, but no one saw who threw the torches and even if they had, I doubt anyone in that crazed riot would have done anything other than cheer.
Men appeared on the rooftop carrying buckets. They tossed water on the torches before they could set the building alight, but they were targets and the crowd pelted them with stones and several daggers. One man was struck on the head. He let out a loud groan and fell backward into the courtyard below. I don’t know whether he died.
The pack had dispersed enough now that I could force my way out. No one was thinking, they just wanted to kill Xanthippus. I ran around the block to the back of the building. Slaves were pouring out, carrying whatever valuables they could. It was like watching ants escape a damaged anthill. A young woman was shepherding three slave children out of the house and down the street. They were crying in fear. The guards who had escaped the front of the house were now cordoning the escape route. They stopped me from continuing.
“Let him through!” Xanthippus was standing in the courtyard, calmly overseeing the withdrawal. The old man, thin but lively and alert, reminded me of a General commanding in the heat of battle, which was no coincidence. Xanthippus in his younger days had been a General, and had given Athens victory at the Battle of Mycale. I noticed the statue of a dog, sitting straight and proud, alongside the altar to Zeus Herkeios. I had never seen its like before. It was such an odd thing that it stuck in my mind. I went to Xanthippus.
He said, “Tell Pericles what is happening, and for all our sakes find Pythax and order him to quell this mob!”
I nodded and ran off without saying a word.
I banged on the door of Pericles’ home and pushed my way in the moment the house slave pulled back the bolt.
“Quick, where’s Pericles?”
The slave pointed upstairs.
I crashed through the door to his inner sanctum and stopped. Pericles was leaning forward, in close conversation with Conon the Eponymous Archon.
He looked up in great annoyance, but before he could speak I said, “Your father’s home is being attacked by a mob. He’s evacuating out the back.”
I’ll say this for Pericles, he doesn’t waste time in a crisis. He jumped up and raced downstairs, calling for slaves to come with him.
Conon stood and said, “What are you waiting for? Fetch the Scythians at once. Do you know where to find them?”
I nodded and left. Fortunately someone had already had the sense to alert them, because I was running out of breath. I met them coming downhill, dressed in their leather armor and carrying their unstrung bows to use as wooden staves, long loops of rope, and heavy buckets of something. Pythax was in the lead. He saw me and said, “You were coming to us?”
I gave him a rapid description of the riot as I had last seen it. Pythax didn’t break his quick march for a moment. When I finished, he barked orders to the men behind us. We broke into a trot.
As we approached the street, half the men peeled away and took off down a side alley. Those who stayed with Pythax unrolled the rope and pulled it tight to make a barrier. Other men took rags and dipped them into the buckets, then wiped them along the rope, which I saw was now heavily covered with paint. The remaining men stood behind the rope line wielding the staves.
The Scythians commenced a slow, steady march down the street. I saw the Scythians who’d broken away appear at the other end, doing the same. The rioters were trapped between the two lines. Most shied away from the painted rope, falling back and causing confusion for the more aggressive men coming forward. Those who pushed past tried to break through. Their hands became smeared with the paint and they were beaten back by the staves. The men in the center of the mob became aware they were trapped and turned their attention from attack to escape.
In the time I’d been away, the door had been broken down. It lay hanging off its hinges in pieces. I suppose a few men had entered the building, but now everyone realized the only escape from the Scythians was through Xanthippus’ house. The mob surged and pushed. Men tripped and fell and were trampled. I could hear their screams beneath the feet of those still pushing.
Pythax shouted orders, and the rope men at both ends of the street closest to the door started to edge toward one another, supported by the stave men who hit out over and over again. They met at the entrance and joined the ropes, so it formed a semicircle protecting the entrance. They took two steps toward the center of the street. The mob saw that they were well and truly trapped, and became docile. The only way out for them now was to wait to be let out.
Pythax ordered again, and all but a few of the Scythians armed with staves filed into the house. I followed them in. I could hear Pythax shouting at me, but I ignored him.
Broken furniture was lying about, pottery and statues were smashed. The rioters were fighting with anything that came to hand; anyone the Scythians caught was being hit hard. A few men had snatched spears off the wall. Those the Scythians took on three to one to suppress any chance of anyone being hurt, any Scythian that is. A quick glance into the courtyard told me Xanthippus and his household had all made it out. A few rioters had taken that route too. They were the smart ones.
I stepped around struggling men and ran up the stairs. Xanthippus had cleared his private papers off his desk before fleeing. I cursed the man’s foresight. I scanned the room for anything that might help me. There were small bags made of soft, thin leather on a shelf. They were empty. A few papers were scattered about the floor, dropped in the rush. I picked them all up and stuffed them into my tunic, then made my way downstairs again before anyone noticed where I’d been. The fighting had finished, the Scythians held the field. They were dragging the unconscious into the street.
I surveyed the mess that had once been the home of one of our premier citizens. All the internal rooms would have to be rebuilt, and the door and all the furniture was in splinters, but the outside structure was solid and the fires had been extinguished quickly.
I could see that outside Pythax was processing the men within the rope barrier; each was being taken
