Glory and the Lightning (81 page)

Pericles could now speak, with short gasps. “Pheidias, Iphis, was found poisoned this morning, by food someone brought him, saying it was at my command and from my house. The stranger declared he was my slave, of my household.”

Iphis uttered a strangled word that was a hardly disguised oath. “That is impossible!” he cried in a raised voice. His brown eyes bulged upon Pericles. “I do not believe it.”

“It is true,” said Polybius. “The guards described him, to me, when I sent for them. They were as aghast as myself. They are not regular guards of the prison, Captain. They are soldiers of your own company. I have no reason to believe they are lying. They were sent to me by your superior officer, at my orders, for I had come to believe”—he paused and glanced at Pericles—“I had come to believe that Pheidias was innocent of the charges brought against him, and I wished him well protected.”

Pericles roused himself. “Why did you fear, Polybius, that someone might desire him to die before his trial, so that you ordered those soldiers?”

Polybius hesitated. “Call it an old man’s intuition, an old man’s doubt, after I talked with you yesterday, Pericles. I have never done this before, for any prisoner. I told myself it was folly, and I am not a foolish man as a rule. But still, there was uneasiness within me and I have no name for it.”

“But why should Pheidias be murdered, lord?” asked Iphis, and he moved closer, protectingly, to Pericles. “The charges against him were grave. I have heard it in the city, and from Pericles, himself. He might have been condemned to death, or exiled. Therefore, why was he murdered?”

Again Polybius hesitated. “I have no proof. But I say this: Someone was afraid he would be exonerated and freed. Or someone hated Pericles enough to strike at him in this manner, so he made certain that Pheidias would die. Or—”

“Or what, lord?”

Polybius averted his face. “Or, someone wished to spread the rumor that Pericles, himself, wished Pheidias dead.”

“But why?” cried Iphis. “It is known that they were the closest of friends, closer than brothers!” His strong soldier’s face was astounded.

“Yes,” said Polybius. He thought for a moment, passing his hand over his face. “They killed, as Aesop would say, two birds with one stone. They deprived Pericles of his best friend, and so wounded him almost to the death. They may also have prepared a rumor that Pericles had poisoned Pheidias, so as to make him accursed in the eyes of all Athens.”

Iphis himself shuddered. His thoughts were now only for his general, Pericles, so that he almost forgot Pheidias. “But it will be easy to prove that no such slave is in Pericles’ house, such as came to the prison.”

“They will then say the stranger, the murderer, was a hired assassin. If they can convince Athens of that, then the disaster of what happened to Pheidias will be less than the disaster they will be able to inflict on Pericles.”

“Gods,” Iphis whispered. He poured some wine for Pericles and forced him to swallow it. He put down the goblet and clenched his fists. His eyes glowed with fire. “I would I had them before me, now!”

“I have another thought,” said Polybius. “It is possible that now many will believe that had Pheidias been brought to trial he would have implicated Pericles in peculation and heresy.”

“But the people will not believe any of these things!”

Polybius sighed. “I am an old man and I have never confessed this before: There is nothing the people will not believe of one such as Pericles.”

Pericles now roused himself. He fixed Polybius with a deadly look.

“Tell me now, Polybius, my kinsman. Who were the men who brought charges against Pheidias?”

Polybius threw up his hands. “As Pheidias is dead, there is no harm in telling you, for the evidence is useless. Thucydides, the moneylender, came to me with Polycrates, the head-keeper of the treasury in Athens, saying that Polycrates had come to him, as an old friend, to show him records that Pheidias had received enormous sums for his work on the acropolis, sums of unbelievable amounts, and that on several occasions Pheidias had said this was your command. Pheidias had shown him letters purported to be from you, letters which he took away with him. I made Polycrates swear the most solemn of oaths that this was so, and he repeated his charges and expressed his distress, for was he not a friend of yours and had you not appointed him keeper of the treasury? He implored me not to speak of this to you, for fear of your grief, but his conscience had been tormenting him, he declared. He had come to believe that you gave no such letters to Pheidias. Yet, if the sums became public property he would have to speak, in defense of himself.”

