Gary Corby - Death Ex Machina

“Murder is always a disaster,” I said.

The Eponymous Archon stared at me in surprise. “Murder? That’s nothing. Young man, a dead actor is the least of our problems.”

“It is?”

He pointed to the door, beyond which lay all of Athens. “Have you any idea how many leading dignitaries from other cities are out there? How many wealthy merchants? Dear Gods, we even have a contingent from the Great King of Persia visiting. If word gets out that we can’t hold a play without it going wrong, we’ll be the laughing stock of the civilized world.”

“We need to think about this,” the Basileus said.

“We have to do something ,” Aeschylus said. “Can you imagine what the other cities will say?”

“Can you imagine the jokes they’ll tell?” a comedy writer said sadly. “And I won’t be able to use a single one of them.”

“Why don’t we cancel the festival?” the Polemarch suggested.

The reaction to the Polemarch’s suggestion could not have been more horrified had he suggested we eat live babies. When he saw the expressions on our faces he said, “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not an arts man, I can see,” Aeschylus said. “Stop the Great Dionysia? It’s unthinkable.”

“You’re not a religious man either,” the Basileus added. “What would the God think if we canceled his most important festival? The final ceremony is the parade through the city, followed by the crowning of Dionysos. How do you think the god of the harvest will feel if he isn’t crowned this year? Do you want to think about the consequences for the food supply?” Heads nodded at the words of the Basileus. If the God was displeased, we could expect a pitiful crop. It would mean hunger for the city.

“Nor are you a diplomat,” Pericles added. “Did you not hear the words of our Archon, that hundreds of representatives from the most important cities in the world are in Athens right now? They will watch and wait with interest to see how we handle this crisis.”

“And then there are the Athenian people,” the comic writer said. “They’re expecting a party.”

The Polemarch threw up his hands in surrender. “All right, it’s only an idea. Let me know when you have a better one.”

Pericles said, “Gentlemen, Aeschylus is right when he says we must act. If we don’t, our esteemed foreign visitors will soon see a genuine Athenian riot. Could we proceed with the Dionysia, but without the play by Sophocles?”

A man whom I’d not seen before stood beside Sophocles, older, with short, dark hair and a pained expression. Sophocles turned to him now and said, “You’ve been quiet, Thodis. What do you think? It’s your play and your investment.”

So this was Thodis the choregos, the man who backed the play with his money. He had been strangely absent during the troubles. If my money had been at such risk I would have been present every day.

Thodis looked about the assembled company with wide eyes. “We must certainly do as Pericles suggests,” he said. I had rarely seen a man appear so out of place as Thodis did.

“That idea’s not a starter in any case,” said the Basileus, and the High Priest nodded. “The crime of impiety is against the God. Whether Sisyphus opens is of no moment to cleansing the theater. You want to cleanse the impiety? It has to be vengeance. There’s no faster way.”

Sophocles said, “What say then we postpone the Dionysia? Tell the people the plays will resume after the murderer is caught.”

“How long will that take?” someone asked.

Every eye turned back to me. I was the junior man in this company, by a long way. I felt my face go red.

“I don’t know,” I said. “A day? Ten days? Maybe a month?”

“Days?” the Eponymous Archon spluttered, as if I were a handyman who’d just delivered too high a quote. “Can’t you hurry it along?”

I forbore from pointing out that I hadn’t even started.

“You can’t delay that long in any case,” the Basileus said. He seemed to take a morose pleasure in destroying every suggestion. He said, “The crowning of Dionysos is scheduled for the fourteenth of Elaphebolion. It’s a particularly lucky date. If we pushed the crowning ceremony back to an unluckier date-not something that I’d advise in any case-then the festival of Rhea that comes straight after would be delayed by the same amount. It gets worse. Even if you don’t mind offending Rhea, the mother of the Gods, the rites of Pandia come straight after that, and those are in honor of Zeus. The Spring rites for the king of the Gods would land right at the end of the month. You all know what that means.”

The unluckiest day in the calendar. No one in their right mind would schedule anything important to happen then. Every man present contemplated the effect of offending three gods.

“That’s it, then,” the Polemarch summarized. “We’re doomed.”

Pericles said, “The situation is this: we can’t cancel the show because it’s a sacred festival. Nor can we continue the play until the murder is avenged, and if we don’t do something we’ll look incompetent before the whole world. We must complete to schedule because the season is so busy for sacred rites.”

Everyone agreed.

“Then there’s only one solution,” Pericles said with an air of calm logic. “We must suspend the calendar until the murder is solved.”

“Suspend?” I said, confused. From the perplexed looks around the room I wasn’t the only one.

Pericles said, “The calendar doesn’t move forward until the crime is solved to the satisfaction of the Gods. That solves every objection.”

“Except for one. You can’t stop time, Pericles!” I said.

“You’re right, I can’t,” Pericles said. “But he can.” Pericles pointed to the Eponymous Archon.

The Archon nodded unhappily. “I don’t like it, but if I have to, I will.”

“But sir, you can’t stop time either,” I said.

“Yes I can. Do you understand the meaning of my title?” he said.

“Eponymous Archon? It means the leader who gives his name. ”

“Gives his name to what?” the Eponymous Archon persisted.

“To the year,” I replied promptly. Everyone knew that. This year would be known forever as the Year of Habron, because Habron was the personal name of this year’s Eponymous Archon. Then it struck me. “Sir … Habron … you own the calendar.”

Habron the Eponymous Archon nodded. “We take our calendar months from divine Selene, who controls the movement of the moon. We take our years from Apollo, who drives the Sun about the Earth. Why Selene and Apollo can’t coordinate themselves better I don’t know; but the two of them never match up at the end of the year.” The Archon shrugged. “Maybe they just don’t get on. But for whatever reason, it means that at the end of every year, whoever holds the office of Eponymous Archon must add a few extra days to our calendar, to catch us up with Apollo.” He thought about it, then nodded. “Yes, I see what Pericles is getting at. I can add the extra days now , and not at the end of the year. Then when you’ve caught this murderer and the plays resume, it will still be … what’s the date today?” asked the man in charge of the calendar.

“It’s the ninth day of the month of Elaphebolion,” Sophocles said.

“Thank you,” the Eponymous Archon said. “When the Great Dionysia resumes, it will still be the ninth of Elaphebolion, and it will be as if none of this ever happened. Yes. The more I think about it, the more I like this plan of Pericles’.”

Smiles all round, from everyone except me. I said, “But sirs, what if I can’t catch the kill-”