Gary Corby - The Marathon Conspiracy

I nodded at that, and so did Diotima. Knowing Gaïs as we now did, even though she couldn’t read, we knew she’d memorize every part of the running of Brauron before the month was out. In two months she’d be making changes to protect the sanctuary as she thought best.

But still Gaïs tried to avert her fate. She said, “Thea, I’m not worthy.”

“In the attack, your first thought was to protect the sanctuary, not yourself,” Thea said.

“Of course it was.”

“You’re worthy.”

Sabina said, “High Priestess, you can’t mean this. The girl’s ignorant.”

Thea grinned. “Oh, but I do, Sabina. I know what you’re thinking, that you were next in line. But there’s no line here; there’s only excellence, or the lack of it.”

Sabina turned on her heel and walked out, without another word.

“It’s unworthy of me, but I confess I enjoyed that,” Thea remarked.

Gaïs said, “Sabina wants the job. She’ll cause trouble.”

“Sabina whines a lot. Deal with it,” Thea said without a trace of sympathy. “Anyway, she’s bound to die eventually, and then you’ll have some peace. In the meantime she’s an honest treasurer, which is more than you can say for most types like her. Trust me, child, once Sabina realizes she has no hope, she’ll fall into line.”

I knew something Thea didn’t, and this was the time to deal with it. Diotima and I left Thea’s office, which was also her bedroom, and would soon be the bedroom of Gaïs. We left the old High Priestess and the new with their lieutenant Doris as they talked in animated fashion about sanctuary administration.

We went in search of Sabina and found her by the edge of the Sacred Spring. She stood there, staring into the waters.

“It was all for nothing, Sabina,” I said.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes were red. “What? Oh, it’s you.”

“What did those young people do that they deserved to die? Why, Sabina?” Diotima said.

“Glaucon killed them.”

“Glaucon killed Allike,” I said. “But it was you who made it possible. Out of all the children in this place, how did Glaucon know which two had found the scrolls? Your note didn’t give their names, Sabina, and even if it had, how would he recognize two girls among many? Someone must have pointed out the victims. That person was you.”

“You’re guessing-”

“Almost the first thing you said to us, as soon as we met, was that you’re a trusted assistant of the Basileus. I thought it was a boastful claim at the time-I still do. I’ve since met the man and I know he’d never trust a woman with money-but you’ve been sending reports to his office, haven’t you? The assistant who received them at the other end was Glaucon, and he, no doubt, sent you back instructions. Of course you knew each other. You’re even both treasurer types. You’re probably the only person here at Brauron that Glaucon knew.”

“Proves nothing,” Sabina said shortly. “It’s not a crime to know a killer.”

“But it’s a crime to be a killer. Glaucon can’t have killed Melo, Sabina. He was in Athens then. I know it because I saw him there. But we know Glaucon murdered Allike, and we know Melo’s death was related, and we know it was someone at the sanctuary who did it.

“You killed Melo, Sabina. You met him by this spring, maybe exactly where we stand now. Maybe you crept up behind him. You hit him on the head then pushed him in, where he drowned.”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because he found Ophelia, and he was unlucky enough to tell you about it. You’re always patrolling the grounds, aren’t you? You caught Diotima and me holding hands quickly enough. Melo ran into you first. Melo told you where to find Ophelia, then you got rid of him. You didn’t dare let anyone find Ophelia before you did. She might have told them what she knew. So you murdered Melo, and I’m guessing then you went to that abandoned farmhouse.”

I searched her face for confirmation, and I saw it.

“Why didn’t you go in and attack Ophelia?” I asked.

“The bear,” she said. “I didn’t think the sightings were true until I saw it for myself. It was protecting her. I couldn’t see a way around the bear.” Sabina looked back into the running waters of the spring. “All I ever wanted was to be High Priestess of this place,” she said.

“You’re not fit,” said Diotima.

“I don’t see why not. Thea got the job by default. Why not me?” She sounded like a petulant child.

“When did you decide to murder Allike?” I asked.

“I didn’t. I was as shocked as everyone else. You see, when I forwarded the scrolls to Athens, to the Basileus, I sent five.”

I said, “But Glaucon was assistant to the Basileus. He opened the case before anyone else saw it.”

“Yes,” Sabina agreed. “Glaucon read all the scrolls. When he came to the fifth, he was horrified. Hippias had named Glaucon as the man on whose estates he stayed while he recovered from his wound. That scroll would destroy any chance of Glaucon ever gaining high office. In fact it would probably get him killed when the people found out. There was no chance to scratch out his name without it being obvious. So he did the only thing he could: he removed the scroll.”

“That was when the conspiracy began,” I said.

Sabina nodded reluctantly. “Glaucon started it. I received a note by courier, asking me to meet him in town,” Sabina went on. “I knew him, of course; Glaucon’s a wealthy landowner in these parts. I’d always been careful to make sure the well-known and the wealthy knew of me. Glaucon made his proposal in person: that if I helped him get elected in Athens, he would help me become High Priestess in Brauron. Well, I knew Thea didn’t have long to go. How could I say no?”

With the greatest of ease, I thought, but I didn’t bother to say it.

Sabina said, “Glaucon couldn’t suppress the discovery. Too many people knew about it. But he thought to turn it to his advantage. Glaucon reasoned that with the fifth scroll out of the way, all he had to do was claim to be the man who killed Hippias. It wasn’t that big a lie, you know, and it was only to get one miserable man a single year in office. Glaucon probably only wanted to be treasurer so he could embezzle state funds, but that wasn’t my lookout. The so-called statesmen in Athens do worse every day.”

I said, “So he suppressed evidence of his own perfidy and then took credit for someone else’s crime. What happened to the fifth scroll?”

“Glaucon destroyed it. There was nothing we could do about the gap within the case. Too many people had seen that case to get rid of it. But with any luck, no one would care about the contents, and even if they did, who was to say there hadn’t always been four scrolls? It should have worked. No one should have been hurt.”

“Except a girl died.”

“Allike blurted out to me that she knew there were five scrolls. She’d tried to read them. I doubt she understood a word, but merely knowing of their existence was a danger. I warned Glaucon. I never intended for him to kill her. Please believe me.”

“Glaucon tortured the child,” Diotima said, and I could hear the vile taste in her mouth as she said it.

“There’d been so much talk of a bear loose in the countryside. Glaucon probably thought it was the most natural thing to make it look like Allike had been killed by a bear.”

“Probably?” Diotima said.

“That’s what he said, later,” Sabina admitted slyly.

With Glaucon dead, we’d never know whether it was his idea or Sabina had told him to make it look like a bear attack. One thing I was sure of: it was Sabina, not Glaucon, who was the smart one in that partnership.