The Pericles Commission (13 page)

When I returned Diotima was sitting. Her knuckles were skinless and bleeding, her face bloated from sobbing.

“Thank you for telling me, Nicolaos. I’d like to be alone now. You can go back without me.” She was watching the waters of the river.

I had a terrible premonition. “I think that would be a very bad idea. Come along.” I helped her up. “You haven’t found your father’s killer yet. Isn’t that still important to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then worry about the rest of it later. If the worst occurs you can always run back to Mantinea.”

Diotima laughed bitterly. “Didn’t you work that out? Mother was a common whore. There wasn’t a good family, there wasn’t a former husband, and she was never a priestess, virgin or otherwise.” She stood up. “Now you can escort me home.”

We met Pythax as we turned onto Diotima’s street. He was looking as big and as tough and as mean as ever, and he didn’t look happy.

“You!” he growled at me in greeting. “As if the city weren’t in enough uproar, do you know that kid of the bowyer’s is in the Agora, swearing you killed his dad?”

“Am I under arrest then?”

“No one’s paying any attention to the boy…yet. Think of this as a friendly warning. You better avoid the Agora until the kid’s gone. I don’t need any more trouble than I already got.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“And another thing, there’s some guy called Rizon been hassling the archons. He says you knocked him down in his own home. It seems to me you’ve been at one murder, close to another, arrived late for two more, and been in the middle of the worst riot we’ve had in years. You want to watch yourself, little boy. You don’t want to go getting a reputation for violence.” He cracked his knuckles.

“I’ll remember that.”

“See that you do.”

“Who’s Rizon?” Diotima asked me.

“No one you want to know,” I growled.

Pythax studied Diotima for the first time.

“You Ephialtes’ girl?”

“Yes.”

Pythax grunted. “Sorry about your dad.”

“Why, hello there!” a voice purred behind us. Euterpe had walked up while we were speaking with Pythax and I hadn’t noticed. A slave stood behind her holding her purse and another held an umbrella to keep her in the shade.

“Hello, Mother,” Diotima said unevenly.

“Who’s your friend?” She swept her eyes up and down Pythax and smiled.

Since I wasn’t the recipient of her undivided attention I was able to keep myself under control. Pythax was not so lucky. I find it hard to believe to this day, but Pythax actually blushed. His bulging muscles seemed to expand even more and he stood taller. He eyed Euterpe with the same level of interest she was displaying. The grizzled warrior and the smooth, sophisticated woman made an interesting contrast. In her case, I assumed it was professional interest.

I said, “May I introduce Pythax, Chief of the Scythians.”

“A barbarian! I love a he-man.” She tore her attention from the big man enough to notice me. “You brought two of them, dear? That shows ambition.”

Diotima said through gritted teeth. “We’re talking,
Mother.
”

“Ah, well. You must come for a cool drink. It’s so hot and dusty in the street, don’t you think?” She took Pythax by his unresisting arm and led us into her receiving room. She sat him down and offered him wine. I watched with amusement as his eyes tracked her form when she swayed to the wine cooler.

“I can tell you’re the strong, silent type. Do you speak?” she teased him.

All too frequently, I wanted to answer, but instead I smiled inwardly as Pythax struggled to work out what one should say to a beautiful woman. Diotima leaned over to me and muttered unhappily, “This is cruel.”

Pythax said gruffly, “Yes, I do, lady, when there’s something to be said. But not to a lady who mocks me.” He put down his wine and stood. “I’ll be going now.”

Euterpe was astonished. So was I.

“What was that? What do you mean?”

“We never met before but you’re pawing me all over. I know you can’t mean that with a rough old man like me. I ain’t that pretty, so I reckon you’re mocking me on purpose. Well, Euterpe, you might be a highborn lady, and I might be a peasant ruffian, but I don’t take that from anyone.”

Euterpe was flustered. She took a step back and put her hands to her mouth as if she were genuinely upset.

“I…I’m sorry, Pythax. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just my way of dealing with men. I don’t know any other.” She put a hand lightly on his arm. “Please stay a moment.”

Diotima said quickly, “Yes, please stay, Pythax.”

He looked at Diotima with narrowed eyes, then at me. I nodded encouragement. Then he sat and picked up his wine once more. He muttered, “Sorry, I’m not used to…” and drifted into silence.

