"No se. If we had some explosives, or even a power saw ..."
"Could we loop a rope around the neck of the statue and pull it over?"
"Doubt it. You'd need half the rope in the Arsenal of Philon and a couple of hundred men ... Dion!" Bulnes clapped a hand to his head. "I know who Kleon is!"
"Who?"
"The long-lost Prince Serj, Vasil's brother! I knew I'd seen those pig's eyes somewhere."
Flin said, "How can that be? There's not that much difference between their ages."
"There's about fifteen years, in actual fact, and I think Vasil used makeup to look older. Just another of his queer ideas, to dispose of his brother by conditioning him to play the part of one of Perikles's enemies."
As they neared the Akropolis, Bulnes became aware of an occasional armed man making his way in the same direction. When they got within sight of the saddle between the Akropolis and the Areopagos, he saw several clumps of such men standing around the path that zigzagged up to the Propylaia, and a continuous trickle of more men was arriving. Most of those in the groups were holding shield and spear in one hand to have the other free for forensic gestures. As they approached, the sound of universal argumentation came to Bulnes's ears like the cackle of a colossal barnyard. From the upper end of the path, where it wound among dedicatory tripods and statues, men continued on up into the pillared recesses of the Propylaia.
Flin said, "At least, at this stage, the Athenians were still a fighting race."
They paused to watch at a safe distance, along with many other unarmed or undecided Athenians. As the armed men became more numerous, they colaesced into two sets, one of the partisans of Kleon (identified by the triangle on their shields) and the other those of Perikles. The two sets shouted arguments, threats, and insults at each other.
Somebody among the Perikleans (who straggled up toward the Propylaia, leaving the Kleonians on the lower slopes) noticed the letter delta on the shields of the Kleonians. He went among the Perikleans drawing a big letter pi on their shields.
Kleon puffed up the slope at last, towering over his partisans like a liner among tugs. Bulnes could hear his bull's voice, but not make out the words.
"Let's move a little closer," he suggested to Flin.
"Really, old chap, isn't this close enough?"
"Nuts! Come on!"
Bulnes and Flin climbed higher up the saddle on the Areopagos side, where they had a good view. Kleon, pointing off to the northeast, cried, "Athenians, look upon the statues of the famous Tyrannicydes! Will you endure that another tyranny be riveted about your necks? It is time we had another heroic Harmodios, another Aristogeiton ..."
The stream of Perikleans up the path had abated. Only a few straggled up now. Kleon roared, "On which side strive these two coming up the path? Perikleans? Slay them! Elleleleu!"
There was a rush of hoplites and a clash of spear points on bronze. Then one Periklean was down with men jabbing at him, while the other, throwing away spear and shield as he ran, bounded down the path faster than his more heavily burdened pursuers could follow.
"Come back up here!" yelled Kleon. "Do not let yourselves be scattered!"
"Look that way," said Flin, pointing.
Below, somebody had organized a group of Perikleans and was marching them rapidly eastward along the north foot of the Akropolis. The afternoon sun gleamed on their arms. Kleon must have seen them too, for he told off a group of his men and ordered them, "Hurry to the back stairs of the Akropolis and block it lest any more partisans of the satyr king go up that way!"
He waddled about, pushing men into position and haranguing everyone within earshot.
Bulnes said, "They seem to take all day to get organized. At this rate, it'll be dark before they get around to fighting."
"He's probably trying to make political arrangements before joining battle," said Flin. "See those chaps coming up? There's the Polemarchos, and there's the King, and the rest are the other Archons. Kleon's a clever lad — wants the law on his side."
Bulnes and Flin sat down, watching, while interminable conferences took place, with endless wagging of hands and heads and messengers came and went. In particular, messengers ran up the path into the Propylaia and back down to Kleon.
At length Kleon came to a decision. He began marshalling his forces. "The squill-head," he roared, "says he will treat with us up on the Akropolis, on the east porch of the Propylaia. Form a column of fours. Hold yourselves ready — straggle not. It may be a trap."
"Vasil is up to something," said Bulnes. "Let's go with them."
That, however, proved easier said than done. Under Kleon's direction, his men crowded up the path to the Propylaia so closely packed that there was no room for a mere spectator. Presently the column up ahead halted and began to bunch up.
"Spread out into the Propylaia!" yelled Kleon. "Make way — I am coming up. What do you two want?" he exclaimed, turning on Bulnes and Flin, trying to ride his wake up the crowded path.
"My dear Kleon," said Bulnes, "I know more about the plans and methods of Perikles than you can imagine. If you will kindly let us come up with you we may be of unexpected help."
"What do you expect for your help, eh?"
"Merely to see right triumph."
"Huh. Well, come along."
They pushed their way up to the Propylaia. There the press lessened somewhat, because the men had spread out among the pillars and along the steps of the great gateway.
At the east side of the Propylaia, where the steps reached the level of the Akropolis, Kleon's men ranked solidly among the columns. Looking between the plumes of the helmets, Bulnes saw why: A few paces away stood a counterrank of Perikleans, shields lined up and spears poised at shoulder height.
Kleon pushed through his own men into the open space between the two armies. "O Perikles," he shouted. "Come forth!"
"I am here," said Perikles, who had climbed up on the great bronze chariot behind the front rank of his own men. He wore his Corinthian helmet pushed back to show the Olympian calm of his regular features. Behind towered Athene Promachos.
"What means this attempt at tyranny, you murderer, you traitor, you tool of the rich, you creature of the Spartans?"
"No tyranny," said the brisk voice of Perikles, "but an effort to forestall an act by the Athenians which they might regret later. I have a message from the goddess Athene herself."
"Do you expect us to believe that you, a notorious atheist, would be entrusted with a divine message?"
"No. The goddess herself shall speak to you."
"Ha-ha. I suppose you will dress a tall woman in armor and pass her off as Athene, as did the other tyrant?"
"Not at all. Pallas Athene herself shall speak, right now." Perikles waved an arm towards the colossus. "Speak, O goddess!"
Bulnes almost jumped out of his skin when a tremendous voice thundered forth from the statue of Athene Promachos:
"Men of Athens! Athene speaks to you. Know that the Perikles is no tyrant, nor yet a traitor or murderer, but my best-beloved foster-son. Trust him, follow him, support him in every way, and he will insure glory, peace, and prosperity for you and for your descendants, and honorable burial for you all. Turn against him, and nothing awaits you but defeat, poverty, and destruction. Those of you who have impulsively taken up arms against him, return to your homes and store your arms against the day when Athens shall lead all Hellas against the threatening hordes of encircling barbarians. Obey the laws, preserve the peace, join Perikles in making Athens a beacon-light for the world."
There was a moment of silence when the great voice stopped, broken by a squeal from Flin, "By Gad, a public-address system!"
Then came a clatter of arms as Kleon's men poured down the path from the Propylaia toward the city.