The Ionia Sanction (25 page)

He shook his head. “A third for me ain’t enough. I got a family to feed.”

I’d offered him twice what I paid the sea captain on the docks at Ephesus, when I sent my first message. I sighed and put another handful in front of him. I shifted position so my back blocked the view for everyone in the room.

He nodded.

“I’ll need you to swear.”

“I ain’t Hellene; I’m Phrygian.”

“I guessed. Pick your deity.”

He nodded. “I swear by Cybele to deliver your letter, an’ if I don’t, may she make my dyes run.”

“It’ll do.” I pushed the coins across to him. “Thanks.”

He scooped the coins into a bag and downed my wine in one swig, then stood, wincing as he did. He picked up the tablets. “No offense, stranger, but I gotta get me some sleep. Got an early start tomorrow.”

“Have a safe trip.”

“Hey, you didn’t ask me my name.”

“No, I didn’t.” He was safer that way. The cloth seller had driven a hard bargain, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t want his child to die either.

Mission accomplished. Or this part, anyway. Now all I had to do was work out who killed Brion, uncover what part Thorion had played—I hoped a small one to save his family—and discover why Asia had been stolen.

The innkeeper offered me a meal—he said it was a local traditional dish—but I declined. As I walked out of the inn, the troop Barzanes had been addressing marched by in column. They took the bridge going east and kept on going.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was all downhill from here.

14

To have a great man for an intimate friend seems pleasant to those who have never tried it. Those who have, fear it.

The guard at the gate caught me the moment we returned and sent me straight to Barzanes. I was led to a room all too close to the prison.

Barzanes looked up from something he read and said, “You left the palace and walked about the city this morning. Why?”

“Merely looking around.”

“Nothing else?”

“Would I lie to you?” I said, trying to look innocent.

“You Hellenes lie as easily as you breathe.”

“And Persians are honest men?”

“We teach our children three things: to ride the horse, to shoot the bow, and always to speak the truth. Truth in our language is
arta.
The name of our Great King Artaxerxes, in our language, means, ‘He whose reign is through truth.’ Seek truth, Athenian, and your life will be judged well at its end.”

“Speaking of truth, have you learned anything about the death of Brion?”

“I am dealing with it. The murder of the wretched merchant is a crime against the state.”

“Then you agree it’s murder.”

“Of course I do.” Barzanes scowled. “Disorder and crime is hateful to the Great King, and even more so to the Wise Lord, Ahura Mazda. This killer is beloved of the Daevas; his soul will writhe in a sea of molten iron for eternity.”

“Daevas? Soul?” I asked. “What are they?”

Barzanes looked upon me in wonderment. “Ah, the Hellenes do not worship the Good Religion. It would do your soul good to learn the truth of Ahura Mazda.”

“Sure,” I said, disinterested, but there was no point in antagonizing him over some ritual.

“I notice in you, Athenian, an unfortunate tendency to meddle in affairs that don’t concern you. In this place, it is I who delivers the King’s justice. I advise you not to get in its way.”

*   *   *

I returned to my room to find two things of great interest. The first was a command, couched in the form of an invitation, to have lunch with Themistocles. The invitation would normally have grabbed my full attention—and caused me to speculate about what he wanted—except the second thing I saw was two wax tablets, tied face-to-face, lying on my bed.

Had the cloth maker changed his mind and returned them? I picked up the package and saw my name, and the name of the inn I’d stayed at in Ephesus, written on the outside. The name of the inn had been crossed through and underneath it a different hand had written, Somewhere in Magnesia. Now I understood. I’d told the innkeeper at Ephesus where I would be and left payment for any messages to be forwarded. These tablets had arrived from Athens; the innkeeper had found someone traveling in this direction and they in turn had found me at the palace and left the tablets. It was exactly the sort of loose connection I relied on to get my warning to Pericles.

