nor, I suspect, can you. What I can tell you is that the offer is genuine, and the offer expires in two days. You see me before you, so you know the Polemarch spoke truth when he told you his secretary is ill. Having told that much truth, might the rest not be true too? The Polemarch sees you as a coming man. It is better to have such men in your camp than on the other side. Therefore he offers you a position far beyond your years. I remind you that unlike the archonship-a position of infinitely greater power-the secretariat does not prevent you from holding higher office in the future.”
“I’m afraid the Polemarch overestimates the depth of my arrogance. I have never imagined myself as an archon.” I think I blushed lightly as I said this, because in my dreams I had imagined myself before the people, leading them in the Ecclesia. In the cold light of day, having observed the likes of Pericles, Xanthippus, and Archestratus in action, I knew it would be long before I had that ability, if indeed I ever would.
“Be that as it may, the position is open and the offer is made. If it will not make you a great man, and I can promise you from personal experience it will not, the job would certainly put you in the public eye, be a springboard for higher public office. What do you say?”
“The same as I said to the Polemarch: that I must think about this before giving an answer.”
Tellis rose to go, steadying himself with a shaky hand on the end of the couch. He picked up a walking stick that rested alongside, and said, “You are either remarkably cautious, which for such a young man is an admirable trait, or else you are a fool, which for such a young man would be quite normal. I wish you joy of your deliberations. Goodbye.”
Sophroniscus was jovial at dinner that evening. He had studiously ignored my activities unless I spoke of them, but tonight he said over the wine, “I notice your business is becoming more popular. You’re even starting to receive clients at home. Who was that man who came to see you today?”
“His name is Tellis. He was secretary to the Polemarch.”
“Was?”
“Yes. He fell ill and had to retire.”
“What would the Polemarch want with you?” Phaenarete asked. She ordered the slaves to clear the courtyard of dinner bowls.
“Uh, he offered me the secretary position Tellis vacated.”
“Congratulations, my boy!” Sophroniscus beamed. “I confess, I thought you were overreaching when you said you wanted to try this-well, I made myself clear at the time, I suppose-but to pick up such a position so quickly speaks of good prospects.”
“I haven’t said yes, Father.”
Silence.
“You…you turned down the Polemarch’s offer?” Sophroniscus spluttered. “Are you the same son who was so desperate to make a name in public affairs, he spurned his father’s trade?”
“Yes, but-”
“Then you go right back to the Polemarch, thank him kindly for his offer, and accept the job!”
“But-”
“There are no buts about it.”
“I haven’t said no, either!” I almost shouted.
Sophroniscus paused. “What do you mean?” He held up his cup for more wine and a slave boy immediately refilled it from the krater between us. Phaenarete ordered sweetmeats to be brought. That was a sign she thought this conversation might go on for some time.
“I mean if I take the job I would have to abandon Pericles.”
“You feel loyalty?”
“I’d feel like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.”
“I see.” Sophroniscus drummed his fingers on his dining couch. “Has it occurred to you, when the rat jumps off the ship it is acting quite rationally in its own best interest?”
“It’s still a rat, Father. And…I think perhaps what I’m doing might be important for Athens.”
“There speaks egotistic youth. Beware hubris, son. The Gods punish it.”
“I have three days to accept the offer, Father. If I can find the man who killed Ephialtes tomorrow, or the day after, then I can make Pericles happy and still have time to say yes to the Pole-march.”
“Impossible. You haven’t succeeded so far, what makes you think you can do it quickly now that you really need to?”
“I’ve made important progress. I know that the assassin is still in Athens, and I know where he was staying until a few days ago.” I basked in the glory of my own cleverness as I described my success in detail.
I boasted, “It’s only a matter of time now before I solve the entire problem. All I have to do is track down this Aristodicus and force him to tell me who he’s working for.”
My little brother hung on my every word, looking up at me in adulation. Even Phaenarete looked mildly pleased. Sophroniscus frowned and said, “Do not risk the anger of the Gods, Nicolaos. The Gods hate hubris in a man almost more than any trait. Remember the boastful words of Odysseus to Poseidon after the fall of Troy? He paid for it with ten years of his life, and the lives of all his men. Retract your boast before something bad happens!”
“You are right, Father, and if Aristodicus eludes me tomorrow I shall.”
He said urgently, “Do it now, right now.”
“But what could possibly go wrong right now?”
The door flew open. Every head turned, startled or in fear, for there’d been no warning of a disturbance.
Our head slave stood there in shock and blurted, “Master Nicolaos, there is a young woman in the public room. She says she must speak with you immediately.”
Diotima stood in the public room, tears streaming down and a look of horror on her face.
“Wow! Where did you find her, Nico?” my little brother asked in admiration. My entire family stood behind me. I didn’t dare turn around to see the expressions of Sophroniscus or Phaenarete, for if I did I would probably die of embarrassment.
Diotima had run here in bare feet. The mud was caked on past her ankles. She was wearing a tunic which was definitely supposed to be inside wear; her hair was down. She stood wringing her hands.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but…but I didn’t know who to…Nicolaos, they say I’m to bury Ephialtes!”
“You?” I was surprised. “But you’re not-” I broke off, unwilling to continue more of this highly interesting conversation before my parents.
Phaenarete said angrily, “Nicolaos, you will tell me who this girl is before I take her to the women’s quarters and have her escorted back to her home.”
Trapped. No way to get her out of the house and then explain her away as a distraught witness.
“This is Diotima of Mantinea, priestess-in-training to the Goddess Artemis.” I was not going to say the rest even if Sophroniscus ordered the slaves to beat me.
Sophroniscus demanded, “And what does she have to do with you? Have you any idea what her father is going to say when he finds out-”
“My father is dead! Murdered!” Diotima blurted.
And all the while Phaenarete was muttering, “Diotima. Mantinea. Diotima? Mantinea? Mantinea!” Phaenarete shouted in triumph, “You’re the daughter of Euterpe the hetaera!” Phaenarete looked Diotima up and down. Diotima nodded meekly.
“You know Diotima?” I asked, incredulous.
“Of course I know her! I delivered her all those years ago, didn’t I? Don’t look so shocked, son. I am a midwife, you know.”
Sophroniscus and I were banished to the dining room while Phaenarete took Diotima to be washed and given warm clothes. My brother was dragged to bed by slaves with orders to tie him down if necessary.
Sophroniscus raised an eyebrow. “I told you so,” he said.
“But she must already have been running here when I made the boast,” I protested.
“But if you hadn’t boasted, she wouldn’t have been running here.”
I decided not to argue the illogic of that, since nine out of every ten men in Athens would have agreed with Sophroniscus wholeheartedly. Phaenarete opened the door and led in Diotima, who looked somewhat more
