Gary Corby - Death Ex Machina

Theokritos wrested a cup of beer from a nearby drinker.

“Here now!” the drinker objected loudly.

The High Priest poured the offending liquid into the dust.

The man whose drink he’d destroyed stood up suddenly and punched the High Priest. Theokritos fell. The other vintners moved to defend their leader.

The beer drinker’s friends stood up to defend their friend. They’d probably been drinking beer too.

That was enough to start the riot.

Fists flew. Strong men cursed. Women called for help and threw food.

So far the fight was limited to the men about the High Priest. The problem with Athenians is, they’re always ready to lend a helping hand. The bystanders weren’t moving away from the trouble; they were moving toward it, to break it up or more likely to take sides, either for beer or for wine.

There was plenty of that already. Even from my distance I could hear the debate as the punches flew.

“Beer!”

Whack.

“Wine!”

Thump.

I jumped onto the plinth of a statue, the better to see what was going on. It was the statue of Hephaestus. I apologized to the god of artisans but didn’t let go of his arm. I didn’t know where my parents were. I could see Pythax on the other side. He had placed Euterpe on top of the table where they’d been sitting and now he was defending the position. Several other men had followed his example. Euterpe looked like a beleaguered heroine out of the ancient tales. I had a feeling she was enjoying every moment. Three rioters tried to overwhelm Pythax. Euterpe smashed a jug of beer down on the head of one of them. That evened the odds and Pythax disposed of the other two.

This had to be stopped. Quelling riots was a job for the Scythian Guard. The problem was that Pythax was completely cut off in the dead center of the riot. Somehow he had to get out of there and take command.

“What are your orders, sir?”

It was a voice from below. I looked down to see the faces of the men of the Scythian Guard. A whole squad of them. They looked up at me expectantly.

“Sir? Your orders?”

Me? They were asking me for orders?

Then it occurred to me that their chief was my father-in-law. In family-oriented Athens, where every business is a family business, that made me practically his lieutenant. The men had seen Pythax chew me out on more than one occasion for various faults, and probably sniggered behind my back. That didn’t make me lesser in their eyes, it made me a junior officer. The Scythians were always deferential to Diotima when she passed them in the street. Most of all, Pythax had given me his men in ones and twos for my own work. They knew me.

“Sir? What are your orders?”

The guard sounded worried. I knew him by name. Eusebius. We would nod to each other whenever I visited Pythax at the Scythian barracks.

I had to say something.

I’d never run a battle in my life. I had no idea what to do. I cast about, wondering what someone with experience would say.

What about Pericles? He was a General. What orders would Pericles give in this situation?

No, scrap that. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Pericles would do.

I felt the first stirrings of panic in my guts. Dear Gods, how did Pythax cope with this every day?

Pythax! Yes, there was a man I could hope to emulate. What would Pythax do?

I’d once seen Pythax quell a riot by hitting a troublemaker so hard he flew into a wall. But it was too late for that. The riot was well and truly underway. Besides, I couldn’t hit that hard.

Had I ever seen Pythax deal with a mob?

“The ropes!” I said. “Where are the ropes?”

“At the barracks, sir.”

“Bring them all! And wake up the other shift. I want every guardsman here.”

Eusebius pointed to two men. They didn’t need more instructions. They took off up the Panathenaic Way as if Hades was on their tail.

I breathed easier. I had once seen the Scythians deal with a mob by using long ropes strung out to make barriers. They had herded a rioting mob away from a trouble point and then got them into single file to deal with them one by one.

“Here’s the plan,” I said. “We’ll use the ropes to pull rioters away from the center of the agora. We’ll pick them out in manageable groups by flinging the longest rope over their heads and pulling on both ends.”

They looked dubious.

“We don’t have enough rope for all that, sir,” Eusebius said.

“Yes, I know. We’ll use the narrow streets that run off the major roads. We’ll use them like corridors,” I said. “To split the mob. The more we can separate them, the less they’ll fight. We’ll station men at the other ends. The rioters will have no choice but to keep moving along because we’ll be feeding more citizens in.”

I felt proud of myself for already having thought of that. For once the narrow backstreets of Athens would turn out to be useful. I did a quick calculation. With three hundred men we could run two corridors side by side, with enough men left over to intervene if things got ugly.

The men looked happier.

“Like pushing sheep through a run,” Eusebius said.

“Precisely.”

“What if they argue, sir?”

“Then knock the bastards out.”

“Yes sir!” Eusebius said happily.

That was a command any Scythian could understand. But I was betting there wouldn’t be many who argued. The people of Athens were too used to following the lawful commands of their guardian slaves, as long as we could calm the people down long enough to listen.

The two runners returned with the rope plus every spare man who’d been off duty, more than a hundred men in double file. They quickly created a rope cordon that led away from the agora.

“You need any help?”

I turned. It was Akamas, the well-muscled stage crewman.

“Stand there.” I pointed. “Hit anyone who tries to turn back to the agora.”

“Can do,” Akamas said.

The Scythian at the front flung the rope over the heads of the nearest people, then pulled them in toward the cordon. Those Scythians not involved in the cordon stood alongside, with their unstrung bows in hand. Several times an Athenian sought to break through the barrier or continued fighting. Every time two Scythians leapt to the trouble spot and dealt with it. As each group was pushed into the cordon the Scythians at the front flung the first rope again. It was like net fishing for people.

Under the urging of the guard the crowd flowed away from the trouble, into the narrow side streets of the city, from whence they dispersed, most of them carrying as much food as they could from the free stalls.

Eventually we came to the core of the troublemakers. Euboulides and Pheidestratos, the two guards who had fallen asleep at the theater, were stationed alongside the cordon.

“You two! Do you want to redeem yourselves?”

They both stood at attention. “Yes, sir!”

“Then come with me.”

I left the Scythians to their work. The remainder of the crowd were the serious rioters. I ignored them and instead jumped onto the long benches. I ran along these with Euboulides and Pheidestratos at my heels. Euterpe and the other women had taken refuge on the heights. I knocked one matron over into a fish pie in my haste, but didn’t stop to apologize.

The route brought us to where the vintners of Athens were brawling with the Phrygians and the dedicated beer drinkers.

The two Scythians and I reached them only moments after Pythax got there. Between the four of us, we made short work of anyone who still felt like fighting.

When it was over, I said to the man who stood defiant amongst the vintners, “Theokritos, High Priest of Dionysos, I charge you with crimes against Athens.”