Demeter's Gold

by Meghan Ray

  He was passing through a narrow alley when he first noticed he was being followed. He made a couple of unlikely turns to make sure and, when the footsteps stayed with him, he ducked into an open doorway. He scrambled up a ladder propped against the wall of the courtyard and stepped out onto to the tiled roof. From there he had a look at the street below and at the two hulking wrestler types that had been behind him. He didn’t look long. He ran over several connecting roofs, trying hard not to clatter on the clay tiles, and climbed back down to the street. Once he hit the pavement, he made several quick turns and, after checking that his pursuers were nowhere in sight, he made his way over to his warehouse.

  The warehouse was near the Kantharos, the main harbor of Piraeus. The other harbors, the Zea and the Munichia were naval harbors with little commercial activity. His family used the old warehouse to store merchandise they had acquired over the years. It was a resource they drew on when they needed quick cash for a deal or to trade, but it was usually deserted, aside from the desultory guard. It was a perfect place to leave valuables since the building had long ago lost the interest of the criminal community of the Piraeus. They figured it was full of dusty junk, which was true, but it was expensive, dusty junk.

  Phil had decided, based on recent events, or at least the two that were following him, that it was too risky to carry the coin around with him. Especially if people knew he had it. And it seemed that they did. He sat at an old table in the gloomy warehouse and re-weighed the coin. Then he drew a likeness of both sides and wrote out a description on a wax tablet. He had to admit it was truly a remarkable piece of workmanship. The head on the obverse seemed animated in the half-light, and the eagle on the reverse was beautifully clear and detailed. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he had never seen anything like it. He hadn’t, and that didn’t happen very often. He had grown up around coins, learning from his father about the emblems that each city used to mark its coinage, about the myths and puns that made the coins come to life. His father had taught him about the trade over the years using a simple game.

  Myrsus would show Phil a coin and ask him to tell what he could about it. If his answer pleased his father, he was allowed to keep the coin. If he stumbled or was unsure, back it went. When Phil was a young boy, the challenges had been common, every day coins, Athenian owls and the like, but as he had grown older, his father had tried hard to stump him with the rare and obscure coins from around the world. Phil wanted to please his father and, needless to say keep, the coins, so he worked hard.

  But Myrsus wasn’t an easy person to impress. He had learned the trade from his own father and he was encyclopedic about coins and their lore. He knew the celators who carved the dies that they used to punch the blank coins. He also knew the special issues, which increased the value of otherwise common coins. Myrsus loved his work and passed both his knowledge and his appreciation on to his son.

  From his first Lydian lion, Phil had liked the work too. He appreciated the coins themselves for their beauty and history and he was fascinated by the effect they had on the people who traded with them. Now, he was a grown man who had spent his life around coins and hardly ever came across anything that surprised him.

  Yet, he had never seen one like this before. After he had sketched and described the coin, he put it in a strongbox with some other coins, locked the box and left through a side door. He had some ideas about who to talk to but first he had to get to Athens in one piece. He spent the night lying low in an old shack by the Kantharos docks. It belonged to a sea captain he knew. Phil had done the man a couple of favors, lending him money for trading voyages when none of the other bankers would take a chance on him. The gamble had paid off for both of them, but the captain considered Phil had done him a favor. So, when the captain was at sea or at home with his family, he didn’t mind if Phil used the room. It had come in handy once or twice, times when it was better not to be too easy to find. He slept lightly, rose at first light and started on his way to Athens.

  -2-

  Phil often went up to Athens. He had to, for business, either to add to his inventory or to trade some surplus coins. While he was there, he usually took the opportunity to visit people he knew, either from his school days or from the army. Most trips he would walk the road between the long walls up to the city, admiring the view of the Acropolis along the way. The walls between Piraeus and Athens had been built by Pericles to ensure Athenians access to the Piraeus harbors in times of trouble, which, let’s face it, were pretty frequent. They went all the way from the port to the city walls of Athens, about three miles in all. In the old days, the Athenians had been worried about the Persians, but for the last fifty years it had been Greek city against city and, in Athens, Sparta was always the biggest worry. There was no doubt that the walls had come in handy during the wars that seemed to continually plague the city. Trouble that, Phil had to admit in fairness, the Athenians had brought on themselves with their seemingly limitless hunger for expansion.

