The Ionia Sanction

by Gary Corby

  “I’m not sure that would be helpful, coming from you. No offense intended.”

  “None taken. Fair warning, Nicolaos: if you remain, I may eventually have to kill you.”

  “Then why not do it now while I’m helpless in your underling’s hands? Not that I want to encourage you…”

  “The answer to that is simplicity itself. I am a businessman. At the moment, no one is offering to pay for your death, but if you continue as you intend, then I see you as not so much a threat as a maturing revenue stream.”

  A commotion at the door made Araxes look up. I followed his gaze. A man stood there, a Persian, with the nose of a hawk and expressionless eyes under hair that was black as Hades. Though there were men of many different lands in The Great King, few of them were Persians.

  Araxes turned back to me and said, “And now, I must leave you.”

  Araxes had ruined my reputation with Pericles and I’d sworn to get my revenge. Instead, he’d walked in front of me, made me helpless, talked down to me, and now he would walk away as carelessly as if he had nothing to fear from me.

  I looked down at the formerly delicious, now cold, bowl of stewed rat. I could feel some of the gristle still in my mouth. I worked it around with my tongue, sucked in for a moment, and spat.

  I spat right into the face of the blue-tattooed barbarian next to me. He turned to me in surprise, put his hand to his face, and felt the spittle running down his cheek. He snarled.

  I rolled my eyes upward, to the thug holding down my shoulders, and jerked my head upward as if to say, “It was him.”

  Either I was about to lose most of my teeth or …

  The barbarian smashed a fist into the thug behind me. The thug let go and took two steps backward, yelling in surprise.

  I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the bench back and launched myself over the table at Araxes. He was totally surprised. He made to stand, but didn’t have time. I dived into him headfirst and we both went tumbling, me on top. Good. I straddled and punched him one-two in the face, enjoying every moment.

  I got two more punches in, just for fun, before I was whacked from the right. The blue-tattooed man on Araxes’ side of the table hadn’t been fooled by my trick; he’d seen me spit on his friend. He picked me up and roared—I felt like a child’s doll in his hands—and threw me across the room.

  Except I didn’t go far. I landed smack into the Ethiopians and Karians who’d been arguing. They dropped their argument in favor of beating me. I had to hit back to defend myself while stepping aside, anxious to get back to Araxes before he got away.

  I needn’t have feared. The barbarian had stood Araxes up against a wooden pillar, the better to beat him. I laughed. The barbarian had seen us talking together and thought he was my friend. Meanwhile the other barbarian and Araxes’ thug were throttling each other, to the cheers of the onlookers. They were both huge, heavily muscled men, and both had rictus grins of determination.

  A tall man landed on my back and tried to get his arm across my throat. It was one of the Ethiopians. I staggered but didn’t fall. I reached behind me to grab at him, fell to one knee, and pulled. He flipped over my shoulder.

  I looked up to see Araxes get control of his situation. He planted a hard knee into the barbarian’s groin and then clubbed him doublehanded on the back of the neck. A stiletto appeared in his hand.

  I shouted, “No!” and charged him, which knocked us both into the crowd of locals by the window. They weren’t amused and set about us both. We found ourselves back to back. There were too many punching; I had to put my hands up to defend my head. The Ethiopian had charged again—I think he must have gone berserk—and ran into the recovering barbarian, who backhanded his new attacker away, straight into the oily plaited riders, who’d formed a defensive ring about their corner and were striking anyone who came near. The Karians were hitting at the remaining Ethiopian.

  Other men, all of them drunk, had decided to join in. I saw the innkeeper, wielding a club in one hand and a hydria of water in the other, stepping over struggling bodies to get to the torches and douse them before someone knocked one over and started a fire.

  Someone pushed me from behind and I was ejected from the group hitting me, back into the room. I staggered straight into the barbarian, who smiled to see me again and took me by the throat with both hands and pressed in hard with his thumbs. I couldn’t breathe. My hands flew to his and tried to pry them away, but it was like trying to bend iron. He grinned through his tattooed face and I saw his teeth were stained black.

  At the window the locals had tired of beating Araxes. They picked him up, and as one, they tossed him out the window. He flew out cleanly.

  My vision began to fade. I tried to kick the barbarian’s groin like Araxes had but he was ready and blocked me. At any moment my eyes were going to roll upward.

  From nowhere, a bowl smashed over the barbarian’s head. He looked puzzled, then woozy. His hands relaxed and I could breathe again. He collapsed, like a mountain falling sideways, to reveal the Ethiopian standing on the table behind, holding the broken pieces of the smashed bowl and spattered with leftover stew.

  I gasped, “Thanks, I owe you.”

  He replied with gibberish and grinned.

  I looked to the door, between me and it were men fighting and men looking for a fight. I hadn’t the slightest chance of getting through.

  There was only one thing to do. I picked out the nearest local in the group, turned him around, and punched him in the face. He hit back, but his friends grabbed me by my clothing and lifted me high. I told myself to keep my arms and legs in. They ran me two steps and then I flew. I remember passing through the window and then hitting the ground.

