The Ionia Sanction (36 page)

“The slaves and the guards who stand at his back will swear none of us touched his cup. Barzanes will investigate the kitchen and find no one there responsible. He will, however, find a suicide note in Themistocles’ own hand.”

“Impossible,” Cleophantus said.

“I’ve already written it. I copied the writing on a note he sent me.”

Mnesiptolema thought about it. “It might work,” she said, and Archeptolis nodded in agreement. “We can do this.”

“I still don’t like it,” Nicomache said.

Mnesiptolema snorted in disgust. “Too late to back out now.”

Cleophantus said, “It’s what we agreed, Nicomache. Think of what happened to us after Father was condemned. Do you want to go through it all over again? Imagine walking down the street if Father becomes Satrap of Athens. They won’t dare spit on us with the Persians protecting us, but you know they’ll want to.”

They all of them nodded. But I couldn’t stop for a moment.

There were still preparations to make, and very little time in which to make them.

18

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

Six of us sat down to dinner. Themistocles at the head of the table, Archeptolis to his right, then Mnesiptolema and Nicomache. Cleophantus to Themistocles’ left, and then me.

The food was on the table, and although Themistocles ate heartily, his children seemed to have less appetite. Mnesiptolema entered bearing the tray of six cups of wine. She had pulled one of the cups from the kitchen shortly before, and I had returned it to her filled with wine and chipped. Now she offered me my choice of cups from the tray, and I took one nonchalantly, examined it closely to make absolutely sure there was no chip. Never before or since have I displayed such an interest in crockery.

Nicomache’s turn was next. Her hand shook as she reached out, and I was sure Themistocles must see through the plot. I glanced at him but he seemed preoccupied. He frowned, his chin resting in his right hand and his eyes downcast.

Nicomache’s hand shook so much she dropped hers. Wine the color of blood flowed across the table.

Mnesiptolema hissed, “Idiot!” She signaled to a slave to come sop up the mess while she moved on to Archeptolis. He took the nearest cup and sipped, without even a glance to ensure he was not taking poison. I realized he and Mnesiptolema had arranged she would present a safe cup nearest, but even so I marveled at his sangfroid. He and Mnesiptolema were fine conspirators; I felt honored to be plotting with them, and made a mental note never to trust either.

Cleophantus, looking like he was about to cry but resolute nevertheless, reached for his cup when, “I hope I’m not interrupting.” Barzanes stood in the doorway.

Themistocles looked up. “Interrupting? Dinner is just starting. Do join us.”

“With pleasure.” Barzanes took the empty seat next to me and held out his hand for wine. “Oh, but I see there is only one cup for each, and I am one too many.”

“No, no, take mine,” said Themistocles. “I’ll order another for myself.”

Cleophantus and Mnesiptolema had been frozen. Now Cleophantus clutched a cup in a spasm and Mnesiptolema’s face registered consternation and fear. She hesitated.

Themistocles said, “Mnesiptolema, what ails you, girl? Offer Barzanes a cup.”

Mnesiptolema woodenly stepped forward and bent down to Barzanes with the two remaining cups. As she did she twisted the tray in her hands so that one particular cup was closest to him.

Good try, I thought to myself. That showed presence of mind. Barzanes’ hand touched the first cup, and hesitated. “There is one here chipped,” he said. “As the last present I shall take the least presentable.” He reached forward and took the second cup.

Mnesiptolema opened her mouth, shut it again, placed the last cup before her own seat, and sat down. She looked over to me as if to ask, What do we do now? I think Barzanes caught the look. He held up his cup, inspecting the decoration. To the table at large he said, “Would you indulge a Persian at a table of Hellenes? You have a custom, I know, called the Loving Cup where the guests pass a cup of wine one to the next. In Persia we might offer our food to another. In this company though, I think the Hellene custom best, particularly since a Hellene is to be my wife.” He smiled at Nicomache, the first I had seen him do so. Nicomache’s answering smile was brittle. She said nothing.

Barzanes continued, “So in the spirit of the Loving Cup of the Hellenes, I begin by giving the first taste to my neighbor, my future brother-in-law.”

