Death on Delos

by Gary Corby

  “I can imagine. So the treasury of Delos is mostly this gold?”

  “Mostly,” he agreed. “We keep enough coins for ready cash. Those are the coins you see in the center. They’re much harder to stack.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Oh, not more than a few hundred thousand drachmae,” he said calmly.

  I felt faint. This man spoke of enough money to buy a medium-sized town, but he called it spare change. Dear Gods, no wonder Pericles wanted this money safe in Athens.

  “How in Hades did you accumulate so much money?” I asked.

  “The yearly contribution from all the member states is four hundred and sixty talents.”

  The only people who talked of money in terms of talents were state treasurers and the mega-wealthy. “You don’t just store all that, surely?”

  “Most of it goes on operational expenditures, to run the combined navy. That’s what the money’s for, after all. But I also scrape and save what I can. I’ve managed to make some good investments in profitable cargos, joint ventures, olive oil presses, shield factories, that sort of thing. That’s with the spare funds, you understand.” He shrugged. “A talent here, a talent there, and pretty soon you’re talking real money.”

  The men who ran these finances lived in a completely different world to the ordinary men in the towns and villages. Enough money passed through this man’s hands every day to buy an entire village.

  Diotima was more level-headed. “You said ‘something like’ four thousand. Don’t you know exactly?”

  “I know to the drachma according to the official books. But you need to understand, when we’re talking of such sums, even a very tiny error in the accounting could amount to a few thousand drachmae, one way or the other.”

  One way or the other. I was willing to bet that one way was a lot more common than the other. I suggested that, as delicately as possible.

  “Then you’d be wrong,” he said shortly. “I’m an honest man.” And then, because he was honest, he added, “Anyway, I’d never get away with it. My books are audited like you wouldn’t believe.”

  We exited the room, and Karnon locked it behind us.

  “Let’s go to my office.”

  As we walked, he said, “I wanted to show you that, so you would appreciate the scale of the problem.”

  “I’m glad you did,” said Diotima.

  “You suggested, when we first met, that moving the treasury was a simple matter.”

  “I see now that it’s not,” I said.

  “The Oikos is about a hundred years old,” Karnon said as we walked up the steps to his office. “I’m not sure of the exact age, but the building’s still in better condition than the older administration site. Those are the buildings you’ll find north of the sanctuary wall, close by the Sacred Lake.”

  “Damon showed us.”

  “Damon’s a strange man,” said Karnon. “But a good one.”

  “Is he the village chief?” I asked. “No one’s ever said so, but he acts like it.”

  Karnon laughed. “As far as I can tell, yes. Certainly no one else does the job, and everyone seems to listen to him.”

  “He was here when you arrived?”

  “Of course he was.”

  Karnon clapped his hands. One of the office slaves brought watered wine, bread, cheese, and olives. Anywhere else it was basic fare, but on Delos it was a good meal.

  We sat upon camp stools at the great table where I had first seen Karnon, which had only been this morning. It had been a long day.

  I knew I was going to regret asking it, but the question had to be put. “You said you invest some of the money?”

  “Yes. It makes no sense for it to lie there doing nothing. I am free to invest a large portion. That way I can add to the fund’s wealth using the fund’s money.”

  “What do you do with it?” Diotima asked.

  “Mostly I buy silver mines,” he said, and I was struck again by the unreality of this man’s life. “Farm property is too hard to move when I want to sell it on. Better to stay liquid.” Karnon was warming to his subject, and becoming more enthusiastic with everything he said. “In addition I can manipulate the markets. I have another assistant who buys up gold and silver on my orders.”

  “But isn’t it gold and silver from your own mines that he’s buying?” I said, confused.

  “Yes, and I lend him the money to buy it.”

  “That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “Yes it does,” Karnon said happily. “After my factor has accumulated a big reserve, I order my mines to lower production, until the market has fewer gold and silver ingots for sale than people actually want. That drives up the price. Then I order my factor to sell his reserve. It raises the profit for the League treasury, you see.”

  I was shocked. “Is that legal?”

  Karnon looked at me oddly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  As Diotima and I left the Oikos, completely convinced that Karnon was a financial genius, Diotima had one final question. “What will you do now?”

  “I’ll proceed at once with getting the treasure ready to travel. A final accounting, if you will.”

  “What about those silver mines you mentioned?” I asked.

  “They’re the easiest to transfer to Athens!” Karnon chuckled at our incredulous expressions. “We don’t have to move a mine, you know. Only the deeds of ownership. Effectively, the League investments go wherever the treasure goes, without doing a thing. It makes my own job easier too. I only have to count what’s here. Nothing can go wrong with that.”

  The Gift of the Hyperboreans

  We needed to find out about this mysterious gift that Meren had told us of, sent by a strange people called the Hyperboreans. If the reference to Nemesis written in blood referred to a gift then we needed to know it. Unfortunately we didn’t dare ask anyone on the island. The very person we were speaking with might be the one with something to hide.

  “Who among the Athenians might know such a thing?” Diotima wondered.

