The Ionia Sanction

by Gary Corby

  I led Ajax. She took one look at what was on the end of the lead rope and said, “You bought a horse? Why?”

  I explained, finishing, “Ajax could be very useful.” I felt put out when Diotima laughed.

  “How do you plan to get him home?” she asked. “He can hardly go by boat.”

  “I thought of that. I’ll ride him home.”

  “What? North, past Byzantion, across all of Thrace, through Macedonia and Thessaly? It would take months.”

  “Only a few, and after I’ve finished this job I’ll have the time. It’ll be a holiday.”

  “I’ve never even seen you ride a horse. I didn’t know you could.”

  “Of course I can ride. I’m a man, aren’t I?”

  Diotima rolled her eyes.

  “Let me take that sack for you.”

  Diotima handed me her sack and I slung it over Ajax. I hauled myself up, swung my leg over, and grabbed the reins. “All right, here we—”

  I don’t know what happened next. All I recall is the world passing by in a blur.

  When I came to I was on the ground. My head hurt. The bits of me between my legs hurt. Everything else hurt too, my elbows and knees were grazed and my chiton torn, but the head and groin were special hurts. I put my hands between my legs and groaned.

  “What happened?” I asked. I pushed myself up with my elbows. Three Diotimas frowned and put their hands to their mouths. Their heads spun around me.

  Three was more than I could cope with. I closed my eyes, which didn’t stop the world spinning around, but at least I couldn’t see it happening. When I opened them again things were more stable. The Diotimas were reduced to one; a much more manageable number.

  The place where I had mounted Ajax was a hundred paces away. Ajax stood nearby, grazing on some wild grass. He looked at me through one eye and snorted.

  “You left without us,” Asia accused. She hesitated. “May I speak frankly, master?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When you said you could ride, I think you might have been telling a teensy little fib.”

  Diotima said, “The horse bolted, you hung on, screaming something I couldn’t quite catch. I saw you let go the reins and grab his neck. Then you fell off.”

  I stood up, refusing to wince, and walked cautiously toward Ajax, my right hand held out. I coaxed, “Here, boy … here, boy … that’s a good boy.”

  “Master, he’s a horse, not a dog.”

  Ajax watched me with apparent indifference. He bent to take another mouthful of grass and chewed on it while I edged up to him. He didn’t move at all when I grabbed his bridle.

  I said, “Right, this time we’ll see who’s boss.”

  * * *

  We walked to Magnesia. I led Ajax by his lead rope. The journey would take two days, but as I pointed out to Diotima and Asia, this was good news because there’d be time for my contusions to heal.

  The road east out of Ephesus crossed a bridge over a small stream and remained flat for only a few hundred paces before rising into the hills that surrounded the city. After that, it was up and down all the way. Diotima walked ahead, Asia behind. They never spoke to each other. I tried to walk alongside Diotima, but she was still surly over my suspicions of Geros and angry I had gone behind her back, so instead I kept Asia company.

  We slept the night under the stars, without much conversation, beside the road in a depression invisible to anyone passing by. Luckily it was a warm night.

  Next day, Asia skipped along and sang songs. She had been understandably scared, then solemn, back in Athens. Now she was positively happy, and no surprise, soon she’d be home with a family she’d expected never to see again.

  As midday approached I started believing we were close to Magnesia, I predicted we would see the city at the crest of every hill we climbed, and around every bend we trudged. Asia became increasingly amused at my irritation when I was invariably wrong, but I kept it up. Eventually I’d be right. I watched forward in the pleasant anticipation of seeing Magnesia and knowing the journey would soon be at an end.

  As we rounded one bend, we saw another hill to the right of the road, this one low and covered in grass. Standing upon the hill was a man, in a curious position, his legs spread, his arms stretched wide, nor did he change position in all the time we walked his way. The closer we came, the more audible his moans.

  Diotima spotted him too. We exchanged glances but said nothing.

