Gary Corby: The Pericles Commission

I was ambushed the next morning. I left home later than usual because I was on my way to see Ephialtes’ mistress, still hoping to find out something about his private life, perhaps a motive for his death, and it would not do to arrive too early on the doorstep of a woman to whom I had no introduction.

The way led me through a number of side streets, each a testament to Athens’ complete lack of city planning. Not that the city officials don’t try-there are ordinances-it’s simply that the people completely ignore them. Although there are rules against it, the upper stories of the houses almost universally overhang the street. The owners want a simple way to throw out the rubbish without having it run down their nice whitewashed walls. And besides, people like having the extra bit of space. Walking the smaller streets in Athens feels a bit like passing through a tunnel. I avoided the center for fear of buckets of slop, or worse, poured on me from above-I have been struck more than once-which was why I was surrounded by half shadows and passing the niches between buildings.

It was from the shadows of one such niche that a man stepped before me. His clothing was worn, making me think of a country worker or perhaps a laborer.

“Hey, you Nicolaos?” he asked.

“Yes, what do you want?”

“Stop asking questions. Hear me? Just stop.” His voice was harsh.

“What?” I said, my mind stupid for a moment before I realized what he was saying. “You want me to stop investigating the murder? How do you know about that?”

“Not your problem. Leave it alone.”

“Who are you?” And, because I could not credit this bumpkin as acting on his own, I demanded, “Who do you work for?”

He punched me hard in the diaphragm and I doubled over, the air knocked out of me. I was still recovering when my legs were kicked out from under me and I went down. Another man ran up and I thought he was coming to my aid, but instead he kicked me in the kidneys.

The first man said again, grunting as he kicked me in the gut, “Stop asking questions. Leave it alone.” Then the two of them started on me in earnest. There was nothing I could do but cover my head with my arms and hope they didn’t maim me, or did they intend to kill me? The beating hurt worse than anything I remembered, and oddly, the anticipation of not knowing where the next blow would fall was worse than the pain. I cried out for help.

“Hey! You! Stop that!”

They both took to their heels. I remained curled in a ball and felt, rather than saw or heard, several pairs of feet run to me.

I was picked up. I opened my eyes, but I was so dizzy I shut them again. I felt myself swaying, and a pair of hands on either side helped to steady me. I opened my eyes again, and the world was spinning about, but slower than before. When it stopped, I found myself looking into the eyes of Archestratus.

Archestratus poured a cup of watered wine and set it down beside me. “Did you get a look at him?”

We stood in his courtyard. One of his slaves who knew something about injuries was checking me for broken bones. I flinched every time he poked me.

I shrugged. “Not good enough. He came at me from the shadows, and I’d walked from bright sun into the shade. My eyes hadn’t adjusted. He had a beard, dark hair, average height, bad clothing. That should narrow it down to half the men in Athens.”

“Just so. What about the second man?”

“The best I can tell you is he needs to cut his toenails.”

“That would describe almost every man in Athens.”

“Just so,” I said, imitating his way of speech.

The slave ceased his prodding and stood up.

Archestratus said, “Well?”

“There will be many bruises, sir. But as far as my humble skills can say, the bones are whole. He was lucky we came along when we did; if it had continued much longer, I feel sure something would have broken inside. The young man should see a healer to be sure. Sometimes a man might walk away from such a beating but die without warning a day or two later.” Such a cheery fellow.

I immediately said, “No thanks, I have my own resource in that area.”

Archestratus raised an eyebrow.

“My mother is a midwife.”

Archestratus said, “Terrible as your ordeal was, I don’t think you need fear pregnancy.”

Another slave came running with a chitoniskos in his arms. I took off the soiled one and tipped a bucket of cold water over my body before putting on the fresh.

Archestratus said, “This will be laundered and sent to you.”

“I am in your debt.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

I sat and sipped at his wine. He sat down beside me with his own cup and lay back on the dining couch. A slave brought a bowl of figs, olives, and grapes. You can tell a lot about a man from the way he treats his slaves, and Archestratus thanked his boy, who smiled and departed.

“Tell me, how goes your investigation?”

I hesitated.

“If you would like to repay that debt you mentioned, let me help you if I can. Pericles does not hold a monopoly on revering Ephialtes. I beg you recall he was my friend too, and my leader. His murder affects me and many other men.”

That was a hard appeal to deny. “So far, all I’ve done is ask questions.”

“Yet even that small effort appears to have offended somebody,” Archestratus observed with some justice. “Are you so objectionable in your conversation, or do you think perhaps you are asking the right questions?”

“Let us hope the latter.”

“How did a young man like you come to be embroiled in such a murky situation?”

I told him of the falling corpse and of meeting Pericles as he came down the path.

“And you saw Pericles descending? How interesting.” He took a handful of grapes, popped one into his mouth, and sat back.

I said, “I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t necessarily work. He could have been coming down from either the Acropolis or the Rock of the Areopagus. He says it was the Acropolis.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t believe anyone yet! Is it possible Pericles used the bow, threw it away somewhere I missed, and then walked calmly down the path? Yes, it is.”

“So your employer might be the man you’re looking for. What a piquant thought. What would you do if the evidence led to Pericles?”

Panic, most probably. I’d wondered the same thing.

“You feel a little bit lost, don’t you, young man? I wish I could sympathize with your plight, but I must be honest and welcome you to the twilight world of Athenian politics, where the man who proclaims friendship in the morning is the one who stabs you in the back over wine that evening. If there is one piece of advice I hope you will take from this conversation, it is trust no one who is a player. Trust their motives least of all. Take Xanthippus for example. I imagine he told you he has the purest motives for opposing Ephialtes. I expect the phrase ‘for the good of Athens’ came into play?”

“It didn’t, but the sentiment was there.”

“I am surprised. It’s a phrase Xanthippus repeats endlessly, as if he were the only judge of benefice. Xanthippus used to be a man of the people himself. But something warped his spirit; perhaps it was the war against the Persians. The war certainly proved he’s capable of killing in cold blood, and with the greatest cruelty.”

“It did? But Xanthippus was one of the heroes of the war.”

“Do you know the story of the Persian commander? No? There was among the Persian force a commander called Artayctes. This man stole great treasures from a Hellene sanctuary at Elaeus, in Thrace, far to the north and east of here. Much later Artayctes and his son were captured by a force led by Xanthippus. Artayctes tried to bribe his way out of trouble; he offered to restore the treasure, to pay the sanctuary one hundred talents-that’s six hundred thousand drachmae! — and twice that amount to the Athenians, if only they would release him.”