looked at me strangely. “You said that as if you have a spare temple in your bag.”
“As it happens, I might.” I thought of Pericles’ promise to rebuild the Acropolis.
We walked inside between the pillars and to the end of the room as far as we were permitted for a closer look at Artemis. It took a moment for our eyes to adjust. When they did, the cult statue of the Goddess was before us.
“The statue is very ancient too,” Diotima said in half pride, half apology. The sculpture wasn’t up to modern standards: to start with, she was made of wood. She was stiff in her pose, standing upright like an ephebe before his commander, and archaic in style. My father could have done better with one hand, but that didn’t matter, because this statue was sacred. The spirit of the Goddess could reside within this ancient wood, and on occasion did. Someone had placed a real bow in her clenched hand. She’d been dressed in a modern chiton, with a himation of good quality draped over her shoulders.
Hung about the inner walls were all manner of things; clothing, bronzeware, tools, some children’s toys. These were dedications to the Goddess, brought by people seeking her favor, or perhaps simply to express their devotion.
Two older priestesses were watching us from the side and whispering to each other. “Let’s look outside.”
At the back of the temple were the working buildings. A place such as this has many practical requirements. There are animals to be kept, both sacrificial and sacred, maintenance to be done, fields to be tended, implements to be stored, slaves to be housed. The Temple of Artemis the Huntress was nothing short of a holy farm.
Diotima led me to the field beside the temple where goats and a horse browsed. I took out the note.
“Do you recognize this?”
She looked at it carefully. “I don’t recall the note, though it looks to be one of ours. The handwriting is Father’s.”
“I thought you might say that.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In the study of Xanthippus.”
“What! How did you come to be rummaging in there?”
“You’ve missed a lot of excitement out here at this peaceful temple.” I brought her up to date with the latest Athenian riot.
“That was quick thinking,” she approved.
“Diotima, I’m going to tell you something I think you need to know.”
Diotima smiled. “For free? No trade? That isn’t like you, Nicolaos.”
“I know. Uh, I think we might need to be somewhere we can’t be heard.”
“We’re somewhere we can’t be heard now.”
“Somewhere even more can’t-be-heard.”
She looked at me warily. “Is this a trick or a joke?” She saw that it wasn’t. “Come with me.”
We stopped in an orchard grove that grew by the river Illisos. The trees grew tall here, the branches were thick and the leaves gave cool shade. The temple must have harvested much fruit from them. Diotima stopped beneath the spreading branches and said, “Go ahead.”
“Congratulations, you are going to be a bride.” I told her everything the Archon and his secretary had told me. I did not tell her of my visit to her future husband. I felt this was enough bad news for one day.
At first, Diotima simply stood there, white-faced.
“Those bastards,” she whispered. “Those scum. Those vermin. Those…” She shouted a stream of vitriol in ever-increasing volume.
“Don’t scream,” I said urgently, “or there’ll be people running out here.”
“They can’t make me do this.”
“Actually, I think they can.”
“I won’t let them. I’ll stop it. I’ll kill myself first.”
“Running away would be better,” I advised.
“Do you think this is funny?” she flared in a screech.
“No,” I said shortly, and turned away. Diotima was beating the trunk of a tree with her fists. I let her. It would help get it out of her system. I went for a walk to give her time alone, and because I was shaking.
When I returned Diotima was sitting. Her knuckles were skinless and bleeding, her face bloated from sobbing.
“Thank you for telling me, Nicolaos. I’d like to be alone now. You can go back without me.” She was watching the waters of the river.
I had a terrible premonition. “I think that would be a very bad idea. Come along.” I helped her up. “You haven’t found your father’s killer yet. Isn’t that still important to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then worry about the rest of it later. If the worst occurs you can always run back to Mantinea.”
Diotima laughed bitterly. “Didn’t you work that out? Mother was a common whore. There wasn’t a good family, there wasn’t a former husband, and she was never a priestess, virgin or otherwise.” She stood up. “Now you can escort me home.”
9
We met Pythax as we turned onto Diotima’s street. He was looking as big and as tough and as mean as ever, and he didn’t look happy.
“You!” he growled at me in greeting. “As if the city weren’t in enough uproar, do you know that kid of the bowyer’s is in the Agora, swearing you killed his dad?”
“Am I under arrest then?”
“No one’s paying any attention to the boy…yet. Think of this as a friendly warning. You better avoid the Agora until the kid’s gone. I don’t need any more trouble than I already got.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“And another thing, there’s some guy called Rizon been hassling the archons. He says you knocked him down in his own home. It seems to me you’ve been at one murder, close to another, arrived late for two more, and been in the middle of the worst riot we’ve had in years. You want to watch yourself, little boy. You don’t want to go getting a reputation for violence.” He cracked his knuckles.
“I’ll remember that.”
“See that you do.”
“Who’s Rizon?” Diotima asked me.
“No one you want to know,” I growled.
Pythax studied Diotima for the first time.
“You Ephialtes’ girl?”
“Yes.”
Pythax grunted. “Sorry about your dad.”
“Why, hello there!” a voice purred behind us. Euterpe had walked up while we were speaking with Pythax and I hadn’t noticed. A slave stood behind her holding her purse and another held an umbrella to keep her in the shade.
“Hello, Mother,” Diotima said unevenly.
“Who’s your friend?” She swept her eyes up and down Pythax and smiled.
Since I wasn’t the recipient of her undivided attention I was able to keep myself under control. Pythax was not so lucky. I find it hard to believe to this day, but Pythax actually blushed. His bulging muscles seemed to expand even more and he stood taller. He eyed Euterpe with the same level of interest she was displaying. The grizzled warrior and the smooth, sophisticated woman made an interesting contrast. In her case, I assumed it was professional interest.
I said, “May I introduce Pythax, Chief of the Scythians.”