“Go on,” Xanthippus said, picking up his cup and drinking deeply.
“Someone among the inner circle of the Council was not entirely happy with the terms, but the deal was done, so that person went straight to the assassin and altered the terms without the knowledge of the other parties. Of course, this would have required a considerable bribe to the assassin, who, having partially betrayed his employer, would probably wish to make himself scarce. Syracuse is as far away from Magnesia as you can get and still be in a civilized city.
“Now Ephialtes was shot, so I ask myself, what term of the contract had this older man altered? Pericles was due to meet Ephialtes straightaway, and Pericles was the natural heir apparent to leadership of the democrats, as in fact he proved. Aristodicus need only have waited the space of a few heartbeats to have both Ephialtes and Pericles in range, and yet he didn’t.”
Xanthippus toyed with his wine, smiled wryly, looked up at me. “I may not see eye to eye on most things with my son, but you can assume I objected to spending his life for political gain.”
“It was a huge risk,” I said.
“It was my son.”
“And if I’d managed to take Aristodicus alive?”
“Pythax was there to make sure you did not.”
“I see.”
Xanthippus gripped his cup so tightly his knuckles went white, and said, “Themistocles has been playing us all like puppets, even from faraway Magnesia. We’re going to have to do something about that.”
We sat in silence for some time. It was a beautiful day in the warm sunshine.
“You said there were two possible explanations for this older man. What is your second?”
“It occurs to me that Themistocles, being the wily politician that he is, might have sent an independent observer, to ensure Archestratus acted according to his instructions. Such a man might have delivered a second payment directly to Aristodicus. That older man would be long gone, there’s no point in hunting for him now.” I paused for effect, then said, “I’m not sure which solution to present to Pericles, though of course, if the Areopagus made any more covert moves against the democracy that would make up my mind.”
Xanthippus nodded, toyed with his wine cup, considering for a long moment. “I think perhaps the Council might be persuaded to accept the transfer of power, if there were a few concessions made their way, now that power is going to Pericles, a man they-I-admire and trust. The democratic movement is safe.”
I smiled. “I think on the whole I like my second idea best. That’s what I’ll tell Pericles.”
“Pericles will not be willing to publicly implicate Archestratus.”
I nodded agreement. “There will be three levels of truth. As far as the people are concerned, Aristodicus was acting alone. For Pericles, it was Aristodicus and Archestratus. Only we will know that you, Xanthippus, could have stopped them if you’d wished. It’s not in anyone’s interest to talk.”
“What of your lady friend with the short, sharp knife? I have no wish to spend the rest of my days wary of every young woman when I walk down the street.”
“She avenged her father’s death last night. She will never know.”
I rose to take my leave.
Xanthippus said, “I am curious. Mere days ago, you swore you would declare the truth to the people no matter the cost.”
I sighed. The same thought tormented me. “Pericles once said this to me, and I thought he was a cynical opportunist; now that I too have held the future of Athens in my hand, I have much more sympathy for him. So I say to you now what he said to me then: it’s for the good of Athens.”
Xanthippus smiled. “We’ll make a politician of you yet, young man.”
I tracked down Pythax. He was sitting upon the empty plinth in the Agora, watching the mild, pleasant, well- behaved crowd going about their business. I knew the plinth would soon be filled. Callias had commissioned a new work from Sophroniscus: a statue of Ephialtes that he would donate to the public. Sophroniscus was pleased. It would be his first major work with his new apprentice, Socrates.
Pythax eyed me. “What now?” he asked suspiciously.
“Hello, Pythax. I didn’t thank you for saving my life, twice now. Three times if you count coming to open my cell door. Four times if you count telling the truth in court. If it weren’t for you, I’d be a dead man.”
Pythax grunted. “Like I said before, you remind me a bit of me, back when I was young and stupid, of course.”
“Well, I owe you a lot.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Xanthippus said something to me this morning. I asked him what he would have done if I’d taken Aristodicus alive and made him talk. Do you know what he said? ‘Pythax was there to make sure you did not.’ You said in court you’d been ordered to follow me to make sure I didn’t learn too much.”
I paused. “I’m glad you chose to shoot him.”
Pythax looked at me sharply. He drew in a breath. “Yeah, so am I.” He turned his face from me, and looked around the crowded Agora.
I hopped off the plinth. “Thanks again, Pythax.”
“Little boy?”
“Yes, Pythax?”
“I didn’t do it for the citizenship. I would have done what the government wanted anyway.”
“Yes, I know.”
I was escorting Diotima to her temple. The High Priestess had sent to say that the Polemarch had suddenly and most curiously removed his opposition to Diotima. What’s more, he had recommended she be invested as a full priestess as soon as possible; her ability to make sacrifice was particularly noteworthy, he said.
Pythax passed us, looking tougher and fitter than any man has a right to be after days of murderous mayhem. He was dressed in civilian clothes, no armor, and his hair and beard had been seen to by a barber who knew his business. He was carrying a gift.
“Good morning, little boy. Good morning, young lady.” He hesitated. “Is your mother in?”
We had seen Pythax face mortal combat with barely a lifted eyebrow. Here he stood before us shaking with fear.
Diotima said, “She’s in. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“A man needs a family and a home to protect. Otherwise he’s just a lonely drifter without a village, or a city. Besides, what a woman! But…do you think she’d have me?”
“You’ll have to ask her. I do wish you luck.”
He squared his shoulders and stepped forward.
The door was opened by Euterpe. “Thanks be to the Gods, a real man at last!” She dragged him inside and the door slammed behind them.
Diotima shuddered. “Do you suppose I’ll have to call him Father?”
We walked in silence, taking the long way around to the temple across the Illisos. The Agora was quiet, not a rioter or malcontent to be seen. Diotima said, “Oh, look here, Nicolaos! This is where I hit you in the face with a fish.”
“Yes, and over there is where you knocked over enough olive oil to grease a small army. We’d better not tell the stallholders who you are.”
We laughed. The walk up the Panathenaic Way was pleasant. We stopped at the place where we had fought. It had been cleaned up by the Scythians so you’d never know men had died there.
As we looked around, Diotima asked, “Nicolaos, who do you think murdered Stratonike and those poor nurses?”
“Rizon,” I said confidently.
She nodded. “I think you’re right. He’s one of the few who could have found the buckets of seawater in the dark, and he didn’t want to live with her any more than I did. But, why didn’t you suspect me?”
“I did for a few moments.”
“You did?”
“Yes, but then I realized you would never have murdered the nurses too. Besides, you would have done it much more neatly. All you had to do was offer to relieve the nurses for an afternoon and then finish her in any
