The Pericles Commission (23 page)

I spilled the coins before Ephron, who scooped them up hungrily. I would have been happy to leave behind the revolting liquid in the cup, but as I rose the innkeeper said, “Here! You ain’t drunk my best wine.”

If it came to a prosecution, these men would be witnesses. So I held my breath and drank it down. It was mostly vinegar, with a hint of alcohol and all the pungent aroma of a dead rat. I put down the empty cup and said, “I thank you, innkeeper, for a unique experience.”

A slave approached me as I sat in the Agora, trying to wash down with olives and real wine the taste of the vile concoction I had swallowed.

“Are you Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus?”

I looked up at him. “Probably. What do you want?”

“I come from Callias, son of Hipponicus. He desires to meet with you.”

I didn’t bother to ask what about, the man was only a slave. Instead I rose immediately. It wasn’t yet the end of the month, not time to ruin Sophroniscus for debt, so what could Callias want with me now?

I was led to his city house. Much of the lower floor was made of stone, an extravagance since every other home I’d been in was wooden or mud brick throughout, but at least it meant he was safer from fire. The house plan was expansive. The courtyard was a perfect square—someone must have measured it off—surrounded by carved wooden columns and a covered walkway. I looked up and turned around. The upper story of the house was made of wood, painted in rich blues except where murals showed the cavorting of the centaurs, Theseus defeating the Minotaur, and other scenes of our past. I noticed most of the slaves were young and beautiful and went about their work serenely.

I had never been particularly ambitious for wealth. Political importance was my dream. Now I quickly revised my estimate of the value of money. If I ever became the richest man in Athens, this was the sort of home I wanted to own.

Callias sat in the courtyard conducting business. At least, he was being read to by one slave while another wrote to his dictation. What the slave was reading and what Callias was dictating seemed to be unrelated. It was a remarkable performance, and I wondered if it had been put on for my benefit or whether Callias normally worked like that.

It was over soon enough and Callias turned his attention to me. He looked me square in the eye and said, “Thank you for coming, Nicolaos. I have been speaking to Pericles.”

If he expected a reaction, all he got was, “What about?”

Callias frowned. “You probably don’t think too well of me, young man, and I wouldn’t blame you for that. But I understand you are stepping into the world of politics, so let’s see if you can manage the first rule of the diplomat: separating your personal feelings from business.”

I felt chastened, precisely as he intended. He himself had been an ambassador for Athens on more than one occasion, and I knew he had just given me professional advice.

I said, “I apologize. It’s obvious you know I’m investigating the death of Ephialtes. I hope to prosecute the murderer regardless of who he is, so I like to think this is not a matter of politics.”

To my surprise I saw him smile. “Ah, I thought as much. I am speaking to an honest man. Perhaps there is a touch of idealism too, so appropriate to the young, and of course a trifle brash. I too, young man, have tried during my time to cleave to the path that leads to the greatest good for our city. I caution you it is not an easy path to tread. One finds there are necessary detours.”

“Thank you for the advice. That is quite close to something my father said.”

“Your father is a wise man, for all that we have our issue at the moment.”

“You’re not really going to bankrupt him, are you?”

“That remains to be seen, young man. You will have noticed even your father didn’t dispute the fairness of his liability. If the culprit isn’t brought to light, I suspect he’ll bankrupt himself without any pressure from me.”

I decided to avoid that delicate subject, as a good diplomat should, and said nothing.

Callias continued, “You may not be aware my dear wife Elpinice is sister to Cimon. Ah yes, I see that’s a name you know. Cimon was ostracized last year and has been residing in the north ever since. Word of the tragic death of Ephialtes has only now reached him, and he sent to me straightaway to act on his behalf. Cimon seeks to reassure anyone looking into the matter that he had nothing to do with it.”

Callias sat back, and I could see him relax as he placed his fingertips together and said, “I went to see Pericles and he, much to my surprise, suggested I talk to you. I did not realize, when you were here with Sophroniscus, that you were involved in politics, and a supporter of Pericles. This changes things.”

For the better, he meant to say, and I felt a surge of hope. Was my association with Pericles going to save my father?

