Gary Corby - Death Ex Machina

“Good, that’s settled then,” Pericles interrupted. “Eponymous Archon, would you like to make the announcement to the people?”

Habron the Eponymous Archon hesitated.

“Would you like me to make the announcement?” Pericles offered. There was no hint of modesty in his voice.

Habron accepted. His relief was evident.

“I have an idea how we might get away with it,” Pericles said. He outlined his plan. Heads nodded once more.

When it was clear that he had agreement, Pericles turned to one of his assistants.

“Call for an emergency meeting of the People of Athens,” he said. “Right away. Every citizen to meet at the theater.”

Pericles stepped onto the stage, where most of the citizens of Athens had gathered. It was late afternoon, the perfect time to catch men between work and home. The word had gone out that there was to be an important announcement.

Diotima and I hid behind the skene, out of sight, where we could peek our heads around the corner. I wanted to see everyone’s reaction to what Pericles had to say. The archons had followed Pericles into public view. They stood to one side of him. In fact, they looked remarkably like a chorus to Pericles’s protagonist.

Pericles didn’t shout for attention. That would have been undignified. He stood patiently until everyone noticed that the most powerful man in Athens awaited their pleasure. The people fell silent more quickly and effectively than if someone had bellowed at them.

“People of Athens!”

Pericles’s voice was smoother than music. People listened because they wanted to hear more.

“People of Athens, today a murder has been committed within this theater in which we sit. That is bad enough, but the crime was in full view of the god Dionysos himself. This is impiety of the highest order.”

Pericles paused to let the people think about that. The bright ones saw the implications immediately. A low murmur swept across the crowd.

“As long as the city does nothing, this crime reflects on us all. Dionysos will turn his face from us.”

Lakon emerged onstage. He carried a white cloth of some delicate material. This he placed reverently over the head of Dionysos, to obscure the God’s view.

Lakon stepped back from the statue and bowed like a supplicant. The movement was as smooth and elegant as might be expected of a professional actor. Yet the audience had no way of knowing who he was, for Lakon had assumed the mask that the victim had worn, the mask that had covered his face when his corpse hung from the machine.

To the audience it looked as if Thanatos, the god of death-or perhaps it was the murdered man-had returned from the grave to cover the eyes of the God whose most sacred festival had been polluted. I was privy to Pericles’s plan, yet even I felt a shiver run down my back.

Pericles hadn’t even turned to watch. Instead he spoke as commentary to the action, “The impiety must be avenged. The Great Dionysia is suspended from this moment, to resume on the same day when the murderer is brought to justice. Citizens of Athens, when I say the same day, I mean the same date as well. On that day, the cover will be removed and the Great Dionysia will continue.”

In the tense atmosphere the audience thought about the meaning of Pericles’s words. It slowly dawned on them that he had just suspended the calendar. There were murmurs.

Pericles smiled and said in a jocular tone, “In the meantime, we must not forget the God. For this is the time to honor him. We will not allow crime to rule our lives. A public feast will be held in honor of Dionysos, a dionysiac feast, in the agora. The feast will be held five days hence, to give my staff time to prepare. It will be my gift to the people of Athens.”

Pericles managed not to wince as he said this. A public feast was going to cost him a fortune. He was one of the few men in Athens who could afford it, but I’d never known a man tighter with his money. I took some satisfaction in knowing how much Pericles was going to hate this.

There were murmurs of appreciation from all around the theater. Cheers erupted in several places. They merged into one large cheer for Pericles across the entire theater, as people realized he had promised them a free feast. Their minds had glossed over the news that the Dionysia would be delayed.

This was the effect Pericles had predicted when he outlined his plan, as we stood in his courtyard. Somehow Pericles had managed to turn this crisis into an opportunity to promote himself to the people. I wondered if he’d known this would happen when he first suggested his plan.

The speech had been brilliant. Pericles had announced a crisis, had unflinchingly delivered the bad news it implied, had shown the people a solution, and then given them a party to keep their minds occupied while someone else sorted out the details. I could already see some of the women in the audience discussing what they should wear to the public feasts, while the men were probably thinking about the free wine.

Pericles held up his hand. People realized he had more to say, and they fell silent.

“And now I say to you, go from this place of worship to Dionysos. Continue his celebration in the agora. When we meet here again the stain will be washed from the city and all will be well.”

Pericles had once advised me to avoid acting at all costs, because, he said, “No one in their right mind would vote for an actor.” Pericles may have avoided acting, but he had all the talent needed for a theatrical career.

As he walked past me, Pericles said out of the corner of his mouth, “That’s my part done. Now it’s up to you, Nicolaos. Don’t fail us.”

As the assembly broke up Diotima and I went straight to Thodis. This was our chance to find out what he knew. “Thodis? Could we speak to you for a moment?”

Thodis looked at me as if I was some spirit raised from the earth.

He said, “You were at the meeting, but I don’t recognize you.”

That surprised me. Had Thodis paid no attention?

“Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus, and this is my wife,” I said. “I’m the investigator on this case.”

“Then you are the one to blame for all the troubles,” he said.

“I think that would be whoever harmed Phellis and killed Romanos,” Diotima said to him.

Thodis looked at Diotima for a moment, plainly considered not answering her, then said, “But your husband failed to prevent it.”

That was an interesting way of assigning blame, but Thodis was right. I had failed to protect his investment.

I said, “I wanted to ask you, sir, what’s your interest in the theater?”

“I’m paying for the play written by Sophocles. I pay for every mask, every prop, every actor.”

“And yet, sir, you never seem to attend the theater. We’ve been there almost constantly for six days, and we haven’t seen you there even once. It seems strange behavior for a man who loves the theater, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I see.” He considered my words. “I must disillusion you. I have no interest in the theater whatsoever.”

“Then why-”

“Why am I spending such large sums on something I care nothing about?” He flicked away a fly that buzzed about his face. “I was advised by my friends to do so. My father died recently-”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I found it rather convenient actually. You see, I planned a career in politics, but my father wouldn’t permit it.”

“I know that song,” I muttered.

“You too?” he said sympathetically.

“Let’s say I had a similar problem.”