Echoes of Olympus (The Atheniad Book 1)

by Darrin Drader

  “Besides,” Zenorous added, “our alliance with Macedonia serves our best interests because it allowed us to avoid the costly war that would have ensued had Alexander continued shoring up his borders. Through peace, we are stronger.”

  “I will give Diophrastus and his ilk this much,” said Demosthenes, “they are growing bolder by the day and they are managing to persuade an increasingly larger percentage of the forum that their point of view is correct. I really don’t expect them to succeed, however, so we allow them to continue wasting their breath. As long as Leotas continues supporting my position, we will carry the majority.”

  Leotas shook his head. “I do not know what you speak of, old man. You are the one the people turn to for leadership. I am simply one of the few sane voices in the chorus.”

  “No offense, Leotas,” said Demopiades, “but there are times when you are the chorus… and a powerful one at that.”

  “My friends,” Zenorous said as he gulped down the last of his wine, “I fear that this may turn into greater trouble than we expect. Nevertheless, it is growing late and Cratemode is warming the sheets for me even as we speak. I must go to her tonight, while her reception remains friendly. As always, thank you for your hospitality, Archipatra.”

  “Have a good evening,” the blond woman said as the lanky man escorted himself to the door.

  “It has indeed been good to see you again,” said Demosthenes, “but I too should take my leave. My daughter promised to give the servants the night off if I make it home at a reasonable time. I would hate to disappoint them.”

  “Travel safely,” Leotas called out as his friend rose to his feet and moved toward the door.

  “Did you not see my bodyguards following me down the street?” Demosthenes asked with a smile. “Are you coming, old man?”

  “I had hoped you would allow me to drink more of the lady’s wine,” Demopiades replied. “But I suppose that I am safer walking these streets in your company.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Archipatra called after them. “You are invited to stop by any time. Hypermenes loved you all as brothers, as do I.”

  “Some of us more so than others,” Demosthenes said with a wink as he glanced at Leotas.

  Leotas did not acknowledge the remark. “I’ll see you soon,” he said to the departing guests.

  With the others gone, Archipatra smiled widely. “They did not stay long tonight.”

  “What do you expect from a bunch of tired old men?” Leotas asked.

  “They pale next to your vigor. You didn’t suggest that they should get rest this evening, did you?” Archipatra asked.

  “Why would I do a thing like that?” Leotas asked with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

  Archipatra loosened the top of her peplos and let the fabric part, revealing her ample breasts. “It has been a few days since we last saw each other. I thought perhaps you had missed me.”

  Leotas stood and pulled Archipatra to him, meeting her lips with his. “That I have!”

  “I think it is time that Demosthenes starts taking us seriously,” Lysiemon said to the men before him. “Our supporters are growing, but his block of supporters is keeping the forum from taking your concerns seriously.”

  “Unfortunately that has always been the case,” Diophrastus replied. Lysiemon again looked to his new ally’s gaunt face, gray hair, and arched eyebrows. The Athenian orator opposed Demosthenes on almost all issues of importance. “Demosthenes has the goodwill of the people, and because of that, they are unwilling to turn a critical eye toward him.”

  “Irritating,” Menphon said as he scratched his white beard. “For a polis that prides itself in debate and enlightened reasoning, they constantly prove themselves all too willing to blindly follow a single man who is a king in all but name.”

  “Democracy is only effective when you have an informed electorate,” Diophrastus said with a shrug. “It’s been over a hundred years since Athens has felt the pain of foreign conquerors, and the people have grown apathetic as a result. Demosthenes plays upon that apathy to maintain his dominance.”

  “Has he never known true opposition?” Menphon asked. “What about scandal? Even the great Pericles was not immune to scandal.”

  Diophrastus cocked his head for a moment. “Demosthenes likes the younger men.”

  “That hardly separates him from at least a quarter of the older men in Greece,” Lysiemon muttered.

  “True,” Diophrastus replied, “but he was said to be overly rough with them.”

  “As far as scandals go, that’s no worse than people believing that a man beats his wife. Though it’s not looked upon favorably, it’s something that most are willing to let go unchallenged,” Lysiemon remarked, with a shake of his head. “I don’t believe that any scandal will succeed in reducing his influence.”

  “In my experience, there is one method that works well,” Menphon said. “I have traveled from polis to polis, and there are two things that will cause people to switch sides immediately. One is money, and the other is intimidation.”

  Lysiemon laughed. “At the moment, we seem to be in short supply of both. Athens robbed most of the wealth from the Delian League when they reconstructed the Parthenon. They’re beyond wealthy by my polis’ standards, and since Demosthenes himself wields the power of the army, intimidation seems out of the question as well.”

  “Is it?” Menphon asked. “We are not concerned about whether or not we intimidate Demosthenes. Rather, we are concerned with those who stand with him out of loyalty. He can use the army to protect the polis against invaders, or to attack one of its neighbors, but the man seems to truly believe in the democracy over which he has a stranglehold. He would consider using the military to influence the public’s opinion unthinkable.”

  “Isn’t what you’re suggesting just as bad?” Diophrastus asked.

