Gary Corby - The Ionia Sanction

The strength of her hold on me increased. “What will you do, Nicolaos, my husband?”

It felt like a hundred years since I’d attended the symposium of Callias. Back then, I’d wished for a Marathon of my own to fight. Now I faced something every bit as bad, and I cursed myself for a fool.

“I have no idea, my wife.”

* * *

Diotima was the one for me. I’d known it since the day I met her. But in choosing Diotima over Asia I’d broken with Themistocles, and insulted him. He didn’t know it yet, but he’d learn soon enough when I turned down the nuptials with Asia, and to make it worse, I knew too much about the coming attack on Athens. Themistocles would want me dead, and this was the man who was about to become Satrap of Athens.

But if I stopped Themistocles-and the only way to stop him now was to assassinate him-then Barzanes would execute Diotima. My two objectives were mutually exclusive, like that principle of logic Socrates had gone on about, back in our home at Athens.

To save Diotima, or to save Athens. What should I do?

Homer had described my problem, in the Iliad. The hero Hector, knowing he faced almost certain defeat, had parted from his wife and gone to face the enemy with the words, “One omen is best: to fight for your country.”

I would follow Hector.

Of course, Hector had been slaughtered that same day. I would try not to follow him in all things.

I found Mac in the agora.

“Mac, I want to hire your services again.”

He looked at me doubtfully. “I’m doubling the fee.”

“Fine. Take me to that witch woman you mentioned.”

He grinned. “Still got woman trouble?”

“I fixed that. Now it’s man trouble.”

“You get around!”

Mac led me to a dingy street on the outskirts of the northern part of the city, where the houses began to give way to farms. An old, shriveled woman sat in a hut that was little better than cast-off wooden pales, stuck together with daubs of mud. Something bubbled and boiled in a pot, over a small hearth she had lined with mud bricks. She peered at me closely-she was shortsighted-and grinned with near-toothless gums. Her skin was mottled and her hair was thin.

Mac said, “He’s all right, Mina. He’s a customer.”

She cackled. (I’d always imagined ancient witches cackled, and now I knew it was true.) “And what does he want?”

“Poison,” I said simply.

She didn’t even blink. “Fast, or slow?”

“Fast.”

“Painful death, or easy?”

I shrugged. “I’m not fussed. I want simple to deliver and no mistakes.” With guards constantly hovering over Themistocles, there wasn’t the slightest chance of stopping him with a dagger.

She nodded. “He should reach for Mina the box high atop yonder shelf.”

I handed it to her and she undid the lid. I saw inside many small vials of different shapes and markings. She handed me one. “That he holds is the juice of many peach kernels. ’Tis stronger than the snakebite. No, he must not open the lid. Even the smell is strong and may make a grown man faint.”

I quickly replaced the stopper. “Will it work on a dart?” I asked.

Mina shrugged. “Mina knows not. He can but try. But for certain sure the concoction in a man’s drink will carry him to Hades faster than a knife to the heart.”

“There are bits of poison in peaches ?” I asked, incredulous.

“He trusts Mina not,” she said to Mac. “Aye, ’tis the peach, but the seed alone. Many in the greatest number, all together, and boiled to be the juice of the seed, and left to the air so that the Gods take the water and leave behind that which kills.”

So Anaxagoras was right after all with his crazy talk of mixed-up particles. Who’d have thought it? I made a mental note never to eat a peach again.

* * *

“Thanks for trying to kill me.”

“I’m amazed you survived,” Mnesiptolema said, without the slightest trace of embarrassment. I’d tracked her down as soon as I returned to the palace and, to her surprise, dragged her into her own bedroom. It was the one place I could be sure there were no listeners.

I said, “It wasn’t for lack of effort on Araxes’ part.”

“That bastard! I’ll demand my money back. You just can’t get decent help these days.”

“I feel for you.”

“I suppose it was Araxes who gave me away.”

“No, I worked it out myself.” It was a half truth, but Mnesiptolema needed more respect for my powers.

I said, “Araxes let slip that the person who wanted me dead had called me a highly trained assassin. You’re the only person who ever used that phrase. Also, you once wondered whether Araxes might be for hire. You were thinking about your father then, but it wasn’t much of a leap to transfer your attention to me, was it?”

“Do you know why?”

“Revenge for the scene in my bedroom. Why did you wait until now?”

“Father announced Asia’s betrothal. I wanted my revenge before you became a brother. Besides, it means Father still favors that little bitch, despite everything.”

“Listen, Mnesiptolema, I’d as soon kill you as look at you, but we need each other.”

“For what?” she asked suspiciously.

“To kill your father. Tonight. That’s why you sent the letter, isn’t it? But we must be able to trust each other.”

Mnesiptolema laughed, loud and cynical.

“Hear me out. I know enough to put you on the pole. Barzanes wouldn’t hesitate, and Themistocles couldn’t stop him. We can settle our differences later, but like it or not, right now we’re stuck with each other.”

Mnesiptolema thought about it. “I agree. We can kill each other after we both have what we need from Father’s death.”

Mnesiptolema called together the children of Themistocles. All except Asia. We crowded into the bedroom of Archeptolis and Mnesiptolema. I sat on the edge of the bed-I avoided the stains-and waited for the others to settle themselves on the abominably soft red cushions on the bench along the wall, except for Mnesiptolema, who chose to stand. Then I explained my plan to them, and ended with, “I need your help.”

“No.” Nicomache and Cleophantus together. Archeptolis coughed. Mnesiptolema narrowed her eyes.

“Listen to me,” I said. “Nicomache, do you want to marry Barzanes?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well you will. Unless you work with me. Cleophantus, I see you enjoy being a traitor to Athens.”

“You know I loathe it,” he said, angry. “Nico, what is this?”

“If Themistocles succeeds with his plan, that’s what you’ll be for the rest of your life. But you really want to be a respected gentleman of Athens, don’t you?”

Cleophantus looked away.

Nicomache said, “The blood curse-”

“The blood curse is my problem,” I interrupted. “You said it yourself, when we sat in the tomb. I’ve made the decision, I’m doing the deed. You don’t need to do a thing. In fact, you have to not do something. You have to not take a cup. Before dinner tonight, you, Mnesiptolema, will take one of the wine cups from the kitchen, into which I will pour wine and add crystals of poison. I’ll put a slight chip in the base so we all know which one it is. Mnesiptolema, make sure you are the one to carry the drinks tonight. Each of us will take a cup, leaving the chipped one for Themistocles. Let me emphasize, for this scheme to work, all that’s required is for each of you to not do something. There is no blood guilt for you, only for me.”

It was a thin line, but a familiar one to any Hellene, the same as the logic that allowed us to expose our unwanted babies.

Nicomache said, as angry as I’d ever heard her, “You refused to do this before. I was ready, I’d steeled myself up for it. Then you refused and I was able to relax. Why must you raise the whole awful thing again and upset me when I thought it was all over?”