though I couldn’t have explained why.
I stared ruefully at the mess on the floor. The guards would see it in the morning and know I had lost my nerve. Even the rats were avoiding it. I greeted them now like old friends. A condemned man can’t afford to be picky about his friends. How many other men now dead had shared their last hours with these rodents? What tales they could tell of the behavior of dead men still walking, what insights into human nature!
“Nicolaos, wake up!”
“Huh? What!” I had fallen asleep. Diotima stood at the door.
“Nicolaos, something terrible is going to happen.” She sounded panicky.
“For both our sakes, don’t remind me. I’m having enough trouble dealing with it as it is.”
“Not only you, Nico. It’s Pericles. Pericles is missing, and the fighting is getting worse.”
“What’s happening out there?”
“Men are rioting. People are scared. Some are throwing stones. Nobody’s organized a rebellion yet. They say the people demanded Pericles lead them, but he refused before he disappeared.”
“Diotima, you know you shouldn’t be walking about in the city tonight.”
“I have this, and this.” She showed me the bow which Brasidas the bowyer had custom-built for her, and held up the sacrificial knife.
“I went to see Pericles, Nicolaos, to insist he get you out.”
“But he did his part of the bargain, Diotima. He got me off the charge.”
“And here you are, waiting to be executed in a few hours.”
“It’s not his fault, Diotima. He was as astonished as the rest of us. He even threatened his own father.”
“I don’t care if it’s his fault or not. He’s the only one I can force to do something.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He wasn’t at home.”
“He’s out calming the rioters, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Diotima shook her head. “The slaves said he’d had a summons from Xanthippus, but they don’t know where he’s gone.”
“It’s hardly a problem for me, I’ll be dead in a few hours.”
Diotima hid her face in her hands and began to weep. I waited patiently. The thought that someone other than my mother might cry at my death was oddly comforting. She eventually got herself under control and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Nicolaos, can you think of any way I could get you out of here? Pericles was my last hope.”
“Not unless you can get the key to this door from those guards out there.”
“They don’t have it. I tried bribing them before I went to Pericles.”
Steps echoed on the cold stone and Pythax walked around the bend, carrying a torch and a bundle. He dropped the bundle, which clanged loudly, and said, “Hello, little boy.”
“How are you, Pythax?”
“I’m angry, angry and disgusted. I don’t mind a man getting himself killed fair and square, but that ain’t what’s happened to you. I’m here to let you out. You’re leaving Athens, little boy. I’ve been to see Xanthippus, to demand he release you, but he was out, on a bad night like this too! So I’m taking it on myself to let you out. You’ve been crushed by men too powerful to fight, and they didn’t fight fair, and you were only trying to do your best for your home. Reminds me of a man I once knew: he tried to defend his village from a whole army, and it didn’t work out real well for him either.”
Free. Free to leave Athens and run to safety. Free to take Diotima with me.
Diotima said, “Pythax, when they told you Xanthippus was out, did they say where he was going?”
“Yeah. The Areopagus, for some meeting or other. The slave said he had a message from Pericles.”
Diotima and I shared a look. “He swore he’d avoid dubious summonses to dark alleys,” I said.
“Who did?” Pythax demanded.
“Pericles. But he’s gone to meet his father at the Rock of the Areopagus. It’s the only place they could go tonight where they wouldn’t be observed. And they both received a summons from the other.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Pythax, let me out.”
He pulled back the bars and opened the door. “You going to run now? I brought your things.” On the floor were clean clothing, my sword and dagger. Pythax’s idea of essential personal items.
I tore off my dirty, smelly clothes and, chattering with the cold, pulled on the clean. I placed the dagger in my belt, buckled on the sword and said, “No, I’m not running, at least not yet. First we have to stop a murder, and I hope we’re not too late.”
As we set off, Diotima said, “What I don’t understand is why he would act now, when he already had you to take the blame.”
I said, “No, he didn’t, that’s the point. The jury said I wasn’t guilty. The Council condemned me for treason, not murder.”
We ran the through the dark, overcast night. There was barely moon-glow through the clouds to show our way, we stumbled frequently, and I silently cursed every rock that slowed us down.
“Halt! Stop right where you are!” It was Antigonos and Euphrestes, the Scythians I had trained with. They were on patrol.
Pythax merely had to growl, and they recognized him at once. “Have you seen Xanthippus or Pericles?” he demanded.
Euphrestes said, “Both of them, sir! First Xanthippus, then Pericles, back along the Panathenaic Way. They were both walking south.” He pointed behind him. “Is there a problem, sir?”
Pythax ordered them to close on us and they kept pace to our left and right flanks. Diotima fell to the rear but managed to stay with the group. I could hear her panting but didn’t dare stop or even slow.
We came around the Rock at the base of its north face to where it joined the Panathenaic Way. To my left in the distance I could see the Agora, where many men had congregated though it was dark. They had lit bonfires. I didn’t have time to worry about them.
Ahead I could see torches and hear shouts of anger, but the smoke from the torches, the distance, and the bright pin lights of flame obscured my vision. The background was sheer darkness. All we had to work with was the moving hot pinpricks of the torches, the contrast of the light they cast and the shadows they created. It was enough to tell me two men stood in the center of the Panathenaic Way where it squeezes between the Acropolis and the Rock, and some number of men surrounded them.
We came close enough to recognize Pericles and Xanthippus in the center. They were standing back to back, and they hadn’t been expecting trouble. They both carried their daggers and nothing else: no shield, no sword, no spear. Both their blades seemed to be bloodied, but perhaps it was reflection of the firelight. Their attackers were far better prepared. I tried to count them but couldn’t be sure I had the numbers right: there was no telling how many might be lurking in the shadows. As far as I could see there were seven. All had swords or spears. At least one had a bow, because I could see him aiming.
At that distance he couldn’t miss. The man was aiming at Pericles, who immediately dodged out of the way. The bowman shifted his aim to the now uncovered back of Xanthippus. Pericles shouted, “No!” and jumped into the path.
The arrow took him in the shoulder and spun him backward into Xanthippus, who stumbled forward, saw that his son had been shot, and shouted in rage. He stood over Pericles to protect him. Xanthippus had been a General in his day, and I saw immediately the difference in quality between a regular fighting man and a street thug. Xanthippus centered his action around his fallen son, ready to step forward if an attacker presented an opening, but returning always to his post. He was not trying to kill his attackers, but hurt them enough to keep them at bay. He didn’t allow himself to become committed to any one opponent.
Despite the artful defense, he was severely outnumbered. The attackers realized their advantage and came at him from opposite directions, two on each side. Xanthippus could have jumped out of their path, but to do so would have abandoned Pericles to his death. Xanthippus stood his ground to the last moment, then feinted at one pair and whirled to the other. They managed to engage him, so that his back was now exposed. Pericles had broken off the arrow in his shoulder and now rose, blocking the blades of the pair about to plunge their daggers into the back of his father. Xanthippus risked a glance behind him and smiled. But Pericles was too weak to defend himself