  A rude, narrow trail split from the main road and led up the hill. I tied Ajax to a bush. “Something’s wrong,” I said to the women. “Wait here.”

  Asia ignored my order and walked along behind me. Diotima turned to our packs, which we’d slung across Ajax. On the ground I recognized footprints: man, donkey, and horse. Obviously we were not the only ones to have stopped.

  As I walked uphill toward him I saw that a wooden stake, of a width you could barely get the fingers of both hands around, stood upright between his legs, embedded deep in the ground and reaching up to penetrate his anus. It was a tight fit.

  Dried blood stained the pole, and some blood not so dry dribbled down. Feces were scattered along its length, some lay in a steaming heap upon the ground. Blackflies covered the pole, the blood, the feces, and the man. A loud buzz came from behind him. I held my breath, held on to my courage, and walked around to view him from behind. His anus was covered in swarms of flies. I knew maggots would be crawling there soon; possibly they already were, underneath the filth. His inner legs were a mass of sores from rubbing up and down the pole; he had been standing as high as possible to keep the stake from penetrating further, and to do that he had to keep his legs as close to the stake as he could.

  A pole had been placed across his shoulders and along his arms, tied to his wrists and elbows with leather thongs that had probably been wet when his tormentors drew them tight.

  I completed the tour and returned to face the poor bastard. His head hung, unmoving. The shock of what had been done to him must have shut down my senses, because only now, looking into his face, did I realize that where his nose had been was a gaping hole, and his ears had been removed.

  They’d left his eyes alone. I couldn’t imagine why until it occurred to me he would probably suffer more if he could see.

  How long can a man stand on his tiptoes? A day? Two days? How long can a man stand without falling asleep, or fainting? It’s only a matter of time before he sinks lower and lower, and the stake penetrates further and further.

  The head rose.

  I jumped back, I’d been sure he was dead, but now the awful face stared at me. I tried to read the expression in his eyes, but it is impossible for any man who hasn’t experienced such torture to imagine how this man felt.

  I said, “What is your name?”

  He opened his mouth to speak. Within was a blackened stump. They had cut out his tongue. He made grunting noises and moans.

  “His name is Brion,” Diotima said from behind me in a flat, emotionless tone. She had caught us up, with her bow in hand.

  “This is Brion? How long has he been here?”

  “The whole time I’ve been looking for him.” She was visibly holding back her tears.

  “We could get you off,” I said to Brion. “I think you know you’re not going to live even if we do. But if you wish, I can end it for you.”

  “No!” Asia exclaimed.

  “No? Why not?” I asked in surprise. Asia had never struck me as the bloodthirsty type, and I was sure she wasn’t sadistic.

  “This is what the Persians do to some criminals,” Asia said in an offhand way. “If we lift him off the stake, or if we let him die early, it’s a crime against the Great King and the person who does it has to take his place.”

  “You mean this is a state execution?”

  “Only the officials of the Great King are permitted to kill with the pole.”

  “Dear Gods, these people are … are barbarians!”

  Diotima said, “Yes, that’s exactly w
hat they are; barbarians, non-Hellenes.”

  “At least in Athens, if someone needs killing we’re quick about it. Painless too, if it’s hemlock. What can possibly be the point of prolonging the agony? He’d be just as dead if they snapped his neck.”

  “The Persians would say they’re sending a message to anyone else thinking about committing the same crime.”

  I shuddered. “So while all this time you feared he was the victim of a crime, he was in fact a condemned criminal. What did he do?”

  Asia said, “There’s usually a sign, to say. But I don’t see one.”

  “This tells me everything I need to know about the Persians. What sort of a vile, disgusting barbarian would kill a man like this?”

  “Well, my father would,” Asia said. “And you know he’s Hellene.”

  I stared at her. “Themistocles?”

  “Father is the satrap of this region,” Asia explained. “Only he could order an execution like this.” She looked up at Brion with little expression on her face. “You must have been a very bad man,” she said. “What did you do that was so evil?”

