The Ionia Sanction

by Gary Corby

  “Well, you can’t stay.”

  “But aren’t we to be married, master?”

  “We’re not married yet, and please stop calling me master.”

  “I thought you liked it? You insisted after you bought me.”

  “Well, yes,” I conceded. “But it’s different now.”

  She nodded happily. “I’ll be your wife.”

  “No, because you’re the daughter of Themistocles. Call me Nicolaos. Or Nico.”

  “Yes, master.” She grinned. “Nicolaos.”

  She’d folded her dress and left it lying on a couch. I picked it up and held it out to her. “Please put it on, Asia.”

  Asia jumped up stark naked and said. “Don’t you want me, master? You think I’m ugly.”

  “I think you’re remarkably pretty, and young, and available, and…” I looked her up and down and gulped and thought of cold water.

  If Diotima was the embodiment of Artemis of the Hunt, then Asia was the tool of Eris, Goddess of Confusion. There was no fact so muddy, no situation so unclear, that Asia could not make it still worse by her mere presence.

  “We’re not going to be husband and wife until, well, we’re husband and wife.”

  “That’s not how Nessie behaved.”

  “So I gather. But you aren’t Nessie, and I thank the Gods for that.”

  “I’m going to be the best wife I can be for you, Nicolaos. I’ll help you with your investigations.”

  “I know you will.”

  “I wish Mother was still here so she’d know I got a good husband.”

  “You must be sad about her.”

  “Of course I was but”—she shrugged—“Mother had been ill for a very long time, and in pain, and she cried a lot because of it. She used to pray to the Gods to make it stop hurting, and eventually they did. Although if you ask me, they had help. I think that’s why Nessie brought the man in the middle of the night. I think he was a doctor who helped her die. He visited, and two days later she was dead.”

  My hand proffering the clothing dropped. “Say that again?”

  “Nessie brought a man into the women’s quarters one night.”

  “Mnesiptolema didn’t take the man to her own room?”

  “No, to Mother’s. I got up from bed and watched and they didn’t see me. Nessie let him in but stood outside, and then some time later the door opened and he came out. I had to dive into bed because they came over to look at me and I pretended to be asleep. Then Nessie led him outside.”

  “Asia, is it possible the man you saw was the one we found on the pole?”

  “I only saw him in the dark, and the man on the pole was … hard to recognize.”

  I knew she recalled the missing nose, it had turned his face into a horror mask.

  She shivered.

  Whatever my problems, they weren’t this girl’s fault. Callias himself had bought the husbands his daughters wanted. Themistocles had merely done the same, which made him a doting father. Asia knew how I felt about Diotima. No wonder she was anxious to please me.

  I put the clothes around her and hugged her tight. “Asia, well done. If having a helpful partner means anything, then you’re already being a good wife.”

  “I am?”

  “You are. And tomorrow we’re going investigating together.”

  * * *

  Early next morning Asia and I walked out the palace gates and into the city, to investigate her own disappearance. The agora wasn’t as crowded and chaotic as the one in Athens, but what it lost in color, atmosphere, and excitement it more than made up in dust and grime. I noticed Mac standing among a group of boys. He saw me too and approached, but I waved him away. He looked at me in surprise, probably because I’d decided to wear trousers. I might as well get used to them.

  We found the lane Asia had described to me many days before on Salaminia, when she had recounted her kidnapping. It ran off a main road that adjoined the agora. The entrance was largely hidden by boxes and rubbish spewing out, and overlapping buildings to each side, so that from the street it looked more like the entrance to a building than the start of a passageway. Not even a man walking directly by on the main road could see inside. The lane was narrow, as she’d said, and there was plenty of litter lying in the dust. I could see a vertical crack of light in the distance, so at least it wasn’t a dead end. “It was in here.” Asia pointed. “I went down the lane, poked about among the stuff. “

  “Stay here,” I ordered. “I’ll have a look.”