Euterpe sat on a couch apart from Pythax. Not only did she not lean back, she didn’t even cross her legs. She looked particularly uncomfortable.

I thought it was a good time to change the subject. “Euterpe, since we’re here, I have some questions about Tanagra. Did Ephialtes know anyone there?”

“We have had this conversation before. I didn’t involve myself in politics.”

“Did anyone from Tanagra come to visit?”

“He never received any visitors here.”

“Did he ever speak of enemies?”

“Constantly. How many would you like?”

“Any from Tanagra?”

“No. All conservatives.”

“And you didn’t see Ephialtes the morning he died? You didn’t come out of your rooms before he left?”

“Not during that argument! I wasn’t going down there and getting involved. I’d had enough of it the night before.”

“What argument?” I hadn’t heard this before. I looked at Diotima, taken aback, who in turn was staring at Euterpe in fury.

“Mother, must you bring that up
again
?”

“I didn’t, dear, your boyfriend did.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. You couldn’t wait to say it, could you, Father wanting me to marry?”

“Well, he did, dear Diotima. Really, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. It’s not as if you seem to have any objections to men.” She glanced at me slyly and winked.

“Marrying for what I can get out of it is no different than selling my body.”

Euterpe turned to Pythax and me. “Diotima has invented a philosophy of love. Apparently this means she must never have sex unless she does it from her own heart. So she refuses to take advantage of any man and instead must be taken advantage of. Both Ephialtes and I wanted her to marry. Ephialtes even began the negotiations and could have had the whole thing arranged months ago. But the ungrateful wretch refused to cooperate, and since she wasn’t his legal offspring he couldn’t force the issue like any sensible father would. Really, she was most stupid. She could have been a citizen by now.”

“And be a whore like you? I’d rather die!” Diotima shouted in fury.

“I am not a whore, and you will kindly remember the difference between a hetaera and the common pornoi,” Euterpe said between gritted teeth.

“Ah yes. Hetaerae get paid more.”

From the way Diotima had made the accusation I could tell this was a sore spot for her mother.

“I am what I am, and you will remember it is what I did to look after you, you ungrateful, pompous, righteous little ass of a child. You know nothing of what it takes to survive. Nothing! You’ve never been hungry. You’ve been pampered from the moment you were born. I gave you the best of everything. And, yes, to do it I had to lie on my back and spread my legs, but I did it for you.”

Diotima said sweetly, “I think you have that the wrong way around, Mother dear. You spread your legs, so you had me to look after. The spreading comes before the child.”

“Is that what you think? Then let me tell you something, wretched ingrate. The moment you were born your father picked you up. He was taking you away. Yes, that’s right, Ephialtes was taking you to Ceramicus. He said he had no place for a girl-child, a son might have been different, but an illegitimate girl was good for nothing but the urns. I begged him not to,
begged
. I offered him anything in the world, everything I had, if only he would leave me my child. And so he did, and the price I paid for you was to be bound to him for the rest of my life.”

Diotima swallowed and said nothing. There are two ways to dispose of an unwanted child, either leave them on the hillside to die of exposure, or drop them in a funeral urn in the cemetery and walk away.

“He let you live for love of me. Dropped you on the bedclothes and walked away. And when he took an interest, arranged that marriage, I thought, no one will ever be able to do to my little girl what he did to me. The wife of a citizen can keep her children, some of them anyway. She doesn’t have to watch them all be taken away to die. She has a place, some security. And then, when you refused to marry, I saw the look on his face and I remembered the day you were born and I think he was thinking he should have taken you away after all.”

Diotima was crying. “Oh, Mother!” Diotima threw herself into Euterpe’s arms and the two of them sobbed.

Pythax and I let ourselves out. We were both feeling somewhat glum and embarrassed by the women’s emotions.

“Pythax, did any of that make sense to you? I mean, the way they got so carried away?”

“No, lad.” He hesitated. “This Euterpe, she was Ephialtes’?”

“Yes.”

“But she’s a hetaera.”

“She was, years ago. I don’t know if it counts if she was only seeing Ephialtes for years.”

Pythax grunted. “You think she only saw Ephialtes, do you? I guess she’s got trouble now, her man’s gone. Or is she happy he’s dead?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She ain’t exactly dressed like a grieving widow.”

