‘Soterides’s place, by the Itonian Gate?’ suggested Menekles.
That won general approval.
‘I’ll see you there,’ I assured them before following Lydis over to join Aristarchos.
Standing by his marble seat, our patron was deep in conversation with another well-bred Athenian whom I didn’t recognise.
‘You think we should seriously consider looking westwards?’ the other man queried thoughtfully. ‘For corn as well?’
‘We already know that Sicily can rival Egypt as a bread basket,’ Aristarchos pointed out. ‘Surely it’s better to fill our granaries from an island where we can trade in peace and profit instead of risking treading on some Persian satrap’s toes?’
‘Isn’t it wiser for us to buy up the corn which some overly ambitious satrap would need to feed his armies?’ the other man countered.
‘Why not send out our own citizens to plough fertile land we already know lies fallow,’ another man interjected, unasked, ‘to grow our own crops without being beholden to anyone?’
I recognised him. Pheidestratos had been Strato’s patron, and he was looking as disgruntled as the playwright.
‘Another valid strategy,’ Aristarchos agreed, ‘and surely it’s better to look westwards into wilderness lands for such opportunities rather than along the already crowded shores to the east?’
Pheidestratos looked ready to argue that point, but the unknown man had noticed Lydis and me, and politely indicated our arrival to Aristarchos.
‘Ah, excuse me.’ He smiled and ushered me away towards the theatre’s western entrance where we could talk without being overheard.
‘I didn’t mean to intrude. Lydis did say you wanted to see me.’ I may have spoken a little sharply. It had been a long and stress-filled day.
Aristarchos smiled, though I saw that calculating glint in his dark eyes. ‘You think I should have introduced you? Wouldn’t you rather they dismissed you as some scribbler whose face they need not even remember by tomorrow?’
‘Forgive me, but I don’t follow you.’ I was too tired for riddles.
Aristarchos rubbed a thoughtful hand over his beard. ‘Pheidestratos said something curious when we discussed his play. He seems quite certain that, sooner rather than later, Athens will have good cause to send out settlers to start farming good land sequestered from our allies in Ionia.’
‘Sequestrations?’ I didn’t like the sound of that. The Athenian Assembly handing over plots of confiscated land to our own citizens had been one of the grievances prompting rebellion in Euboea.
Aristarchos looked at me. ‘What might persuade the People’s Assembly to take such action, to secure the commerce and resources that our city so assuredly needs? Do you think that our fellow citizens could be convinced by a surge of dissatisfaction from our allies, and ill-tempered disputes over tribute payments?’
‘Surely it would take more than that?’ I fervently hoped so.
‘Probably,’ Aristarchos allowed, ‘but who’s to say this discontent you’ve been hearing about won’t lead to something more, to something worse? How would the Athenian people react to outright defiance in Caria perhaps, or refusals to pay the Delian League tribute owed by towns in the Troad or Crete?’
I recalled Tur’s anger when we’d first met, when I’d told him there was no chance of the tribute being reassessed this year. I remembered the tavern talk that Menkaure and Kadous had related.
‘Do you think Pheidestratos asked Strato to write a play about citizens setting out for a distant land allotment because he’s seen these straws in the wind?’
‘Or because Pheidestratos is friends with men who’d like to set a few stones rolling down that particular hill,’ Aristarchos said crisply. ‘Men who seem very keen to get that particular notion into potential Assemblymen’s heads.’
I stared at him, bemused. ‘You can’t imagine Strato will invite me to go drinking with him and helpfully spill some ripe secrets?’
‘Hardly.’ Aristarchos allowed himself a moment’s sardonic amusement. ‘But it’s plain that something is going on and we have a duty to the city to find out more. I can make discreet enquiries among the great and the good, to learn what’s prompted Pheidestratos’s current thinking. Your talents and contacts are much more suited to discovering who’s goading our visiting allies and seeing where such rabble-rousers might lead you.’ He glanced sideways. ‘It will be interesting to see if they come knocking on Pheidestratos’s gate. Wouldn’t you rather he had no idea who you are, if your enquiries take you to his household?’
‘Trying to provoke an allied city to default on its tribute would be a bold undertaking for one man.’ I’d have to be incredibly careful, as well as certain that I had proof, before I breathed a word of such suspicions. I didn’t have Aristarchos’s resources if I was hauled into court, charged with slander.
‘We must uncover who’s behind this, and quickly, before such contagion spreads.’ Aristarchos looked grim. ‘We’ve barely got used to peace. Do you want to see the hoplites mustered again, sent to enforce Athenian will overseas, while we wait for urns of ash and bones to come home?’
‘Of course not,’ I said fervently.
Aristarchos shook his head. ‘Defence is one thing. Provoking a fight’s quite another. My father taught me that when I was five years old, on the night before he marched to fight at Marathon.’
Aristarchos must have seen my surprise. His noble father would have trained as a horseman. I bit back my question but he answered it anyway.
‘Yes, he marched with the hoplites. Even though the cavalry hadn’t been called up, he was determined to fight for the city. Barely ten years later, I hadn’t even done my military training when he gave me a spear to escort my mother and brothers and sisters to safety in Salamis when the Persians invaded again. Like him, like you, I would give my life to defend Athens and her people, but I won’t see another of my sons, or anyone else’s child, lost to serve some selfish fool’s ambitions.’
‘Master,’ Lydis warned, low-voiced. ‘People are starting to look this way.’
I looked at Aristarchos, troubled. ‘Do you really think there’s some conspiracy
