“But not one that has anything to do with you, Nicolaos. This is my problem to solve. Mother is relying on me. I’m relying on myself too, for that matter. I don’t want to be married to that man.”
“Well, who do you want to be married to?” I hadn’t meant to ask, the question slipped out while I wasn’t watching.
Diotima didn’t answer.
I hurried on. “Listen, Diotima, we talked before about you needing money to get away, to live on your own at Ephesus.”
She thought about that, and added, “And you have to prove to your father you can make a living as a political agent.”
“That money is sitting in the bank, and Aristodicus is never going to collect it.”
“I’m starting to see what you mean. Besides, it’s not as if I don’t deserve it for the loss of my father,” Diotima rationalized.
I said, “Archestratus has the token. If we can take it from him when we arrest him, that would be perfect. I’d be willing to bet Antisthenes isn’t aware of what his business partner’s been doing on the side. He thinks I’m Aristodicus. He would give me the money if I presented him with both halves of the token.”
Diotima frowned. “He probably has it in his house. We’d never get it if it’s there. We can arrest Archestratus but whoever heard of being allowed to search someone’s home? It’s unthinkable.”
“I wonder if we could trick him into bringing it out?”
But try as we might, we could think of no way to finesse the token. We gave the idea up as a pleasant fantasy, but unworkable.
“I have to get the evidence to Pericles immediately,” I said. “I expect we’ll be ready to charge Archestratus first thing tomorrow morning.”
Diotima walked with me to the Agora. It was on her way to the temple. We were relaxed for the first time since we’d met, and we idled along.
Pythax and a troop of Scythians approached us, coming the other way, with the Eponymous Archon in their midst. They stopped before us. Pythax seemed glum and refused to look at me.
“Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus, you are under arrest,” the Archon said.
“What am I charged with?” I demanded.
“Let’s see now,” said the Archon. He pulled out a parchment that he held close to his eyes, then far away. He squinted at it and pretended to read it, the bastard. I don’t know if Conon had bad eyesight, but I was quite sure he knew exactly what it said. “It says here the murder of Brasidas the bowyer.” I wasn’t surprised; I’d been expecting that, though I’d put it out of my mind. “Destruction of state property-”
“What state property?” I demanded.
“The two slaves. You killed them.”
“I never went near them!”
“And…oh yes, the murder of Ephialtes.”
That left me openmouthed, shocked. I turned to Pythax.
“But you know I didn’t do that, Pythax. Brasidas sold the bow to Aristodicus of Tanagra.”
Pythax said sadly, “And who’s the only one who heard Brasidas say that? You. So why should anyone believe you, considering you slit the man’s throat the next day? Here’s how Conon reckons it works, little boy. You killed Ephialtes, you killed the slaves because they saw you. You killed Brasidas who sold you the bow, and invented this story of the Tanagran to shift suspicion away from the obvious suspect. Then you searched around for the first man you could find from Tanagra and fought him to death to make it look like you’d killed the murderer in a fair fight. Conon noticed you claimed not to get the Tanagran’s name from Brasidas. That’s because you hadn’t picked your victim yet. Anything to say?”
“I didn’t kill Aristodicus, you did.”
“You were trying mighty hard when I happened along. You duped me into doing your work for you.”
“I didn’t have a bow when Ephialtes was murdered.”
“You looked for a bow Pericles might have thrown away. Pericles never looked to see if you’d hidden one.”
When he put it like that, the whole thing was simple, obvious, and ingenious. Maybe I did kill them all.
Conon said, “I would stand away from that man, if I were you, Priestess. He murdered your father.”
“Goat shit,” said the Priestess, and added bitterly, “I suppose you’re going to arrest him for Stratonike too.”
Conon turned to her. “No, Nicolaos didn’t kill Stratonike. You did.”
“Really? Are you going to arrest me?”
“No need. Yours is a straightforward domestic murder. It happens all the time. Your husband can deal with you. But this man you’re with is a serial killer. He’s a danger to the state. Take him away, Pythax.”
Diotima stopped him. “Wait! You can’t take him to jail, Athens doesn’t have one.”
She was right. An accused man stays free until the moment he’s convicted, and if he runs, that’s an admission of guilt and he’s condemned to death in absentia. My first thought the moment Conon accused me was that I’d be taking up Telemene’s offer of that fast boat to Syracuse.
But Conon destroyed that plan when he said, “No jail for those charged, perhaps, but we do have a cell for condemned prisoners awaiting execution.”
“Oh, so has Nicolaos been condemned without trial?”
“Not at all, but he is a serial killer. There’s no telling who he’ll slaughter next. As Archon, I judge the state is unsafe while he is walking the streets. Therefore he will be guarded until he can be brought to trial. Priestess, I wish to speak with you in my offices. Guards, take the man away.”
17
My cell was unpleasant. I suppose that’s to be expected since it was normally only occupied by men awaiting execution, and in Athens that period’s rarely longer than a day. The cell was a small room carved into rock, with a stout wooden door to prevent me wandering off. A boulder lay five paces in front of the door. This wasn’t so much to give me privacy as to hide the unsavory cell and its equally unsavory occupant from public view. The effect was to provide two short walkways to my door. A guard stood at each one. A thin layer of sand had been thrown on the floor. I had a rickety low cot made of pinewood with old straw heaped upon it. A basin served all sanitary needs. If I wanted to eat, my family would have to bring me food.
The thought of my family made me wince. My first visitor had been Sophroniscus. Of course, he had to be notified that his elder son was imprisoned for serial murder.
“So, this is what comes of your grandiose ambition, is it?” He stood at the door, peering in through the barred hole. I could see the flecks of marble dust in his hair and the deep lines in his face.
I stood immediately, ashamed to be seen but determined to show some dignity. “Hello, Father.”
“Don’t ‘Hello, Father’ me, you fool. By rights I should disown you.”
“I didn’t do it, Father. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Of course you didn’t. I know that. It won’t stop a jury finding against you. Did they tell you the Archon himself is leading the charges? How many jurors do you think will go against his word?”
“Sorry, Father.”
“I told you this could happen. Didn’t I say politics in Athens was a rough game? Didn’t I warn you losers are killed or exiled?”
“You told me, Father. I knew the risks.”
Sophroniscus sighed. “I’ve been to see Conon. It’s normal in these cases to give the accused a chance to run; exile for life rather than execution. Conon refused, wouldn’t even listen to me. He’s determined to see you dead. You’ve made yourself a serious enemy, son.”
“Sorry about that.”
“You’ll be even sorrier when they pronounce sentence.” He pushed a parcel through the hole. “Here, eat this.”
