Bulnes was reminded of a puppy that, surprised in some misdemeanor, lies on its back and waves all four paws in an effort to propitiate its gods. You can't very well kick the beast no matter how angry you are. He said, "The silver plate in Dik-sen's head must be the reason the broadcast wave doesn't affect him."
Flin had recovered his composure. "What's this idea of yours?"
"If we could get a message to Perikles, telling him to appear at the Cave of Apollo, we might get into that priest hole back of the cave and interview him. If he were tipped off to the nature of this act that's going on, this historical pageant, he might do something about it."
"Would he believe you?" asked Flin.
"That's why we should pose as Apollo."
"Mm. The real Perikles was a skeptical sort of blighter. And what'd you mean by 'we'? You don't think I'll risk my neck on any such stunt, do you?"
"Yes, I do. If we can convince him that he and all the other pseudo-Greeks are being used as puppets in a game, maybe he'll dig into the tunnels and break up the show."
"That part's all right, but why must I be in on it? You're a venturesome sort of chap, but I'm no ruddy good at playing Red Indian, you know."
"The language, my dear fellow," said Bulnes with elaborate patience. "How impressed d'you think he'd be by an Apollo who talked broken Greek with a Spanish-English accent?"
"Well I'm not going," said Flin, tightening his lips.
"Why not?"
"If you must know, I'm terrified."
"No es verdad?" said Bulnes with an ominous tilt to his eyebrows. "I think you will. Unless you prefer to go back to the Oikema, while I return the bail money to Kritias ..."
"Oy! You wouldn't!"
"Wouldn't I? Try me and see."
"Oh, damn and blast!" Flin stamped his foot. "Why do you always get the better of me? A dashed tyrant, that's what you are. A sneering, haughty, cold-blooded autocrat.
"Thank you, dear comrade. Let's finish up here. You'll have to write that letter for me."
"When were you thinking of staging this interview?"
"Tonight, if possible. I don't wish to give Perikles time to devise a trap for us."
Two hours later, much improved by a meal, Bulnes and Flin got to work upon their letter. Using the manuscript of Euripides as a guide to penmanship, Flin wrote:
Phoibos of Apollon to Perikles Xanthippou of Cholargos, Strategos Dekatos Autos of the City of Athenai:
If you will present yourself alone at the Cave of Apollo tonight, the tenth of Elaphebolion, two hours after sunset, having taken measures to insure that our conversation shall not be interrupted, you shall hear matters of grave import to yourself and to the state.
Flin said, "I can't guarantee that'll fetch him. It looks like an attempt to get him alone for abduction or murder."
"Oh, he'll have friends or slaves within call. Now let's get Diksen and case the joint, as they say in America."
Diksen, once awakened, was full of enthusiasm for the scheme. He walked them along the base of the Akropolis, below the statues of the Tribal Hermes, and pointed out significant features.
"That split in the rock runs back to another cave — see that dark spot? — they call the Aglaurion after some dame in their cockeyed religion. There's two stairs going up from the bottom of the split to the top, and one at the Aglaurion end and one in the middle. And see that path going up to the wall? Where the old guy is sitting with the goats?"
He pointed ahead to the eastern part of the north side of the hill. "There's a hole in the angle of the wall and another stair going up to the top. These stairs ain't really secret — I went through 'em all when my beat was up there — but the priests try to keep the common people out."
The next task was the delivery of the letter. They hiked over to the house of Perikles. Bulnes made friends with a little girl playing in the filth of the street and bribed her with a copper to deliver it. He and Flin watched from around the nearest corner until they saw the letter handed to the porter.
They ate early and went up to the Akropolis before sunset, wearing chitons only, when the main crowds were beginning to come down. They turned left as they issued from the Propylaia and walked to the enclosures along the north side. To Bulnes the area looked quite different by daylight, so that it took him some time to identify the route he had followed the night before.
When he finally found it, they waited until nobody seemed to be looking and hid among the shrubbery. It proved easy — too easy, Bulnes feared. After the sun had set, a couple of Scythians went by shooing the remaining visitors off the Akropolis. However, they made no effort to beat the bushes for lurkers.
With nothing to do, Bulnes found his mind wandering to Dagmar. Should he ask her to marry him on his return — assuming he ever returned to twenty-seventh-century London? After all, he was pushing forty. Yes, he resolved, he'd ask her at the first chance.
The evening hush came over the area. A pair of priests went by, talking in low tones about money.
"Follow me," said Bulnes. He led the way, crouching, to the head of the stair down into the cleft.
Although the sky overhead was still light, the cleft was so dark that Bulnes had to feel his way again. At the bottom of the stair, he led Flin along the rough mass of stones and earth that filled the bottom of the cleft, until they reached the Cave of Pan.
"Here we wait," said Bulnes.
"Dash it, I wish I had a cigarette. Why do you think of these wild schemes, Knut?"
"Mixed ancestry, no doubt. Keep your voice down."
As the light dimmed, footsteps sounded in the adjacent Cave of Apollo, and the voice of a priest, "No, my son, the god will not present himself tonight. Come back tomorrow with your questions." Then, as the footsteps of the inquirer receded along the ledge, the same voice spoke again, "It is plain robbery and oppression that Perikles should ask exclusive use of the shrine tonight. Why can he not take his turn like any other citizen? That is your so-called democracy!"
"Will the god give him a message?" said another voice.
"After he has cost us two or three mnai in fees? Not this embodiment of the god!"
"We might give him something short and ambiguous, as they do at Delphi. You remember when Kroisos, the Lydian king, asked whether he should ..."
"Ea! Since he has had so little consideration for us, he can stand there all night without answer for all of me. 'Message of importance to the state,' forsooth!"
The conversation wandered off into the love lives of the two priests. It was punctuated by a sharp tapping which Bulnes identified as the impact of a flint against a piece of steel or pyrites. Presently there was the faint crackling of the altar fire and the smell of incense.
At last there came more footsteps along the ledge, and the priests' voices, "Rejoice, my dear Perikles!"
"Rejoice," said a new voice. ' "This is an honor. It has been years since you visited our shrine. The Ruler of the Seasons will be pleased."
"I daresay. But since the Bright One specifically asked me to present myself alone, would you gentlemen mind ..."
Bulnes was sure he had heard that voice before. It was a staccato voice, speaking in short phrases and biting off the ends of its sentences with a snap. Bulnes remarked, "That jerky voice doesn't. sound to me like a great orator."
"That's Perikles," whispered Flin. "He was really a curt, taciturn sort of chap, and Aspasia wrote his speeches."
"Come on." They crept toward the secret entrance to the priest hole. He thrust the curtain aside and they slunk into the tunnel until they reached the opening behind the altar.