  “Do we truly care about democracy?” Lysiemon asked incredulously. “If you think about what this concept has brought the polis, it has done nothing but codify the concept of mob rules. The mob is not always right. And what of the wisdom of the educated, the wealthy, and the wise? Have the other poleis that look to them for leadership not demonstrated that they make better decisions?”

  Diophrastus sighed and sat down on a bench. “What you are suggesting is replacing one dictator that has the support of the people with another dictator that the people have given no consent to rule. How is that a better option?”

  “No,” Lysiemon said, “what I am saying is that once the tyrant Demosthenes is out of the way, I will step back and allow the polis to run itself without my interference. Hopefully it will realize the folly in making an alliance with an enemy like Macedonia. In any case, I trust that people like you will keep any single person from becoming so powerful as to rule not only a polis, but half of Greece as well.”

  “And what does Sparta want?” Diophrastus asked.

  Menphon smiled widely. “Sparta wants the same thing everyone else wants: a less hostile neighbor to the north, more power… more influence.”

  “You worry that a united Delian League and Macedonia could march to the south,” Diophrastus surmised.

  “Sparta fears no enemy!” Menphon replied.

  “Gentlemen, I’m afraid that we have wandered from the topic at hand,” Lysiemon said. “The three of us have our own reasons for wanting Demosthenes deposed. The question isn’t why we want the same thing, but how we’re going to achieve it. I am beginning to think that politics alone will not be enough.”

  “Then we are back to bribes or intimidation,” Menphon stated.

  Lysiemon nodded. He hated the fact that it would come to this, but he had seen politics play out enough in Amphipolis. Change never came without casualties. Sometimes those casualties were figurative and sometimes they were literal, but they were always difficult. “How vulnerable does Demosthenes leave himself?”

  “Not at all,” Diophrastus replied. “He takes ten or more of his best soldiers with him whereve
r he goes. An attack on him would require an equal force, which would not be easy to amass unnoticed.”

  “What of his strongest supporters?”

  “They are mostly non-military landowners.”

  “And why would they not make valid targets?” Lysiemon asked.

  “Because they are people who care about Athens, just like me and the rest of our supporters,” Diophrastus said irritably.

  “Do they truly support Demosthenes out of love for Athens?” Menphon asked. “Or is it possible that they line up behind Demosthenes because he is their gateway to wealth, privilege, and power? Is it not possible that they are complicit in selling this polis to a despot?”

  Diophrastus remained silent.

  “Which one of them would be missed the most?” Lysiemon asked. “If one of his supporters were to tragically die, which one would strike fear in the hearts of the others?”

  “Leotas!” Diophrastus replied. “He is vital, strong, and his words inspire confidence in the forum. He is also close to Demosthenes, who looks on him almost as a son, and possibly, a successor.”

  “Has he ever served as a soldier?” Lysiemon asked.

  “He is a farmer. Whatever he knows of fighting was not taught to him by professional soldiers.”

  “Then we have a target,” Lysiemon stated. “Now, which of us is good enough with a blade to carry out the deed?”

  There was silence. Lysiemon had never served as a soldier, and though he had once stabbed one of his cousins in the leg in his younger days during a fight over the affections of a young woman, he did not trust his skills enough to consider attacking a younger, more vital man. He knew that Menphon would be a good candidate, given the years he had served in Sparta’s army, though that would not be without its flaws. Menphon was an experienced warrior, but he was also old and frail. His greatest weapon was his mind, not his sword arm. Diophrastus was likely just as poor with the blade as Lysiemon.

  “There is one man I can hire who is both trustworthy and effective. He just happens to be here in Athens at the moment,” Menphon said at last.

  “I’m sure that you had nothing to do with his being here…” Lysiemon commented.

  “I may have sent word to him that there might be some work here. As a matter of fact, he has this strange habit of following me from polis to polis in case his services are needed.”

  “And who is this person?” Lysiemon asked.

  “A former soldier of Thebes. His name is Isacles.”

  Both Lysiemon and Diophrastus’ faces were overcome with looks of disgust. “The butcher of Thebes?” Lysiemon replied. The man had been a Theban soldier several years ago, or so the story that he had heard went. Isacles had led soldiers to a small farming village a few miles from the polis, his job simply to reassert Theban rule over the village, then promote the local leader to start collecting taxes for the polis. Instead of agreeing to their demands, the village decided to back a defiant and vocal farmer. Little was known about the actions that were taken to convince the village to accept their leadership. What was known was that Isacles had ultimately dealt with the issue by eliminating the problem. The soldiers slaughtered the village by his orders. The remaining men, women, and children had been taken back to Thebes where they were sold into slavery. It was said that any of the women who had been youthful and moderately attractive, as well as some of the elderly and children, had been used for the soldiers’ pleasures on the road from the village to Thebes. Upon their return to the polis, most of the people were outraged as soon as they heard the story, and as a result, Isacles had been stripped of his rank and banned from the military. Shortly afterwards, he embarked upon a new career as an assassin, and had established a remarkable reputation as a ruthless killer. “Are there really no others you could hire?” Lysiemon asked.