This was the reply to my first message, the one I had sent before leaving Ephesus, when all I knew was that Brion had disappeared. I wound the wrapping cord around the tube. It said:

PERICLES, SON OF XANTHIPPUS, HAS THIS TO SAY TO NICOLAOS, SON OF SOPHRONISCUS: WHAT IN HADES DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? DEEPLY DISAPPOINTED TO LEARN NO PROGRESS TO DATE. ALL OF ATHENS NEEDS YOU TO DELIVER ON YOUR MISSION. SITUATION HERE EXTREMELY DIFFICULT. OUR ARMY IN EGYPT NOW FULLY COMMITTED. FLEET ENGAGED IN CYPRUS. RESERVES SO LOW WE’RE INDUCTING OLD MEN AND BOYS TO FIGHT. IF YOU DISCOVER THE THREAT, RETURN HOME WITH THE INFORMATION IMMEDIATELY, EVEN IF YOU HAVEN’T RECOVERED THE PROXENOS OR TRACKED DOWN ARAXES.
FIND THAT INFORMATION!
OR DON’T BOTHER COMING BACK. PERICLES.

Egypt? What in Hades was our army doing in
Egypt
? Pericles spoke as if it were common knowledge, which since Egypt was a satrapy of Persia it probably was. The Persians there had probably already noticed thousands of hoplites trying to kill them.

Pericles would get a shock when my letter arrived. If Athens was as overextended as Pericles described, then a squad of angry fishwives attacking from the east had a fair chance of taking the city, let alone tens of thousands of armed and dangerous Persians.

Most upsetting was Pericles’ final order: “Or don’t bother coming back.” I dropped the tube in disgust. Of course, Pericles couldn’t know how much I’d achieved since my first letter, but even Themistocles valued my abilities more than that.

I felt distinctly unloved.

*   *   *

“You told me long ago Brion owned an estate. Did it include a farm?” I asked Diotima.

“Several.”

“In Magnesia?”

“No idea. I was his friend, not his estate manager. Why do you ask?”

“Because your clean friend had dirty nails.” I told her what I’d learned at Apollo’s Retreat.

“How odd,” Diotima mused. “Brion with muddy feet. The mud doesn’t have to come from an estate. Perhaps he went fishing in the stream?”

“Or the Maeander River. Maybe he fell in? Cleophantus tells me it’s easy to—oh.”

Diotima looked puzzled. “Oh?”

“There’s a daimon whispering in my ear. He just gave me an idea.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“If you’re nice to me.”

Diotima poured cold water down my back until I told her the story I had from Cleophantus of the farmer drowning in the Maeander.

Diotima frowned. “It’s an interesting thought. But if so, why?”

I shrugged. “We’ve plenty of facts, but few connections.”

“Maybe we’ll know more after we’ve searched Nessie’s room.”

“What?”

“I’ve been working. What would you say if I told you Mnesiptolema was seen leading Brion into the palace late at night?”

I sat up straighter. “This happened?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d say they were having an affair.”

“So would I, but the slaves I had the story from—it was the two we saw dumping slops in the sullage pit the other night—say they saw her let a man in through a side gate and they only saw it only the once, though they empty garbage every night.”

“Was it Brion they saw?”

“The description matches, but it’s not certain.”

“This incident wasn’t just before Brion died, by any chance, was it?”

“You’re right: it wasn’t. It happened about three months ago.”

“Oh.” I thought for a moment. “Here’s an idea: what if Archeptolis caught Brion with Mnesiptolema, and wreaked revenge?”

“If he did, there’d be no case to answer.”

I nodded. Athenian law on this is simple. The male half of an adulterous couple may be killed on the spot as long as there are independent witnesses to back up the husband’s claim. Of course the objection was, “But we aren’t in Athens. What’s the law here?”

“Whatever the Great King says it is, I should imagine. The important point is, at first Nessie denied a connection to Brion, then Nicomache revealed the family history, and Nessie admitted to it but no more. Now we find the connection between Nessie and Brion was stronger still. If there’s any correspondence, it will be in her room.”

“You’re right, we have to search.”

“When?”

“This afternoon, after I’ve had lunch with Themistocles.”

“You’re having lunch with Themistocles? Whatever for?”

“I have no idea.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“He said I’m safe as long as I don’t leave town.”

“That was before you started sending out secret messages.”

“If he suspected anything, lunch would be served in the dungeon. Anyway, I have other things to worry about. I have a message from Pericles.” I told her what it said, unable to hold in the bitterness. “I’ve been thinking, Diotima. When this is over, I might freelance.”