“Euterpe isn’t the sort to display emotion, or rather not that particular one. There are other emotions she does really well. She might go back to her trade.”

Pythax grunted.

We parted. I went to the Polemarch, whom I found at his office in the Epilyceum.

He bade me sit and sat himself beside me in a manner wholly alien for an important public citizen dealing with a young man of unimportant family. He looked at me with blue eyes, but nothing softened the square face or the hard lines around his mouth. He smiled, but there was something intellectual about his smile, it was the smile of a man who wanted to be seen smiling, as sincere as the priest who apologizes to his sacrifice.

“Now, Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus, I have been hearing good things about you.”

I doubted that mightily, but didn’t know how to say so without causing offense, so I kept silent. The Polemarch’s face was not naturally expressive. I had no idea what he was expecting from me. After a pause, he resumed.

“Not everyone can be born to the best families, and we older men have to keep an eye out for talented youngsters and help them to rise in the service of the state. One of my secretaries is ill—I have two, you know—he’s unable to continue to the end of his term of office. The post of secretary is a public one, but unlike other public posts I can nominate my own man for the job, no need for a messy election, and as long as he passes a simple review, there should be no problem.

“That’s why I want to offer you the position.”

I could barely believe I was hearing this, let alone credit that the Polemarch meant it. The job he offered was that of a functionary, full of hard work and plenty of blame when anything went wrong, but it was also far beyond the experience of my years. It was a job you offered to a coming man to give him experience in executive government before he took on an archonship.

“I…I can’t believe you’re saying this. Thank you, sir!”

“So you accept?”

“I would love to—”

“Fine, then I’ll get the process in motion—”

“Sir!”

“Yes?”

“I was going to add, sir, I have a commission. I have to complete it before I could start with you.”

Silence fell across us like a blanket. The Polemarch sat rock still for a handful of heartbeats, I could count mine quite clearly, then said, “This commission, is it of a public nature?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you think your private interests should come before service to the state?”

“No! Of course not, sir.”

“Then I don’t see the problem. You can continue this private affair when your work for the state is done.”

“This commission is in the public interest, sir, and I don’t see how I can stop now, having said I would complete it.”

“Integrity is an excellent thing in a young man. I applaud you. Many would have accepted my excellent offer without a second thought. Have you been paid for your work?”

“Not yet.”

“So again, there is no problem. Not having been paid, and delivered nothing, the contract is easily terminated. Your employer can find someone else at no loss to either party.”

“It’s still in the public interest, sir,” I persisted.

The Polemarch let the smallest touch of irritation show in his voice. “Are you working for a public official?”

“No, for Pericles, son of Xanthippus.”

“Then no matter what you might think, you are not at this point in service to the state. Xanthippus I know well, his son less so. And let me give you some advice on that score, from a man of greater years and hence greater experience in public affairs. Nico—I can call you Nico, can’t I?—associating with the more radical democrats is not likely to get you marked by the men that count as anything other than a troublemaker. I am right, aren’t I, in reading you as an ambitious young man?”

“Yes sir, I suppose that’s true.”

“Nothing wrong with that! I remember feeling the same way as a young lad. Right now, Nico, you have a feeling that you are contributing to the state. Because you’re talented and ambitious and have dreams, you magnify the significance of what you do, and in the process you overestimate its importance. Any young man would do the same. But what, after all, are you doing? You’re not working for an elected official. You’re not fulfilling the wishes of the Government, nor the directives of the Ecclesia.”

“I am investigating the murder of Ephialtes, sir.”

“There you are then, my point exactly! That’s a matter for the man’s deme, if they want to pursue it. The Government can’t spend its time catching criminals, or we’d never get any work done. That’s why we leave it to private individuals to do the leg-work and make the accusation, and we in Government supply the courts to judge the results.”

“Surely the death of this man matters far more than the average murder!” I protested.

The Polemarch raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair with a smile. “Was Ephialtes a public officer when he died? No? A strategos or other officer of the army? No? Then are you suggesting in our democracy we should treat one man as more important than another? Surely not, that would be quite contrary to what the democracy stands for, wouldn’t it? So it is quite impossible to do anything other than treat Ephialtes’ death the same as any other citizen.”