  “Would you rather assuage your conscience and risk a botched job, or do you want the job carried out cleanly and effectively?” Menphon asked. Lysiemon noticed that the smile had disappeared, as had the humor from his voice, and his eyes seemed to be lost in the shadows beneath his brows. Despite the fact that Sparta valued warfare above all else, Menphon was a thinker and a manipulator. Lysiemon was happy that they were not working toward opposing goals.

  Leotas emerged from Archipatra’s house so late that he was beginning to see the blue of the early dawn creeping into the sky. Their lovemaking had been especially intense this evening, and he had ultimately succumbed to sleep on her bed afterwards. It was an unfortunate lapse of judgment, and sheer luck was responsible for him awakening before dawn, but this begged the question of how he was going to explain his tardiness to his wife, Harosa. He had washed the smell of the other woman from his body before he departed, but he would need to do more than that to cover up the real reason for his return at this late hour.

  Then the answer occurred to him. Wine! If he came home reeking of wine, Harosa would assume that he had been out reveling with his many friends and had stayed out too late. Of course he would still be forced to listen to her lectures in the morning, but that would be preferable to her finding out about his affair.

  Leotas walked down the street, surprised that there were people milling about at this late hour. Most of the polis’ laborers had been in bed for hours, which meant that most of those still out here were revelers, prostitutes, and drunks. There were probably a fair number of thieves on the streets preying on the revelers as well. Not far off was a young man in a dark chiton sitting in the middle of the street drinking from a ceramic wine container. “Friend,” said Leotas, “do you have a full container of wine?”

  The man looked to the noble, a hint of recognition on his face, suggesting that he knew that he was being addressed by Leotas, friend of Demosthenes. “It is!” he said merrily.

  “Would you be willing to sell it? I can offer you one drachma.”

  The man stared into the depths of his container for a moment, and then looked back to Leotas. “I would, but I plan to drink it all. I had a rough day. My lady left me today.”

  “Well, if I don’t get very drunk very quick, I fear that my lady will leave me as well,” Leotas replied. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll increase the offer to two drachmas.”

  “Make it three and it’s yours,” the man said.

  Leotas grimaced. It was not such a large amount of money to him, but it was still one and a half times the wage a person normally earned in a day. This would be one expensive container of wine indeed! “Very well, I will give you three.”

  They quickly exchanged coin for wine. “Thank you. I am in your debt,” Leotas said.

  “Enjoy it. And if anyone asks, I won’t say anything about the fact that you were here in the early morning buying wine.”

  “That would be greatly appreciated,” Leotas said as he hurried toward home.

  As he walked and drank, he caught sight of a shadowy figure out of the corner of his eye. A man, approximately his size, tapped him on the shoulder. “You are being followed. Someone wants you dead. I can help you, but you have to listen to what I have to say.”

  Leotas looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of another man in armor, possibly a professional soldier, walking several yards behind him.

  “Do not look at him,” said the man.

  “Why?”

  “Right now he assumes that you are unaware of his presence, and he assumes that I’m just another drunk accosting you in the street. We must not let him think anything different or he will drop all pretenses and attack.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Telarchos, of Thebes.”

  “And the man behind us?”

  “Isacles, the butcher of Thebes.”

  A sudden chill ran down Leotas’ spine. “The assassin. Who hired him?”

  “One of your friends has betrayed you,” said Telarchos.

  “Which one?”

  “I wish I could say for certain. I recognized Isacles tonight amidst a group of revelers. Having both served in the army of Thebes at one
time, I asked him what he was doing here, and having had too much to drink, he told me that he was here to kill you. He said the man who hired him was one of the last people that you would suspect, but he told me nothing else.”

  “Why are you putting yourself at risk to help me?”

  “I left Thebes a year ago and came to Athens to start anew. You are one of the forum members that the people trust, and I would not want to see you harmed, especially not by this butcher. But enough talk. Follow me!” Telarchos broke from Leotas and began sprinting through the greenery between houses.

  Leotas ran to catch up. He could hear the footsteps behind them turn into a run. He soon found himself surrounded by tall grasses and trees, amidst a pair of walls that stood between a couple of houses. Telarchos bounded up a wall, then offered a hand. Leotas grabbed on and pulled himself up. A moment later, Telarchos dropped to the ground on the other side. Leotas remained on top for a moment, then lowered himself to the ground behind Telarchos.

  “The butcher kept running straight. We have time to double back around and leave the area before he catches up,” Telarchos said.

  Shaken, Leotas agreed.

  The ruse had worked. Isacles, under the name Telarchos, had inspired fear in his target using his own reputation, which was always a boost to his ego. The man chasing them had been a reveler, one who had been paid three obols to chase them down a street and then allow them to slip away. Isacles had mentioned that he’d been a soldier for much of his life, which was how he’d known the Butcher. Leotas, grateful for the help and suddenly fearful for his life, invited Isacles into his home and offered him a room in exchange for protection in the coming days. Isacles agreed, which positioned him perfectly to carry out the execution in a way that would strike fear into the hearts of the forum while causing doubt about Demosthenes’ integrity.