“A freelance agent?”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d starve to death waiting for work might be one reason.”

“I don’t see why. Araxes seems to be doing well enough for himself.”

“You don’t want to be like Araxes, do you?”

“No, but Pericles is cutting me off, that’s my work gone. I’ll be forced back to sculpting for my father, and he won’t listen to me about anything important. So why go back?”

“Nico! You wouldn’t leave Athens, would you?”

“Well, what’s Athens done for me?”

Diotima said, “‘Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country’s cause.’”

“What’s that?”

“Homer, from the
Iliad.
Hector says it right before he goes out to face Achilles. I thought you might like a reminder.”

*   *   *

Lunch with Themistocles was a mêlée of food and questions. The slaves brought one dish after another and removed the empties in a steady flow, while another slave filled my wine cup to the brim. Themistocles swirled his own wine and said, “Tell me, Nicolaos, what are your plans for the future?”

I said, “To be a leader in Athens, but my father doesn’t have the money.”

“You don’t need money to get ahead in Athens. Look at me.”

I did. The fleshy face, the overfed protruding stomach, the thick legs and arms. I suppose that’s the risk you take when you’re a satrap, governing a small province, living in a palace and eating sumptuous food brought to you by obsequious slaves. It was a risk I’d be willing to take if someone offered me the job.

“Let me tell you, young man, some advice my father, Neocles, gave me when I was the age you are now. We were walking along the beach at Phaleron, which in those days was the graveyard for ships too old or broken for service. Men had stripped them of everything useful and left the rest to decay. My father asked me as we walked what I intended for my future. I told him I wanted to be a leader of Athens.

“My father pointed to the abandoned hulks, bleached and rotting in the sun, and said, ‘That, my boy, is how the Athenian people treat their leaders when they have no further use for them.’”

Themistocles sighed. “I didn’t listen to him, of course. It’s the way of things for young men to ignore their elders. In fact, if you paid any attention to the same warning I’m passing on to you, it would mean there was something wrong with you. The Gods give us young men to keep the world fresh and interesting.” He held out his cup and a slave took it to refill.

“I don’t understand, Themistocles. First you say I shouldn’t let money stop me, then you warn me against my goal. Which would you have me do?”

“You must pursue power, of course. I merely warn you to be prepared for changing fortune. Any man’s plan can fail, even mine: the Gods can turn against you; bad luck; poor judgment; important facts unknown; amazing coincidences; you never know what can go wrong. Always have an alternative plan.”

“Such as escape to the Persians?”

“If necessary.”

“But what of loyal—” I stopped, because I was about to say possibly the most stupid thing ever.

But Themistocles laughed and said, “What of loyalty to your city? This is the way your loyalties should run: first to yourself, second to your family.”

“Then to your city,” I finished for him with the standard Hellene triune.

“No, it finishes with family. Your city is an accident of birth, and why should something as important as loyalty be assigned by accident? What if Barzanes had been born in Athens and I in Susa. Would he then be loyal to Athens, and I to the Great King?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I stopped. I had no idea.

“You see how arbitrary loyalty is? Every man should use his intelligence to decide his loyalty, rather than have it thrust upon him by wherever his mother happened to be lying when she spawned him. The only constant, lad, is family, the immutable, undeniable connection of blood.”

He paused to drain his cup. At once a slave took it to refill. I noticed Themistocles’ breathing was a trifle wheezy. Despite his bulk, Themistocles had drunk too much.

He said, “I’m sure someone has spilled the news to you I’m writing a plan for the next attack on Hellas. It’s an open secret, impossible to hide.”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“Everything I have, I owe to Artaxerxes. He welcomed me with open arms, even though defeating his father was my greatest achievement, the one thing for which I might be remembered. Now I’m helping Artaxerxes avenge his father against … me.” He chuckled.

“I know I am safe telling you this, because you’re ambitious, and you’ve seen enough of Athenian politics to know I gave good advice when I said the wise man keeps his options fluid. You might want to warn Athens, though you’d be a fool to try, Barzanes would catch you for sure—”

I smiled, knowing the message was already on its way.