by Marie Savage
“Do you have so little faith in Apollon? Do you not think the god can take care of his own affairs?”
“We are humble sons of Delphi who seek to ensure that the sacred sanctuary remains unblemished.”
“I see before me more than just the sons of Delphi. Nikomachos of Dodona, what connection can you have with the poor deceased girl inside our storehouse?”
“Have you forgotten that my mother serves as priestess of Zeus as well as Gaia? Any violation of Apollon’s sacred ground is naturally of concern to a priestess of the Lord of Olympos and father of Apollon. I merely represent her wishes to ensure that all due respect is paid to the gods.”
“Family is an interesting thing. It is clear you are your mother’s son. It is a pity I cannot compare you to your father as well.”
Diokles gripped Nikos’s arm. “My friend’s parentage is of no consequence to the issue at hand. We want assurances that Apollon’s Sacred Precinct remains pure. Are you the priest to give us those assurances or should we seek Kleomon? As the elder of Apollon’s priests, perhaps he can bring his wisdom to bear on the situation.”
Philon snorted, then caught himself. “Unblemished? So that’s what you Phokians call stripping the Sacred Precinct clean of its treasures to pay your mercenaries.”
Diokles sighed elaborately. “The good men before you played no part in that sad chapter of our history. Besides, from the looks of you, Apollon remains richly blessed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bow so handsome.”
“Enjoy the view now, because you’ll not be so privileged again.” Philon growled.
“You should not keep such treasures hidden. It makes Apollon seem, well, stingy. As loyal servants, we deserve to enjoy the god’s riches as much as some potentate from afar.”
“If you seek to serve Apollon, he might find it more pleasing if you sought entry through his front door instead of trying to bully your way in through his back.”
“We do seek to serve Apollon—by ridding him of the pollution that is the girl’s body.” Diokles answered.
“The body will stay where it is. And you will go home.”
“You seem to know just what is going to happen next. Are you the new pythia?” Laughing and goading Diokles, the men in the crowd inched closer to Philon.
“Philon the Pythia! That’s rich!” one laughed.
“He wishes,” called another.
“Ah, no,” Philon answered calmly. “Unfortunately, I am not so privileged as to commune directly with the god. Nor do I claim to know more than what I am able to ensure will come to pass. But, I do know your very presence here represents the opposite of those qualities Apollon seeks in his followers. Reason. Order. Harmony. It is not for you, Diokles, proprietor of the Dolphin’s Cove Inn, proprietor of prostitutes and pillagers, to take the matters of Apollon into your own hands. Indeed, I warn you that my patience is wearing thin and I pledge that the first man who breeches the property of Apollon without my permission will be struck dead before his foot treads beyond the threshold.” At that, the Heraklios’s hoplites stepped toward the crowd and drew their swords. The crow buffeted the air with its wings and cawed loudly.
“Prostitutes and pillagers!” Diokles scoffed as he and Nikos held their ground. “Philon, you’ve offended me and insulted your neighbors. My friends here are simple folk. Our only concern is to see justice done. As for me, the girl means nothing, just as I’m sure she means nothing to you. So why don’t you let the boys have her? They just want to light a pyre under her and be done with it.”
“Whether I have any personal interest in the girl’s fate or not is irrelevant. As a priest of Apollon, indeed as an honorable man, I would never hand over the young woman’s body for a mob to tear limb from limb or burn on a pyre without any regard to her family’s rights or wishes.”
“Ah, yes, Philon the honorable,” Diokles laughed and turned to the crowd behind him. “We’re all honorable men here tonight. Right?”
“As honorable as Philon and Kleomon, that’s for sure!” a voice from the crowd yelled and the whole group burst into laughter.
“Maybe Philon will let us have ten percent of the girl,” another called out.
Philon remained silent, but his eyes narrowed and his lips tightened at the thought of once again being so closely associated with the imbecilic, lecherous old man he had been forced to deal with every day. He deserved his measly five percent off the top of the temple’s take —it was five and not ten as Kleomon told everyone—just for putting up with that man for so many years.
