Gary Corby - The Marathon Conspiracy

“Then Ophelia disappeared,” I said.

“That wasn’t my doing! How was I supposed to know she had a tame bear?”

I said, “Ophelia was the only one who knew for sure that the bear hadn’t killed her friend. She knew it was a human killer. She didn’t know who, but she guessed she’d be next. She ran.”

“It was the bear that started this, you know,” Sabina said bitterly. “Or those gods-accursed children, rather. If they hadn’t discovered the cave, I wouldn’t be a murderer. And who would have thought a bunch of old men would get so excited about one thoroughly dead body? All that talk of flashing signals and traitors and other nonsense. Men can be very stupid about such things.”

“There was murder in your heart anyway, or you would never have done it,” Diotima said.

“Why did you tell us there were five scrolls?” I asked. “If you’d said four, it might have muddied the trail.”

“I had no choice,” Sabina said, as if it had been a difficult move in a child’s game. “I knew Allike and Ophelia had looked inside.

They knew there were five; I didn’t know who else they might have told. If I’d said four and someone else at the sanctuary swore to five, it would have pinpointed me at once.”

Sabina scuffed her bare feet in the soil and stared once more into the pond. Her eyes had a faraway look. Was she recalling what it had been like to push Melo in at this very place, to watch him drown?

“I suppose you’re going to turn me in,” Sabina said, self-pityingly. “They’ll execute me, you know.”

“No, Sabina,” said Diotima. “We won’t say a thing. You’ll stay here.”

Sabina looked surprised. She hadn’t expected mercy. “Why?” she asked.

“Gaïs doesn’t know numbers,” Diotima said. “She can barely read. Doris reads well, but she can’t add. Gaïs must have someone who understands money if she’s to succeed here, and I’m going to make sure it happens. I sentence you, Sabina, to be the best treasurer this sanctuary has ever had.”

“ Help Gaïs?” Sabina said, aghast. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you’re a dead woman. You’ll serve Gaïs as if your life depended on it. Which it does. That’s the deal, Sabina, and it’s far, far better than you deserve. Take it or leave it.”

Diotima stopped abruptly, as if she’d suddenly remembered something. She looked up at me, and said, “If my husband-to-be approves, of course.”

It was my turn to be surprised. I hoped I didn’t show it.

In the past, I’d been appalled at Diotima’s readiness to blackmail whenever it suited her, and she knew how I felt. But Diotima was right about Gaïs, and nobody knew the temple finances like Sabina did.

Besides, I had a point to make.

I said. “Diotima, whatever you think best, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Seriously?”

“This is your field, Diotima. Only an idiot would question your judgment. I hope I’m not an idiot.” I was starting to see this marriage would be more complex than either of us had thought, but I could also see we’d find a balance, if we kept trying.

Diotima smiled at me, then she turned back to Sabina. “One more thing. Gaïs might not know numbers, but I do, Sabina. I’ll be back here on a regular basis, and when I am, I’ll be checking your books. If I find one obol out of place, or the slightest problem, or if I hear one word that you’ve caused Gaïs trouble, then you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

“I could throw myself on the mercy of the High Priestess,” Sabina said. “Then we’ll see what your threats are worth.”

“Does Gaïs strike you as the forgiving sort?” I asked.

Sabina was silent. We all knew that Thea might forgive human weakness; she’d endured her fair share. But Gaïs was younger, and Sabina had put her ambitions above the good of the sanctuary. Gaïs would be merciless.

“One final thing,” Diotima said.

“ Another thing?” Sabina said. I could see she was already wondering if death might not have been easier.

“Yes,” said Diotima. “This is non-negotiable. From now on, when Nico and I visit the sanctuary, we get our own room.”

Sabina said at once, “Very well. I accept.”

I don’t know what made me wake up that night. Perhaps it was the full moon, because when my eyes opened its bright light was shining in my face. Whatever it was, I stood and tiptoed over the sleeping bodies in the shed and out into the sanctuary.

I walked about, curious to see the place in the dead of night. In moonlight it seemed eerie. It was as if everyone had died, or we’d all been transported to the underworld in our sleep.

I stepped around the sacred pond, careful to give it a wide berth-if I fell in now, no one would find my body till at least the morning, maybe not for days-and that was when I noticed torchlight within the Temple of Artemis.

At this time?

It flickered, and the movement of the shadows told me someone was within.

I crept, slowly, careful not to disturb whatever was happening. I edged up to the entrance and peered around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

There, with her back to me, standing before the statue of the Goddess, was Diotima. Her arms were raised, and she intoned a prayer to Artemis.

I stood up and walked in, not bothering to hide my steps, which echoed in the nighttime silence.

I was only three steps across the small temple when Diotima turned and said, “Help me, Nico.”

Lying at her feet were three balls of different colors; two drawing slates of the kind used by children, on which a child’s pictures were still drawn in fading chalk; a wooden pull-along toy of a puppy, the wheels of which had seen long use; a doll; and, in a brightly painted box, a set of doll’s clothes.

I stopped alongside her and held her hand. She gripped me back and held on hard. She whispered to me, “I collected them from my cupboard when we were back in Athens.”

She spoke to the Goddess.

“I am Diotima, the daughter of Ephialtes, the stepdaughter of Pythax. I stand before you, Artemis of the Sacred Spring, before my wedding, to dedicate to you my doll and her pretty clothes, my bouncing balls, and the slates on which I drew so many pictures; my gift to you, Goddess, before I am a married woman.”

Diotima let go my hand. She picked up each toy and placed it on the wall beyond the statue, where hung hooks to accept offerings. When she came to her doll, she hugged it tight, and there were tears in her eyes. But she placed the doll, too, upon the wall, and with a final gesture smoothed down the doll’s tiny dress.

Then my fiancée took my hand once more, and together we left the temple.

“The usual formula is to say it’s a virgin’s gift,” she said to me. “But it’s a bit too late for that.”

“Better late than never. The Goddess won’t mind.”

“No, I don’t think she will. I feel better, but sad, Nico. Very sad.”

I didn’t return to my bed that night, and nor did Diotima. We spent the night in each other’s arms, on the soft grass beside the Sacred Spring.

“Now it’s back to school for me,” said Socrates mournfully. He’d have sounded more cheerful if someone had sentenced him to death.

“Don’t you like school?” Diotima asked.

“I like learning. I don’t like school. The two things are totally different. School’s boring. It’s a drag having to wait for the teacher to catch up with me.”

“The solution to that’s easy,” said Diotima. “I’ll teach you, Socrates.”

“You?” I said, astonished.

“I’d appreciate it if you said that with some more confidence. Why not? I’m better qualified than all those clapped-out soldiers who take up teaching, aren’t I?”