“Certainly.”
“I thought Athens was the only city with democracy.”
“Democracy?” Xenares shuddered. “Are you insane? Democracy is for weaklings. We ephors are elected by the people to act as a balance against the kings, so they cannot get above themselves. The system works. The kings make the best decisions they can because they know if they don’t, we ephors will veto them.”
“Does veto include tearing the skin off a man who’s out of his mind?”
Xenares looked like he’d swallowed something distasteful. “I see you’ve heard the rumors about Cleomenes, who was grandfather to our current king Pleistarchus. How should I know what happened back then? It was before my time. Whatever happened, I’m sure it was for the best for Sparta.”
“But the ephors could order such a killing?”
“We never discuss the government of Sparta with outsiders, and particularly not with an Athenian.”
“Why do you hate Athens so?” I asked, genuinely curious, because I’d never understood it.
“Is that a serious question?” Xenares said. “Athens disturbs the balance. Athens uses her wealth to bend other cities to her will. Every merchant from every city must deal with you, because you’re so rich. You set unfair rules that serve only to increase your wealth and power, and then the richer you get, the more you extend your unhealthy influence. Athens is like a cancer among the city-states.” Xenares was shouting now and waving his arms. He stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing.
“Where were you, Xenares, when Arakos died?”
I thought for a moment he was going to strike me. “I didn’t even know the man,” he said at last.
“Purely for the record, Xenares, so we can eliminate you.”
“Eliminate me, eh? If you must know, I was with a delegation from Corinth. We talked through most of the night. They’ll vouch for me.”
Considering Corinth was a close ally of Sparta and a mortal enemy to Athens, that didn’t mean much. To test him, I asked, “Oh? What did you talk about?”
Xenares glared at me. “A subject dear to all our hearts: how best to destroy Athens.”
“He’s probably telling the truth,” I said to Markos. “If he wanted to lie, he surely would have made up a story that put him in a better light.”
“I hate to have to tell you this, my friend,” Markos said, “but to many people in Hellas, wanting to destroy Athens does put him in a good light.” He thought for a moment, then said, “We must consider the possibility that the information Gorgo gave us, that there’s a krypteia agent assisting Xenares at Olympia, is tangled up in these negotiations with Corinth.”
I nodded. “If so, then he has nothing to do with Arakos, and we’ve gone down another dead end.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear all that from Xenares, Nico,” Markos said. “It can’t have been pleasant for you.”
“Do men truly praise Xenares because he hates us?”
“That’s how most Spartans see it.”
“Is that how you see it?” I asked him.
Markos hesitated for so long I thought he might refuse to answer, but he said, “How I feel doesn’t matter, Nico. I follow orders. You and I don’t get a say. Maybe one day, when we’re as old as Xenares, you and I will be able to sit down together and resolve all the differences between our cities.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, thinking of my orders from Pericles to get Timo off the charge at all costs. That in turn reminded me of my new idea. Empedocles had said that love and strife moved everything in the universe. To me, it sounded like two good motives for murder.
I left Markos behind and crossed the river, where I waited outside the tent of Klymene, under a nearby tree for the shade, until the tent flap lifted and the priestess’s personal slave-the girl with red hair, whom Klymene had called Xenia-emerged carrying a large jar with two handles. The girl settled the jar on her head, where it remained, perfectly balanced, and walked easily toward the river.
“Going for water?” I asked as I joined her on the path and matched her steps.
She glanced at me in contempt. “What a stupid question.”
“Then let me try a better one. Where do you sleep at night, Xenia?”
“Are you hitting on me?” She didn’t break stride for a moment.
“I’m a married man.”
“Well, at least you’re honest!”
“I only want to ask a few questions.”
Xenia scoffed. “That’s a different approach.”
We reached the riverbank. Xenia waded in. She stopped in the middle of the stream, took down the jar, and slowly submerged it in the river.
As the air bubbled up she said, “You’re the one who came to the mistress’s tent with the pretty dark-haired girl, aren’t you? Why do you care where I sleep?”
“I think you’re like most slaves in a camp; you sleep outside your owner’s tent.”
She nodded. “All right, that’s true enough.”
“But in the women’s camp at Olympia, it’s not safe for a lovely girl like you to be asleep outside a tent, not with all those drunk men staggering about looking for a pornê.”
“So?”
With a grunt she heaved the jar back up on her head and waded out. I pulled her the last few steps up the bank.
“Thanks.”
We walked back toward the camp.
I said, “So I think you sleep in her tent, at the entrance, so that any man who blunders in will trip over you first and not bother the Priestess of the Games.”
Xenia walked on, saying nothing.
“Here’s the thing, Xenia. When Klymene screamed in the night and the guards came to take Timodemus, why weren’t you there first? In fact, why didn’t Timo trip over you?”
The jar fell from Xenia’s head. I almost caught it as it fell, but it was wet and slipped through my hands and hit the ground at my feet. I was sloshed head to foot.
“Gods curse it! Now I’ll have to fill it again.” Xenia bent to pick up the jar, which must have been beloved of the Gods because it hadn’t broken.
This was what I realized when Empedocles spoke of love and strife: that neither Klymene in her testimony nor Timodemus nor the guards had mentioned Xenia.
“What’s the answer, Xenia?” I said.
“You can’t make me talk.”
“I don’t have to. The judges will see to it if I call you as a witness. I suppose you know they torture slaves when they give evidence in court.”
Xenia went pale.
“A thumbscrew’s what they usually use.”
She said, “You mustn’t tell the mistress I told. Promise me.”
Aha! “I swear it by Zeus. May I lose the contest if I reveal.”
Xenia whispered, “Klymene sent me away.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? Because a man was due. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Timodemus?”
Xenia nodded.
“Had he been to her before?”
“Not here at the Games.”
Which meant in Elis.
“Do you like your mistress?”
Xenia stopped to think about that. “Yes,” she said finally. “On the whole, I do. She’s had a tough life.”
This from a slave. I wondered what had been so tough for Klymene, but that didn’t matter now.
Xenia looked worried. “Remember you promised not to tell the mistress.”
“I promise.”
So now I had the alibi for Timo that I’d wished for right from the start. But Timodemus had lied to me about how he came to be in Klymene’s tent. What else had he lied about?
“It’s all lies” Klymene said. “There was nothing between Timodemus and me. I’m the Priestess of the Games, you know!”
“I know,” said Diotima. “If I were Priestess of the Games, and I’d been fooling around, I’d deny it, too.”
I’d brought Diotima the news, and together we’d waylaid Klymene at the Sanctuary of Zeus, where everyone had congregated to party and drink while they waited for the oxen to cook. Already the aroma of sizzling, well-cooked meat was drifting across Olympia.
Diotima and I dragged Klymene into the Bouleterion for a private discussion. The inside of the council house was divided into one large meeting hall and a number of small rooms. We chased a couple of slaves out of the smallest, quietest room, where they’d been hiding to shirk their duties, and then we accused Klymene, not of murder, but of lust.