The Marathon Conspiracy (5 page)

“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.”

“When?”

“Before ten days have passed. Does that suit you?”

I’d heard such promises before, but I could hardly call Pericles a liar to his face. “Yes,” I said reluctantly.

“Good. I’m glad we have that sorted. Now, what is your next course of action?”

“I must discover who knew about Hippias. Only someone who knew that we had the body, or what was left of it, could have committed these crimes. Tell me, Pericles, how long between the Basileus receiving the package and the archons coming to see you?” I asked.

Pericles hesitated. “I didn’t ask,” he said. “I should think it rested with the Basileus for at least a day before he got around to it. He’s a busy man. Then he had to arrange a meeting with his fellow archons. Then they had to come see me next day. All together it would be … three days? Five days?” he hazarded.

“Plenty of time for someone to learn of the rumor of a skull and scroll case,” I said. “It would mean nothing to anyone who didn’t know the story, but to the true killer, it would mean his crime had been discovered. Plenty of time, too, to send an agent to deal with the rest of the evidence, including the children who found the body.”

“You may be right,” Pericles admitted. “If so, it means something else. Whoever killed Hippias still has something to hide.”

“What, with everyone else lining up to confess?”

“Don’t you see, Nicolaos? Upright citizens want to be known as his killer. But the true killer … remember I told you, there were rumors, at the time, that someone or some people within Athens were secretly dealing with Hippias and the Persians.”

The implication was clear. Those traitors, identity unknown, were still among us, and they’d turned to killing.

D
ORIS HAD DEPARTED
early, to let the sanctuary know we were on the way. Before we left, I had to convince our parents that it was all right for Diotima and me to be a mere half-day’s travel away. I expected our parents would be happy to have us out of the way while they arranged our lives for us, and Diotima and I were as happy not to have to watch it happening.

Diotima’s stepfather, Pythax, had grunted his agreement while he drilled his Scythian Guard at the barracks and told me to stay out of trouble.

The mothers proved more difficult. For some reason neither of them trusted us. I had to promise to return my bride whenever necessary for wedding arrangements. Or as Phaenarete put it, “We’ve already sent out invitations to our friends. If I find out you two have disappeared to some foreign city, I’ll send your fathers to hunt you down and kill you.” And Euterpe had nodded grimly at those words and offered in such an eventuality to supply the instruments of torture. It was the only time I’d ever seen the mothers-in-law-to-be agree on anything.

My surprise came when I asked my father for permission. Sophroniscus had been in his workshop as usual, chiseling marble for his latest piece. He put down his chisel and turned to face me with an expression as hard as any I’d ever seen upon my sire.

He said, “Son, I understand that this dead man is Hippias the Tyrant?”

“It’s not certain, Father. But probably, yes.”

“Then the man you seek once supported Hippias?”

“It’s one possibility.”

“You didn’t live through the days of the tyrant.”

“No, sir.”

“You can’t know what this means. I was only a young man myself,” my father mused, recalling those days. “Hippias was evil, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I don’t know how many men he killed, merely on suspicion that they might be plotting against him. Your grandfather—my father—do you know they came for him once?”

I was startled. I’d never known my grandsire. “Sir? No, why?”

“For the crime of saying a good word about a man who’d been arrested, a friend of my father’s who had spoken out against the tyranny. He was an honest man who paid for it. Other men were killed merely for looking at the tyrant with the wrong expression.”

“Then … how did my grandsire survive?” I asked, perplexed. Father had never spoken of this before.

“By bribing the guards who came for him. He gave them almost everything we owned to leave him alone, a man who was entirely innocent. I was present. I saw my own father beg for his life. He fell upon his knees before men in his own courtyard. He died shortly after. I don’t think he ever recovered from the shame of it.”

“I didn’t know,” I said.

“And I’ve never forgotten. It impoverished us. We’ve never regained the wealth we once had. Do you know why I fought the battle at Marathon?” Father asked.

“To defeat the Persians, sir.”

“Wrong! I fought, and I killed, to keep Hippias from returning. The Persians brought the old tyrant with them and, if they’d won, they would have restored Hippias to power.”

He looked off into the distance, and I knew he was remembering.

“I was sure, as we marched in, that it was my last day on earth,” he said quietly. “I was never a good soldier, but I had to do what I could. You know we were outnumbered ten to one?”

“Yes, Father.”

“I fought anyway. Because anything,
anything
was better than life under Hippias.”

He picked up his hammer and chisel.

“Very well, son. I didn’t approve when you took up this investigation work. I thought it was foolish, a waste of time. But I’ve changed my mind. Not only do I give you permission to hunt down these traitors, but I do
not
give you permission to do anything else until you have. If that means your marriage must wait, then so be it.

“Because
anything
is better than allowing the supporters of Hippias to live.”

Sophroniscus brought down his hammer in an angry arc. It struck the workbench beside him. The wooden top splintered under the force of the blow. My father barely seemed to have noticed.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. There was only one thing I could say to that.

“Yes, sir.”

I
’D ANTICIPATED WE’D
be back and forth to Athens while the investigation at Brauron went on. I was determined travel time would not slow us down at either end, and nor should my bride have to wear down her feet with a lot of walking right before her wedding. Diotima couldn’t ride a horse, but anyone can drive a cart. Incredibly, my father didn’t even own a cart, so I had to hire one.

