He gestured eastwards. ‘Our so-called allies will call on your sons to fight and to die on that far-distant shore to save their own treacherous skins. The dead will include those noble heirs to heroes who’ve already shed their lifeblood to uphold Athenian honour. Those sons of fallen fathers, those brave boys whom our beloved city will arm and armour, thanks to the taxes you loyally pay. Is that right? Is that just? Is that loyalty?’
‘You lie, you dog!’
Tur’s bellow caught me wholly unprepared. With Sarkuk between us, I couldn’t even grab the idiot boy’s arm as he strode forward to challenge the man by the monument.
‘You lie! You dog, you lie!’
Was that all the bull-headed youth had to say? My heart sank as I realised it was. No wonder the Pargasarenes didn’t buy scrolls of famous speeches; there couldn’t be a rhetoric teacher in the place. Whereas this Athenian orator proved he’d had plenty of practice dealing with hecklers.
‘So you say,’ he scoffed at Tur, ‘with your Persian hair and your empty Ionian promises. So, tell us! Where have you been spending your silver? Paying for a satrap’s favours? Are you one of those cravens who’d rather kneel at the steps of Artaxerxes’s throne than stand shoulder to shoulder with free Hellenes?’
Tur choked on his indignation. ‘Who are you to call me a coward?’
The speaker turned to the wide-eyed crowd with a sarcastic laugh. ‘They say that Darius’s queen urged him to invade to find her some Greek handmaidens. Is his grandson now looking to Ionia to find pretty boys like this? I bet he’d give a satrap a hand-job for the sake of a quiet life.’
Now I did grab Tur’s arm, doing my best to hold him back. I didn’t have much luck. The young fool was built like an ox. Then a voice from the crowd stopped him in his tracks.
‘Why shouldn’t we spend our silver how we wish? Better to guarantee our peace by feeding Persian lions than see them prowling outside our gates. That’s a better use for our coin than handing it over to you. We see how you build yourselves fine new temples and gorge unrestrained at your festivals!’
Outrage spread across the agora like ripples from a rock dropped in a pond. Men idly standing near this new speaker recoiled. No one would risk being mistaken for his ally. Such ingratitude verged on blasphemy. Even if Zeus’s thunderbolts didn’t strike him down, such insolence was rank provocation, here in the heart of Athenian democracy.
That meant we got a good look at him as the crowd parted. He was another Ionian, his accent unmistakeable. He wore a tunic brocaded with purple seashells and his hair trailed to his shoulders in long locks. Even his beard was curled like a Persian’s.
Sarkuk yelled something in his native tongue. The man didn’t reply even though everyone else immediately turned towards us. The man in purple still didn’t react, staring intently at the orator standing by the heroes’ monument.
Following his gaze, I saw that the orator seemed genuinely bemused. He glanced from the Persian-bearded Ionian to Tur and back again. In the next breath, as Athena is my witness, I saw the man in purple nod to the orator. That jerk of the Ionian’s head urged the Athenian on.
The orator rounded on Tur and Sarkuk. ‘You dare to come here, you filthy Mede lovers, and spit your rebellion in our faces? When you should be crawling on your wretched bellies to beg our forgiveness for your dereliction? When you should be raising monuments in your own dung-strewn marketplaces, to show your gratitude for Athenian blood spilt on your behalf for three generations!’
I saw faces all around us turn hostile. Some shouted their own insults at the Carians, father and son. The orator had to raise his voice as he challenged me, standing beside them.
‘You there, Athenian! Why do you let these traitors drip their poison in your ear? Have you no shame? Have you no honour? Have you no pride? You stand there with men thrice damned for betraying their sacred oaths to Apollo, to Athena and to their allies!’
Whatever else he said was lost as yells and scuffles broke out around the man in the seashell tunic. Violence spread through the entire crowd with frightening speed. I looked around for the clearest path out of this chaos. We needed to get away.
‘We have betrayed no one!’ Tur strode forward, shoving some hapless bystander aside. ‘It’s Athens who betrays us, murdering our—’
A punch in the face cut his wrath short, from some bloke with a stonemason’s calloused hands and the muscles to match.
Tur rocked back a step. Only a step and only for a moment. He really would make an excellent wrestler. Surging forward with a furious roar, he was ready to retaliate and not just with his fists. His right hand held a gleaming curve of steel as long as my forearm, with a wicked, needle-sharp point.
I hadn’t realised the young fool had a blade. I couldn’t let him use it. If he skewered some citizen in this spreading melee, Sarkuk and Azamis would see him buried alongside Xandyberis. Every witness here would condemn him at a trial, and Tur would swiftly be delivered to the public executioner.
I kicked the idiot boy hard in the side of one ankle. As he staggered, I punched him in the kidneys. That dropped him to his knees. I wound my hand in his hair, wrenching his head back. ‘Give me that fucking knife!’
He tried to stab me instead. Expecting exactly that, I seized his hand, twisting so hard I felt his wrist bones grate together. He let go of the knife with a furious yell.
I tried to put my foot on the hilt, to stop him or anyone else grabbing the blade. But the stonemason had decided that he and I were clearly allies. He aimed a punch at the side of Tur’s head as
