Gary Corby - The Pericles Commission

“No wonder Xanthippus is so wealthy,” I said. For surely he would have pocketed some of that.

“You think so? Then let me tell you, Xanthippus had Artayctes led to the shore, where they nailed him to a plank and raised the plank high so he could see. Then they chained his son to a pole set in the ground. They stoned the son to death, before the eyes of the father, whom they left to die slowly of crucifixion.”

The thought of it made me shudder. Had the grumpy, cantankerous old man I’d met truly done such a thing?

Archestratus continued, “You see that Xanthippus is not a man one crosses lightly. He’s been living off his hero reputation and his power base. That base is the Areopagus. It’s what gives him the ability to influence policy without having to justify himself to the people. Without it, he’d be nothing.”

“You aren’t exactly free of that ambition yourself, are you?” I challenged him. “Isn’t everyone looking for power?”

“They certainly are! But the difference, young Nicolaos, the important difference, is that I seek leadership of the people, not control over them. So too does Pericles, or at least, that’s what he says.”

“You think he doesn’t mean it?”

Archestratus mused, “It must be difficult, having grown up the son of a wealthy, aristocratic family, groomed to lead Athens from his earliest days. His distinguished ancestors merely reached out to take the reins as their birthright, and yet he must ask the people for permission to lead, must persuade, where his ancestors had only to command. The temptation to reach out and take as his ancestors once did must be almost overpowering at times. And then, of course, there’s the matter of your employment. Odd, wouldn’t you say?”

“What?” I said, startled. “What’s odd about it?”

“My dear young man! How many friends do you think Pericles has? How many allies? And how many of those do you think are more experienced than you, more skilled in diplomacy, with a better knowledge of the power game? Yet he chose you, a young man of no experience, to carry out this important task. Why? I speculate, of course, but could it be Pericles wants to be seen to be doing something without wanting to risk an unfortunate result?”

I bristled at that. “Archestratus, I was hired to find the truth, and I swear by the Gods that’s what I’m going to do.”

“My boy! My boy! I never suggested otherwise; you wear your integrity like a cloak. It’s not your motivation I question.”

“What are you saying?” I demanded.

“Simply this: if you reach the point where you can no longer fully trust Pericles, come to me.”

I found the fine artwork missing from Ephialtes’ home. It was all in the home of his mistress. One of them had good taste. I decided it must be Euterpe of Mantinea, since surely Ephialtes would not have selected that statue of Apollo cavorting with a nymph? The anatomical detail was remarkable.

The house slave sniffed at me when I knocked, as if I were too verminous to cross her threshold. The name Ephialtes got me as far as the public receiving room, where I had been left to linger long enough to have inspected every art piece in the room, and there were a lot of them. I had never before been in the salon of a hetaera. The murals were short on Homeric battle scenes but gratifyingly long on sporting nymphs, satyrs, and priapic Gods. I peered at them closely, my nose almost pressed to the wall.

“Educational, aren’t they?”

I turned, startled, and crashed my knee against a nearby table. Trying not to swear, and clutching my knee, I saw framed in the doorway the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on.

Euterpe had reddish brown hair that flowed down her lovely neck and over a shoulder to her breasts. She was wearing a dress that, even if it were not made of fabric I could see through, would have been considered scandalously immodest. As it was, she had my body’s full and immediate attention. The dress was tied in some way so that the material flowed with her skin. My mind ceased functioning since it was not required for the moment.

“Oh! Are you hurt?”

She knelt before me and touched my knee where I’d banged it. Waves of pleasure coursed up me.

Euterpe looked a little higher, and smiled. She stood, swayed to a couch, and reclined, arching her back so that her nipples pressed out against the material and her legs were exposed.

“So, what may I do for you, young man?”

I collapsed back against the nearest couch, unable to speak and agonizingly aware how I must look to her.

Euterpe let me recover. She clapped her hands. A young woman appeared, whom I barely noticed.

“Diotima, dear, would you bring me wine? And a carafe of cool water for our guest.”

The young woman reappeared with an exquisite thin pottery watercooler. I took it and thankfully let it rest in my lap, where it did me a lot of good. Euterpe eyed this arrangement while a half smile played on her lips, and her gaze traveled up and down.

“I understand you’ve come about Ephialtes?” She used her finger to twirl some of the tresses that fell upon her breasts.

I had to consider the possibility that Euterpe was not doing this to me deliberately. She may behave this way with every man. If so, I found it incredible Ephialtes had lived long enough to be felled by the arrow. He should have died from excruciating pleasure long ago. I supposed she was old enough to be my mother, but the evidence before my eyes suggested not, or else Aphrodite had shared some of her secrets.

“Uh, when did you last see him?” I managed to croak.

“Why, yesterday, the day he died. He spent the night here and departed in the morning.”

“He did?” I said, surprised.

“You are surprised.”

On reflection I should not have been. “Then at least his last night was a memorable one.”

Euterpe clapped her hands in delight.

“A compliment! Oh, do keep practicing. One day you’ll be enchanting the ladies and receiving invitations to all the best salons.”

“I don’t ever expect to be able to afford it. Did you know where Ephialtes was going?”

“I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem important. Ephialtes sometimes left at dawn to conduct business.”

“How long had you known him?”

“Many, many years,” she said quietly, as much to herself as to me. Then she recollected the admission and said, “Long enough for us to be great friends, as well as the rest. We hetaerae with special friends are more to our men than their own wives, did you know that?”

“I can well believe it.”

“Ephialtes was a rising young politician when we first met. He could barely afford me then, but when he had the funds he would visit. As he rose he became wealthier and could visit more often. Eventually we came to the current arrangement: he kept me in the style I required, and I kept him happy, and saw no other man.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing before, a hetaera with only one client.”

“It’s unusual, yes, but it served us both well. Ephialtes posed with the people as one of them. He could hardly do that and visit all the expensive hetaerae! The common men can’t afford hetaerae and have to make do with those dirty pornoi. So a quiet, permanent mistress seemed the best idea.”

“Are you really from Mantinea?”

“Oh yes! I come from a well-born family. I was given as a girl-child to the temple to be priestess there, where the priestesses are required to be virgins but retire early to marry. Well, you can imagine having done my duty as a virgin priestess I was ready for anything! I married a local well-born citizen many times my age, who died on me the following year. Poor old Alexias.”

I had an idea how Alexias had expired, and felt nothing but envy for the old man.