‘Here’s to your friendship with the Tyrant,’ I said. ‘He told me that he loves you. In just so many words.’
Anarchos looked around. ‘He said that? Out loud?’ He snorted. ‘I’ll be lynched.’
‘I gather he’s none too popular with the lower classes,’ I said.
Anarchos leaned back. ‘He stripped everyone but the richest six hundred families of their voting rights. Set against that, he’s lowered taxes, and he has kept the Carthaginians at bay.’ He motioned over my shoulder. ‘Nice ships. You have become an important man.’
‘Again,’ I said.
I smiled.
‘So what do you want?’ he asked. ‘Of me? You don’t need me any more.’ He shrugged. ‘I try to be realistic about these things.’ He nodded. ‘Or do you need me after all?’
‘Where’s Lydia?’ I said.
‘Ah,’ he said. In fact, he knew what I was there for from the moment I walked in. Anarchos was a man who bought and sold weakness. And he knew mine.
Our eyes locked. ‘You walked off and left her,’ he said.
‘I offered to marry her,’ I said in instant defence. Foolish, wasted words.
‘But her father turned you down. I remember. When you left, her father threw her into the street.’ He licked his lips. ‘I took her up.’
His statement cut me like a sharp sword.
He spread his hands. ‘Don’t pretend you cared! We are men of the world. You had your turn, and I had mine.’ He laughed at my face. ‘But I lay with her, which you hadn’t the balls to do. And she liked it.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t rape her. Hah! You are a fool. And my men are all around you. If you draw, you’ll be dead in a moment.’
I couldn’t help myself. Rage, jealousy, self-hate — what a stew of low emotions I was. I got to my feet and men crowded in close, and I felt the prick of a knife through my cloak.
‘When I was tired of her — just as you tired of her, no doubt — I arranged for Gelon to meet her. Beautiful, well spoken, hot on the couch and cool in debate — the perfect mistress for the Tyrant. He couldn’t have some low-born porne, could he?’ Anarchos laughed. ‘You still think that you are better than me, lad.’
It is chilling that, in the moments that most matter, we don’t think of our great and noble teachers and their fine thoughts, but instead we think like animals. I wanted to kill him.
Because, of course, he was completely correct. His contempt was merited. And he had probably dealt fairly with her, by his own lights.
But as a man, I didn’t see any of that. I burned — oh, Zeus! — I burned with rage.
Anarchos laughed again. ‘Will killing me make you a better man, hero?’ he asked. ‘Get you gone.’
He stood up.
I stood too.
It may not strike you as one of my boldest, bravest, strongest moments — but it was. I stood up, and I mastered myself. I clamped down on the rage. I told myself that I was not responsible for his actions, but only my own.
‘Tell me how to reach her,’ I said. I kept my voice low.
He looked at me as if I had slapped him.
‘I want to talk to her,’ I said. ‘That is all.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why? I mean, why should I help you?’
I took a deep breath. ‘You and I have a great many things in common.’ I met his eyes. ‘So I’m going to assume that some of the things you do are difficult to live with. And that once in a while, you have to do something to help someone, or become a monster.’
Anarchos paled, but he made himself laugh. ‘I can’t remember when someone last appealed to my beneficent nature.’
I shrugged. ‘I intend to offer her a path away from here, and a great deal of money to start again somewhere.’
‘She hates you. And she won’t hate you less.’
It’s odd. I knew that, but hearing Anarchos say it — in a matter-of-fact voice devoid of sarcasm or deliberate malice — brought home to me that it was true. It made me feel a little sick, the way a man feels when he first discovers that he has a fever.
‘I accept that,’ I said quietly.
He nodded. ‘If I can arrange something, it will be on my grounds and you will be in my hands,’ he said.
‘You’d be a fool to have me killed,’ I said. ‘But I expect you’d weather it.’ I nodded. ‘You know where to find me.’
He nodded. ‘I think you owe me money,’ he said. He actually smiled. ‘The amount might not even be noticeable to you-’ he laughed.
I had to laugh, too. He was right.
He extended an arm. And I clasped it. Somewhere, he and I had taken each other’s measure. I couldn’t manage to hate him.
On the way back to our inn, I saw Seckla with a dozen of our oarsmen, loading mules with ingots of tin — our tin — at a warehouse well above the water. I looked at him, and he shook his head.
‘Don’t ask,’ he said.
I waited for Doola to be done with his latest transaction. Then I sat down and told him everything I’d learned from Anarchos.
He nodded. ‘You behaved well,’ he said.
Gaius shook his head. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Let’s go and gut the crime lord. I’ve always wanted to do him, the bastard. Kill him, grab the girl and go.’
Neoptolymos nodded. ‘I, too, have always wanted him dead.’
Gaius grinned. ‘Think of all the other little people who’d bless our names. He’s a complete bastard. And he raped your woman? Kill him.’
I sighed, because part of me wanted the same thing. I looked at Gaius. ‘Someday, I hope you get to meet my friend Idomeneus.’ I motioned to my pais for a cup of wine. ‘You can’t kill everyone you disagree with.’
‘Says who?’ Gaius asked. ‘If Doola ever finishes dicking around with these merchants, I aim to be the richest magnate in Rome, and if men annoy me, I may well kill them.’
‘I hope you will all come with me one more time, first,’ I said.
Gaius smiled. ‘Where?’
I looked at Neoptolymos. ‘Illyria. I promised to put Neoptolymos back on his throne, and I will. And I intend to kill Dagon.’
Gaius shook his head. ‘But not Anarchos.’
I shook my head. ‘No. It is different.’
Gaius narrowed his eyes. ‘You think too much, brother.’
I have neglected, I think, to mention that all Syracusa was a field of Ares; that men were drilling in the squares, dancing the various forms of the Pyrrhiche, running in armour to harden their bodies. The shops on the Street of Hephaestos were thriving, and helmets, thoraxes, greaves, ankle armour, even armour for men’s feet and elbows poured forth. A lot of it was crap — I walked down the street, and was surprised at how poor some of the work was — but some was magnificent.
And the best work was that of Anaxsikles, who had more than fulfilled his promise. I had known him as a young man, and now he was a man, and a master. I think I mentioned that he was the second son of Dionysus, the master smith at the top of the street, and his work was
… god sent. He had his own shop.
His work struck me like the shock of a nearby lightning strike; like full immersion in icy water. There were three things that distinguished his work: his absolutely perfect planishing, so that even the most complex curve of a helmet or a greave was as smooth as a mirror; his elegance of form, so that I could pick his work out when I paused to lean on my staff and watch the youths drill, because his armour made a man look like a god, whereas other men’s work could make a man’s legs look shorter, or their torsos broader. Anaxsikles’ work had the opposite effect; and finally, the almost total lack of decoration. He was, in his way, a genius, and he had perfected his forms to the point where embellishment was unnecessary. His greaves were completely smooth; his torso cuirasses