  “I think I know,” I told her.

  There was one, and only one, Athenian on the island who knew about both transport and holy offerings.

  We found him seeing to minor work on his boat. He had sailors scrubbing decks and was in conversation with one of his officers. Something to do with how the brightly colored ribbons in the main lines had faded.

  “Sir!” I said.

  Captain Semnos of Paralos turned around. “Ahh, the investigators. How goes it?”

  “We wanted to ask you, Captain—I know this is extremely unlikely but I wanted to ask anyway—do you happen to know anything about the Hyperborean Gift?”

  I waited for his answer. When Semnos didn’t reply, but merely looked at me quizzically, I said, “Sorry to trouble you; I know you’ve probably never even heard of it.”

  “There you would be wrong,” the Captain said. “If I’m slow to answer, it’s because your question surprised me. I have transported the Hyperborean Gift on three separate occasions.”

  “You have?” I said, astonished at my luck.

  He must have heard the joy in my voice because Captain Semnos said, “This pleases you?”

  “It certainly does, Captain. You might be of assistance on this case.”

  “I can’t imagine how. But I shall tell you what I know.”

  “How did you come to carry the Gift?” Diotima asked.

  “When Athens realized that the Gift was appearing once a year, and that its transport was so problematic, our archons made it known that wherever the Gift touched, the people there could call upon Athens and we would carry it the rest of the way.”

  “That is generous,” I said.

  “It’s my job,” Semnos replied. “I did not exaggerate when I said it is my duty to carry out all religious duties on behal
f of Athens that involve foreign travel.”

  “Then Captain, you might be the only person in the world who knows the answer to my question,” I said. “Where does the Hyperborean Gift come from?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you just said you transported it!”

  “Let me explain,” he said. “On the first occasion when I was called upon to carry the Gift, I had to travel to Dionysopolis to collect it.” Then he answered my unasked question. “That’s an obscure city far to the north of here, very close to Thrace.”

  “Then Hyperborea is directly to the north,” I said.

  “On my second mission, I had to collect the Gift from Elis. They said the Gift had arrived by boat from the north and across the sea.” He paused, then added, “I hope I don’t have to tell you that Elis is in the far northwest of the Peloponnese. It’s near Olympia.”

  “Yes, I know. That implies Hyperborea is close to Etruria, where the Etruscans live…” My voice trailed off as I realized the implication. “Wait, that’s impossible. Hyperborea can’t be close to Thrace and Etruria.”

  The Captain nodded. “You see the problem. My third trip to collect the Gift took me to Byzantion.”

  He didn’t have to tell me where that was.

  “That is bizarre,” I said.

  “It is,” Captain Semnos agreed. “You’re not the only person who wants to find Hyperborea. I’ve tried to solve the puzzle myself. At Dionysopolis they told me it had arrived overland with a courier, from the north.”

  “That’s what I’d expect,” I said.

  “Me too,” the Captain said. “At Byzantion they said the Gift had come by boat. Nobody knew which direction the boat had come. It might have been from the north, which at least would match the Dionysopolis experience. It could have been the Black Sea. But remember at Elis they said the Gift carrier had come from far to their northwest.”

  “Always from the north then? That’s what everyone seems to say.”

  “Yes, but those routes are so far apart, it’s impossible the Hyperborean Gift could be coming from the same place.”

  “It does seem unlikely.”

  “Can you tell us, what is the Gift?” Diotima asked.

  “I don’t know that either. It is encased in a sheaf of wheat, to deliberately hide the Gift from view.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve always supposed it’s so no one will see it, and thus be tempted to steal whatever treasure lies within.”

  “You were never tempted to peek inside?” I asked.

  “Never,” Semnos said in a flat voice.

  “Not even a little bit?” I wheedled.

  “I take my responsibilities seriously.”

  “What happens to the Gift when you arrive on Delos?”

  “I hand it over to the priest in charge of the Hyperborean Gift. He places it in a special treasury dedicated to Artemis.”

  “Good. Then I can ask that priest about the gift?”

  “No, you can’t. That priest was Geros.”

  The Catharsis of Delos

  It was too dark to do any more. We were in the summer, so the days were long in any case, but Delos was an island where there were no mountains or forests to the east or the west to block the sun. Dawn was as early as could be, dusk as late.

  We made our way back to the cottage. Diotima was weary, understandably since she was trying to solve a murder while carrying a baby. I was exhausted. The only sleep I’d had in two days had been the brief period in the morning.

  We were so tired that we stumbled through the front door, only to find a note upon the table. It was from Anaxinos. He apologized for his behavior of the morning, and invited us to dinner.

  Diotima and I looked at each other in despair.

  “We’ll have to go,” she said.

  “We’ll leave early,” I told her in a firm voice.

  We stopped only long enough to refresh and wipe ourselves down. In the absence of a ready bath it was the best we could do.

  We trudged the short distance to the home of the High Priest.

  “I want to apologize for my behavior today,” Anaxinos said the moment we walked in. The High Priest had opened the door himself.

