“All matter is composed from earth, air, fire, and water. They combine in different portions to form everything around us.”
Socrates thought about it, his head cocked on one side, then he asked, “But sir, what moves the earth, fire, air, and water to combine in different portions?”
“That’s simple. Love and strife. Love and strife, young boy, are what move everything in the universe.”
Love and strife move everything. Empedocles might be crazy, but he’d given me an idea.
“Nicolaos!” It was an old woman’s voice. I turned to see Gorgo with two men at her back, both twice her height. She, too, had come to see the spectacle of the oxen.
“Where’s your woman?” Gorgo asked.
I pointed to where Diotima and Markos stood together. Gorgo motioned, and we all stepped away from Empedocles, who had begun to harangue the amused crowd.
“Why were you making a bread cow?” Gorgo asked, obviously intrigued.
“It’s an ox.”
“Looks more like a cow to me, but that’s not important now. I have information for you.” She looked about, realized we were in the middle of a crowd that had come to watch Empedocles’s strange protest against meat, and signaled for us to follow. Gorgo’s two Spartan guards cleared a path for their queen. Gorgo led us, at her slow walk, to a place behind some statues of former Olympic victors. Here there were only a handful of men, quietly taking turns to drink from a wineskin. The guards made these drunks feel unwelcome, and they departed with rude gestures and empty threats.
When they were gone, Gorgo said, “I’ve done some checking of my own, as I told you I would. You’re still interested in the krypteia?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll wish to know there are definitely krypteia at Olympia.”
“Who?” I asked, excited.
“I have no names. I begged a favor of a member of the Gerousia-that’s our council of elders-from a fine man who once served with my husband. He’s of a conservative disposition himself and in with the current ephors. He tells me that Xenares said to him, when they were both well in wine, that he-Xenares, that is-wants to promote a war against Athens while he’s here at Olympia, and that a member of the krypteia is assisting him. I’m told Xenares appeared quite confident of success.”
That didn’t bode well for Athens.
“The difficulty is, I don’t know what this plan is, or in what capacity the krypteia might play a part. Olympia, as the location suggests, involves other city-states. The agent may simply be a go-between among allies.”
“Thank you, Gorgo,” Diotima said.
“I’ve also looked closely into the life of Arakos. I searched for any motive someone who knew him might have had to kill him. I find that Arakos was an exemplary Spartan.”
I said, “Tell me, how many krypteia are there in total, Gorgo?”
“The exact number is unknown, of course, but it’s possible to deduce. There are eight thousand serving Spartans-”
“So few!” I’d always thought of the Spartans as being a large army, but this was less than half what Athens could put into the field.
“You forget that any one Spartan is worth ten men from any other city. The test of the krypteia is reserved for those who might one day become leaders in combat. Perhaps one young man in ten is selected for the test. Of those, perhaps only one in a hundred shows such resourcefulness and expertise at silent killing that he’s selected by the ephors. From this we may guess the entire membership of the krypteia is probably not more than ten.”
“Do you mean to say we’re worried about only ten men?”
“We’re probably only concerned with one of those ten, and we’re right to be worried. It would require a man of extraordinary talent to face down one of these hidden killers and survive. My Leonidas could have done it; I know of no other man who would stand a chance.” Her eyes glistened as she spoke of her husband, and I realized with a shock that Gorgo was close to crying.
“Is there nothing that betrays them?” Diotima asked quickly. She wanted to spare the queen of Sparta the indignity of tears before strangers.
“They live ordinary lives,” Gorgo said. “They’re only called upon to provide their special service when the need arises. The only thing that marks them is they must all be of the officer class. I speculate that the krypteia deliberately restrain their abilities in day-to-day life, so as not to be too obvious.”
“Terrific,” I said glumly. “We’ll never spot him. If he even exists, that is. There are at least two other ways to interpret the word ‘secrets’ in that anonymous note.”
Gorgo said, “Your next step is clear. You must speak with Xenares. Only he can tell you more.”
“Will he agree to see us?”
“He will, because I’ll order it, personally. For all his faults, Xenares is a good Spartan, and there’s one thing you can rely on from any good Spartan. Markos, what’s the first lesson of our people?”
Markos smiled. “To follow orders, Queen Gorgo.”
Gorgo returned his smile. “It makes life so much simpler.”
Following orders might make a man’s life simpler, but it certainly didn’t make him happier.
“There are no krypteia at Olympia,” Xenares said, or, rather, snarled. “And even if there were, I certainly wouldn’t discuss it with an Athenian.”
As Gorgo had predicted, Xenares the ephor of Sparta had agreed to meet, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. We stood in a room at the Bouleterion, Xenares, Markos and I. Though there were couches along the walls, he remained standing in the center. Xenares clearly intended this to be a short discussion.
“I’ve heard otherwise,” I said.
“I can’t control what other people say. More important, how does an Athenian come to know of the krypteia and where its members might be?” Xenares looked pointedly at Markos, and there was no doubting whom he thought had talked.
Markos met his gaze with a bland expression.
“Markos told me nothing,” I said. “My source is higher up than any of us.”
Xenares frowned. “Higher than me?” He had no trouble guessing whom I meant. “Then this will be a subject for discussion at the next meeting of the ephors.”
I’d probably just caused trouble for Pleistarchus and Gorgo, but that was better than exposing Markos to the wrath of the ephors.
I said, “Tell me the names of the krypteia at Olympia.”
“What part of ‘no krypteia at Olympia’ did you not understand?”
“Do you want this killer punished?” I asked.
“This goes without saying.”
“Then why won’t you help us catch-”
“Because he’s already been caught. Let me ask you, if our roles were reversed, if Arakos had been an Athenian and this Timodemus were a Spartan, would you be looking so hard for evidence to exonerate him?”
I had no answer to that, because Xenares was right.
Markos said, “Xenares, may I remind you, Nicolaos has been ordered to do his best for the accused, as I have been ordered to do my best to convict him. We can hardly blame a man for following his orders, can we?”
That gave Xenares pause. “I see. Yes, Markos, you’re right. Very well then, it does not matter how many krypteia are here at Olympia, nor who they are. They will never act without orders. Do you know what the krypteia are?”
“Assassins,” I said.
“Patriots,” Xenares corrected me. “Highly talented patriots, who have dedicated their lives to the good of Sparta.”
The way he said it reminded me of the saying of Pericles, for the good of Athens.
“So you’re saying the krypteia only act on the orders of the ephors,” I said.
“The Spartan system is one of balance,” Xenares said. “The ephors are elected to represent the people, the Gerousia represent the wisdom of age, and the kings act for us all.”
One thing struck me. “The ephors are elected by the people? You mean by all the Spartans?”