Diotima opened her mouth to argue, but Markos raised a hand. “Wait! I agree it needs to be checked. I’ll see if anyone in the Spartan camp had a particular reason to kill Arakos.”
I wasn’t entirely happy, but we had to trust Markos in this. If Arakos did have an enemy in the Spartan camp, Diotima and I could never hope to discover him. The Spartans would refuse to talk to us.
It was hard to concentrate with the sounds of passion emanating from the tent behind us. Markos seemed distracted, too, but Diotima didn’t seem to notice.
The line of men had shortened to the final two when the slave with the runny nose appeared from around the corner and walked up to us.
“Not you again.” I backed away.
He sniffed loudly. “Got another message from Pericles. The great man wants to see you.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the main camp.
“Tell him we’ll be there shortly,” Diotima said.
“You’re coming, too?” I asked.
“I’m almost finished here,” she said.
Markos said, “This is an Athenian-only meeting, I’m sure. I’ll see what I can find at the Spartan camp while you consult your leader.”
“Pericles isn’t leader of Athens,” I said. “He’s influential, but he’s a citizen just like any other.”
“Then why do all you Athenians jump at his beck and call?” Markos asked.
It was a good question.
Diotima and I pushed our way into Pericles’s tent without bothering to knock. Pericles was equally abrupt. Without greeting, he asked, “What progress?” And then, seeing who was with me, demanded, “What’s she doing here?”
Pericles and Diotima didn’t exactly get along. It may have had something to do with the fact that Diotima had once blackmailed him.
“Diotima’s my partner, Pericles,” I said. “If you want this job done in three days, I need all the help I can get.”
“Hmmph.” He knew I was right. He also knew I would walk away if Diotima was excluded.
Rather than argue about it, I caught him up on everything we’d learned.
When I finished, Pericles said, “I want you both to understand how important it is to Athens that Timodemus not be guilty of this killing.”
I nodded. “Yes, it would be shameful if an Athenian cheated in such a way.”
“I don’t think you’ve quite understood me. I said it’s important Timodemus be found not guilty. I didn’t say anything about him actually being innocent.”
“You’re not suggesting we deliberately ignore evidence, are you?” Diotima said.
“Not at all. Unless it’s inconvenient, in which case yes.”
“Pericles,” I said, offended, “I swore an Olympic Oath to find the killer of Arakos. Timodemus is my closest friend, but if the facts lead to him, I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. How many men are dead of this debacle?”
“One.”
“If we’re not careful, the victims of this crime will expand to thousands.” Pericles picked up the bronze stylus he’d been playing with the last time we’d met in his tent and began to twirl it in his fingers.
“Did you know there was a battle between Athens and Corinth while you two were away in Ionia?”
“In the war for control of Megara? Yes.”
“Corinth sent an army to settle the issue,” Pericles said. “We were committed to so many wars, in different parts of the world, that all we had left to send were old men and boys. Old men and boys against an army of veterans.”
“And?”
“The old men and the boys won. The army from Corinth was driven off. Our lads erected a victory tripod.”
“Good for them.”
“The Corinthians can’t have been pleased,” Diotima said.
“They weren’t. The people of Corinth sent their army straight back, with orders to do a better job. The Corinthian army erected a victory tripod, too, claimed they’d won, refused to fight, and took off for home a second time.”
We all laughed.
Pericles said, “It may seem very well, but I’ve heard news this day. As I warned you might happen, Corinth is using this killing to egg on the Spartans to join the squabble. We must do nothing that would give the hawks in Sparta an excuse to declare war. Stretched as we are, we’d certainly lose it.”
“I see.”
“This time I think you do. If Sparta and Athens ever go to war, it will be like two giant lions mauling each other.”
“Could it come to that?” I asked, concerned. I was as ready to fight for Athens as any man, but I hated the discipline of army life.
“I begin to think a fight might be inevitable,” Pericles said. “There’ve been incidents. Small parties of Spartans have waylaid Athenians on their own, to rough them up. Our men defended themselves. There’s yet to be open fighting, but it’s only a matter of time. We’re not at war at the moment. I don’t wish to be when these Games end.”
“Can’t you stop this, Pericles?”
“No, but you can.”
“Me!”
“You. The Spartans won’t like it, but if Timodemus is officially innocent then there is no cause for dispute. Tension will fall. There are many things that could come of this debacle, Nicolaos, but there is one that must not: Athens and Sparta must not go to war. Ouch.” Pericles looked down to see blood flowing from his palm. In his excitement he’d stabbed himself with the stylus.
Diotima said, “But Pericles, Nico’s sworn an oath. What if we discover Timodemus did kill Arakos?”
Pericles said coldly, “Then Nicolaos must decide. Is he an investigator first, or an Athenian?”
Diotima and I walked out of Pericles’s tent, out of the Athenian camp, and out of Olympia. Our path took us past the camp of the Spartans, as it had the night Arakos died. A handful of Spartans who lounged about the entrance saw me. One of them knocked another in the shoulder and pointed as we passed. I ignored them. I knew I’d become notorious; everyone had seen me take the Olympic Oath.
We went to the woods, which were quite pleasant to stroll in if you didn’t think of them as a murder scene.
“What do you think?” I asked her.
“Pericles has a point,” Diotima conceded. “Is it worth delivering justice for one victim if it kills thousands more?”
“I’m tempted to give in and do as he asks.”
“Yet the entire thing is unethical.”
The pressure to exonerate Timodemus was enough to make me shake. His father, his uncle, Pericles, and the Athenians had made clear the result they expected. What would my life be like back in Athens if he were found guilty? I’d be known for the rest of my life as the man who destroyed one of our own.
A hand pushed me in the small of my back. I stumbled against a large oak tree.
“Athenian.” A voice spat the word. I turned to see five men, one of whom stood before the others. He was tall, and the muscles in his arms bulged. The other four looked tough too. None of them smiled. They had the look of men who spent their days in the sun, and to a man they looked deeply uncomfortable in civilian dress.
Spartans. These were the men we’d passed. I’d been so absorbed I hadn’t even noticed them follow me. Too late I recalled Pericles’s warning that the Spartans were targeting Athenians on their own. Not that I was alone, but these men would have discounted Diotima.
The five stepped smoothly, almost dance-like, to form a semicircle around us.
Diotima moved instinctively to cover my back. I was proud but worried. The last thing I wanted was her hurt.
“You’re a troublemaker, Athenian. A biased troublemaker.”
“What are you talking about?”
The leader spat on the ground, narrowly missing my foot. “Word is, you’re a friend of the man who killed Arakos.”
“The supposed killer,” I corrected.
“The killer. You’ll do whatever it takes to get him off, won’t you? ’cause he’s an Athenian, and the man he killed’s a Spartan, and that’s what you Athenians do, isn’t it? Tell lies. And cheat.” All five Spartans glared at me.