We needed to ask a lawyer. Unfortunately, Diotima had already killed the best lawyer in Athens. That had been last year, in the course of another case. We’d have to go see the second-best lawyer, assuming he was brave enough to talk to us.
I had no idea about the law for divorce, but I knew who would: the man outside whose office lay the tablets of the law. I went to see the Basileus.
I had to wait a long time for my turn to see him. This was a private matter and I no longer had the letter from Pericles to get me past the queue. Bored, I sat on the steps and watched the other men who had business with him. These supplicants stood in the shade of the portico and argued; or they sat on the steps beside me and argued; or they crouched to play games on boards that had been scratched into the stone, with pebbles for playing pieces. Men stood about the game players and loudly critiqued their every move.
But the majority of the men around me argued over the coming elections.
“Philocles for Eponymous Archon, I reckon,” one said.
Several heads nodded, enough to make me think Philocles was in with a chance.
“I like Glaucon for treasurer,” the first man said. That got my attention.
“Glaucon is a nobody,” a second man said.
I mentally dismissed Glaucon’s ambitions. Unless it turned out he really had killed Hippias, in which case he’d become an instant celebrity. Perhaps that was why he’d been so quick to come see me. It occurred to me that Glaucon’s career prospects depended very much on me.
“What do you think about Pericles?” I asked the group. They turned to notice me for the first time.
One of the men said, “He’s going for strategos, isn’t he? Pericles’ll get voted in no matter what.”
Every head present nodded glumly.
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked, intrigued.
“I guess not,” the first man said. “But with him you know what the result’ll be. That takes all the fun out. What’s the point of turning up to vote when you know the result?”
Heads nodded again. Another man said, “It’s like a race where one man’s obviously the fastest. There’s no interest in it. No one wants to watch. You know?”
Another man said, “Here, you look like a young fellow. You ever voted before?”
I shook my head. “No, I only finished my army time just last year. This’ll be my first time.”
“Well, don’t let it faze you, kid. Just remember, voting’s like sex. No matter what you do, you’re gonna get screwed.”
“Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus!” Glaucon emerged from the offices within and shouted my name.
“I’m here!” I yelled at once, before he had time to assume I’d wandered off and selected the next man in line.
Glaucon said, “It’s good to see you again. How goes the investigation?”
I shrugged, not wanting to tell him anything useful, but I had to state my business or the secretary wouldn’t pass me through.
I said, “I need to see the Basileus about a divorce.”
“Surely not for you,” Glaucon said. He sounded surprised.
I spoke in a low voice, so only he could hear. “No, a client.
Aposila, wife of Antobius. They’re the parents of the dead girl from the sanctuary at Brauron. Please tell the Basileus that. I’m sure he’ll agree to see me.”
Out on the steps of the stoa, one of the board-game players suddenly accused the other of moving a piece while he wasn’t watching, in a loud, screeching voice. The other angrily denied it.
Glaucon opened the door. “Come inside.”
As I went inside, the board-game players were grappling with each other and rolling in the dust, fighting over who had cheated.
“You again,” said the Basileus when he saw me. “Don’t you have anything better to do than take up my time?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I need to ask how someone gets a divorce.”
“I thought you were only just about to get married?”
“I am.”
“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”
“It’s not for me, sir. I ask for a client.”
“Oh?” I could see he didn’t believe me. “Well, it’s simple enough, in any case. A man need only declare his intention to divorce. The wife is then required to leave her husband’s household and return to her closest male relative. By law her dowry must go with her, every last drachma, and all property attached to her. There are obscure situations where the archons might disallow a divorce-if there’s not yet a legitimate heir for the lady’s property, for example-but those needn’t concern us in general.”
“Yes, sir, that’s for a man,” I said. “What if it’s a woman who wants to divorce?”
“This is a client you ask for?” he said, clearly disturbed.
“The mother of the child who died at Brauron,” I told him.
“Young man,” he said sternly, “I think you had better tell me everything.”
So I did. The Basileus had a reputation for honesty, which was rare enough in Athens, and of the greatest integrity-during his term he had actually prosecuted other officials for taking bribes-but he was also known as a very strict follower of the law.
As I told my tale, the expression of the Basileus became angrier and angrier.
When I had finished, the Basileus said, “So this husband and father, Antobius by name, refused to follow up the death of his own child?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t care if she was only a girl. The law gives him no latitude in this. He’s required to pursue the killer.”
I said, “Then perhaps you could tell me, sir, is it possible to prosecute Antobius? I know he can legitimately declare that the girl’s death was an accident, but what if we can prove he took money to ignore her death?”
The Basileus slumped on his stool. He said, “Unfortunately, such a prosecution is likely to fail.”
“Why?”
“Because the law sets no time limit on the duration of an investigation. Your hypothetically bribed man could claim he intends to prosecute, but that he’s still collecting evidence. He could do this for decades and stay within the letter of the law.”
“Even if everyone knows it’s a deliberate delaying tactic?”
“Even so. Of course, the rest of society would cut him dead-a man who behaved so badly could forget about ever holding public office-but if the bribe is sufficiently large, perhaps he doesn’t care.”
This was depressing news. It meant a man could murder someone and then buy his way out of trouble, as long as his wealth was deep enough, and the victim’s family venal enough, to take money for their loved one’s demise.
There was another implication, too: this killer who had visited Antobius, whoever he was, must have a source of wealth great enough to tempt a man.
The Basileus added, “But this Antobius could be prosecuted for beating his wife.”
I snorted but was too polite to say what I thought.
“Yes, all right,” the Basileus conceded. “A jury is more likely to take the husband’s part.”
“What about divorce for the wife?” I asked. “Is it possible?”
“You act on the wife’s behalf?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I must say, this is very generous of you. I warn you, young man, that your legal standing in this matter is dubious. You’re no relative of the victim; if anything goes wrong, you’ll be exposed to prosecution.”
I said, “If Antobius can’t be punished for his crime, sir, perhaps he can be punished for his behavior?”
“I see the thread of your reasoning now. Yes. To divorce, a lady must simply present herself to an archon and declare her intent.”
“That’s it?” I asked, incredulous. It seemed too simple.
“Restrictions apply with respect to heirs.”
“She has two sons.”
“Then there’s no possible objection. Technically she should go to the Eponymous Archon, since he deals with matters of citizenry, but the law permits any archon to perform the service. I suggest that she come to me instead; any other archon will demand to know why she wishes to divorce; I know her case and can save her the pain.”