  Most Athenians now realized that the dream of an Athenian empire had come to an end. After Athens lost the Peloponnesian war to Sparta, Athens was in no position to threaten other city-states. There was too much rebuilding to do. The Spartans installed the Thirty Tyrants and suspended the Athenian democracy. The long walls were forcibly dismantled as punishment along with all of the city’s other defenses. And the people were tired of war.

  Phil didn’t really remember those times (he had been a baby then) but he learned about the war and its aftermath on trips just like these, walking between the walls with his father. He would walk at his father’s side, practically running to keep up with the long strides, and his father would tell him about the war. He told Phil about the plagues that struck Athens during the early years of the war, decimating the population and weakening the resolve of the people. He heard about how the Spartans couldn’t have won without the help of the Persians, dishonoring themselves and all of Greece with their treachery. Phil also heard about the hardships faced after the war, the atrocities that had been committed by the Thirty, including the farce trials and murders of friends and relatives so that the state could confiscate their property. He heard enough to be thankful that Spartan power was on the wane.

  After the Thirty were expelled, the long walls had been rebuilt along with Athens’ other fortifications and they continued to protect the route from the city to the Piraeus. The rebuilding had come at a high price- Athens had made alliances with some long standing enemies. Phil also knew that Athens and their new ‘allies’ now treated with the Persians when they thought it was to their advantage. In the end, it seemed history proved how temporary friends, and enemies, could be and how politics could change as quickly as the weather. These days the trouble was with Thebes- again. At least, he thought, as he narrowed the distance to the city and admired the clear blue sky; the current conflicts weren’t disrupting the prosperity of the Athenian marketplace.

  His memories had distracted him and he was surprised to find himself almost at the city gates. Most of the time, he just enjoyed the trip. He would use the time to take in scenery, look at the other travelers, and escape the noise and smell of Piraeus. Today, he had made the trip mechanically without noticing a thing. Well, he did have a lot on his mind. He rounded off his reflections by considering his own predicament. The coin would be nothing but trouble. He knew that already, he had felt it when he held it in his hand. Maybe he was looking for trouble, life had become pretty predictable. And so far, things were no so bad.

  He reviewed what had happened so far. True he had been followed, but he hadn’t been attacked. Those men could just have been Critias’ way of keeping an eye on his investment for all he knew. He wondered what the thugs’ instructions had been, what they would have done if he hadn’t noticed them. His years in the army had made him alert and wary, and living in the city had given him eyes in the back of his head. Age had made him cautious. But he was still a curious man, too curious sometimes, he knew. He could tell this w
as one of the times when his curiosity would get the best of him and all the trouble he knew was coming wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of its way. Phil sighed, “Well, better get on with it then,” he thought as he entered the gates of the great city of Athens.

  He made his way through the Piraeus gate and headed for the Agora where he would find the man he was looking for. He wound his way through the narrow streets, stepping over refuse and avoiding the ragged children playing and begging, keeping the towering Acropolis on the right in the distance. He made steady progress, pushing his way through the crowds, and entered the Agora of Athens by mid-morning.

  The Agora had been virtually destroyed when the Persians sacked the city a hundred years ago but it had been rebuilt over time and was now filled with handsome civic buildings as well as many, more make-shift structures. The open area in the center was filled with market stalls that were pitched in every empty space. The colonnaded stoa provided shade from the blazing sun and gave men a place where they could gather to carry on their deals and discussions. It was dirty and it stank, but it had an undeniable vitality. The whole place was filled with the hum of men doing business of every sort.