  “I am mortified,” he finished. He held his head in his hands as he said this, and I guessed that in addition to being mortified, the High Priest was also seriously hung over.

  “There is nothing to be concerned about,” I said quickly. I thought it important to be the one to reassure Anaxinos. It would have been socially awkward for a mid-level priestess like my wife to have to forgive one of the highest priests in the land. “All it means, sir, is that you’re a normal man. It happens to everyone from time to time. We drink a little too much and say things we don’t mean.”

  “Or things we do mean but shouldn’t say,” Anaxinos said grimly. “I won’t disown my words. I deplore that you had to hear them. But come, you must rest and eat.”

  The courtyard was where any man of refinement would entertain. Anaxinos had outdone himself. Slaves already stood waiting with sumptuous dishes. There was fresh lamb and fish upon platters, spiced vegetables and, joy of joys, eel in garos sauce, my favorite meal.

  “I understood that you would both be very tired,” Anaxinos said as we took our places upon the dining couches. “I instructed the cook to be ready at once.”

  “You are the perfect host, High Priest,” I said in appreciation, and I meant it. I was already digging into the dish of eel as wine was served. I noted that Anaxinos refused wine for himself.

  “How goes the investigation?” he asked. The household knew his favorite foods and had already served him. He ate small amounts with dainty fingers.

  “We have a beginning, High Priest,” Diotima said. My wife normally ate sparingly, but that was before she had begun the baby. Now she ate everything in sight. She skipped the eel but dug her right hand into the lamb with determination. When Anaxinos saw her enthusiasm he signaled to the slave to leave the entire dish with her. This alone would have earned the priest my gratitude.

  “Sir, I must warn you that the investigation will take some time,” Diotima said.

  “How long?” Anaxinos asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  There was something I wanted to know. I said, “Sir, what happens at meetings of the Delian League? What is your role?”

  “Mine?” Anaxinos said in surprise. “I chair the meetings. The job falls to me as High Priest of the Delian Apollo.”

  “Then you decide what is to be done?” I asked.

  “Not even slightly. The commanders of every nation are present to make the warlike decisions. I have no military experience, young man. I dedicated my life to the Gods at an early age. I dare say even you have fought more wars than I have. No, my job isn’t to make war. It’s to keep the peace between the war makers.”

  His exasperated tone made me ask, “Tough job?”

  “You have no idea.” The High Priest wiped sweat from his brow. “I used to think it was hard work to keep squabbling priestesses from scratching each other’s eyes out, but that was before I had to stop squabbling Generals from going for each other’s throats.”

  “I thought they were allies?”

  “They are allies. I don’t like to think how they behave with their enemies.” Anaxinos paused. “Though come to think of it, a soldier’s job is to be very rude to complete strangers. Perhaps that explains it.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have had a motive to kill Geros?” Diotima asked.

  “Well of course, there’s me,” said the High Priest. To our shocked expressions, he chuckled and said, “Why are you so surprised? Was it not you, young man, who suggested as much this morning?”

  “Suspects don’t normally volunteer, sir,” I sai
d.

  “Nor am I,” Anaxinos said calmly. “I am merely pointing out the obvious, and of course, I didn’t kill him. Can we take that as an assumption, for the moment?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The next obvious candidate would be Pericles,” he said.

  “Yes, we know, but there are arguments against that,” Diotima said.

  “I’m painfully aware,” said the High Priest. “What Pericles has done is not good in the eyes of the Gods.”

  I felt a sudden lurch in my stomach. Had Anaxinos learned of the bribery attempt? If so, this conversation was about to become very awkward.

  I said, rather tentatively, “Sir, when you say you’re painfully aware—”

  “Surely it is obvious,” the High Priest broke in. “Pericles could have simply used his men to force his way into the treasury. I’m sure that’s what he would have done, if the impasse had lasted more than a few days.”

  I was struck by how differently Pericles and Anaxinos had read the situation. Pericles, the leader of Athens, had felt powerless in the face of Delian moral authority. Anaxinos, the High Priest, felt powerless in the face of Athenian strength. I wondered what might have happened if these two men had been allowed to talk for long enough, without interference from Geros.

  Anaxinos sighed. “I must be honest, too. Pericles has his faults, but he wouldn’t commit an outright crime.”

  Anaxinos seemed to know a different Pericles than the one I worked with.

  “What of the villagers, or the priests?” I asked. “Are there any among them who disliked Geros?”

  Anaxinos was silent for a long while. He seemed visibly disturbed. “Geros was a difficult man to like. But I don’t think many disrespected him. I cannot imagine anyone killing him.”

  “Someone did.”

  “There are plenty of Athenians present to answer that need.”

  Anaxinos had taken us back to where Diotima and I had found ourselves in logic: that if a local hadn’t killed Geros, then an Athenian had; if an Athenian didn’t do it, then it must have been a priest or a villager. Neither answer was palatable. I already knew this conversation would chase its own tail all night if we let it. Instead I asked, “Tell me, sir, how the ruined village came to be abandoned?”