“Do you believe Cimon?” I asked Callias.

“I am a supporter of Ephialtes and the democracy; if I thought Cimon had a hand in his death, I would prosecute him, family or no.”

I nodded. Callias didn’t know it, but his innocent comment that Cimon went north, and not east toward Ephesus and Magnesia, virtually eliminated Cimon as a suspect.

“What do you need to complete your work, Nicolaos?”

If Callias had made his offer earlier, I might have asked him for men to search the inns for Aristodicus, but that problem was solved.

“What I need more than anything else is information. And I need to find the people who know the things I want. I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with, Callias.”

“Is there anything more I can tell you?”

I decided it was worth trying. “You can tell me what this is.” I handed over the broken token.

Callias took it from me and said instantly, “It’s a banking token. Or rather, it’s half a banking token.”

I was suddenly excited. “What’s a banking token?”

“There are men in the Agora who will exchange coins of different currencies, that is, minted in different cities. You know that, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Sophroniscus sometimes has to go to them when he’s paid in foreign coins. He calls the changers thieves.”

Callias laughed. “He may not be so wrong. However, they only take money from men who want to deal with them, Nicolaos, and that makes them legal. Now, these men do more than change coins. They also keep your money for you, which can be useful if you have a lot, or they can lend you money at a rate of interest, or they can transfer your money to another city, so that you can travel there and collect it without the risk of having to transport your own gold.”

“How do they manage that, to move the money?”

“Ah, good question. They do it by not moving any money at all.”

“Eh? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, but it does! Let’s say you have a lot of money and you want to send it to somewhere, let’s say—”

“Syracuse.”

“Fine choice. You want to send your money to Syracuse, where you will use it to buy a country estate. You take your thousands of drachmae to a banker in Athens. He puts it into his strongbox. In return he writes you a letter, saying that he has taken receipt of your funds and that you will collect an equivalent amount of Syracusan coins when you arrive in that city at an agreed exchange rate. You take your letter and a banking token, and leave. The banker immediately writes to a friend of his in Syracuse, another banker. He tells the Syracusan banker to expect you, and assures the man that your funds are on deposit. When you arrive, you see this Syracusan banker, and he gives you the agreed sum. You have now transferred a large sum of money across the world at no risk to yourself. I use this service myself for my own business dealings.”

“That’s clever.” I was genuinely impressed. “But isn’t the Syracusan out of pocket, and the Athenian has made money he hasn’t earned?”

“Just so. However, it won’t be long before a rich Syracusan wants to send money from Syracuse to Athens. Then the obligation goes the other way. These things tend to even out over time, and you can be sure the bankers keep a very careful count of who owes whom, and how much.”

“But wait! The Syracusan has never seen me before. How does he know I’m not an impostor?”

“Pull out your token. Look at it.”

I did as he bid.

“There’s a pattern on the token. Each banker uses his own pattern and varies it a bit too, so these tokens are unique. The Athenian has told the Syracusan what pattern to expect on the token. The only way to impersonate you is to steal that token.”

“I see.” I hadn’t found any letter among Aristodicus’ effects. “Then tell me, why is this one cut in half?”

“It does rather look that way, doesn’t it? I can only suggest that two men who don’t trust each other have deposited a sum together, and they’ve split the token between them. The banker would only release the funds if both pieces were presented.”

“That’s interesting. Would you believe that none of Pericles, Archestratus, nor Xanthippus recognized this board for what it was?”

“In the case of Xanthippus and Pericles that is wholly believable. Both are traditional men—yes, Pericles too!—and they have nothing to do with trade. In the case of Archestratus, I find that very difficult to believe, considering this token belongs to the Antisthenes and Archestratus Savings and Loan Company.”

My jaw dropped. “You are not joking? You mean that?”

“Certainly I do. I recognize the pattern.”

“
Archestratus
owns a bank?”

“Not your Archestratus; his son, whom he named after himself instead of taking the name of the grandfather.” It is traditional in Athens for a man to name his first born son after his own father. A second son would often be named for the maternal grandfather. Consequently names tended to repeat with alternate generations. But the rule was not universal, and some families used the same name every time.