  Phil went to a small shop off the Panathenaia Way. The front of the building was plain faced with whitish plaster and it was dark inside. He knew the man called Glaucon could be found here or, failing that, a message could be left for him. Glaucon was really more a merchant than a banker. He traded art and rare coins and his business had resulted in a wide acquaintance with both rare and unusual objects and the people who collected them.

  As he entered the dark room, Phil barely made out the bowed head of his acquaintance. The shop itself was crowded, braziers ranged like sentinels around the space, only one or two were lit, providing what little heat and light they could inside the cramped room. The space remaining was filled with statues, small tables, chairs, and dismantled pieces of uncertain origin, all casting weird shadow in the flickering light. Picking his way through the wreckage, he approached the dealer. He was sitting, bent over a coin. Phil figured he was inspecting it for defects. There was a man standing next to him looking over his shoulder, inconspicuous in the darkness of the room.

  “Hey Glaucon. I have something I’d like you to take a look at”, Phil called as he made his way.

  Glaucon looked up from his work with an irritated gesture. The other customer glanced up briefly and then took a step back, further into a shadowy corner. “Phil. What is it now? You always show up for a favor and always when I am working.”

  Phil had to smile because that was partly true. “Look, I knew you would be interested in this, so I brought it to you first,” He affected hurt feelings. “I thought you would appreciate my thoughtfulness.”

  Glaucon scowled impatiently, “Well, what have you got?”

  Phil nodded his head at the stranger in the corner. “I can wait until you’ve finished your other business.”

  Glaucon shook his head, “No need. We are finished for now.” The other man nodded curtly as he brushed past Phil on his way out.

  Once the visitor was gone, Phil passed over the tablet with the drawings of the coin and the description. “What do you make of it?” he asked, turning serious. Glaucon looked down briefly and then up again, “Where did you get this?” He spoke quickly, as if he were really interested for the first time.

  Phil shook his head, “You first, old friend, what is it?”

  Glaucon paused as if deciding and blinked before he answered. “What you have here is a commemorative coin, the kind of thing made for the games, in this case Ephesian. It was cast in Olbia and only issued one time, about a hundred years ago; from the drawing it seems to be in excellent condition. It is valuable and rare. Now where did you get something like this?” Glaucon asked this casually.

  Phil shook his head, “Sorry. I can’t really talk about it right now but, if it is as valuable as you suggest, then it might be for sale if the right buyer could be found.” Glaucon raised a shaggy eyebrow; “I might consider handling the sale, depending on the provenance. I don’t want to be stuck with stolen property.”

  “I have been assured that the problem can be resolved to our satisfaction, when the time comes.”

  Glaucon pushed the tablet back toward Phil, “Well, it is a fine example of a rare coin and I have collectors who are always interested in quality goods. Let me know.” He turned back to his work, and the interview was over.

  Phil left the dark of the room and walked out into the crowded agora but he was puzzled and dissatisfied. Glaucon always liked to show off his knowledge, tell a story or two. It wasn’t like him to be so cagey. It was also strange that he showed his interest so soon and so openly. In the normal course of things, Glaucon liked to play with his business associates, to string them along without committing himself, before getting down to the heart of the matter. Today he had as good as promised to buy the coin, sight unseen. Phil wasn’t satisfied. It looked like he would have to make another stop before he could relax and enjoy the rest of the day.

  He wandered down the crowded streets, dodging carts and children. He picked his way along until he came to the house of his old friend Meno. The blank wall along the front looked like any one of the dozens of houses on the street but scratched into the plaster was the legend ‘Man is the measure of all things’. He knocked on the door and waited until it was opened a crack by an ancient porter.

  “Let me in,” Phil didn’t shout but he spoke up clearly in case the man was hard of hearing.

  “Who is it, Xanthius?” The voice of a woman called through the house.

  “He don’t say, miss. But I don’t like the looks of him.”

