“That’s a lie!” I said, outraged.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” said Aeschylus. “Yet you are an agent, by your own admission. Such men will do anything for money, and who better to hide the truth than the man assigned to uncover it?”
I was exasperated by his assumption that as an agent I must be dishonest. “All I can say, Aeschylus, is that you’ve been lied to.”
“If so, it’s a lie immersed in a great deal of truth.”
I had to concede that Aeschylus had a point. In his position, I too might have believed the entire story.
“Did this stranger have anything else to say?” I asked.
“He knew Hippias had been at Brauron. He knew that it was I who wounded Hippias.”
Callias snorted. “So you’ve always claimed. I know of no one who saw it.”
“No, Callias, it’s true,” I said. “I’ve met the son of a doctor who treated Hippias. The tyrant was wounded just as Aeschylus claims.”
“What’s this?” Aeschylus and Callias both exclaimed.
I explained the evidence of the doctor at Brauron, how as a boy he had seen Hippias stagger into his father’s surgery. “The doctor’s evidence places Hippias in Brauron, near to where the skeleton was found. With the diary found beside the bones, we can conclude that the remains are the tyrant.”
“So I did wound Hippias,” Aeschylus said in triumph, half to himself.
“Yes, Aeschylus, you did,” I said.
“Perhaps it was my blow that eventually killed him,” Aeschylus said hopefully.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, not according to the doctor.” Then, in a spirit of tactful diplomacy, I added, “But it was your blow, Aeschylus, that forced Hippias to retreat to the place where he met his fate.”
Aeschylus brightened at that happy thought and sat back on the couch.
There was something about Aeschylus’s tone as he spoke, a note of confusion. I began to consider the possibility that he might be entirely innocent.
I said, “Aeschylus, you need to know that the man who approached you also bribed the father of the murdered girl not to complain about her death.”
I described the circumstances and finished with, “If you compare notes with Antobius, I’ll wager you’ll find that you spoke with the same man.”
Aeschylus thought about that, while the rest of us awaited his verdict.
“It seems we’ve been working at cross-purposes,” he admitted.
“Because someone’s been feeding us false information,” Callias said. “Someone who’ll face a jury when we catch him.”
“Not all false, but a combination of false and true,” I said. “Whoever he is, he’s a good liar.”
That would make him harder to uncover.
Callias leaned forward in his seat and said, “The stranger told Aeschylus that the soldier who flashed the signal was the same man who took the missing scroll.” Callias paused, then asked, “Was that a true part, or a false?”
“Probably true,” I said. “The odds are that we’re looking for a veteran of Marathon, and across this entire case, there’s only one other man who might fit.”
They all looked at me questioningly.
I said, “At the sanctuary there’s a man named Zeke. Did Zeke fight at Marathon? He’s old enough.”
“You think this Zeke might be the man who approached Aeschylus?” Callias asked.
I shrugged. “He knows about the skeleton. He lives in the right place to have been involved. He’s had command experience, I’m sure of it. He reminds me of my officers when I was an ephebe.”
Callias looked at Aeschylus. Aeschylus looked at Callias.
Aeschylus said, “Wait here.”
He left the room. The rest of us stared at each other and wondered what Aeschylus was about.
He returned with a large sheet of faded papyrus in his hand. It was covered in tiny letters. Aeschylus said, “Honors were awarded to every man who fought in the battle, their names read in assembly for all to hear. I did the reading, and I was meticulous about including every man, even the slaves who fought alongside us and the fine men from other cities. This is the sheet from which I read. There is no Zeke.”
“That settles it, then,” I said. “Zeke wasn’t at the battle. You see, sirs, why I centered on Aeschylus. He’s the only old soldier to be present for both the current deaths and the signal thirty years ago.”
Socrates frowned. “Nico, I don’t think this can be right.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
Socrates said, “I don’t think a soldier could have sent the signal at Marathon.”
To our combined astonished looks, he asked, in his inquisitive way, “Do soldiers really flash signals?”
“Yes, boy, they do,” Aeschylus said. “Soldiers use their shield to flash signals in the sunlight all the time. It’s a standard trick.”
“Over such a distance?”
“Usually across a battlefield.”
“Do they use the inside of the shield, or the outside?”
“The outside, of course. The inside is all wood and leather. Surely you’ve seen your father’s armor.”
“Socrates,” I said, “leave this to the adults.”
Socrates scratched his head. “But Nico, I can’t imagine it working here.”
“Whyever not?” I said, annoyed. Somehow Socrates had taken control of the conversation.
Socrates said, “Well, this man, whoever he was, stood on the mountain behind the army.”
“Far behind. Yes,” said Aeschylus.
“And high up?”
“High up. Yes.”
“This was after the big battle?”
“Yes.”
“Then the sun must have been high in the sky, to the south at least, maybe even the southwest.”
“Of course.”
“But the battle happened to the northeast of where this man stood. It’s impossible. You can’t reflect light like that. Not with the curved face of a shield.”
We all absorbed that thought for a few moments.
“What does it mean if the signal was not sent by a soldier?” Callias asked.
I said, “It unlinks the action at Marathon from the murders. It opens up the possible suspects, because we’re no longer definitely looking for a veteran.”
“Are you sure about this, boy?” Aeschylus asked Socrates.
“No, sir, I’m not. But I don’t think light could reflect off a curve like that, not at that angle.”
“Then there’s only one thing we can do,” I said. “We must go to Marathon. I’ll climb the mountain with Father’s shield. Socrates and Diotima can look for a flash.”
Socrates scratched his head again. “You mean … actually try it? To see what happens?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s really very clever, Nico. I never thought of that.”
“You won’t use your father’s shield,” said Aeschylus.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because you’ll use mine,” he said. “I’m coming with you. I’ve been tricked, and what’s more, whoever tricked me is a traitor to Athens. He must be found. He must be destroyed.”
I suppressed a silent groan. Aeschylus was an old man. He was sure to slow us down.
Marathon is well north of Brauron, and even farther from Athens. It’s a coastal town, right on the beach.
The heroes of Marathon had force-marched the distance in less than half a day, but they were men in good condition, not a woman and a child and an old man. I put Diotima on the cart while Socrates and I walked beside Blossom. The donkey and I had spent so much time together on the road I’d come to like him. Aeschylus rode his horse, and therefore was the fastest of us. I watched him sourly, and thought it must be nice to have so much money to be able to afford such a fine beast.
Three quarters of the way between Athens and Marathon is a great mountain. The road goes up one side, through a pass, and down the other side. It slowed us enough that we arrived at Marathon in the late afternoon. It was too late to perform the test that day. It had to be done at the same time as the end of the battle, which Aeschylus and Callias both remembered as after midday.
We stayed overnight in the best local tavern, which wasn’t saying much, a hostelry where they wiped down the tables once a month, whether they needed it or not. At least there was straw on the floor to catch scraps, though it looked like it hadn’t been swept in ten days or more. The scuttling sounds from beneath the thicker parts in the corners did not bode well.