“Tonight, Philon the honorable,” Diokles said, “you have the upper hand—or at least more hands with swords. But, the residents of Delphi must insist that this sacrilege not go unpunished.”
“Indeed, it will not. But the time of judgment and place of purification will be determined by the legal and religious authorities, not by the mob. I advise you to take your friends and return home where hopefully your wives and lovers will be more forgiving of your absence than Apollon is of your presence.”
“All right, Philon. We tried our best, boys.” Diokles turned to the crowd behind him. “Now let’s go warm ourselves before the fire at The Cove. The first round is on the house!” The men cheered and slapped each other on the back as if their chariot team had taken first place at the hippodrome. Diokles slung his arm across Nikos’s wide shoulders.
“What do you think? We gave them enough time to get in and out of the storehouse, but hopefully not enough time for a thorough examination of the body. I hope this will put an end to it,” Diokles said.
“I don’t know,” Nikos said. “Something tells me there was more to Praxis’s and Theron’s plan than a simple diversion. I wonder what they’re really up to.”
“I don’t care what they’re up to. As long as they don’t find anything. Hopefully, this will all be over tomorrow and we can get back to business.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Praxis listened as the voices from the mob faded. He sat completely still, the hood of his cloak pulled over his forehead, his presence hidden by the overgrown brush. His job was to watch and wait. And listen. And worry. How could he have gotten so carried away with this ludicrous scheme? It didn’t matter that it was his ludicrous scheme. Now that he was alone in the dark, now that Althaia and Nephthys were scuttling blindly toward the subterranean levels of the Temple of Apollon, he wanted to throttle something. Someone. Theron, preferably.
He fought the need to shift on the cold hard ground beneath him. He swore at the rough stone at his back. He imagined Althaia and Nephthys crawling on all fours in the dark and could barely stop himself from crawling in after them, pulling them both back to safety. Althaia was the closest thing to family he had, the closest thing to love he had known—or remembered. Of course he loved her father. It was Lysandros who had saved him from certain death on the battlefield, who had nursed him back to health, educated him and raised him as the son he never had. But it was Althaia who, from the innocence of childhood until he saw her disappear into the tunnel, had loved and accepted him as a brother and as a man—not as a mere slave. And Nephthys … he didn’t know what to think about Nephthys. From the moment he saw her on the auction block at Piraeus, he knew he had to have her. Not to own and possess her, but, rather, to protect and shield her. But even more than that. To know her—and to have her know him.
He peered out through the brambles and took a deep breath to calm himself. It’s all Theron’s fault, he thought. He was the reason they always got mixed up in messes like this. Praxis smiled in spite of himself. Damn that Thessalian son of a bitch!
***
At first, the passageway was a narrow tunnel with just enough room for the shoulders of a man. Thankfully, after crawling just a few steps, the tunnel widened and Althaia’s heart slowed its violent knocking against her ribs. The tunnel was no longer small enough to induce total panic, but neither was it large enough to sit up in without keeping her head bowed. She reached out to either side and discovered
it was wide enough to crawl two abreast if needed. Several times she felt cool air and a deepening black off to one side or the other as the tunnel branched off in different directions. The dirt floor was cold and packed hard and smooth, although once in a while a stray pebble pierced her palm or knee.
To stay calm in the confined space, she counted her “kneesteps” and found that she crawled seventeen steps along a relatively flat plane and then four or five more at a slight incline. In the distance, there was a soft light. As they approached, the passage got taller and Althaia and Nephthys were able to walk upright although Palamedes still had to hunch his shoulders. But even as the light seemed just steps away, the passage narrowed so that they had to slide sideways, back against the wall, until they emerged from a tall, slender opening into an ample, but simply furnished room.