  The man’s head rolled until his eyes fetched upon Asia. They widened at once. He opened his mouth and tried to say something.

  “Ung … guh, arrh.” He bent his right wrist to point at Asia. With his left he pointed the way we’d come. He tried once more to speak, but the effort was too much. He gave up. Tears rolled down his cheeks. His eyes held inexpressible sadness within that face of horror, but they didn’t waver from Asia.

  I asked her, “Have you ever seen this man before?”

  “No.”

  “He seems to be reacting to you.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Perhaps he’s saying he doesn’t want a girl-child to be upset by the sight of him.” But Asia was hardly upset; if anything she was disinterested.

  Brion shut his eyes. His head slumped forward and his legs began to give way. He slipped further down the pole, perhaps a handsbreadth. His head snapped up at once and a piercing scream surged from his gaping mouth.

  “Aaaiiieee!”

  The sound cut off in an instant and his body arched, despite the pole up inside him. The pain must have been excruciating. Then his muscles seemed to collapse, he slumped forward, and I saw the reason for his spasm. An arrow was embedded in his back, precisely where his heart would be.

  Diotima stood behind the body, bow in hand and tears running down her cheeks.

  I ran to her and hugged her tight, turning her away from Brion.

  “What are you doing!” Asia shouted. “My father will put you on the pole.”

  Diotima shouted back, “If your bloody father ordered this, then I’ll shoot him too!”

  “My father’s not evil. He’s a ruler.”

  “Shut up Asia,” I ordered. “Diotima did right. If it’s a problem, I’ll deal with it.”

  When she’d calmed, I took Diotima by the shoulders and said, “Come away,” and led her back to the road.

  We left Brion’s body there, without an audience to stare at him as a curiosity. There was nothing else we could do. I didn’t turn as we marched onward at the fastest pace we could manage.

  Twenty paces later we passed the low hill. There before us, not far away, lay Magnesia.

  MAGNESIA

  10

  Miserable mortals who, like leaves, at one moment flame with life, eating the produce of the land, and at another moment weakly perish.

  We entered Magnesia at midday. Asia had tired, so I placed her atop Ajax and led him by his lead rope. He wouldn’t have me on his back, but he was perfectly happy to have Asia. I wondered what thanks Themistocles would offer for the return of his young daughter.

  We had no trouble entering, because there was no wall around the city. How on earth did they defend the place? Instead, the countryside merged into city, and we went from passing farms to a steadily increasing number of houses. It made me uneasy. Cities are supposed to have walls, it’s the natural order of things.

  I had a sudden thought. “Do they speak Greek here?”

  Diotima said, “Of course they do, we’re still in Ionia. We are inside the Empire, but most people will be Hellene and they’ll speak Aeolian Greek; you won’t have a problem understanding them.”

  “What about the Persians?”

  “All the government officials will be Persian, and they’re totally different.”

  Magnesia was not as large as Ephesus. It wasn’t as beautiful, nor as well designed. But then, Ephesus was famed for its size, beauty, and wealth. I could hardly blame the nearest neighbor for being a poor relation. The streets were the standard dirt and gravel, much the same as Athens, but better maintained. The houses were much the same too, with whitewashed mud adobe walls and thatched roofs.

  People stopped what they were doing and watched as we passed. A few pointed and spoke to each other. Asia waved and I began to feel as if we were part of a parade.

  “You, halt!” Two guards stepped in my path, their spears at the ready.

  The murmuring among the onlookers rose to a loud buzz. Asia slid off Ajax.

  I said, “What’s the problem, gentlemen?”

  A man walked toward us from the direction of the agora, a pair of Persian soldiers flanking him. Dark hair against pale skin and a face without emotion; it was Barzanes the sinister Persian, at whose feet I’d fallen outside the Great King. How had he got to Magnesia so quickly?

