I picked up the bag of money. I spilled the coins across the table. What Aristodicus had hidden were tetradrachmae minted in Athens, with Athena on one side and her sacred owl peering out at us on the obverse. Aristodicus had placed bits of rag in among the coins to prevent jangling when he moved.
“Nico, is this what people usually get paid for killing other people?”
The coins were wealth, but not a fortune. “I don’t know, little brother, but I doubt it. It doesn’t seem enough to me, considering who Ephialtes was. Father is paid more for a large statue.” I picked over the coins. In among them was a token I didn’t recognize. I held it up to the light. It was a piece of board, fitting easily into my palm, with a design on it of some form. The board had been cut in two, slicing through the design with a zigzag edge. I couldn’t make head nor tail of it, but I knew Aristodicus had thought it important.
I returned my attention to the bag the coins had been in, which seemed familiar to me although I knew I’d never seen this bag before in my life. Now where had I seen one similar?
At the house of Xanthippus! In his study there was a row of bags identical to this one, I was sure of it. I could have leapt for joy. At last I had a connection between Xanthippus and Aristodicus. I would have to find out where the bags had come from. If they were bought then someone else might have the same, but if they’d been made by Xanthippus’ slaves, he would have a hard time evading the implication. I imagined myself prosecuting Xanthippus before the people of Athens and tearing apart his defense with ease.
“Nico, I’ve been thinking.”
“What now?” I demanded, exasperated.
“The man who gave Aristodicus his orders must be in Athens.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The note about the meeting. No one outside Athens could have written it.”
It was so obvious it made me ashamed. I gave up all thoughts of Persian spies, Cimon, and Themistocles.
“All right then, you’ve made your point. Anything else to add?” I asked sarcastically.
“Whoever wrote the note probably ordered Aristodicus to stay in Athens. He probably has someone else to kill.”
My little brother had reproduced almost everything I’d worked out, but with only half the evidence.
“Nico, I’ve been thinking-”
I sighed. “Try not to think so much, Socrates. It will only get you into trouble.”
“Yes, Nico.”
14
Pythax screamed, “Again!”
I thrust again with the blade in my left hand. And again I missed. It was astonishing the difference in strength between my left and right wrists. It was my first morning of training with Pythax. With my right still bandaged, Pythax was starting by teaching me what to do when my normal fighting arm was out of action.
The Scythians thought it terribly amusing that a citizen should be fighting in the dirt with them, but they took it in good part because Pythax treated me not one whit different to them. In fact, if anything he treated me more harshly. When I asked him why, he replied, his expression grim, “Because my men keep the peace and do crowd control, but you go looking for trouble.”
Antigonos and Euphrestes, the two Scythians I had been practicing with, laughed, and poked me in the ribs. The first thing I had discovered about the Scythians was that very few of them were, in fact, Scythian. The true Scythians are tribes of barbarians who live far to the north. They are tall, fair, and ride like centaurs. Their people have no towns or villages. Instead they travel from place to place and erect tents for the women and children whenever they stop at a place for more than a few days. Perhaps the original Athenian force was truly Scythian, but that was farther back than anyone remembered. Now the Scythians of Athens came from almost any of the northern hill tribes, and they were Hellenes for the most part, if primitive ones. I was even introduced to a “Scythian” from Crete!
At the end of training I stripped, poured a bucket of water over myself to clean off the dirt, and put on a fresh chitoniskos. I intended to go straight to Piraeus from the training ground.
As I rounded the path to the south, I ran into someone I knew coming the other way.
“Oh! Hello, Nicolaos. That is, I was just going for a walk,” she volunteered quickly.
“Hello, Euterpe,” I said.
She seemed to be peering around my shoulder. “Tell me, are they the Scythians over there?”
“Yes, they are. Pythax has been running early morning training. You might want to say hello if you’re passing by.”
“Yes! Yes, I might do that. Thank you,” and she stepped past me nervously, but then stopped and said, “Oh, ah. You won’t tell Diotima you saw me, will you? If she learned I was exercising, she would tease me about it.”
“My lips are sealed, Euterpe.”
I discovered quickly that Telemenes was well known in shipping circles. He owned more than one boat, which marked him as very wealthy indeed. He was a metic, of course; it is almost unheard of for well-born citizens to indulge in anything as disreputable as trade.
The man I asked was distinctly nervous when I approached him, and his hand shook as he pointed to a building by the quay, which he said was the office of Telemenes. I asked why he was so nervous and discovered that news travels fast. I had gained a certain reputation in Piraeus since the fight with Aristodicus the previous day.
The building was typical of the sort found near the docks, where everything looks like a ware house, with wide doors and cool, dark interiors. What was less typical was the emergence of Rizon as I approached. We ran into each other. He looked frightened and angry.
“Get out of my way!” He raised his arms, probably to push me out of the way, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I stepped back to draw my dagger.
He sneered, “So you’re going to attack me again, are you? You’re a violent man, I’ve warned the magistrates about you.”
“I haven’t fought anyone who didn’t attack me first.”
“Oh, is that so?” he asked, rubbing his nose.
“You don’t count. Striking you is an act of public beneficence.”
“Proof enough of what I say. Well, if you want to strike me down in public where there are plenty of witnesses, go right ahead.” He pushed past and stalked away.
“Rizon!”
He turned. “What?”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“What loss?”
“Stratonike and the nurses. They were members of your household when they died.”
Rizon laughed. “No loss at all. Whoever did that was really doing us all a favor.” He went on his way.
I entered the building Rizon had exited. There was a slave sorting through accounts. This wasn’t your average slave who did the menial jobs around the house or manual labor on a farm. This slave could read and write, and Telemenes obviously trusted him to add the numbers. Such a man would be worth a small fortune on the market.
He looked up at me and said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Telemenes.”
“Are you buying?”
“What?”
“Are you here to purchase cargo from the master?”
“No.”
“Selling? I warn you, we rarely export for other merchants.”