Polybius paused. “Again, he repeated to me that he did not believe that you, Pericles, knew of this robbery, this peculation, and once more implored me not to tell you. I, alas, had no doubt of his sincerity. His distress, it appeared to me, was genuine.”

He added, almost piteously, “Is not Polycrates of a great and noble family? Why should I have doubted his word?”

“Or the word, Polybius, of the old usurer, Thucydides?”

Polybius spread out his old hands. “Yes, I know he has always hated you and complained of your extravagance, among many other things. But he is a friend of Polycrates.”

Pericles stood up suddenly, and then to keep himself from falling grasped the back of his chair. He went to his cabinet and then brought out a scroll. He sat down and began to read it to himself, and his face, white as death, burst into fresh sweat. Then he said, “Polycrates, son of Arrian. Yes, of a great and noble family. But they have become impoverished, through unwise investments and certain fires which destroyed much of their property, fires lit by the Persians. They have never recovered from that calamity, for they are proud. It was to assist Polycrates that I appointed him to the treasury, so that he would have a considerable income. No doubt but that made him hate me.”

He looked at Polybius. “He has been bribed, and bribed well. Moreover, his wife is not of Athenian birth, though only I knew that. In some manner, years ago, the recordkeepers were induced to inscribe her name, though a humble one, in the archives of our city as an Athenian. She was very beautiful. How I came upon the knowledge is not pertinent. I have kept my silence out of compassion.” He flung the scroll from him. “Apparently my own silence was not enough. Others learned of the forgery, and used it against Polycrates.”

Polybius, whose hetaira was an Ionian, and whom he loved passionately for all his age, felt one of the first impulses of pity he had ever known. “Alas,” he said, “Polycrates was under great duress. His wife—and money. Love—and greed. They are not to be underestimated. It is not that I exonerate him. I can only understand why he did this.”

Pericles said to Iphis, “Take some of your men and bring Polycrates to me at once. And Thucydides.”

CHAPTER 15

Polycrates, a man near Pericles’ own age, was tall and athletic and patrician of appearance, with a long pale face and large brown eyes and an esthetic expression. He dressed soberly, as befitted the position he held, which once had made Pericles remark, “The sanctity of money is held greater by the people than the sanctity of God. Let the philosophers say, in their innocence, that money is of no importance. The people know better, and those who engage in money do so with the reverence of priests.” As the keeper of the treasury, and as the man who had insisted that Athens coin her own gold instead of allowing Persia to do that, Polycrates never permitted a jest in his presence which might belittle either money or his calling. To him that was sacrilege.

Thucydides, not to be confused with the historian of the same name, was, in the eyes of Polycrates a man to be respected, for all he was a money-lender and therefore pernicious in his dealings. He was rich, and despite his own aristocratic lineage Polycrates held some deference for the old man, though the latter had no ancestors of which he could boast. He was short of stature, broad of shoulders and thin of body, with a mane of white hair and a thick white beard, which was like gleaming silk. It was his only physical asset, for he had little sharp eyes and a nose like a vulture, to which many of those who owed him money likened him.

The two men had been kept separated by the soldiers, so that neither could speak to the other, though this did not prevent them from exchanging glances of fear and dread while they were being conducted to the presence of Pericles. Neither had yet heard of the death of Pheidias, for neither had been in the plot to kill him, for their companions in conspiracy to arrest and try Pheidias had thought it wise not to mention that part of the scheme to them. First of all, they thought their fellow aristocrat, Polycrates, had become too prudent since he had been master of the treasury, and though he hated Pericles for what he called the “despoiling of the people’s money,” and because Pericles had befriended him when he was in dire need, he was too circumspect to be a murderer, and too self-protective. Thucydides might be shrill and hate Pericles for certain personal reasons, such as Pericles’ prosecution of him for outrageous usury, and he might desire that Pericles be ousted from office and that his friends be imprisoned or exiled. But he was too cautious by nature, and too cowardly, to sanction bold killing. As a youth he had been expelled from the army after the first month, for those two traits of character which the officers hardly considered soldierly, even the urbane Athenian officers who were not of too strong a military mind.