  I rolled to a halt before a pair of boots. Above the boots were trousers.

  Hellenes don’t wear trousers.

  I looked up from my prostrate position in the dirt to see the Persian. Two soldiers stood at his back.

  He stared down at me. I stood at once, because Hellenes do not prostrate themselves before any Persian, not even by accident.

  “Did you see a man come flying by here a moment ago?”

  As I said it, two more flew out the window. The Persian and I watched them hit with dull thuds and lie still.

  He said, “A man rolled, as you did, and jumped up and ran away. Perhaps that was your friend.”

  His hair was black but his skin very pale. This was not a man who worked in the light of day. His eyes were dark—they could not have been any other color. His age I guessed to be somewhere between late twenties and midthirties. His hair hung ringleted, and his beard curled, in a style you would never find on a Hellene. The robe he wore had large sleeves and flowing folds and was striped in dark red and yellow. Obviously he was a high-ranking officer but he wore his rank as if it were of no account.

  “You are?” He spoke perfect Greek.

  “Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus.”

  “You started the fight in there.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I saw you. Know this, Hellene, lawlessness is hateful to the Great King.”

  The officer turned and walked into the night, his soldiers following. I watched him fade to black. Most officers I have seen swaggered in their importance, but he simply walked as if he were impatient to be done with another detail. Dear Gods, if all the Persian commanders were like this man, how had we managed to beat them?

  I toed three unconscious bodies, just in case, but none were Araxes.

  I looked back. The Great King was a heaving mass of struggling men, thrashing each other in the near dark, because the innkeeper had managed to douse the last of the torches.

  The Persian had delayed me too long. Araxes would know paths and places to hide that I could never find. He’d got away.

  * * *

  “With Araxes on the prowl I don’t want you out on your own,” I said to Asia back in our room, as I washed my cuts and bruises. In fact, the sooner we cleared Ephesus the better, but I had too much wo
rk to do to leave for a few days.

  “The man you met,” Asia said. “I think I know him. His name is Barzanes. He … works with my father.”

  “Works with?”

  “Barzanes arrived at Father’s palace about three months ago, not long after my mother died.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know about your mother. I’m sorry.”

  Asia shrugged. “So am I. Barzanes arrived, and things changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  “I don’t know. Father became distracted. He always used to talk to me, telling me things, about politics, about how he ruled. It was like he meant to train me, though I’m only a girl. But then he stopped. He spent all his time working. Well, he worked all the time anyway, but he worked even harder, spent so much time in his office and only came out to rule the city. I never saw him and he seemed a bit different. At the time I thought the way he acted was because of Mother dying, but looking back on it later I wondered if Barzanes had something to do with it.”

  “In what way?”

  “My father has commanded armies and faced powerful enemies and always he’s won. But I think Father is scared of Barzanes.”

  * * *

  I lay in bed that night, pondering. I tried to concentrate on my mission, but my thoughts kept reverting to Diotima. Could I pass through Ephesus without seeing her? Did I want to? No, it was unthinkable. But what would I say to her?

  “Yaahh!” A piercing scream ripped through the air and tore me from sleep. I sat bolt upright. A girl’s voice. Who?

  “Father, no! Help me!”

  Asia. In my addled state I’d forgotten Asia. She tossed and turned in the straw on the other side of the room, as if someone attacked her.

  I shook her and said, “It’s all right. You’re safe.” My words hadn’t the slightest effect.

  She continued to buck and cry. “No! Father!”

  Asia was still asleep, yet she talked. Had Themistocles been beating her? I held her tight so she wouldn’t hurt herself and shouted over and over, “Wake up, Asia. You’re safe. Wake up!”

  “What? Where am I? Who are—” She threw her arms about me and held on tight.

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  “Yes.” She shivered despite the warm night.

  I brought her some water from the hydria in the corner. Asia drank it, staring at the floor, and the shivering stopped.

  “All right. Try and get some sleep,” I said as gently as I could. I rose to go.

  “No, wait…”

  “Yes?”

  “Let me … let me sleep with you … please?”

  “No.”

  “At home … I always slept with my sister Nicomache. I’m not used to a bed on my own. Please, master?”

  It was bad enough I had her in the same room, though that was obviously necessary for her own safety, but any father would kill me for this.

  A tear trickled down her face.

  I sighed. “You’ll have to squeeze in the side.”

  She dived into my bed before I’d finished the sentence.

  I walked over to find there was barely any room for me.

  “Move over.”

  She wriggled to the far edge and I pushed my way in.

  “But I warn you, if I can’t sleep, out you go.”

  I was in bed with the wrong woman.

  I lay back and tried to pretend there wasn’t a girl sleeping below my armpit. I could feel her move against me as she made herself comfortable.

  Asia was of marriageable age, and she was well developed for it too. I had the natural reaction any man would with a young woman wriggling beside him. I reminded myself of the words I’d used to Socrates: she was a virgin when I found her, she’d better still be a virgin when I returned her to Themistocles. At last she settled down and I could close my eyes and go back to sleep.

  I rolled over to put my back to her and thought of Diotima.