  Barzanes said, “Whoever you are, you are in a great deal of trouble.”

  Before I had a chance to answer, the crowd parted for a bodyguard of six men, three on each side flanking an older man whom I recognized. I breathed a sigh of relief. Now we were safe from Barzanes.

  Asia cried, “Daddy! Daddy!” She broke away from me, and ran straight into the arms of Themistocles.

  Themistocles held Asia close to him and glanced at Diotima and me. I was the obvious leader. Now for my reward.

  Themistocles pointed at me and said, “Take him away. Imprison him.”

  * * *

  I was chained to a wall by both wrists, somewhere deep within the palace to the south of the city. I hadn’t had a chance to see much along the route because the soldiers had dragged me through the dirt with my head forced down.

  I knew I was underground because the moisture gathered on the wall and ran down my back. My feet didn’t reach the floor, the entire weight of my body was on my wrists, which felt like they might snap at any moment.

  I swore to myself, the moment I got out of here—if I did—I would collect Diotima and make a beeline straight for Ephesus. I’d come to Magnesia to deliver Asia and report on Themistocles for Pericles. Asia was home, and if Pericles wanted to know more, he could come look for himself, because it was obvious there was nothing further I could do. My objective now was to talk my way out of this prison and out of Magnesia.

  Once before, I’d been imprisoned, in a cell for the condemned, where I’d paced back and forth all night awaiting a gruesome execution at dawn. I’d been lucky to escape my fate then and I didn’t know if I could be lucky twice. My latest prison was significantly larger and appeared to have fewer rats, but what it made up for in airiness it lost in atmosphere, and the décor was disturbing. The rack I recognized, also the whips and the stocks with their special screw to strain the victim’s vertebrae until they were crushed. The other items were unknown to me, but if the dark staining was anything to go by then I would be happy to remain ignorant.

  The door creaked open.

  Barzanes walked in. Two soldiers and another man wearing a leather apron followed him.

  He studied me as I studied him. When our eyes met, I was as careful as I could be to register neither fear nor insolence.

  He said, in excellent Greek, “I congratulate you, Athenian. I have rarely seen a man so completely engineer his own destruction.”

  “I have done nothing wrong, nothing to offend.”

  “No? You merely walk into Magnesia with a stolen
horse. To complete your arrogance, stolen from our own stables, an expensive, prime beast dedicated to the King’s Messengers.”

  The charge was so unexpected I reacted without thought.

  “Ajax belongs to you?”

  “He went missing from the King’s grazing field last month. Men have been searching for him since.”

  “I bought that horse only a few days ago at the market in Ephesus, and he cost a small fortune.”

  “So.” He did not seem impressed. He moved around the rack, ran his hand along the winches. “Our empire is a law-abiding one. The people enjoy order, detest lawlessness. The penalty for horse thieves is death. The penalty for stealing from the Great King is a lingering, painful death. The penalty for a horse thief who steals from the stables of the Great King is even worse. Philodios?”

  “Lord Barzanes?” the man in the leather apron said. The muscles of his arms bulged like a blacksmith.

  “The last man who tried to steal a horse of the King’s Messengers, what happened to him?”

  “It was long ago, my lord.”

  “Stretch your memory.”

  The man thought. “Torn apart by the King’s Horses, my lord. In the agora. One horse per limb. Shall I summon the stable master?”

  “Not yet.”

  Barzanes turned back to me. “So you see, Athenian, your position is unenviable.”

  I sweated despite the chill. I put all the conviction I could into my voice. “Listen, I didn’t steal the animal. If I had, would I be so stupid as to walk him back into town in full daylight?”

  He said nothing, merely stared at me with those black, unblinking eyes.

  I continued, “I bought him from a man at the horse markets of Ephesus. He must be the thief. I can give you a complete description.” I proceeded to shop the horse trader to Barzanes, for a fate I could imagine all too well, but I had no qualms; the bastard had set me up and I was happy to return the favor.