Barzanes passed along the chipped cup. Now all eyes were upon me. Barzanes had arranged it so there was no possible way I could avoid drinking.

Nicomache whimpered.

There was nothing else I could do. I closed my eyes and drank.

Instantly I clutched my throat and choked and coughed for a moment, before I was able to say, “I’m sorry. It went down the wrong way.” I passed the cup on to Cleophantus. “Your turn.”

Cleophantus stared at me as if I were one of Barzanes’ Daevas. “But … but…”

A slave carried in the transparent drinking horn from which I had drunk at the banquet, and set it before Themistocles. Themistocles raised it and offered his favorite toast. “We would have been undone, had we not been undone.”

Themistocles downed the wine and set the cup upon the table. He began to speak, but instead clutched a hand over his heart and looked at us as if surprised.

He said, “I need to lie down.”

He rose and swayed, visibly struggling to stay upright. Two slaves rushed to hold him.

Themistocles stared at each of us around the table. His eyes locked with mine for what seemed an age. He smiled and said, “Polycrates…” Then he choked.

I recalled his words of months before. Of the death of Polycrates he’d said, “I admire any man who can carry off such a devious plot.… If a man could trick
me
like that, I’d have to admire his skills.”

The weight was too much for the slaves. Themistocles fell.

“Cursed Daevas!” Barzanes kneeled at Themistocles’ side. The rest of us crowded around. Themistocles convulsed on the floor. There was nothing we could do except hold him down, but eventually the twitchings slowed to nothing, and as they did, his breathing became ragged and his face turned bright red. A moment later he lay still. The old witch had been right; it was like a knife to the heart.

Barzanes looked for any sign of breath. “He’s dead.”

Behind me, Nicomache wept.

Barzanes said, “How did this thing happen? A sudden illness? What is this?” He picked up a scroll case lying beside Themistocles. He turned it around in his hand, puzzled, before unfurling the contents.

The scroll case had come from the rack in Archeptolis and Mnesiptolema’s room. This was the scroll on which I’d forged a suicide note. I’d dropped it and kicked it along the floor while everyone watched Themistocles die.

Barzanes read, “‘My children, the war against the Persians was the greatest triumph of my life. I cannot bring myself to undo it, but nor can I refuse the orders of Artaxerxes. I therefore choose the only honorable path, in the hope he will understand and maintain you in your positions. Farewell.’

“An odd way to commit suicide,” Barzanes said. “Before one’s family, without warning, during a dinner.”

“Not so odd, perhaps,” I said. “Among some Hellenes it was once the custom for a man to take hemlock when he reached sixty years. The family would stand by the man as he reached for the cup.”

“But he offered no forewarning.”

“Perhaps he felt, if you knew, you would have stopped him?”

“It would have been my duty, yes.”

He looked me in the eye. I looked back, keeping tight rein on my thoughts. I knew what decision Barzanes had to make, and it was important I didn’t appear to help him.

Barzanes said, his voice low, “You could not have known I would come here. You
could not.
I did not decide myself until the last moment. You could not have known Themistocles would call for another cup.”

“No, of course not.”

“You
could not
have known,” he said as if to convince himself. “There will be an investigation, but first, the Great King must hear of this at once.” Barzanes strode to the exit.

I almost shouted in the silence of the room, “Barzanes! Before you go.”

He stopped and turned to me. “Yes?”

“You have a long ride ahead of you. Why not lighten your load in one pocket?”

He was puzzled for a moment before he took my meaning and said, “You speak truth.” He turned to one of the guards at the door. “Release the priestess.”

Barzanes turned back to me and said, “What’s done is done. I thank you, Athenian. My pocket is indeed much lighter.” Everyone in the room must have thought Barzanes meant my reminder to release Diotima, the need to hold her having passed, but I wondered if Barzanes had thanked me for something more sinister. If he could convince himself Themistocles had died by his own hand, but left behind a workable battle plan, then all his ethical problems were over.

Barzanes left the room at a run. I could hear him running up the steps of the palace two at a time in the direction of Themistocles’ office.

The children of Themistocles were dazed.

“What happened?” Cleophantus asked, and “Who invited Barzanes?”

