“With the leadership, and to continue supporting the democracy,” Diotima finished for me. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Look at his father.”
“Zeus!” I said again. “Do you think anyone else has seen this?”
Diotima snorted. “What do you think?”
Not a hope in Hades. If they had, they’d be standing in the Agora this instant, shouting it out to the world.
“But Nico, what if Pericles knows what Ephialtes wrote? What if he so much as suspects?”
It was enough for a motive, it was more than enough.
“You still have to get around the fact Pericles held no bow. I saw him! I know…oh…”
Diotima nodded grimly. “Right. He didn’t need to, because he hired a mercenary to do the actual killing. Pericles was only there to make sure it went according to plan.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Diotima.”
“I knew you’d say that,” she said in disgust. “I suppose now you’re going to tell him.”
“Pericles? No, I’m not going to tell him.” If I did, he would order me to destroy the evidence, which I would refuse to do, and then we would have a major and final falling-out. For Pericles, this was all about politics. He didn’t really care who killed his friend, as long as it was someone convenient for his plans.
“Thank the Gods for that,” Diotima said, plainly relieved. “I was worried you were becoming a politician.” She paused for a moment, then said, in a gentle tone, “Nicolaos, what would you do? If we find Pericles killed Father?”
“Then it would be back to sculpting for me, wouldn’t it?” I said with an attempt at a laugh. “Do you think he did it, Diotima?”
She chewed on her thumbnail. “I don’t know, but I think he might.”
“We’d never prove it, not in a court, not even if we had solid evidence, which we don’t.”
“And if Pericles is the killer, it wouldn’t save me anyway. I need it to be the Eponymous Archon if I’m to escape my fate. I’m to be married next month.”
That shook me. “So soon?”
“It’s an arranged marriage for inheritance, not family alliance. It has to take place as soon as possible, and there’s no dowry to negotiate.” She laughed humorlessly. “Did I tell you what’s happened at the temple? I’m scrubbing floors, just like a common girl. I complained to the high priestess, who told me the Pole-march has taken a great dislike to me-he says he doesn’t think I’m priestess material-and I’m to be given all the worst jobs until I get sick of it and leave. The high priestess isn’t cruel, even if she does look like a withered prune. She advised me to leave now and avoid the hardship.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I would scrub floors for the rest of my life if that’s what it took. The Polemarch can’t persecute me forever. But he doesn’t have to, you know. He only has to persecute me until the Archon has me married to Rizon, then Rizon can forbid me to leave the house.”
“Run away,” I told her.
“We’ve had this conversation before, in the orchard, remember? I can’t go back to Mantinea.”
“Then run to another temple. What about the temple of Artemis in Brauron?”
“It’s within Attica. They could easily drag me back.”
I thought for a moment. “I have it then! The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus! Father tells me it’s the most beautiful building he’s ever seen.”
“You don’t give up, do you? Has it occurred to you temples like that aren’t in need of destitute volunteers of doubtful origin? The girls from the best families fight tooth and nail to be accepted. Their fathers pay bribes to get them in.”
“I’ll pay the bribe with the reward money I get from Pericles.”
“You’re assuming you’ll win it, and anyway, I swore I would never take money from a man.”
“Then you’re going to starve. Women can’t own money.”
“Mother does.”
That stopped me. Mother did indeed, and obviously a great deal.
“That’s a good point, Diotima. How does your mother manage to own her money?”
“The same way all hetaerae do, I suppose. Men friends give them presents, pay for most of their expenses, and give them money. When a hetaera needs something done she asks a client to do it for her. She returns the favor in kind.”
“That explains the cash. Now tell me who owns this house.”
That stumped her. She looked puzzled. “I never thought about it. There must be someone’s name on the title deed.”
“I can think of an obvious answer.”
Diotima stared at me in horror. “Father kept it in his name?”
I nodded.
“Wait.”
I waited. I knew Diotima had her answer when a piercing cry cut through the air.
“What do you mean Rizon owns this house. It’s mine!”
It took Diotima some time to calm down an agitated Euterpe. I didn’t go near them, but I didn’t need to know most of it. When Euterpe was reduced to mere sobbing, Diotima returned to me.
“Well, I guess you heard that,” she said.
“I’m sorry to be the source of bad news.”
“Oh, it’s not all that bad, Nicolaos. I mean, I know we could lose almost everything, but do you realize this is the first time my mother has ever needed me?”
“That pleases you? I thought you wanted to be free of her.”
“Let’s say it’s rather pleasant to have the boot on the other foot. It is now extremely urgent to Euterpe to prevent my marriage to Rizon, to blackmail the Archon and the Polemarch, and to protect her wealth, and she can’t do any of that without me. Despite appearances my mother is not particularly a woman of business. She always left those details to Ephialtes. When I walked out of her room, she was begging me to help her.”
“Gloating is rarely pretty, Diotima.”
“You can deal with the ugliness for a little while. I’m enjoying myself. What are you doing?”
While I’d been waiting, I’d picked up the wax tablet and was examining it closely.
Diotima said, “We’ve already checked that. There’s nothing on it.”
“I might have worked out what your father meant. Do you have a stylus and a scraper?”
She handed me a stylus used to write in wax, and the scraper used to smooth the surface again when the owner wanted to start over. Smoothing was usually done after slightly melting the wax, but I didn’t want to risk holding a candle to it. I carefully scraped the wax back along one edge, letting the wax shavings fall to the floor. Diotima peered over my shoulder in interest. She exclaimed as the wax disappeared to reveal a piece of linen. I finished removing all the wax and peeled back the linen protecting-cloth to reveal parchments.
Diotima snatched. So did I. We got half each. We scanned eagerly and called out the interesting parts.
“They’ve been selling public contracts for kickbacks.” She flipped through the parchment. “From the looks of this a dozen or so building contractors are inflating their prices by about a third, and splitting the profits with the Archon and the Polemarch. That must come to a tidy sum considering they’re rebuilding the Stoa.”
“It happens all the time,” I said. “Everybody knows that.”
“But not everyone leaves evidence like this lying around. These letters are the deals they struck and records of sums paid. That’s enough to kill for.”
“Yes, but you haven’t proven anything. All you have is motive.”
“But I don’t want to prosecute them for murder, Nicolaos. All I want to do is blackmail them.”
“That’s a dangerous business, Diotima,” I warned her, suddenly worried.
“I’ll take the risk.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to leave those with me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Diotima paused, and sat back down on the couch. “Nicolaos, do you think it’s possible Conon or the Polemarch murdered Father? I mean, they might have paid this Aristodicus.”
“It’s possible,” I conceded. “Using an agent, they wouldn’t have to be there, so there’s no point checking