There are many roads out of Athens, and almost every one of them has a cart-rental place just outside the gates. The Sacred Way, which leads out of the Dipylon Gate in the direction of Eleusis, has a whole row of them. These people make money by renting wheeled carts to casual travelers, and the beasts to pull them: donkeys, mules, and even horses. If a man doesn’t own a country estate, then he doesn’t need such
things every day, and a beast is expensive to keep in the center of Athens. Cheaper, then, to hire transport when you need it. The only problem is, the men who rent out these things have a reputation for dodgy practices. No one ever accused a cart renter of excessive honesty.

It just so happened that the deme we lived in—Alopece—was outside the city walls to the south, and therefore lay along the road from Athens to Brauron. We could have gone straight on to Brauron from my father’s house, but I had to walk back toward Athens, to the Diomean Gate, to find a cart to rent. Diotima insisted on coming with me.

“I don’t trust you not to come back with a racehorse,” she’d said.

There were three rental businesses beside the Diomean Gate, one after the other. The first, directly outside the city gate, was clean, well swept, immaculate. A cart had been placed out front to advertise the business, well painted and polished until it gleamed. Tethered to the cart was a horse: sleek, fit, alert. I knew a little bit about horses. I could see at once this was a fine beast. But to be sure, I raised a hoof to inspect the underside. I wanted to know how much distance the animal had covered, which I figured I could tell from how much the hoof had worn.

“Can I help you, sir?” A man appeared beside me from nowhere. He was dressed in a chiton of fine white linen, and his hair was cut and swept back and oiled until it gleamed. He smiled at me with perfect teeth.

“I want to hire a horse and cart,” I said.

“Of course, sir.”

“This one looks interesting.”

“Sir has an eye for quality transport. The horse is a proven performer, well trained for cart work and with nothing but praise from previous drivers. The accompanying cart, as you can see, is in top condition and was repainted only last month. The wheels are solid-oak rims with no wear or tear; the axle is newly greased.
I see sir has his lady with him. We offer complimentary feather cushions for her traveling comfort.”

It sounded perfect. “How much for a month?” I asked him eagerly.

The salesman named a sum.

I staggered back in shock.

“I could
buy
a horse and cart for that much,” I choked. “I tell you what, I’ll pay you half that.”

“I’m afraid sir is under the misapprehension that we’re a charity.”

“Don’t you have anything cheaper?”

The salesman pursed his lips. “Well, if sir wishes, we do have our economy stock, if you would care to inspect.”

I looked about, but all I could see were other horses and carts like the ones we stood beside.

“Where is it?”

“Out the back. We keep the lower-rent animals where they’re less … visible. One doesn’t wish to advertise.”

He led us out the back. Behind the pristine road-facing building was a stable made of dull-gray, weathered wood that was so termite-riddled it was probably hollow. The manure from the horses out front had been shoveled and heaped beside the stable. I wrinkled my nose and waved at the buzzing flies.

Ancient leather harnesses were draped over a small paddock fence. Within the paddock, a small herd of ponies watched us with an utter lack of interest.

“Where are the carts?”

“Over there.” The salesman pointed to a row of small, serviceable carts. If you squinted hard, you could tell what color they had once been painted.

“What about this one?” Diotima was inspecting a scrawny animal, not within the paddock, but tethered to the fence. It stood on thin legs and seemed about to collapse.

“Diotima, that’s a donkey.”

“I’m aware of that, Nico.” Diotima patted the animal’s neck. The donkey was all patchy skin with bones sticking out. It wore an old straw hat that had been eaten by something. I wondered if it had some terrible disease and whether Diotima should be touching it.

I said, “It’s the worst donkey in the whole yard.”

“That’s because it’s the only donkey in the yard, Nico.”

“It may be the worst donkey in the whole world.”

“But Nico, he’s
so cute
!”

I inspected the animal for any sign of cuteness. The donkey looked back at me with large, soulful eyes. They seemed to be the only functioning part of the creature.

Staring at the knobbly knees, I said, “That wretched thing can barely stand, let alone pull a cart with you on it. Aren’t you the one who came along to make sure I didn’t waste money on a racehorse?”

“I’m fairly sure this isn’t a racehorse, Nico,” she said, then she turned to the salesman and said, “Have you people being mistreating this donkey?”

“By no means, madam. In fact he only arrived the other day. It’s a very sad story.” The salesman rubbed his chin. “The animal’s only had one owner, a little old lady who used it to carry herbs to the agora on market days. The old dear died peacefully in her sleep, but I’m afraid no one noticed for some time—her son was the neglectful sort—you know how it is—when they finally found her corpse, somewhat mummified, the beast was in the yard, tethered and almost starved to death. The son had no use for the animal and sold him on to us. Unfortunately he’s proven impossible to rent. Well, you can see why. If we don’t find a customer for him soon, he’ll have to go to the knacker’s.”

The donkey looked up at Diotima in utter despair.

“We’ll take him.”

“Diotima!” I said.

“Nico, we can’t let this poor creature suffer a moment longer.”

“You can’t save every donkey in the world.”

“I’m not. I’m saving one donkey. This one. What’s his name?” she asked the salesman.

“His name, madam? I believe the little old lady called him Blossom.”

The donkey wouldn’t be as fast as I wished, but it would still be faster than walking, and Diotima’s feet mattered more than a few coins. I sighed. “Does he come with the hat?” I asked.

“I’m sure a new hat could be thrown in with our compliments.”

I nodded.

The salesman called, “Philippos! Get your ass out here. We got a customer.”

A head that was gray enough to match the surrounding wood appeared from within the darkness of the stable.