“You’re not fit,” said Diotima.
“I don’t see why not. Thea got the job by default. Why not me?” She sounded like a petulant child.
“When did you decide to murder Allike?” I asked.
“I didn’t. I was as shocked as everyone else. You see, when I forwarded the scrolls to Athens, to the Basileus, I sent five.”
I said, “But Glaucon was assistant to the Basileus. He opened the case before anyone else saw it.”
“Yes,” Sabina agreed. “Glaucon read all the scrolls. When he came to the fifth, he was horrified. Hippias had named Glaucon as the man on whose estates he stayed while he recovered from his wound. That scroll would destroy any chance of Glaucon ever gaining high office. In fact it would probably get him killed when the people found out. There was no chance to scratch out his name without it being obvious. So he did the only thing he could: he removed the scroll.”
“That was when the conspiracy began,” I said.
Sabina nodded reluctantly. “Glaucon started it. I received a note by courier, asking me to meet him in town,” Sabina went on. “I knew him, of course; Glaucon’s a wealthy landowner in these parts. I’d always been careful to make sure the well-known and the wealthy knew of me. Glaucon made his proposal in person: that if I helped him get elected in Athens, he would help me become High Priestess in Brauron. Well, I knew Thea didn’t have long to go. How could I say no?”
With the greatest of ease, I thought, but I didn’t bother to say it.
Sabina said, “Glaucon couldn’t suppress the discovery. Too many people knew about it. But he thought to turn it to his advantage. Glaucon reasoned that with the fifth scroll out of the way, all he had to do was claim to be the man who killed Hippias. It wasn’t that big a lie, you know, and it was only to get one miserable man a single year in office. Glaucon probably only wanted to be treasurer so he could embezzle state funds, but that wasn’t my lookout. The so-called statesmen in Athens do worse every day.”
I said, “So he suppressed evidence of his own perfidy and then took credit for someone else’s crime. What happened to the fifth scroll?”
“Glaucon destroyed it. There was nothing we could do about the gap within the case. Too many people had seen that case to get rid of it. But with any luck, no one would care about the contents, and even if they did, who was to say there hadn’t always been four scrolls? It should have worked. No one should have been hurt.”
“Except a girl died.”
“Allike blurted out to me that she knew there were five scrolls. She’d tried to read them. I doubt she understood a word, but merely knowing of their existence was a danger. I warned Glaucon. I never intended for him to kill her. Please believe me.”
“Glaucon tortured the child,” Diotima said, and I could hear the vile taste in her mouth as she said it.
“There’d been so much talk of a bear loose in the countryside. Glaucon probably thought it was the most natural thing to make it look like Allike had been killed by a bear.”
“Probably?” Diotima said.
“That’s what he said, later,” Sabina admitted slyly.
With Glaucon dead, we’d never know whether it was his idea or Sabina had told him to make it look like a bear attack. One thing I was sure of: it was Sabina, not Glaucon, who was the smart one in that partnership.
“Then Ophelia disappeared,” I said.
“That wasn’t my doing! How was I supposed to know she had a tame bear?”
I said, “Ophelia was the only one who knew for sure that the bear hadn’t killed her friend. She knew it was a human killer. She didn’t know who, but she guessed she’d be next. She ran.”
“It was the bear that started this, you know,” Sabina said bitterly. “Or those gods-accursed children, rather. If they hadn’t discovered the cave, I wouldn’t be a murderer. And who would have thought a bunch of old men would get so excited about one thoroughly dead body? All that talk of flashing signals and traitors and other nonsense. Men can be very stupid about such things.”
“There was murder in your heart anyway, or you would never have done it,” Diotima said.
“Why did you tell us there were five scrolls?” I asked. “If you’d said four, it might have muddied the trail.”
“I had no choice,” Sabina said, as if it had been a difficult move in a child’s game. “I knew Allike and Ophelia had looked inside.
They knew there were five; I didn’t know who else they might have told. If I’d said four and someone else at the sanctuary swore to five, it would have pinpointed me at once.”
Sabina scuffed her bare feet in the soil and stared once more into the pond. Her eyes had a faraway look. Was she recalling what it had been like to push Melo in at this very place, to watch him drown?
“I suppose you’re going to turn me in,” Sabina said, self-pityingly. “They’ll execute me, you know.”
“No, Sabina,” said Diotima. “We won’t say a thing. You’ll stay here.”
Sabina looked surprised. She hadn’t expected mercy. “Why?” she asked.
“Gaïs doesn’t know numbers,” Diotima said. “She can barely read. Doris reads well, but she can’t add. Gaïs must have someone who understands money if she’s to succeed here, and I’m going to make sure it happens. I sentence you, Sabina, to be the best treasurer this sanctuary has ever had.”
“Help Gaïs?” Sabina said, aghast. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you’re a dead woman. You’ll serve Gaïs as if your life depended on it. Which it does. That’s the deal, Sabina, and it’s far, far better than you deserve. Take it or leave it.”
Diotima stopped abruptly, as if she’d suddenly remembered something. She looked up at me, and said, “If my husband-to-be approves, of course.”
It was my turn to be surprised. I hoped I didn’t show it.
In the past, I’d been appalled at Diotima’s readiness to blackmail whenever it suited her, and she knew how I felt. But Diotima was right about Gaïs, and nobody knew the temple finances like Sabina did.
Besides, I had a point to make.
I said. “Diotima, whatever you think best, that’s what we’ll do.”
“Seriously?”
“This is your field, Diotima. Only an idiot would question your judgment. I hope I’m not an idiot.” I was starting to see this marriage would be more complex than either of us had thought, but I could also see we’d find a balance, if we kept trying.
Diotima smiled at me, then she turned back to Sabina. “One more thing. Gaïs might not know numbers, but I do, Sabina. I’ll be back here on a regular basis, and when I am, I’ll be checking your books. If I find one obol out of place, or the slightest problem, or if I hear one word that you’ve caused Gaïs trouble, then you’re dead. Do you understand me?”
“I could throw myself on the mercy of the High Priestess,” Sabina said. “Then we’ll see what your threats are worth.”
“Does Gaïs strike you as the forgiving sort?” I asked.
Sabina was silent. We all knew that Thea might forgive human weakness; she’d endured her fair share. But Gaïs was younger, and Sabina had put her ambitions above the good of the sanctuary. Gaïs would be merciless.
“One final thing,” Diotima said.
“Another thing?” Sabina said. I could see she was already wondering if death might not have been easier.
“Yes,” said Diotima. “This is non-negotiable. From now on, when Nico and I visit the sanctuary, we get our own room.”
Sabina said at once, “Very well. I accept.”
I don’t know what made me wake up that night. Perhaps it was the full moon, because when my eyes opened its bright light was shining in my face. Whatever it was, I stood and tiptoed over the sleeping bodies in the shed and out into the sanctuary.
I walked about, curious to see the place in the dead of night. In moonlight it seemed eerie. It was as if everyone had died, or we’d all been transported to the underworld in our sleep.