Silently, Palamedes bowed, hands clasped together. Althaia gathered that they had entered his chamber. On a large table stood a lamp, its wick burning low. Scattered about were several open scrolls, writing pens, and ink pots. Along the short wall was a sleeping pallet piled with blankets and, in the corner, a stool, several buckets and a potter’s wheel sat together. Lined up against the long wall were delicate bowls and vases and small amphorae painted with scenes from the countryside, images of the Pythia, and dedications to Apollon. Althaia picked up a painted kylix and turned it over in her hands. So lifelike. So delicate. A white bowl on a black base. Apollon sat on a lion-paw stool plucking his kithara. His sacred crow watched from a bare branch, head cocked slightly as if listening to the music. It was a masterpiece.
Palamedes handed a wax writing tablet to Althaia and held up the lamp so she could read it. When you leave, move the shelves to close the tunnel entrance. Althaia looked up as Palamedes indicated a large case with several shelves on which sat a large number of pots in various stages of completion. The case partially blocked the opening, but Althaia could not see how to move it with the pots still on it. She looked back at the tablet. Move the rug to the opposite side of the case, enter the tunnel and slide the case back over the opening. Confused, she watched as Palamedes demonstrated. He lifted the rug to reveal two deep trenches in the stone floor filled with iron balls. He rolled the shelf back and forth over the balls and showed them where a handle had been fitted into the back of the shelves. As he moved the shelf to block the tunnel opening, the rug flopped into place, hiding the exposed trenches. No one will ever know you were here.
Althaia and Nephthys smiled at the ingenious secret passage. They indicated their understanding and readjusted their chitons. Palamedes motioned for them to take off their boots. He laid them carefully back inside the dark of the tunnel. He picked up the tablet again, wiped his thumb across the pliant wax, held it up to the lamp and wrote a new message: Like Theseus, you must follow the thread. But, do not linger. For no one knows the waxing and waning power of the sacred vapors. I will not be here when you return.
As every child knew, Theseus of Athens followed the twists and turns of the Cretan Minotaur’s labyrinth by following the string that Ariadne used to mark his path. Now, Palamedes counted on the same trick to guide Althaia and Nephthys to the adyton where Charis’s body waited. He reached down to the floor and picked up a string that snaked under the doorway. The other end was tied to the table leg. He motioned for both of them to take the string in hand. Satisfied they were ready, he drew down the wick and opened the door to the dark corridor. Before they took one step forward, Althaia panicked, and reached back frantically, groping for Nephthys’ hand. At that moment, Nephthys reached out for Althaia. They found each other in the dark and stepped into the corridor.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Nikomachos,” a young boy stuck his head through the door to Diokles’ office. “I have a message for you.”
Nikos looked at Diokles. “That was quick.” He took the scroll and then closed the door behind the boy. He rolled the hemp tie off, broke the wax seal, glanced at the writing and tossed the scroll at Diokles. “I’m to meet them at daybreak. At Menandros’s.”
Diokles picked up it up and scanned the message. “Not now? Why daybreak?”
“How should I know?”
“Hmmm.” Diokles was silent for a moment. He leaned back in his chair and peered at Nikos. “So, what do you suppose they are doing between now and then?”
“Sleeping? By the gods, I don’t know. We gave them the diversion they asked for.”
“So, explain this to me again, this autopsia examination.”
“They examine the body for clues that will help them determine the cause of death. If they find something, it may lead them to the killer,” Nikos' fingers played absently at his throat.
“Is there something for them to find?”
Nikos ignored the question. “We didn’t give them enough time to find anything. And if they didn’t find something tonight, they won’t have another chance. They think Charis’s brother will arrive to claim her tomorrow.”
“Think? Didn’t Georgios go to retrieve him?”
“Phoibe sent him yesterday, but—”
“Maybe Theron and Praxis didn’t trust you with their all their plans, after all.”
Nikos held Diokles’s gaze. “They trust me because of my relationship with Thea.”
