“You don’t need me for that,” I said.
“No, there’s something else that I want you for,” said Demosthenes.
“What is it?”
“The ambassador first.”
The slave brought us cups and poured the wine. It was cold and biting, yet warmed my innards as I drank of it. Ketu repeated Philip’s offer and demands practically word-for-word.
“Much as I expected,” Demosthenes muttered when the ambassador was finished, blinking nervously.
“What will be your advice to the Great King?” asked Ketu.
“That is for me to tell Dareios, not you,” he answered, with some of his old haughtiness. “You will learn of his decision when he is ready to give it.”
I thought I knew what Demosthenes would say to Dareios: refuse to surrender the cities and the islands, but make no warlike step against Philip. Demosthenes wanted to get Philip to start the war, so that he could tell the Athenians and anyone else who would listen that the barbarian king of Macedonia wanted to drown all the world in blood.
He looked at me as if he could read my thoughts. “You don’t like me, do you, Orion?”
“I serve Philip,” I replied.
“You think me a traitor to Athens? To all the Greeks?”
“I think that, no matter what you tell yourself, you serve the Great King.”
“Yes! I do!” He pushed himself out of his chair to face me on his feet. “I would serve the Furies and Chaos itself if it would help Athens!”
“But you said that Athens no longer listens to your voice, no longer wants your service.”
“That doesn’t matter. The danger of a democracy is that the people will be misled, will be tricked into following the wrong road.”
“I see. Democracy works fine as long as the people do what you want them to. If they vote otherwise, it is a mistake.”
“Most people are fools,” said Demosthenes. “They need leaders. They need to be told what to do.”
“And that is democracy?” I asked.
“Bah! No matter what the people think they want, I serve Athens and the cause of democracy! I will use the Great King, the Spartans, the fish of the sea and the fowl of the air if it helps me to fight Philip and his bastard son.”
It was my turn to smile. “You had your chance to fight them at Chaeroneia.”
The barb did not bother him in the slightest. “I’m a politician, Orion, not a warrior. I discovered that at Chaeroneia, true enough. Now I fight in the way I know best. And I will beat Philip yet.”
“I am a warrior, not a politician,” I replied. “But let me ask you this question: would Athens and its democracy be safer under the Great King’s authority, or under Philip?”
He laughed. “Yes, you’re no politician at all, are you? You see things in black and white too much.”
“So?”
“The Great King will leave Athens and the other cities of Greece alone, leave them free, if the threat of Philip can be eliminated. He wants the Ionian cities to remain in his empire. I am willing to let him have them in return for Athens’ freedom.”
Ketu spoke up. “That is the nature of politics: you give something to get something else. Give and take—favors, gifts, alliances… even cities.”
“Aristotle told me,” I said, “that the Persian Empire will inevitably engulf all of Greece. Athens will become a vassal of the Great King, just as Ephesos and the other Ionian cities are.”
Demosthenes frowned. “Aristotle is a Macedonian.”
“No—” objected Ketu.
“Stagyrite,” said Demosthenes. “They’ve been part of Macedon long enough.”
“But what of Aristotle’s prediction?” I asked. “If he’s correct, by helping the Great King you are slowly strangling the democracy you cherish so much.”
Demosthenes paced the length of the room, all the way to the window and back to me, before answering. “Orion, I have a choice between Philip and the Persians. Philip is at Athens’ gates; the Great King is many months’ journey away. Philip will swallow us up in a gulp, like a wolf—”
“But he has left Athens alone,” Ketu pointed out. “He has not occupied the city with his soldiers nor demanded any political power in the city’s government.”
“Of course not. What he does is to place his friends in power, Athenians whom he has bought with gold and silver. He uses our democracy to serve his own ends.”
“But he leaves your democracy untouched,” I said. “Would the Great King allow that, if he were in Philip’s place?”
“But he’s not.”
“He will be, sooner or later, if we can believe Aristotle.”
Demosthenes threw up his hands. “Bah! This is getting us nowhere.” He turned to Ketu. “Ambassador Svertaketu, I will ponder the terms you bring from Philip and make my recommendation to the Great King. You may go.”
I took a step toward the door.
“Not you, Orion,” said Demosthenes. “I have further words for you.”
Ketu glanced at me, then made a small bow to Demosthenes and left the room. The soldiers outside snapped to attention and escorted him down the corridor, to his own quarters in the palace, I presumed.
Clapping his hands sharply enough to make the slave woman jump, Demosthenes said, “You too. Go. Leave us.”
She hurried for the door.
“And close the door behind you!”
She did as he commanded.
“All right, then,” I said. “What do you want of me?”
“Not him, Orion,” said a voice from behind me. “I’m the one who has a message for you.”
I turned and saw the Golden One, Aten, the self-styled god who created me. He glowed with energy. Golden hair, flawless face, body as strong and powerful as my own. He wore a magnificent robe of pure white, trimmed in gold. He had not been with us an instant earlier, and there was neither a door nor a window on that side of the room.
Glancing back at Demosthenes, I saw that he was frozen into immobility, like a statue.
“Don’t worry about him,” said the Golden One. “He can neither see nor hear us.”
His smile was wolfish. A shock of recognition raced through me. He looked like an older Alexandros—so much so that he could have been Alexandros’ father.
Chapter 21
“You recognize me,” said Aten, smiling with self-satisfaction.
“Where is Anya?” I asked.
“Athena,” he corrected. “In this timeplace she is known as Athena.”
“Where is she? Is she here?”
His smile disappeared instantly. “Anya will be here briefly; near here, at any rate. At a mountain called Ararat. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes!”
“She wants to see you there, but she can be there only for a very short time. It’s up to you to get there in time to meet with her.”
“When?”
“As you reckon time, in five weeks. Five weeks from today’s sundown. That is when she will appear at the summit of Ararat. Although why she continues to bother about you is beyond me.”
“Can you take me there?”
He shook his golden head. “Orion, I am your creator, not a delivery service.”
“But, five weeks—Ararat is so far away.”
He shrugged. “It’s up to you, Orion. If you want to see her, you will get there on time.”
Sudden anger welled up in me. “What is this, another one of your childish games? Some kind of a test to see if your creature can be made to jump through another hoop?”
“It’s not a game, Orion.” His face went hard, grim. “This is deadly serious.”
“Then tell me what’s going on!” I demanded.
With an exasperated huff, Aten answered, “It’s your own fault, creature. Anya took on human form because she felt sorry for you, and she found that she enjoyed being a human. She even thinks she loves you, whatever that means.”