“I hesitated then, sure that the moment I did so the Goddess would strike me dead, and I didn’t want to die. I stood there for a long time. I can’t imagine how silly I must have looked.
“Doris leaned over me and said, ‘Do it, child. I promise the Goddess wants you to.’
“So I said my own silent prayer to Artemis and put down the toys. I was shaking so much I almost dropped them! I looked down at my dedication and saw at once how shoddy and simple it looked: a wooden doll with a rough face and no hair, a skipping rope of old rag-not at all the things of a girl with a rich father. I looked up into the face of Artemis, thinking she would come to life and strike me, but she didn’t, in fact it was almost like she was smiling. So I placed my ribbons in her outstretched hand. I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I was!
“I laughed then, because the Goddess had accepted me for what I was. Nico, that was the moment I knew I wanted to be a priestess. I didn’t want to be a married woman, and I didn’t want to be a prostitute, high class like my mother or otherwise; Artemis had selected me to be hers; it explained why I felt so different from the other girls.”
“You got away with it, Diotima. Gaïs might not be impressed, but do you really care?”
“I’m scared, Nico.”
“Scared of what?”
“That Gaïs is right. That Artemis is only waiting until I’m married before she wreaks revenge on me. I did cheat the Goddess, and at the very ceremony that made me a nymphe. What if our marriage is a disaster, Nico, and it’s all my fault?”
I put an arm around her and hugged her tight. “It won’t be a disaster.”
“But what if it is?”
I sighed. “It won’t be. You’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and nothing will ever change that. Besides, if there’s going to be a disaster, there’s nobody I’d rather have it with than you.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
I helped her up, and we walked back to the sanctuary to collect some dinner. We ignored Sabina’s ugly stare and carried two bowls of lentils and bread out to the lawn. The moon was new, and the Temple of Artemis was a black shape.
As we ate, I told Diotima everything that had happened to me during the trip to Athens. Diotima, anxious to get her mind off her fears, listened closely.
“The man in the helmet said Hippias was wounded in the fighting?” she said.
“Yes,” I replied. “Of course, there’s no reason to believe him.”
“But if he’s telling the truth, then how did Hippias get from Marathon to Brauron?” Diotima asked. “Did he walk?”
I said, “Across what was effectively enemy territory? Surely someone would have spotted him.”
“Well, I don’t know then.”
“We need a map,” I said.
“We don’t have one.”
“We’ll draw our own.” I picked up a stick and began to scratch in the dirt at our feet. “Here’s the coastline.” I scratched in a rough outline of the coastline of Attica, the large area of southern Greece that was controlled by Athens.
“Here’s Marathon.” I marked the spot on the upper right of the map.
“The Persians landed their boats on the beach at Marathon, and that’s where the army of Athens marched to meet them.” I drew an oval to mark the beach, and a picture of a boat.
“The Athenians and the Persians fought.” I drew an X in the oval that represented the beach. “Everyone agrees Hippias was at Marathon.”
“All right,” Diotima agreed. She stared down at the map intently.
“After the battle, the Persians boarded their boats. They sailed to Phaleron.” I drew in another oval to denote Phaleron, a large expanse of beach to the south of Athens. I placed a pebble to show Athens on the left hand side of the map.
“Obviously the Persians hoped to unload at Phaleron and attack Athens before our army could return. But our men force-marched across all of Attica. When they got there, the Persians found lined up against them the same army that had whipped their asses at Marathon. The Persians gave up and went home.”
“Hooray for our side,” Diotima said. “But you haven’t explained Hippias … oh, hold on … wait …” I could see Diotima’s brain working hard. “Nico, Hippias was seen at Marathon, but no one saw Hippias at Phaleron.”
“Right. To get from the beach at Marathon to the beach at Phaleron, the Persians had to take this route.” I swept the stick in a long arc, from the top right of the map to the bottom.
“Brauron is here. On the coast.” I placed an X a third of the way along the arc. Diotima said excitedly, “This is beginning to make sense. Hippias was dropped off at Brauron by the Persians on their way to Phaleron.”
“Yes!”
“No,” Diotima said, unhappily.
“No?”
“Wouldn’t the people at Brauron have noticed a Persian warship pulling up at their dock?”
“Doris said that Hippias came from around here. Were the people of Brauron noticeably pro-Persian during the wars?”
“They can’t have been that pro-Persian,” Diotima said.
“No, you’re right,” I said glumly. “All right, they put him off nearby at a small beach. There must be lots of them around here.”
“How old was Hippias?”
“I don’t know. Fifty? Sixty? Seventy? They put him on a small boat and rowed him in.”
“This is all supposition, Nico.”
“But you know it’s right,” I said.
“Yes, I think it is. Why would Hippias split from the Persian force? They were the only ones who could guarantee his safety.”
“Things can’t have been too pleasant between them after that defeat,” I said. “Maybe he was homesick?”
“That’s idiotic, Nico.” Diotima shook her head. “Failed tyrants don’t risk death to see their old homes. It would have to be something urgent.”
It came to me like a lightning flash. “I’ve got it!” I yelled. “The man in the helmet said he almost killed Hippias during the battle. He said he struck the tyrant with his spear.”
“So?”
“Don’t you see? Hippias came ashore to a place he knew, because he needed a doctor.”
To find the right doctor in Brauron was straightforward. There was only one. We obtained the address from Doris. Next morning, we walked into Brauron. Although it was a small town, we managed to get lost instantly. Brauron was an ancient settlement, and nothing was in the normal place. Eventually I stopped a passing stranger.
“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Sesamon Street?”
He pointed straight down, at our feet.
We were on it.
Brauron’s main street ran parallel with the shore; Sesamon joined it at the middle, to form a T. The main wharf, the warehouse, the fishing boats, and pretty much everything else of value in Brauron was to be found at that corner, including the doctor’s residence. It was on the side of the street opposite the water.
We knocked and were admitted by a slave. The doctor had converted the front rooms of his house to see patients. We walked straight into his iatrion, his surgery.
Diotima and I despaired the moment we saw Ascetos the Healer. He was a man in his midthirties. Not nearly old enough to have treated an injured tyrant three decades ago.
“Mostly I treat fishing injuries,” he said, when we introduced ourselves. “You wouldn’t believe how many hooks I’ve removed from flesh. Lots of broken bones, drownings, that sort of thing.”
“Were you involved in the unfortunate incident at the sanctuary?” Diotima asked.
“The girl who died? I heard about that.”
“Her name was Allike. The sanctuary didn’t call you in?”
“No, why should they? The girl was dead. I’m a doctor, not a god.”
“There’s also a girl who’s missing,” Diotima said.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
We were getting nowhere.
“We’re wasting the doctor’s time and our own, too,” I said to Diotima. To Ascetos I said, “I’m sorry, Doctor. We only asked about the children when we saw you wouldn’t know about our real reason for coming.”