Both Polycrates and Thucydides believed they were to be brought to Pericles because in some fashion Pericles had heard of the plot to imprison Pheidias, and to bring him to trial and eventual exile, or, in the last extremity, to be condemned to death by the proper and legal authorities. But to engage privately in murder, or sanction it illegally and in cold blood, was beyond their temperaments. They had both persuaded themselves, when uneasy thoughts came to them, that they had acted virtuously, even Polycrates who had forged the records against the innocent man. Polycrates had actually begun to believe that Pericles had swindled the treasury for his grandiose plans for Athens, and had given some of the booty to Pheidias, for was not his extravagance bankrupting the city? Therefore, the forging of the records against Pheidias was justified, if false. There were many ways to catch a felon, including criminality, itself, if the law were impotent.

Polycrates, being more intelligent than Thucydides, had brought himself to the thought, just before entering the presence of Pericles: Of a surety Pheidias has blasphemed Athene Parthenos, and doubtless was given large sums from the treasury by Pericles, and this will be proved at the trial; Pericles intends to intimidate me—but I have friends almost as powerful as he, and they will not desert me. Thucydides was less trusting in his terrified thoughts, and he said to himself, If our friends betray us then I shall embroil them to the utmost. So they composed themselves as well as they could and when conducted into the offices of Pericles they had lost some of their terror.

They were astonished to see the King Archon there, for was he not to preside at the trial of Pheidias, which would be held despite the delay in the appearance of the chief witness, Polycrates? Even Pericles, himself, could not stop the trial and would be forced to release Polycrates, despite any of his accusations, which he could not prove. One has only to be valiant, said the most unvaliant of men, Polycrates. But could it be that the King Archon, before the trial, wished to hear his testimony to ascertain if it were valid? Polycrates, at this, gave the King Archon a faint smile, and was dismayed when Polybius averted his head. As for Thucydides, he could only gape, for his mind was not as agile as that of Polycrates, and he was an old man.

The two culprits then dared to look at Pericles who was sitting tall and stiffly in his chair, and they shrank when they saw his face and again began to tremble with terror. He studied their countenances. He knew both well, particularly Polycrates, whom he had assisted so generously. As he was a most perceptive and astute man, and understood human nature in all its varieties and venalities, he had his first doubts. Polycrates was quite capable of bending under harsh pressure, but he was not a violent man. Thucydides was an avaricious usurer and swindler and a vulgarian on his mother’s side. Therefore, he was also a coward. He might be party to libel and slander and covert attacks, and he was notoriously malicious. He loved money as a man loves his mistress; he would not endanger that money—however he might jeopardize his life in the pursuit of it—by engaging in murder. It was not in the character of either man, and Pericles wondered if they knew that murder had been plotted by their fellow conspirators. He doubted it. It was more likely that they had never been informed by their more malignant companions.

Nevertheless, he said to them in a quiet and frightening voice, “What have you two murderers to say for yourselves?”

He saw that both of them were instantly stunned. He had spoken to them while they were bowing to him, and they stood paralysed, half-bent, and their faces were grotesque with shock, their mouths dropping open, their eyes bulging. They stared at him, unblinking, as at a basilisk. Thucydides’ ophidian eyes did not waver; those of Polycrates were dazed.

“Why did you murder Pheidias, that great artist?” he asked, for they were unable to speak, and seemed not to breathe.

Polycrates, the man more likely by breeding to find his voice first, gasped, “‘Murder,’ lord? Surely you are jesting!”

“Jesting,” repeated Thucydides, wavering on his feet.

Pericles said in that dreadfully quiet voice, “I am not jesting. He was poisoned early this morning, in his cell.” Now he raised his voice so that that it cracked in the room, “What had he done to you that you plotted against him and killed him?”

“Gods,” groaned Polycrates, and he turned feebly to the King Archon and held out his hands as if for succor. But the King Archon’s countenance was as pitiless as Pericles’. Polycrates then turned to Pericles and cried out in anguish, “If he was murdered I knew it not, and had no part in it! Before the gods, lord, I swear it!”