Gary Corby - The Ionia Sanction

* * *

When I came to, I was on the ground, my wrists bound behind my back, my ankles tied, and the sun shining on my face. My head was cradled in dirt. I tried not to move, to give myself time to think and see and find some way to escape.

I listened carefully. There were none of the noises of the city, no shouting, no traffic. Nor did I smell the ubiquitous city smells of garbage and donkey droppings. Somewhere birds were singing. I was in the country.

I heard the voices of two men. They were arguing, not about women or politics or any of the other things that men usually argue about. They were bickering over a pole.

“Hold it straight there!”

“It is straight, curse you.”

“No t’ain’t. It’s leaning to the left, look I can see it.”

“All right, how about that?”

“Now it’s leaning to the right.”

“If you can do better, why don’t you?”

“Shut up, both of you,” a third voice interjected, this one cultured, and the moment I heard it my blood froze. “The pole has to be perfectly vertical, or it won’t take the weight. So look sharp about it and get it right. Have you set the bobs?”

“Aww…”

“Set them!”

I dared to open my eyelids, the merest slit. Two men knelt on the ground, dressed in rough leather jerkins and trousers made of some material that looked tough and was certainly filthy. One had a headband that was soaked with sweat, the other had rivulets running down his face and neck. Both had hands that were covered with grime.

A large wooden pole lay between them, to which they attached four pieces of twine, each with a pebble tied at the bottom. They nailed one on each side of the pole. This is a trick builders use to ensure an upright beam is truly vertical. When all four pieces of twine fall exactly down along the beam, the builder knows it’s right.

“Make sure there are plenty of heavy rocks about the base, then pack the hole with gravel and dirt. Make sure of the rocks, I don’t want any slippage.” The third man walked into view. It was Araxes, as I feared.

“All right, that should do it. Cheiro, you raise the pole and Durgo, you sight it.”

Cheiro and Durgo grumbled and pushed and swore and finally placed the pole. There was a rounded, smooth point at the top. That made me sit up.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good.” Araxes bent over me, his white hair shining with the sun behind it.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, but we’re about to impale you.”

My imagination ran away with me. Already I could feel the rough wood sliding up, my insides expanding as if there were a giant turd in me. My anus clenched shut. I trembled.

“I did warn you this was likely to happen, dear fellow. I have a client who, it grieves me to say, does not like you very much.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“I am reliably informed by my client that you are a deadly assassin. You could have fooled me, but there you are. I confess I’m a trifle put out with you myself. You killed one of my men.”

“I did? What man?”

“Oh come now. The guard at the warehouse.”

“He was yours?”

“As if you didn’t know. He was found with his throat slit and the goods looted. I knew you were on the way the moment I heard the news.”

I blinked. So the one-armed beggar had got away with it.

Araxes said, “You’re not going to deny it was you, are you?”

I shook my head. The beggar deserved his chance, and it wasn’t as if I could do anything to make my predicament worse.

We watched in silence as the pole settled into place with a solid thunk. The narrowed end pointed straight up. Araxes chuckled. “Actually, I think the client’s emotions may run to a stronger sentiment than dislike. He specifically demanded this end for you … end! Get the point? He ordered this end. ” Araxes chuckled at his own demented joke.

“I normally find a quick sword thrust does the job with least fuss and pain. Most clients are satisfied by that arrangement. Either you have been particularly annoying, or else your enemy, my dear Nico-may I call you Nico? I feel we’re forming a bond-your enemy, as I say, is a person of remarkable vindictiveness.”

“I don’t even know who he is.”

“Client confidentiality is my watchword.”

“It’s Barzanes, isn’t it? Barzanes set you on to me.”

“I told you in Ephesus the wise hound creeps around the lion. Nor does he play with vipers.”

“What of the girl?”

“The girl? Oh yes, the girl. Rather odd having her back, it’s so rare that I get repeat business.”

“You have her too?”

“You will be pleased to hear the girl ran away during the excitement of hauling you in. I considered you the greater threat. That may have been an error. She bit deep into the hand of one of my men and he foolishly released her long enough to make her escape.”

Who had done this to me? Who hated me enough to want to kill me in this horrible manner? Perhaps Themistocles, if he had discovered my purpose; perhaps Barzanes, despite Araxes’ denial; or maybe Archeptolis. He and Mnesiptolema had a good reason to hate both me and Diotima. Then a horrible thought hit me. What about Asia? Who else knew we were going to the alley? Was it reasonable that a girl could escape when I was captured?

Now that I sat upright I could see a group of men behind me-perhaps ten or twelve-dressed similarly to Cheiro and Durgo. Some of the men spoke Persian, some Greek. Two had the appearance of local peasants, some were light-skinned, some dusky. A typical pack of brigands. They lounged about watching the other two work. Their horses were tethered to sparse bushes in the minimal shade.

I searched about for something-anything-that might save me. Perhaps if I could see the road I might shout to a passerby. But no, the road was nowhere in sight. We were surrounded by low hills, covered in gravel and rocks and a few suffering bushes sufficient to block my view of beyond.

The main road could have been two hundred paces away and I wouldn’t have known it. Even if I did attract the attention of a passerby, it would be a foolish man who came to investigate with a dozen cutthroats in plain view.

“Ready, Boss,” Cheiro called.

“Put him on,” Araxes said without emotion.

I screamed, hoping against hope that someone might hear. The only effect was for the dozen loungers to guffaw and make insulting comments. I kept screaming.

Araxes shook his head and said, “Come, come, Nico, this does you no credit at all. Would you die like a woman?”

“I wouldn’t die at all.”

“I’m afraid that option isn’t available. You should follow the example of Thorion; he died cursing me. Carry on, men.”

Cheiro and Durgo complained. “We’re tired, Araxes. We dug the hole, someone else should do the rest.”

Araxes nodded. “A fair comment. Take a break. You two.” He pointed at the nearest two cutthroats. “Stick him on, but do it gently, I don’t want him dying too fast.”

Two ugly men grinned, stood, dusted themselves off, and approached me.

I yelled, “Wait! Only the Great King and his officers are allowed to execute like this. If they catch you, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Araxes said, “Oh goodness! I’ve never been in trouble with the law before.” He waved an arm at his goons. “Drop him on.”

They stood each side and pulled me up by the arms and thighs. My heart raced and I was dizzy, I felt like I was about to vomit.

I called out, “Araxes, if you have any decency you’ll kill me before you put me on the pole. That sword thrust-”

“There is no degree of pleading that can weaken my resolve. I’ve heard it all before, Nico: the false bravado of the brave as they stare down fate, the whines of weak men, and the desperate entreaties of women clutching their children. I wish I hadn’t heard those things, but life gives us few choices. If I could ignore them, I can certainly ignore you. The commission specifies impalement, so impalement it must be.”