Gary Corby: Death Ex Machina

A WINEMAKER

Jumps to his feet in fear.

It’s true!

I confess!

Theokritos said we must stop the beer!

Theokritos said we should do it!

THEOKRITOS

You idiot!

Theokritos bolted. Not through the audience; he wouldn’t have gotten ten steps. Theokritos turned and ran across the stage. As he passed by, Lakon put out his foot in an exaggerated motion that, had it occurred in a comedy, would have had the crowd laughing.

Theokritos sprawled.

The stagehands fell upon Theokritos. So did Petros, in the guise of Thanatos, and in his hands were the chains intended in the play for Sisyphus. When the men rose, Theokritos was in the stage chains. They were strong enough to hold one fat priest.

Exit Theokritos, chained, led away by Thanatos.

The winemakers who had joined Theokritos were rapidly making their confessions, before anyone could charge them with anything. Every man of them pointed at Theokritos who had told them, in his role as High Priest, that what they were doing was divinely inspired.

The murder of a metic hardly warranted a fine and exile. But the crime of impiety was invariably fatal. Theokritos was on his way to Hades.

The Goddess spoke one last time.

ATHENA

The Gods are always late, but in the end they are just.

With those words the Goddess turned and walked through the air back to the Acropolis.

The chorus had stood silent upon the stage. Now they sang.

CHORUS

Those who have a troubled house

Should place their trust in the Gods.

For in the end, the good shall get what they deserve,

But the bad by nature can never fare well.

Sophocles, Aeschylus, and I joined the actors and crew backstage. Pericles and the archons were explaining what had just happened to the visiting dignitaries. I wondered what lies they were making up. The archons would be furious with me. I consoled myself with the knowledge that they would only be in power for a year. They had that long to make my life miserable.

Sophocles was not entirely pleased with me either. I and the others had hijacked his play. But, since he was expecting total disaster anyway, he conceded that not much had been lost. Mostly he was impressed by our staging.

“How did you get the actor to walk through the air?” Sophocles asked. “I might have a use for that effect.”

“You’ll have to ask Captain Kordax,” I told him. “He and his men strung the lines overnight. The lines were painted blue of course. He and his men were atop the Acropolis, controlling the machine. The machine was designed by … er … I must admit it was Socrates.”

“He seems a bright lad.”

Two women entered. One of them was Diotima.

“How did I do?” Euterpe asked breathlessly. She took off her mask to reveal that the goddess Athena was in fact my mother-in-law.

Sophocles turned to me. “A woman?” he said, shocked. “You allowed a woman to act?”

“She did a good job,” I pointed out. “She fooled everyone.”

Sophocles considered that. “It’s true,” he admitted. “Even I was taken in for a moment.” He said to Euterpe, “I must say, madam, that had you been a man you might have made a fine actor.”

Euterpe glowed with the praise. She said, “Did you really like it? I can also do a fake orgasm-”

“Thank you, Mother,” said Diotima firmly.

“Congratulations, young man,” Aeschylus said to me. “You’ve joined the ranks of theater people.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” I said. “I only arranged for everyone else to play their parts.”

“Yes,” Aeschylus clapped me on the back. “That’s what a choregos does, you know. By the way, who wrote those lines?”

“A fellow named Euripides.”

Aeschylus looked blank. “Who?”

“A wannabe,” Sophocles explained. “You might have seen him around. He’s a little weird. You know the type.”

“Ah,” Aeschylus said, and nodded. Apparently he did know the type.

“What happens to Theokritos?” Petros asked.

“Trial for impiety,” Aeschylus said. “Followed by death. He can’t avoid it now. Not with every man, woman, and child in Athens present at the confession of the winemakers.”

“What of them?”

“They’ll get off,” I said. “Nobody wants to run out of wine. The vintners did it to kill the competition. But Theokritos led them into it because he’s a religious fanatic.” I turned a hard look to Maia. “That’s not a good idea around here.”

Maia looked solemn and said, “I understand you, Nicolaos. Sabazios will no longer attempt to convert the Athenians.”

I survived the wrath of the archons better than I hoped. Which was to say, they didn’t actually draw their daggers and knife me where I stood. But if words had edges then I would have died a thousand times. Pericles admitted to me later, as the people brought down the decorations and prepared to resume normal, post-Dionysia life, that it had been easy to placate the official visitors.

“They enjoyed your show,” Pericles told me. “Several of them asked if we could do the same again next year.”

That left Pericles happy. He was satisfied as long as nothing disturbed his grand strategy. What he had in mind I didn’t know, but whatever it was, the psyche of the Great Dionysia hadn’t interrupted his plans.

There were only two last points to see to. I went to talk with Lakon.

I found him in his courtyard, where he quietly celebrated a triumph. Not of the theater, but of his personal survival. Lakon invited me to sit and offered me wine. I accepted both and got to the point.

“Lakon, you’re not a murderer, but you’re guilty of the crime of fraud. You’ve lived off the name of the real Lakon for decades, and never given his family a thing in return.”

He sipped his wine and said, “I could hardly do that, could I?” He leaned back in his dining couch. It was clear he felt comfortable now that the crisis was over.

I said, “I didn’t reveal your secret to the others, when I accused Theokritos.”

“I will be forever grateful, believe me.” Lakon sounded sincere. I believed him.

“There’s to be no official trial for you, Lakon, so I must be your judge,” I said. “My judgment is this: that there is restitution to be made. I sentence you to play the part of Lakon to his mother. That poor old lady is in a terrible state. Her mind is gone. When she sees her son returned, she’ll be overjoyed. You will make her last days restful. You will be the most dutiful son a mother ever had.”

“I see.” Lakon toyed with his wine cup. “You know, I’m not the monster you think I am.”

“Prove it.”

“I will.”

“And another thing. There’s a girl there named Lysine. She will inherit the family’s farm.”

“Fine. I don’t want it.”

“You will treat her like a cherished sister. You will spend whatever it costs to fix up the place. You will give her slaves to work the farm. If she wants to marry, you will dower her. You will scrupulously check over her choice of husband like a brother should.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “I’ve got the idea. You’ll have no cause for complaint.”

I had better not. Or Lakon the Actor would be exposed as a fraud to his admiring fans. I hadn’t voiced the threat, but I didn’t need to with Lakon.

Lakon’s house lay not far from Diotima’s. It was only natural that I should stop by, to see how the Phrygians were getting on.

The house was in pristine perfect condition. The Hand of Sabazios was returned to its place in the courtyard. The beer vat out back had disappeared.