Gary Corby - The Pericles Commission

“His lands passed to his son by a previous marriage. The son loathed me-I can’t imagine why-and by mutual agreement I departed for Athens with his funding. So here I was in Athens with no husband, and the local wives looking down on me. It was the most natural thing in the world to arrange a few soirees. One thing led to another, and here I am.”

She paused to consider me.

“Are you married yet, Nicolaos? Betrothed? No? Then some respectable girl still awaits the pleasure of your company.”

“I thought a lady such as yourself would have no time for the respectable girls.”

“Oh, respectability is nothing of value. But security, dear man, security is the important thing for one such as me. The wives may be boring, drab, disgusting, but they are secure.”

Financial security seemed a delicate subject better avoided with Euterpe. I wondered what it cost to maintain this house and where she would find the money now. No doubt there were rich men would pay well to be with her, but she was reduced to looking for custom again where before she had a certain future and a steady income.

“We seem to have moved from investigating the death of your client to my personal love life.”

She came to sit on my couch, leaned against me so that I could feel her breasts against my chest, stroked my thigh, and looked into my eyes with sincerity.

“I often mix business with pleasure. In fact, pleasure is my business. Have you a thousand drachmae? No, I thought not, but if you ever have a windfall, you’ll be thinking of me, will you not, handsome Nicolaos?”

This was more than any young man could be expected to bear. I made my thanks and escaped the room, followed by her light laughter.

Back out on the street I felt light-headed and had to lean against the wall for support. I took deep breaths. She was right, if I won that home and modest income from Pericles, I might throw it all away for a night with Euterpe.

A young man peered around the corner onto the street as I stood there. When he saw me notice him, he stepped back out of sight. The light was dim so late in the day and I didn’t get a clear view, but I thought it was the same man I’d seen watching me outside the house of Xanthippus. Could he be one of the men who’d beaten me? I hadn’t had a good look, but I didn’t think so. I sidled to the corner with my dagger drawn, and looked about. He was gone, but it worried me. I was sure I was being stalked.

I found Pericles in the Stoa Poikile off the north side of the Agora, in the corridor of colonnades. The two painters I’d seen before were both still at work, and both had moved on to color. The battle with the Amazons was coming out with brilliant, vivid hues, but the Fall of Troy was looking a bit monotone to me.

The stoa was already the favored place for men to meet and talk. The porch was wide and cool, far enough away from the stalls that the dust kicked up by the shoppers didn’t hang in the air. The columns were stylish, tapered at the top so they appeared to be straight all the way. Some men sat on the steps of the porch, their clothing tucked up, but most stood within the shady area. There was much angry talking, much hand waving. Pericles was talking, but he wasn’t making speeches.

He talked to small groups of men, going from one to the next. He harangued other speakers calling for revenge. He took men aside and spoke to them quietly. He coaxed the doubtful, soothed the angry, cheered the fearful. His message was the same every time: don’t jump to action, think first, consider the consequences, wait for news.

Although I needed to speak to him myself, I stood back and watched, not daring to interfere while he worked. Pericles was barely controlling a mob ready to lynch someone, a Councilor of the Areopagus for preference, but any rich aristocrat would do. He played heavily on being Ephialtes’ trusted lieutenant, telling the mob what Ephialtes would have wanted. But his own wealthy aristocratic family told against him, and when someone shouted Pericles was son of the murderer, it all threatened to boil over. Who was he to say what the people should do?

“There will be news!” Pericles bellowed in a voice that could command a battle, jumping upon an empty plinth. That shut them all up for a moment.

“There will be news,” Pericles said more quietly, forcing the people to listen carefully to his words. “We do not know who killed Ephialtes, but we will. And when we do, people of Athens, if the murderer is Xanthippus, then I, Pericles, son of Xanthippus, will lead the prosecution against him. And if the killer of my friend was any other man, then too I will lead the prosecution. Our democracy favors no man.”

As he stepped down from the plinth I heard him whisper sadly, “Not even me.”

Pericles and I had made eye contact some time before. Now, with the crowd breaking up under the force of his personality, he strode over to me where I stood in the full glare of the sun, between the stoa and the stalls.

“There will be news, won’t there, Nicolaos?”

“There will, sir.” I had been feeling a trifle warm, now I began to sweat. I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. I had intended to tell him of my troubles and doubts, but changed my mind having seen his own load. Instead I detailed what I had discovered to date, neglecting to mention most of the events in Euterpe’s rooms.

“I have to emphasize, Pericles, if the point Archestratus made of Cimon is good, and it may well be, then you are in mortal danger.”

Pericles stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It’s almost as useful if Cimon is behind it as the Areopagus.”

“But aren’t you worried?”

“Hmm? Worried? No, I’m not.” Pericles began to stroll about the perimeter of the Agora, I guessed to prevent anyone from eavesdropping. We had the chaos of the markets to our right and the relative calm of the public buildings on our left. Pericles went on, “Athens is no good to anyone if it’s a burning wreck, and the murder of a second democrat now would tip us into civil war, no question. You saw the mob yourself. I am not being arrogant, Nicolaos, when I tell you the only thing standing between Athens and self-immolation this moment is me. If Cimon is watching then he knows that. But surely he must be out of Attica by now. If he were found within the territories during his period of exile he could legally be killed on the spot.”

“You forget the agent theory.”

“Cimon has many friends, that’s true.”

“Does he have enough to stage a coup?”

“Take Athens by force? It’s been done before, of course. Who have you been talking to, or is this your own idea?”

“Lysimachus mentioned it to my father.”

“Lysimachus, of course. I think I said when we first met that your father and I have a common friend. That’s him. Lysimachus is prone to dramatize any situation. But in this case it would hardly be possible to overestimate the danger.”

“So you agree. Cimon has the ability to foment revolution.”

Pericles considered. “Yes, I believe he could; the man is an outstanding military commander, even if he is an aristocratic prig. But Nicolaos, you must remember no one has ever successfully held Athens long-term by force. The people will rise against a tyrant they don’t like.” We had to stand to the side for a moment while a donkey laden with small pots trundled by. From the spicy sweet smell, it had to be fish sauce. As we watched the donkey’s backside recede down the road, Pericles continued, “A tyrant is a king in all but name. If the people like him, no force is required. Peisistratus ruled as tyrant for decades, yet he died an old and happy man, because some men make good kings.” He paused. “But then of course, others don’t.”