  “You don’t what?” Phil would have laughed, but he was tired of the hot and dusty street, so instead he gave the porter a gentle push and walked into the courtyard of the house. The woman whose voice he had heard came out into the courtyard from a side room. She was young, tall and slender with fine features and large, rather beautiful, eyes. She didn’t seem alarmed but she looked Phil over in a way that suggested she had better and more important things to do.

  “Hello, I’m Philippus,” he tried his most winning smile to make up for the fact that he had pushed his way into her home.

  She looked at him again, “What do you want?” He could tell she was considering getting some muscle to have him thrown out.

  “I am a friend of Meno. Is he here?”

  “No,” she looked into the back of house, “no, he is not.”

  “Yes I am,” a voice came from the back of the house.

  Phil tried to keep from laughing. “Can he spare a few minutes, do you think?”

  “No, I don’t think he can,” she was doing a good job of keeping any expression from her face.

  “Yes I can, come on back here, Phil. Don’t get stuck with that lot. They don’t like company.” The cheerful voice of his old friend Meno burst from the back room. As he moved to the back, Phil had to go around the self-appointed doorkeeper who still seemed to be hoping to find a way to keep him out. “Hey, Meno. I’ve got something you’ve got to see.” Phil burst into the back room of the house glad to have found his friend, despite his imposing bodyguard. He had to stop a minute to get his bearings. The room was filled with rolls of parchment, scrolls, wax tablets, writing tools of every description as well as bread crusts and dirty kraters, still rimmed with the remains of yesterday’s wine. The back wall opened on to a colonnaded walkway connected to a small courtyard strewn with a few potted herbs baking in the hot midday sun. This let in what little light reached the workroom.

  “Well young man what have you got? Time is short and I’ve got places I am supposed to be. Better to get down to business.” Phil looked fondly at the old man in front of him. Meno had lost most of his hair a long time ago and what was left formed a wispy halo that added to the impish quality of the man. He had on a plain tunic, brilliant white and spotlessly clean, in spite of the mess around him. His eyes sparkled and he seemed amused. The
young woman had followed Phil into the back room.

  She gave him one last disapproving look and turned to Meno. “Don’t spend too long on this, father. We really have to leave soon or we will be late.” She gave her father a serious look, as she turned from the room.

  “Never have daughters I tell you, Philippus. Nothing but trouble. I taught her to read, history, philosophy even.” He smiled at Phil’s shocked expression. “Trained her to be a hetaera basically, a companion to some rich aristocrat. Nothing else she can do really, not marry, not anyone respectable anyway. They all find her too headstrong.” Meno looked out at some distant, invisible spot. “Not my fault. She was so eager to learn as a girl, there didn’t seem any harm in it. Now I suppose I regret it, too late. She’s too smart to play dumb and too impertinent to hide her brains with good manners. Oh well.” He turned back to Phil as if suddenly remembering he was there. “What did you say you wanted?” He looked up, smiling again.

  “I have a coin I’d like you to look at.”

  Meno looked surprised. “If you want me to look at a coin, it must be a real stumper. Let’s have a look.”

  “I didn’t bring it. I made a copy.”

  “Well, let’s see that then, Damn Phil, I really don’t have all day.” Meno gestured impatiently, holding out his hand. Phil gave him the tablet he had made. Meno looked at it for a minute. “Nothing easier, young man.” He handed the tablet back to Phil, nodding and grinning.

  “What is it then? Don’t keep me in suspense. It was you who was supposed to be so busy.”

  “It is a mystery token,” Meno smiled triumphantly but Philippus just stared, “A what?”

  “A mystery token. It is something that the initiates into certain mystery cults have made up as devotions. You know, just like an issue of coinage might be given to a temple as an offering from a city. Initiates have the coins commissioned and use them as devotional gifts during the ceremonies. They have ritual and mystical properties that set them apart from other types of coins. Over time they are said to acquire the power of the gods they are intended for. No one who is not an initiate has a right to possess one, and even those who have the right are sworn to secrecy and not allowed to show or even admit the existence of the coins to anyone who isn’t initiated into the rites.”