“I did,” I said simply. “I sent him an anonymous note that a plot against the life of Themistocles would be carried out during dinner. I told the truth, after all, didn’t I?”

All four of them stared at me in shock. “Traitor,” Mnesiptolema hissed. Archeptolis’ hand went to his side; I’m sure he would have drawn a weapon and slain me on the spot, had he one. Cleophantus was ashen and Nicomache shaking.

Cleophantus asked, “But why? Why make everything go wrong? Barzanes might have taken the poisoned cup. He did take the cup, curse it, and you drank it. Why aren’t you dead?”

“None of the cups Mnesiptolema brought in were poisoned,” I said. “I had to make it absolutely certain, in Barzanes’ eyes, that I could not possibly have committed this crime. What’s more, I couldn’t trust you amateurs to get it right. I had to make sure the poison was in the one and only cup that would go straight to Themistocles. That would be the one he called for himself.”

“But you were here at the table the whole time. You couldn’t possibly have poisoned his wine. So if it wasn’t you, then who?”

“The only person I could trust,” I said.

“I did it.” They all turned to see Asia standing in the doorway. She fainted.

19

A small rock holds back a great wave.

Araxes had been right, returning Asia to her home had turned her into a player in the game. Yet if she hadn’t been there, my mission would have failed, Athens may have fallen, and a murder would have gone unavenged. Now she lay in a fever in the women’s quarters. Diotima assured me she’d recover, given time.

Barzanes had grabbed the scroll box of Themistocles’ master plan, had ordered up Ajax, the most powerful beast in the stables, and had ridden into the night with the precious box, and a squad of horse soldiers to protect it. He would not stop until he arrived at the Great King’s palace in Susa. There he would be disappointed to discover that Nicomache, in the afternoon, on my instruction, had replaced her father’s battle plan with Diotima’s copy of the Book of Heraclitus. I hoped the Great King found it educational.

I’d held in my hands the most precious and sensitive document in the world: the master plan of how to conquer Hellas. I read it through once, exclaiming from time to time as I did, and memorized every word. Who knew, maybe one day I would need this plan myself. Themistocles had taught me an important lesson: always leave a second way.

When I finished, I handed it to Cleophantus, who carried the scroll to the burning brazier of Barzanes’ God. Cleophantus tore off pieces of parchment and fed them to the fire until every scrap of it was ashes.

Barzanes was sure to be in a bad mood when he returned, and I didn’t want to be here to suffer it, but Diotima insisted we stay a few days while she nursed Asia. The two of them spent every waking moment talking. They’d discovered they had a lot in common.

The Olympic Games were due to begin any day, with a general truce, declared by three runners who crisscross the Hellene lands. The runners didn’t come as far as Magnesia, but we knew. Diotima and I planned to take ship and sail direct to Elis, and thence to Olympia, where Pericles was sure to be. This was a mission report I couldn’t wait to deliver.

The family had begun the preparations to bury Themistocles the next morning, even as the populace of Magnesia gathered at the gates to wail and grieve for the man whose leadership had improved their lives. The people built a pyre in the middle of the agora, and the family gathered his ashes.

Cleophantus and I waited outside the palace, for Diotima to join us. He’d given us mounts for the journey to Ephesus. He said, “The people are already talking about erecting a statue to Father in the agora. I think it’s a good idea. He did good work here, for all that he felt Magnesia was his low point. I don’t know what we’ll do with his ashes. He wanted to be taken back to Athens, but…” Cleophantus shrugged. “I don’t know that the Athenians would have him back, even dead.”

“Can I make a suggestion? Take him to Piraeus. Piraeus was his triumph. The people there will welcome him.” I thought of the harbormaster who revered Themistocles. “Erect a monument to him on the headland. Then he can watch the most powerful fleet in the world come and go, the fleet he created, with which he defeated the Persians.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to the others about it. Your plot was brilliant, Nico. Brilliant, and simple and devious and ruthless all at the same time; the sort of thing I’d have expected from Father. I can barely believe you fooled the Persian.”

“I did what any Hellene would do. I lied to him.”

“And you said you weren’t an assassin!” Cleophantus laughed and clapped me on the back.