  Sex was a problem. Of course, a woman couldn’t afford to lose her virginity if she expected a good marriage, I understood that. Fathers had been known to kill men for deflowering their daughters, and afterward the courts approved the killing. Jurors are men with daughters too.

  It made sense Diotima had refused to have sex. Perfectly normal. Very frustrating.

  “Master?”

  I opened my eyes. “What is it, Asia?”

  “Why did you buy me?”

  “I’m returning you to your father.”

  “Why?” she persisted.

  To find out why she had arrived in Athens with a murderer. To uncover a secret which killed a man. To spy on her father.

  I said, “It’s partly a goodwill gesture. Your father is still well respected by many in Athens, and you are, technically, a citizen of Athens. The Athenians would not allow one of their own to be a slave without reason; there’s a law against it. The best thing to do is return you.”

  “Are you going to invite Father back to Athens?”

  “No.”

  “He wants to go home, more than anything. I know he does.”

  “That’s not for me to decide. The Ecclesia and the courts are in charge.”

  “Father will reward you for bringing me back.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “What reward will you ask for?”

  My job back with Pericles? A position among the leaders of Athens? My marriage? Themistocles had nothing I wanted.

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “You should. Father’s sure to ask. I’m his favorite daughter.”

  “Fine, I’ll think about it in the morning.” I closed my eyes.

  “Master?”

  I opened my eyes. “What is it now?” I droned.

  “When are we leaving for Magnesia?”

  “I have some things to do here first. I’ll know more in the morning.”

  “Master, will you—”

  “Asia!”

  “Yes, master?”

  “Shut up and go to sleep.”

  “Yes, master.”

  * * *

  I woke next morning to find Asia had somehow migrated to the other end of the bed and was curled up, peaceful and asleep against my legs. I didn’t want to wake her so I lay thinking.

  Here I was, outside Athens for the first time in my life, and not only in a new city, but inside the Persian Empire. Granted, Ephesus was as close to being independent as you could get and still make obeisance to the Great King, but in no free Hellene city could I come face-to-face with Persian soldiers, like I had the day before.

  Anything was possible, even the success of my mission, even the saving of my career, even a new beginning. Perhaps a new beginning to everything. I had to find Diotima and talk to her. Things had gone wrong between us, horribly wrong. Today was the day I would put them right.

  I meant to mention this to Asia that morning, as we sat at the bench eating our breakfast of stale bread soaked in a little wine, but I didn’t because although I knew in a general way what I wanted to say when I found Diotima, I hadn’t quite worked out the precise words. I rehearsed the conversation over and over in my mind, but it never sounded as good as I expected. I gave myself a little more time by telling Asia we would spend the morning investigating.

  She shrugged and said, “I thought you wanted to find this woman?”

  “We will, later this afternoon for sure.”

  We walked down the road to find Pollion, the brother-in-law of Thorion, whom I guessed would be at the commercial agora. We were coming down Marble Road when walking uphill I saw the one and only person I expected to recognize in Ephesus: the long, dark, curly hair, the confident walk, the pretty face with the thin nose and the full lips, and the pleasing way her dress stretched across her breasts. Diotima was about to turn the bend in the road; any moment now she would see me standing in the road.

  Well, that was all right, wasn’t it? After all, I’d resolved to talk to Diotima some time today. All I needed was a prepared speech. Then I looked down at Asia who stood
beside me, and I thought back to the words of Socrates. “I wouldn’t want to be in your place when Diotima sees her!”

  Perhaps this wasn’t the right time to talk to Diotima.

  Yes, that’s what I’d do. I would let Diotima pass by, and approach her when I didn’t have Asia with me, when I’d decided what to say. But where to go?

  Behind us lay the commercial agora, with nowhere to hide. Other than that there was only the wide open theater. On the lower side of the road was what looked like a large private residence. On the uphill side, a low building stood, into which I had seen others pass; obviously a public building of some sort.

  “Quick, come this way.”

  I grabbed Asia by her left arm and dragged her up the steps.

  Asia protested. “What are you doing?”

  “Shut up and do as I say.”

  We passed through the open gates into a small courtyard, open to the street, in the middle of which sat a water well. The stonework and the flowering vines twined around it to provide fragrant aroma were a thing of beauty, but I didn’t stop to admire. Diotima would see us as she passed, and I hadn’t yet decided what I’d say to her. A door exited the courtyard to our right. I didn’t hesitate. I slammed it shut the moment I’d pulled Asia inside.

  I stood there, panting from the sudden fright. There was a shutter in the door. I opened it and peered out.

  “If you like this girl so much, why are we hiding from her?” Asia asked loudly.

  “Shh!”

  “I’m sorry. We don’t permit clients to bring their own women.” It was a rich, vibrant, sultry voice.

  I whirled about to find a lady standing behind us. She was dressed in … not very much. Her face was painted and her red hair flowed in ringlets down to her bosom, which was exposed.

  We had come to a brothel.

  “My apologies, er, lady. I only want to stay for a few moments.”

  “That’s what they all say, dear, but they pay all the same.”