Seeing me on the threshold, Nikandros stretched out beseeching hands. ‘Please, please, I beg you. Let me make this right. Five minas? For the dead man’s family?’
Azamis let him go. Nikandros staggered to his feet. He straightened his tunic, relieved, until he saw the force of the old Carian’s loathing.
‘You think you can buy your way out of everything?’ spat Azamis. ‘You think any silver can outweigh your sins?’
Nikandros didn’t see the blow coming. I doubt he’d ever been slapped by a parent or a tutor. The old man’s fist took him in the side of the jaw. I don’t know if it was the punch that knocked him out or smacking his head on the gatepost, but he fell to the ground, utterly senseless.
‘Is he dead?’ Azamis rubbed his bruised knuckles as I stooped over the sprawled youth.
‘No.’ Though he had a nasty gash in his scalp where he’d struck the corner of the solid wood. When he woke up, he’d have a vicious bruise. If he woke up, if his skull was still whole.
I heaved a sigh and called out to Kadous. ‘Find our guests some good wine while I fetch Zosime.’ She’d gone home with Menkaure to his rented rooms when they’d finished work at the pottery. From the moment we’d hatched this plot, I’d been intent on keeping her as far away as possible from Iktinos and Nikandros.
‘Mus, Ambrakis.’ I beckoned to the slaves. ‘We’d better take this garbage back to the city.’ The walk should give me time to compose some convincing explanation for the guards on duty at the Itonian Gate.
I hated to think what Aristarchos would say when he learned how badly our plans had gone awry. Given the choice, I’d dump Nikandros in a ditch. Let any god or goddess who cared look after him, if they felt the fool boy deserved mercy. But I didn’t have a choice. Justice might have been done for Xandyberis, but more innocents would die if the plotters still got their war.
Mus and Ambrakis grabbed Nikandros’s wrists and ankles and carried him, limp and with his head lolling, all the way to Athens.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I arrived at Aristarchos’s house at noon the following day as requested. Mus opened the gate and Lydis led me through to the inner courtyard. Azamis, Sarkuk and Tur were already sitting there, silently waiting. We’d tried to persuade the boy to stay in bed, but he insisted on being here, his eyes bright with fever as he cradled his bandaged arm.
I didn’t speak. We’d all been warned not to make our presence known. We satisfied ourselves with silent nods and brief, grim smiles.
Lydis joined us as one of the household girls brought refreshments. None of us could eat, though the wine was welcome. As we all wordlessly offered a libation, I wondered who the Carians prayed to. I sought Athena’s blessing, to help us foil her city’s enemies once and for all.
Everyone tensed when we heard the gate open. Mus’s voice echoed around the outer courtyard as he announced the visitor to his master.
‘Megakles Kerykes.’
‘Good day and thank you for coming.’
Aristarchos was sitting in a tall, cushioned chair carefully placed by the archway to make sure we could hear this conversation. The long table, the stools and all the scrolls and letters had been cleared away. The stage was set for a dramatic confrontation.
‘Mus, a seat for my guest.’
We heard the sharp clatter of a stool being set down. I strained my ears for any hint that Megakles had brought a slave as an escort or bodyguard. No, there was no business of handing over a cloak, no instructions for some underling to sit out of earshot. Good. Aristarchos had been right. Megakles felt safe enough walking these wealthy streets at midday. Besides, the fat fool was coming here confident that Aristarchos was ready to join him in concealing his son’s treason. The fewer witnesses to such duplicity, the better, even slaves.
‘I was relieved to get your letter this morning,’ Megakles said stiffly. ‘To know that you understand how closely our interests align.’
‘Forgive me.’ Aristarchos didn’t sound the least remorseful. ‘When I said I wished to discuss resolving the consequences of your son’s activities, I should have made myself clear. I wish to see him suitably punished.’
‘What?’ Megakles was audibly stunned.
‘I also wish to explain my contempt for the proposals put to me at your symposium. I remain convinced that Athens should look to the west, to Italy and to Sicily,’ Aristarchos continued calmly. ‘To build new cities on fresh ground rather than stealing land which our allies have ploughed for generations. I will never help foment mistrust between this city and the Delian League. I will never be part of conniving to wave a false threat of some Persian menace over everyone’s heads. I will never ally with men stirring up strife in Athens in order to fill their own strongboxes.’
‘I played no part in that.’ The stool’s feet screeched on the paving as Megakles lurched to his feet.
‘No,’ Aristarchos agreed, ‘but only because you were wilfully deaf while treason was discussed around your dinner table. Just as you were wilfully blind to whatever your son was doing, and with whom. An honest citizen, any responsible father, would have acted long since to curb his arrogance and greed.’
To give Megakles his due, he rallied quickly. ‘I would warn you against rash accusations. You forget I have many friends in this city. Powerful friends.’
Aristarchos was unmoved. ‘You may wish to consider how they will react, when they hear what I have to say. The Archons. The Polemarch. The Tribute Commissioners. The Board of Auditors who will assess your fitness if you’re ever selected for high office. The men who will ratify your accounts if, by some miracle, you’re approved to serve a magistrate’s term. The senior men of your own noble lineage when
