Gary Corby - The Marathon Conspiracy

There are many roads out of Athens, and almost every one of them has a cart-rental place just outside the gates. The Sacred Way, which leads out of the Dipylon Gate in the direction of Eleusis, has a whole row of them. These people make money by renting wheeled carts to casual travelers, and the beasts to pull them: donkeys, mules, and even horses. If a man doesn’t own a country estate, then he doesn’t need such things every day, and a beast is expensive to keep in the center of Athens. Cheaper, then, to hire transport when you need it. The only problem is, the men who rent out these things have a reputation for dodgy practices. No one ever accused a cart renter of excessive honesty.

It just so happened that the deme we lived in-Alopece-was outside the city walls to the south, and therefore lay along the road from Athens to Brauron. We could have gone straight on to Brauron from my father’s house, but I had to walk back toward Athens, to the Diomean Gate, to find a cart to rent. Diotima insisted on coming with me.

“I don’t trust you not to come back with a racehorse,” she’d said.

There were three rental businesses beside the Diomean Gate, one after the other. The first, directly outside the city gate, was clean, well swept, immaculate. A cart had been placed out front to advertise the business, well painted and polished until it gleamed. Tethered to the cart was a horse: sleek, fit, alert. I knew a little bit about horses. I could see at once this was a fine beast. But to be sure, I raised a hoof to inspect the underside. I wanted to know how much distance the animal had covered, which I figured I could tell from how much the hoof had worn.

“Can I help you, sir?” A man appeared beside me from nowhere. He was dressed in a chiton of fine white linen, and his hair was cut and swept back and oiled until it gleamed. He smiled at me with perfect teeth.

“I want to hire a horse and cart,” I said.

“Of course, sir.”

“This one looks interesting.”

“Sir has an eye for quality transport. The horse is a proven performer, well trained for cart work and with nothing but praise from previous drivers. The accompanying cart, as you can see, is in top condition and was repainted only last month. The wheels are solid-oak rims with no wear or tear; the axle is newly greased. I see sir has his lady with him. We offer complimentary feather cushions for her traveling comfort.”

It sounded perfect. “How much for a month?” I asked him eagerly.

The salesman named a sum.

I staggered back in shock.

“I could buy a horse and cart for that much,” I choked. “I tell you what, I’ll pay you half that.”

“I’m afraid sir is under the misapprehension that we’re a charity.”

“Don’t you have anything cheaper?”

The salesman pursed his lips. “Well, if sir wishes, we do have our economy stock, if you would care to inspect.”

I looked about, but all I could see were other horses and carts like the ones we stood beside.

“Where is it?”

“Out the back. We keep the lower-rent animals where they’re less … visible. One doesn’t wish to advertise.”

He led us out the back. Behind the pristine road-facing building was a stable made of dull-gray, weathered wood that was so termite-riddled it was probably hollow. The manure from the horses out front had been shoveled and heaped beside the stable. I wrinkled my nose and waved at the buzzing flies.

Ancient leather harnesses were draped over a small paddock fence. Within the paddock, a small herd of ponies watched us with an utter lack of interest.

“Where are the carts?”

“Over there.” The salesman pointed to a row of small, serviceable carts. If you squinted hard, you could tell what color they had once been painted.

“What about this one?” Diotima was inspecting a scrawny animal, not within the paddock, but tethered to the fence. It stood on thin legs and seemed about to collapse.

“Diotima, that’s a donkey.”

“I’m aware of that, Nico.” Diotima patted the animal’s neck. The donkey was all patchy skin with bones sticking out. It wore an old straw hat that had been eaten by something. I wondered if it had some terrible disease and whether Diotima should be touching it.

I said, “It’s the worst donkey in the whole yard.”

“That’s because it’s the only donkey in the yard, Nico.”

“It may be the worst donkey in the whole world.”

“But Nico, he’s so cute !”

I inspected the animal for any sign of cuteness. The donkey looked back at me with large, soulful eyes. They seemed to be the only functioning part of the creature.

Staring at the knobbly knees, I said, “That wretched thing can barely stand, let alone pull a cart with you on it. Aren’t you the one who came along to make sure I didn’t waste money on a racehorse?”

“I’m fairly sure this isn’t a racehorse, Nico,” she said, then she turned to the salesman and said, “Have you people being mistreating this donkey?”

“By no means, madam. In fact he only arrived the other day. It’s a very sad story.” The salesman rubbed his chin. “The animal’s only had one owner, a little old lady who used it to carry herbs to the agora on market days. The old dear died peacefully in her sleep, but I’m afraid no one noticed for some time-her son was the neglectful sort-you know how it is-when they finally found her corpse, somewhat mummified, the beast was in the yard, tethered and almost starved to death. The son had no use for the animal and sold him on to us. Unfortunately he’s proven impossible to rent. Well, you can see why. If we don’t find a customer for him soon, he’ll have to go to the knacker’s.”

The donkey looked up at Diotima in utter despair.

“We’ll take him.”

“Diotima!” I said.

“Nico, we can’t let this poor creature suffer a moment longer.”

“You can’t save every donkey in the world.”

“I’m not. I’m saving one donkey. This one. What’s his name?” she asked the salesman.

“His name, madam? I believe the little old lady called him Blossom.”

The donkey wouldn’t be as fast as I wished, but it would still be faster than walking, and Diotima’s feet mattered more than a few coins. I sighed. “Does he come with the hat?” I asked.

“I’m sure a new hat could be thrown in with our compliments.”

I nodded.

The salesman called, “Philippos! Get your ass out here. We got a customer.”

A head that was gray enough to match the surrounding wood appeared from within the darkness of the stable.

“Philippos is our back-of-house manager. I’ll leave you to sort out the details with him. He deals with all the donkeys, mules, and asses.”

The salesman walked rapidly away, to the front yard.

“What he means is, I’m a slave,” Philippos said, unnecessarily. I’d already worked that out.

It didn’t take long to negotiate. At least the price was inside our budget. The only problem was the deposit. Philippos demanded three times what Blossom was worth. When I protested he said, “Look, mate. The problem is, half the donkeys we hire out don’t come back. You know why?”

I looked at the row of miserable-looking beasts in the paddock and took a guess.

“They died of terminal mange?”

“Very funny. No, people steal them. But it’s never the clients, mind you. Oh no! They always claim they left the donkey tied up outside a tavern, and when they came out, it was gone.”

But a deposit is money you get back later, so I didn’t mind so much. We concluded the deal, hitched Blossom to a cart, and with a certain amount of pushing got the contraption going.

We discussed the case as we walked home. Or rather, I walked while Diotima sat proudly in her new cart, pulled by Blossom, who plodded along beside me. Diotima had carefully placed a new straw hat on Blossom’s head, cutting two holes for the ears, and tied a string to the hat and around the animal’s neck. “So the hat doesn’t fall off and he doesn’t get sunstroke,” she explained. She was more worried about the donkey getting sunstroke than me.