Lysanias humphed. “Likely story. So you’re going to prosecute them, are you?”
“I could hardly afford it.”
“No, you couldn’t. Will Pericles?”
“I can’t speak for him.”
“Then your assurances lack credibility. The reality is, if you found the killer was a democrat, Pericles would bury the truth quicker than you could blink.”
This was so close to what I knew to be so that it was embarrassing.
“I thought as much,” Lysanias continued, reading me perfectly. “Very well, young man, what do you want to know?”
His offer surprised me. “You’ve decided my job is a political exercise aimed against the Council, but you are willing to answer my questions anyway?”
“I am an extremely unusual recent member of the Council. Do you know why?”
“No, tell me why.”
“Because I am competent. That surprises you, does it? That I admit the reality, or that I am not one of the usual dross we see as archons today.”
“Your forthright manner is certainly refreshing.”
“Delicately put. The current Council of the Areopagus is a group of no-hopers.”
He waited for my reaction, so I prompted him with, “It is?”
“I have been a Councilor for three years, young man. Supposedly I am doing this to guide the future of Athens, but what you hear at most Council meetings has much more to do with old men protecting their privileges. I tell you it turns my stomach.”
Lysanias drew himself up for an important announcement. “I am disillusioned. Therefore I am going to help you, for the good of Athens.”
“Did the Council of the Areopagus plot the death of Ephialtes?”
Lysanias snorted. “If that’s your style of subtle questioning then the plotters have nothing to fear.”
“Since you’re being so honest I thought I would try.”
“You mistake honesty for stupidity. No, the Council as a whole did not compass the death of the man we hate most in the world, but then, the true Council could have done so and I would be none the wiser.”
“The true Council? What’s that?”
“The Council is made up of former archons. These days the candidates for the archonships are selected by lot, but long before you were born the archons were chosen based on their personal merits. It means the new members are mostly idiots, because that’s usually what you get when you choose a man by chance. But there’s a core of old men, from the days of merit, and those old men know what they’re doing. If you were to sit in on a meeting, you would hear that the older members have everything discussed, weighed, decided, and stitched up before ever the issue makes it to the Councilors. Most of the lot men are too stupid to realize this. I am not.”
“This Council within a Council, they could have plotted the assassination?”
“I have no way of knowing.”
“If you are competent, sir, isn’t it likely they will invite you into the inner circle?”
“They have had three years, and not done so. I conclude all the lot men are tainted with the same prejudice.”
“Can you tell me who the ringleaders are of the inner circle?”
“They are all men of intelligence and experience, but I should say the three who lead are Calliades, Timosthenes, and Xanthippus.”
“Tell me, what was the reaction of the Council after the news of the murder came out?”
“Consternation and fear from most of the members. They saw as clearly as your friend Pericles what the likely result would be. Xanthippus called a special meeting. Aha! I see you didn’t know that. I asked the same question you did a moment ago. I demanded that if anyone had knowledge of this murder then they should reveal it forthwith, while there was still time to avert the crisis. None admitted to it, as I expected.”
“Then why did you ask the question?”
“Do you know so little of politics, you fool? To judge their reactions of course. The lot men were simply scared. In any case, if one of those idiots had planned this you would have caught them long ago. The reaction of those of the inner circle was much more interesting. They were surprised.” Lysanias paused.
“All right, at the risk of having you bite my head off again, I will ask the leading question. Why was their surprise surprising?”
“Because they were surprised, not scared and not shocked. I had the distinct impression that they’d been prepared for something, but what had happened wasn’t what they were expecting.”
“Thank you for your help, sir. I have one last question.”
“Ask it.”
I gestured at the quoits lying at our feet. “Aren’t you a little old for this?”
Lysanias scoffed. “Excellent! Spoken like a truly brash young man. Pick up a quoit.”
“Me?”
“You. Or are you too young for this?”
I’d asked the question to discompose Lysanias. I would have to follow through. So I stripped and performed some warming up exercises. Lysanias waited patiently. When I felt as ready as I was ever going to be I stepped forward and took hold of the thong of the nearest quoit. I swung this back and forth for a while, to understand how the weighted ball would fly. I had thrown discus before, but never the quoit variant.
Lysanias covered an ostentatious yawn.
I stepped behind the line and commenced a twirling pattern of steps, much as I would have done for the discus. I whirled faster and faster until the whole world was a blur and my entire focus was on the speeding quoit straining to leave my grip. I let go of the thong with a stupendous grunt and the quoit was hurled into the sky.
It was a massive throw. The quoit had no doubt left Attica by now and was halfway to Thrace. Shepherd boys would be looking upward, wondering what that thing was passing overhead. I stopped my gyrations and looked skyward for the ball.
Instead, I saw the dust come up as my quoit landed slightly short of the one Lysanias had thrown.
“Not bad,” Lysanias allowed. “If you practiced you might amount to something.”
“How old are you, sir?”
“Fifty-five, if my old, senile memory isn’t failing me.”
“You’ve made your point, Lysanias. I’m impressed.”
Lysanias preened.
I dressed myself. As I made to go, he put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t take it hard, lad. I practice every day. You seem better than most of the dross we’re rearing these days. Come back again and I’ll teach you how to throw properly. I could show you how to get extra distance.”
“Thanks, Lysanias, I might take you up on that offer some time.”
The inn by the gates on the road to Piraeus was empty when I walked in the next morning but for the innkeeper who still had crooked legs, looked more ragged than ever, and moved as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. I was feeling more than a little sore myself; Pythax had had me practicing extended lunges since dawn. My thighs, calves, and lower back ached.
“Remember me?” I asked. “I’m the one who was looking for Aristodicus.”
The innkeeper was bent over an amphora of wine, struggling to lift it to his bar bench. He winced up at me as if the sight were painful. I picked up the amphora and settled it for him in a hole in the wooden top. “Thank you.” He belched and straightened. “Ah, that’s better. Damned onions. Never could take onions. What do you want this time? I heard you found Aristodicus. How was he?”
“Dead when I left him.”
The innkeeper nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I heard. Down at the Piraeus, wann’t it?”
“Right where you told me to look. I thought I’d drop in and express my gratitude with a jar of your best wine.”
He looked at me uncomprehendingly, as if the concept were foreign to him. “Best? Yeah, okay.” He shuffled off into a back room and emerged with a dirty cup and liquid inside that I thought it best not to contemplate.
“My thanks to you, innkeeper.” I threw enough coins on the bar to pay for several amphorae of this pig’s
