their alibis. But, Diotima, how would they know Ephialtes was going to be on the Rock that morning?”
“That’s always the problem, isn’t it?” She sighed. “Maybe Father mentioned it to one or the other of them the day before. But you can’t be sure, can you?”
15
I left Diotima and walked to the house of Pericles. I had to wait because he was in a meeting upstairs. The house slave put me in the courtyard while I waited.
Pericles came out looking tired and unhappy.
“Tell me some good news,” he demanded.
“The man who killed Ephialtes is dead.” I began with the most important point. I explained the story in detail, and Pericles listened, asking few questions. When I finished he shook his head. “I can’t say I’m entirely happy, Nicolaos. We needed this man alive.”
I said in anger, “I know you’re under pressure, Pericles, but your habit of ignoring my successes and criticizing my failures is not going to inspire me to my best efforts.”
A slave brought us cups of wine. I sipped mine and, when I realized it was thrice watered, drank it down fast. Investigating is hot work. I put the cup down and said, “There are other matters of importance to report.” I told him of the murder of Stratonike.
Pericles sat back and frowned, then stood and began to pace back and forth along the paths. “Is it possible, do you think, these are connected?”
“They must be, but I rather think Stratonike died because Ephialtes died.”
Pericles pondered, “Yes, I can see that, but what of the two slaves?”
“Almost certainly murdered to prevent them testifying to what they saw.”
“Or because they had more to tell.”
“You might be right.” That thought bothered me.
“This Aristodicus, did he kill the women?”
I shrugged. “The best I can say is, maybe. It’s not impossible.” I pulled out the thin broken board Aristodicus had carried and asked, “Do you know what this is?”
Pericles looked at it, obviously wondering what it had to do with the murder. I delighted in not telling him. He handed it back and said, “No, unless the answer is a broken piece of board.”
I put it away.
“You were going to meet Ephialtes after he spoke to Xanthippus, weren’t you?”
Pericles jerked as if I’d hit him. “What makes you say that?”
“Ephialtes didn’t leave the Rock of the Areopagus after Xanthippus left. It’s been bothering me why not; he had nothing else to do there. Instead he stood waiting to be shot. It makes no sense unless he was waiting for someone. You may have been at the Acropolis thinking about architecture, but you were killing time before seeing him. You must have waited for the appointed time, then walked across from the Acropolis to the Areopagus. You would have looked for Ephialtes and not seen him, decided that he had left and departed yourself. When I saw you walking down the hill you were coming from the Areopagus, not the Acropolis, weren’t you?”
Pericles laughed. “I see that I chose the right man for the job. You have it right. Ephialtes asked me to meet him there. He implied he had an important meeting beforehand. I didn’t know it was with Xanthippus.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want to confuse you with extra details. I know I didn’t kill him, why put the idea into your head?”
“Are there any other little details you decided not to confuse me with?” I asked. Diotima’s theory that Pericles might have arranged the murder was almost throbbing in my brain.
“None that spring to mind.”
“You didn’t see anyone while you were up there?” I described Aristodicus in detail. “Did you see anyone looking like that?”
“If I had, I would have told you.”
I spotted some of the same bags that Xanthippus had in his study, sitting atop one of the tables. It reminded me of a question I needed answered. “Pericles, those bags Xanthippus has in his study, I see you have some too, where do they come from?”
“They’re made on our country estate from leftover bits of sheep leather when the tanning’s done. Father swears by them as utility bags. He’s forever sending things in them.”
“Your family doesn’t sell them?”
“No, why? If you want a few, you can have them.”
“One will be fine, thanks.”
Pericles handed me an empty bag. “Is this relevant?”
“I think it might be.”
A man came running. I could see the damp sweat in his chiton. I could smell his fear. “Pericles, Archestratus is in the Agora. He’s demanding the recall of Themistocles!”
Pericles stood still for a heartbeat, then, “WHAT!” he thundered. “That’s as good as a vote of no confidence in my leadership. Did it occur to anyone that as soon as Themistocles sets foot in Attica, he’ll be executed?”
“Archestratus says Themistocles’ conviction should be dropped. The people are cheering him.”
Pericles turned to me. “The people are losing their nerve. Finish it, Nicolaos, and do it quickly.” He strode out the doorway, through his hall, and into the street.
I passed through the Agora on the way to see Xanthippus. In fact, I trailed Pericles all the way there; he came as close to running in public as I had ever seen him, yet still he managed to maintain his stately stride.
The friends of Archestratus were clustered about the man himself. I avoided them, but took the opportunity to pass among the citizens, to gauge their reaction to Archestratus’ startling proposal to recall Themistocles. From what I overheard, most were intrigued with the idea. Everyone praised Archestratus for putting the good of Athens above his own interest. Pericles too was walking among the people, stopping to talk, and although he was maintaining his famous composure, I was sure he was not liking what he was hearing.
Archestratus saw me as I passed by, and called for me by name.
“I thought you wanted to lead?” I said to Archestratus as he stepped away from his admirers. “Wouldn’t recalling Themistocles set back your ambitions even further?”
Archestratus shrugged. “What we have now is an impasse that does no good to anyone. I haven’t the support to assume control while Pericles is on the scene-you see, I am a realist-and Pericles won’t have the full support of the people while so many questions hang over his involvement in this affair. What I propose is a compromise.”
“I see.” A spoiling tactic then. If Archestratus could not have the leadership, he would make sure his rival Pericles didn’t get it either.
“I called you over, Nicolaos, to congratulate you on your own triumph. The word across Athens is Ephialtes’ murderer is dead.”
I nodded. “I tracked him down.”
“We will all breathe easier for your success. I suppose that now your work is done, Pericles has paid your reward?”
He read the answer in my face and smiled.
“There’s still the question of who’s behind the killer,” I said, feeling somehow embarrassed.
“Of course, I understand perfectly.” Archestratus’ face showed no expression. “But, might you be looking for shadows where there are none?”
“There are still a few loose ends. Can you tell me what this is?” I showed him the broken piece of board, with not much hope of a useful answer.
“A broken piece of board?” he suggested, meeting my expectations. He looked at me, curious. “Have you taken to carpentry?”
I saw out of the corner of my eye that Pericles had broken off his conversation with one group, and was