“Theron and Thea had not seen each other in years, and if Theron so valued his sister, he would have sent for you immediately after this autopsia was concluded. He knows the priestesses are awaiting word, so why keep them waiting? I suspect they do not trust you enough.”
“I think Althaia trusts me, too.”
“Zeus’s beard, Nikos. You just met her. Have you even exchanged two words with her?”
“Of course I’ve spoken to her.” He felt the heat rise in his face. Just thinking of the dark-haired Athenian made him stir. From the first moment he stepped into Menandros’s andron with Thea’s note, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. His body stirred as he remembered how she looked up at him with those deep brown eyes and long lashes. Bold. Unafraid. He thought of her in the cave earlier that morning when she challenged Phoibe. He had wanted to step out of the shadows and take her in his arms right then. In front of everyone—even his mother. And when she turned and sought him out, he could feel the heat in her eyes. She might not have been sure it was him, but she sensed it. Of that, he was certain. He had known many women, but this one was different. Exciting. And yet somehow familiar, like there already existed a silent understanding between them. All he knew was there was something about her that drew him in as if she was a lodestone and he an iron filing. Just thinking about the power she held over him sent shockwaves through his system—and blood to his cheeks.
“By Aphrodite, I do believe Nikomachos of Dodona just blushed. With you, it’s always a woman, but I’ve never seen one make you blush.
“She’s worth it.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I heartily approve. Lysandros was one of richest merchants in all Attika.”
“That’s not what I meant.You may not believe it, but I’m not always thinking about silver and gold.”
“I’m well aware of what else you think about. Every time you turn up in Delphi, my bed turns up empty.”
“I can’t help it if your whores prefer me.”
“Pray tell me. What else keeps your mind occupied?”
“This woman, Althaia. She’s rich to be sure. And beautiful. But there’s something else about her. There’s an inner strength that radiates from her. Like Thea. Thea answers to no man, she lives on their own terms, choses her own lovers, and yet she performs her duties with care and deliberation. I sense Althaia is like that. A woman who knows her own mind.”
Diokles threw back his head, laughing so hard he nearly toppled his chair. “Oh, Nikos you fool, how is it that Aphrodite and Eros so easily lay claim to your heart? You spent five minutes in this woman’s presence and now you know the deepest contours of her character? If it weren’t for the trouble it gets us in, your ignorance would be endlessly ent
ertaining. It is a puzzle for the philosophers that you, a man who has little trouble keeping women in your bed, know so little about the creatures.”
“You think owning a stable full of pornai makes you an expert?”
“And you think growing up in the midst of a bunch of priestesses who hear voices in the rustling of oak leaves and see visions in smoke rising up from the bedrock makes you one?”
“Maybe not, but—”
“Nikos, you play games with women, but you never latch on to one because you don’t understand what they need or what they want. You never stick. They may flock to your bed because you flatter them and buy them expensive trinkets, but ultimately you end up alone. I, on the other hand, always have a companion and the only time I go to bed alone is if you’re in town. The women here know they’ll have plenty to eat and always have a roof over their heads. They know they’ll be protected and that I’ll stick a broom in their hand and give them a job to do if they get too old to keep the customers happy upstairs. The difference between you and me is that the women here at The Cove know they can count on me.”
“I’ve seen you charm a woman until she’s bent over and begging for it and I’ve seen you flog a woman till her back bleeds. The only thing the women of The Cove can count on is that they have no other choices in life, that working as a whore for Diokles beats begging in the street.”
“That’s life, my friend. I didn’t write the rules, I just try to bend them to my ends.”
“You say I’m not dependable, Diokles, but most of my life you’ve been urging me to leave Dodona, to leave the one person who does count on me.”
“There’s a difference between someone depending on you and someone using you like a slave.”
“I will not have this conversation again.”
The two men stared at each other over the desk. The fire in the brazier crackled. Muffled footsteps and indistinct voices passed in the hallway. Finally, Diokles sighed and leaned forward.