Gary Corby - The Ionia Sanction

“I met a man who said it was jealousy of his genius.”

“There may be a touch of truth in that. Of course, it didn’t help when he built a temple in honor of himself.”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not. Themistocles built a temple to Artemis Aristoboulë-Artemis Of Wise Counsel-a small temple in his own deme, practically next door to his house. He clearly intended the dedication as an outright boast that he was most clever, which was true, but the people didn’t want to be reminded. They ostracized him, and then ordered him to return to stand trial for treason. Instead, he disappeared without a trace, and surfaced a year later in the court of the Great King of Persia. Rumor has it he learned Persian during that missing year.”

“He learned their language? Is that useful?” I asked.

Callias smiled. “I speak it myself. Yes, of course it’s useful. In diplomacy, when you speak the enemy’s language, you take the fight onto their own ground.”

I made a mental note of that. “Go on.”

“The Great King was favorably disposed toward Themistocles and granted him a minor satrapy-that is a governorship-of three cities in the western part of the empire. It’s said he was granted the city of Magnesia to supply his bread, Myus for his meat, and Lampsacus for his wine. At a conservative estimate I would say those three among them should be delivering at least a hundred talents a year in taxes, so he is eating and drinking rather well.”

“Then he certainly doesn’t need to sell his daughters for the cash.”

“No, whatever reason the girl is here, that is not it.”

“He lives in Magnesia?”

“His family is there too. By all accounts his family is a model of harmony. He’s had none of the problems of unruly sons and disobedient daughters that the rest of us suffer. If anything, he’s too indulgent to them.” Callias laughed. “Well, I’m hardly in a position to criticize him on that score.”

Callias had been the talk of Athens a few years before, when he had allowed his daughters to marry whomever they wished. The daughters named their choice in husbands and Callias bought the young men by offering dowries so large no father could refuse.

Callias sipped his wine and thought. “Two of the sons live with Themistocles: Archeptolis and Cleophantus. He’s had enough daughters to populate a brothel; I believe some are yet unmarried. I don’t know their names, and in any case they need not concern us.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed. A woman could never play a part in politics.

“Archeptolis indulges in trade. Since Themistocles appeared in Persia he’s used his father’s influence to expand his business in that direction. If the reports I’ve received are accurate then he’s doing quite well for himself. That seems to be as much from sharp dealing as good business.”

“Likes to cheat his friends?”

“Not so obviously that he could be taken to court. My impression is the son has the father’s character but not his intelligence. I caution you I’ve never met the man, but, judging from what I’ve heard, I won’t be rushing to do business with him.”

“And the second son?”

“Cleophantus is an effete dilettante and is believed to be a coward. He passes all the requirements to join the army as a hoplite, yet he’s eschewed every opportunity to fight. He spends his days under the protection of his father, showing not the slightest ambition. I know of nothing else against him, unless you count his appalling taste in fathers; but I suppose he can’t be blamed for that. One final piece of trivia; Archeptolis married his own sister, a woman called Mnesiptolema; half sister, in fact.”

I blinked at that. “Well, I suppose it simplifies negotiation of the dowry.”

Pericles said, “Ephesus and Magnesia are on the other side of the Aegean Sea, in the province of Ionia.”

Callias nodded. Both men obviously expected a reaction. I had none to give.

I said, “I don’t understand your implication.”

Pericles sighed. “Ionia was colonized by men as Hellene as you or I. But there are many barbarians too, and the whole province is ruled by the Persians.” Pericles paused and studied me for a moment. “You’ll be subject to the whims of whatever Persian official rules, far beyond the protection of Athens.”

Better and better, I thought to myself. Pericles liked to look over my shoulder as I worked, and critique everything I did. In Ionia I’d be free of his daily interference. For the first time I began to look forward to this mission.

Because I wanted to hear Pericles confirm it out loud, I said, “So I’ll be a free agent.”

Pericles pursed his lips as if he’d eaten something sour. “In Ionia, you are sanctioned to act as you think best, within tight restrictions. Under no circumstances must the Persians discover you act for Athens. Whatever weakness or threat we face, the Persians are not to learn of it. Also…” Pericles nodded to Callias.

Callias whispered to a slave, who hurried off, returning with a small, balding man who waddled from the back of the house, carrying a bag. A slave, but a valued one, because he was well fed.

Callias said, “Nicolaos, this is Koppa. He has something for you.”

Koppa eyed me and said, “Now pay close attention, young man.” He spoke as if he held little such hope.

“This,” he said, holding out a short, round rod, “is a skytale.”

“It looks like a short round rod,” I said.

Koppa sighed. “So it is. Now watch.”

Koppa pulled a leather cord from the bag. He pushed the end of the cord into a notch at the end of the rod, and proceeded to wind the cord tight until the rod was covered in leather. He pushed the remaining cord into a notch at the other end.

“You see?” he demanded.

I nodded.

He produced a very thin brush and a jar of ink, of the type scribes use to write on parchment. This he used to write tiny letters along the length of the rod, squinting as he did in the poor light. When he was finished he unwrapped the cord and handed it to me.

“Read it,” he commanded.

I took the cord in both hands and tried to read, but I couldn’t. Koppa had written across the wrapped leather cord. Unwound, the letters of the words were jumbled together.

“I can’t,” I said.

Koppa handed me the rod. “Try it now.”

Within moments I had placed the thong in the notch, wound the leather around the wood, and read off the message. It was a quote from Homer.

AS SOON AS OUR PEOPLE ARE INSIDE AND IN SAFETY, CLOSE THE STRONG GATES, FOR I FEAR LEST THAT TERRIBLE MAN SHOULD COME BOUNDING INSIDE ALONG WITH THE OTHERS

.

“That’s very clever,” I marveled.

“You can use it to report back during your mission,” said Callias.

“Report back?” I repeated.

Callias must have seen I was about to bristle, because he said at once, “I use the same system myself, when I’m on a mission for Athens. Of course we have every trust in you, Nicolaos.”

Koppa handed me the bag he’d carried from the house. “A present from my master.”

It was the sort of bag a man can carry on his back, made of tooled leather with a wooden frame. Koppa reached into the leather folds of the frame and pulled out a rod. “This is your skytale. As you can see I’ve disguised it as part of the frame.” He slid it back in.

Pericles said, “I’ve arranged your transport. A fast ship will be waiting for you at the naval dockyard at high tide tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

Callias raised his hands and clapped. “The Loving Cup,” he called. Hipponax and Telemides turned their attention to us. Anaxagoras had to be called twice to tear his attention away from his argument with my little brother.