I was stunned by the implications, but some part of me was still thinking because I asked without conscious thought, “By any chance do you know a metic called Telemenes, who runs an import-export business?”

“Why, yes, of course. Telemenes is well known in business circles.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know his bankers, would you?”

“As it happens, I do.”

“It’s the Antisthenes and Archestratus Savings and Loan Company, isn’t it?” I guessed.

“Yes. But what does Telemenes have to do with this? Is it important?”

The bankers in the Agora are called trapezai because of their oddly shaped tables, which are themselves covered in trapezoids and other irregular shapes. I watched bemused as a seated banker ran knotted string here and there about the top of his table. His practiced fingers moved swiftly, measuring the string against the sides of some shapes. It took me a moment to realize he was calculating money, and that the length of the string, measured by the number of knots, told him how much. He came to some conclusion, nodded, and counted coins to the man standing before him. The client departed, and the banker made marks in a scroll.

It never occurred to me for a moment that the firm of Antisthenes and Archestratus would be anything but obstructive, so I picked my moment, waiting for the one who looked most like Archestratus senior to leave.

“I want to make a withdrawal,” I said to the man behind the table. He was dark-haired and young but rather weedy looking. I suppose sitting at a desk all day is bad for you. In fact, I had seen to my surprise that both Antisthenes and Archestratus were young men. Banking is a new idea so I suppose anyone practicing it is likely to be young too. I held up the token.

He glanced at it and said immediately, “You need the other half or I can’t help you.”

“Can you tell me who has it?”

“If you don’t know that, then I
definitely
can’t help you. Who are you, anyway?”

His question told me instantly the banker who’d dealt with Aristodicus was Archestratus, son of Archestratus. “I’m Aristodicus of Tanagra. Where’s your partner? It was him I was dealing with.”

“He’s had to leave unexpectedly. I am Antisthenes.”

“Archestratus mentioned you.”

Antisthenes opened a scroll and ran his finger along a column. He murmured, “Aristodicus…Aristodicus…ah, Aristodicus of Tanagra, yes, here you are.” He peered at the numbers and words written alongside.

“Archestratus noted we are holding funds for you in escrow pursuant to completion of a contract.”

“The contract’s done. I want my money.”

“I am delighted for you. I look forward to seeing you and your other party together with both halves of the token.”

“What if my friend gives me his half and I come on my own?”

“I give you the money. We don’t care much about people in the banking business. Coins, letters of credit, and account tokens are what get us excited. Oh, and if you want to take money out you’ll need to prove you’re who you say you are.” He looked at me closely. “You
are
Aristodicus of Tanagra, aren’t you?”

“Trust me.”

“Trust is not a major element of banking. Bring a witness willing to swear to you, particularly since you asked me the name of your other party. That sort of question makes a banker suspicious.”

I departed, angry with myself for handling the interview so badly. I should have realized he wasn’t going to tell me the name of the other party. I had wanted the name so desperately I’d forsaken all caution. I groaned in frustration. The name written in that scroll was the man behind the killer, unless of course, the bastard had used a false name.

I pushed my way through the Agora, lost in thought. I stumbled into someone.

“Hey!”

“Oh!” The man I’d stumbled against was Sophroniscus’ friend Lysimachus. “I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t looking.”

“You certainly weren’t, young Nicolaos. I saw you looking black as thunder with your head down and thought I’d come over to see if you’re all right.”

“That’s kind of you. I’m having a little trouble, but it’s something I need to sort out for myself.”

“Your investigation?” he sympathized. “I won’t ask how it goes, your expression tells me everything. Come sit down.” He ordered the slave carrying his coins to bring us wine. The slave walked to the nearest stall, took a few coins from his mouth, and bought two cups while Lysimachus led me to a seat in the shade of the Monument to the Ten Heroes.

As we sat sipping he asked, “How is Sophroniscus?”

“Father’s well in his body, but very disturbed in his mind. We had a disaster while delivering a statue.” I related the story to Lysimachus, who shook his head in dismay as I talked, finishing with, “He spends his days selling everything not essential, to raise the money to repay Callias, but I don’t know if it will be enough.”