So that was why my name had come up. Not because of the archons, but because the High Priestess of the sanctuary had asked for me by name, because one of her former pupils was my betrothed.
“Then my client is the sanctuary,” I said.
Doris shrugged. “If you think of it like that. I’m more inclined to think of a child who needs your help, if she’s still alive. But I’m very much afraid that her body’s out there in the woods, somewhere. And now I wonder, who else might die?”
CHAPTER THREE
Next morning, by the time I had finished breakfast, there were already men at our door, all wanting to confess to murder, every one of them a candidate for a post in the new democratic government. Every one of them looked confused when I asked about dead and missing girls. Not a single one of them knew anything useful.
I was considering putting a CLOSED FOR BUSINESS sign on our front door when I was saved by a slave boy with a message from Pericles. He wanted to see me.
I found Pericles at his desk, bent over piles of notes and papers. He held a stylus in his right hand with which he scribbled notes on a wax tablet. He looked up as I entered.
“I hope you’re not about to confess to killing Hippias,” I said.
Pericles put down the stylus and looked at me strangely. “How can you say such a thing, Nicolaos? I was only a child at the time.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“No,” Pericles continued. “It was my father who killed Hippias. I admit it in the interests of justice.”
I groaned.
“After you left yesterday, I gave it some thought, and looked through the papers of my father Xanthippus. Imagine my surprise when I came across a note in which he says he killed Hippias.”
“I’m imagining your surprise.”
“I can certify the authenticity of the handwriting-”
“I’m sure you can.”
“So you see, Nicolaos, you’ll be able to stop the investigation early. I’ll take the note to the courts tomorrow and explain everything.”
“You’ll have to stand in line.”
“What do you mean?”
I told him of the queue of wannabe killers. Pericles looked chagrined. No doubt he was thinking he should have thought of the scam earlier.
“You’re not standing for election, by any chance, are you?” I asked.
“As it happens, by sheer coincidence, I am,” he said. “I’m running for the office of strategos. The advantages of the post will be immediately obvious to you.”
“Yes, of course,” I told him, while desperately trying to think of the advantages. A strategos is a commanding general of the army. The Athenians elect ten strategoi each year, one from each of the ten tribes, to command the armed forces of our city on both land and sea.
“Er … why don’t you go for archon instead?” I asked. “I would have thought a civil administration position would be more your style.”
Pericles sighed. “You don’t understand, do you? The archons run Athens, which I’ll grant you is a post of great importance. But the archons have no say in foreign policy, a subject in which I must have influence if I’m to guide Athens. The voice of a strategos, on the other hand, carries weight in any subject concerning other cities. Furthermore, an archon holds the job for only a year, and then can never hold it again. A strategos, on the other hand-mark this closely, Nicolaos-a strategos can be re-elected year after year, with no limit to the number of times he holds the post.”
Pericles’s grand vision swam before my eyes. Every public role was to be filled by election. Pericles had selected the only position of influence that a man could hold repeatedly, because whereas the city can survive an incompetent archon for a year, an incompetent general in charge of the army could destroy us in a single battle.
Pericles intended to control Athens for the rest of his life by getting himself elected to strategos and re-elected year after year, which given his abilities he surely could.
“That’s brilliant. It’s almost like being a tyrant, without being a tyrant,” I mused.
“It’s no such thing!” Pericles shouted in horror. “And don’t you dare say those words outside this room. I tell you this only so you will understand the importance of your actions. With all this talk of Hippias and Marathon going around, people’s minds are fixated on the older men, the heroes who fought at Marathon. It means the old men are more likely to be elected. Again. That’s wrong, Nicolaos. Athens needs younger men to guide her. Men of the next generation.”
By which he meant himself. Apparently, being the son of one of our greatest war heroes wasn’t enough. Xanthippus, the father of Pericles, had died three months before. I’d attended his funeral, and not out of politeness. I’d come to like Xanthippus, and was sad to see him go. He was a crusty old war hero, demanding, difficult to get on with, but honorable as few men are. I was glad he’d lived to see his son become leader of Athens.
“I need all this talk shut down. As soon as possible. So voters will stop thinking about the past and start thinking about the future.”
“There’s another problem, Pericles,” I said. I told him the evidence of Doris the priestess. “So you see, your suspicions about the girls are almost certainly correct. Whoever killed Hippias probably attacked the children.”
“But Nicolaos, a gap of thirty years? No killer hangs around the scene that long.”
“Then they must be associated, somehow. Nothing else makes sense. Either way, as long as there’s a chance she’s still alive, finding the girl must be the priority.”
“She’s only a girl. Affairs of state come first.”
I barely prevented myself from shouting, only by grinding my teeth and reminding myself that Pericles’s attitude was normal. I’d known he’d take this view and come prepared. I said, “Then think of it this way, Pericles. The death of Hippias is so old, it’s almost impossible to trace. I could beat my head against that case for months and get nowhere. The recent action against the children must be an easier path, and will surely lead to the same person.”
Pericles paced for a moment, as he liked to do in private, while he thought about it. “Very well, I can see the logic of that. Yes, the girls are the quickest route to the mystery of Hippias, which has implications for the coming elections. I see your plan. I suppose you intend to go to Brauron?”
“Yes. But I’ll need some fast transport. I must be back and forth to Athens. I have an appointment with fate.”
“Oh?”
“I’m getting married,” I said proudly.
Pericles pursed his lips in distaste. “That Diotima woman, no doubt.”
“Of course.”
“You’re young to be marrying,” he said.
I shrugged. It was true, but I was happy. Most men married at thirty. I would be wed at twenty-one.
“A man of your station, with your prospects, you could do better.”
I knew Pericles had never liked Diotima, but his words made me angry. So much so that I raised the thorny issue between us. “There’s another matter we must discuss, Pericles, before I continue. My pay.”
“You’ll be paid,” he promised.
“I meant payment for the first commission you ever gave me.” If Pericles had any skill greater than his rhetoric, it was his ability to avoid spending money. “You offered me a small, steady income if I succeeded. Well, I succeeded, but you never paid me. This can’t go on, Pericles. Soon I’ll be a man with responsibilities. If I’m to take on this new commission, I must have payment for the first.”
“Oh.” Pericles sat down and drummed his fingers on the desk. They made a loud sound in the silence. I waited, knowing he couldn’t rightly deny the debt, especially not when he needed me now. Eventually he said, “I admit there’s been a certain amount of inadvertent tardiness. Very well, Nicolaos. I’ll see to it.”