  “Didn’t you say only an idiot would go down a dark alley on their own?”

  “That doesn’t apply to investigators. We do it all the time.”

  I squeezed past the rubbish and went in.

  I kicked aside some of it in search of footprints that might tell me something, or perhaps something dropped during the struggle, but it had been too long ago, and there was no way to tell a clue from the rubbish. The lane ran between two walls that had once been whitewashed and now were filthy.

  “Have you found anything?” Asia had disobeyed instructions and followed me.

  “Only a girl who won’t do as she’s told. Go back.”

  She scoffed. “I’m more likely to be attacked in the main road than in here with you.”

  “Go back.”

  “Aarrgh. Yes, master.” But she went.

  I put my head down and continued the hunt for clues. What I found was a lot of rat droppings. Obviously this was a breeding ground for the local cuisine.

  Behind me, in the lane, I heard a muffled scream, rapid movement. I jumped and turned. From somewhere an arm came down, something heavy hit me on the back of the head, and that’s the last I remember.

  * * *

  When I came to, I was on the ground, my wrists bound behind my back, my ankles tied, and the sun shining on my face. My head was cradled in dirt. I tried not to move, to give myself time to think and see and find some way to escape.

  I listened carefully. There were none of the noises of the city, no shouting, no traffic. Nor did I smell the ubiquitous city smells of garbage and donkey droppings. Somewhere birds were singing. I was in the country.

  I heard the voices of two men. They were arguing, not about women or politics or any of the other things that men usually argue about. They were bickering over a pole.

  “Hold it straight there!”

  “It is straight, curse you.”

  “No t’ain’t. It’s leaning to the left, look I can see it.”

  “All right, how about that?”

  “Now it’s leaning to the right.”

  “If you can do better, why don’t you?”

  “Shut up, both of you,” a third voice interjected, this one cultured, and the moment I heard it my blood froze. “The pole has to be perfectly vertical, or it won’t take the weight. So look sharp about it and get it right. Have you set the bobs?”

  “Aww…”

  “Set them!”

  I dared to open my eyelids, the merest slit. Two men knelt on the ground, dressed in rough leather jerkins and trousers made of some material that looked tough and was certainly filthy. One had a headband that was soaked with sweat, the other had rivulets running down his face and neck. Both had hands that were covered with grime.

  A large wooden pole lay between them, to which they attached four pieces of twine, each with a pebble tied at the bottom. They nailed one on each side of the pole. This is a trick builders use to ensure an upright beam is truly vertical. When all four pieces of twine fall exactly down along the beam, the builder knows it’s right.

  “Make sure there are plenty of heavy rocks about the base, then pack the hole with gravel and dirt. Make sure of the rocks, I don’t want any slippage.” The third man walked into view. It was Araxes, as I feared.

  “All right, that should do it. Cheiro, you raise the pole and Durgo, you sight it.”

  Cheiro and Durgo grumbled and pushed and swore and finally placed the pole. There was a rounded, smooth point at the top. That
made me sit up.

  “Ah, you’re awake. Good.” Araxes bent over me, his white hair shining with the sun behind it.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  “I’m terribly sorry about this, but we’re about to impale you.”

  My imagination ran away with me. Already I could feel the rough wood sliding up, my insides expanding as if there were a giant turd in me. My anus clenched shut. I trembled.

  “I did warn you this was likely to happen, dear fellow. I have a client who, it grieves me to say, does not like you very much.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  “I am reliably informed by my client that you are a deadly assassin. You could have fooled me, but there you are. I confess I’m a trifle put out with you myself. You killed one of my men.”

  “I did? What man?”

  “Oh come now. The guard at the warehouse.”

  “He was yours?”

  “As if you didn’t know. He was found with his throat slit and the goods looted. I knew you were on the way the moment I heard the news.”

  I blinked. So the one-armed beggar had got away with it.

  Araxes said, “You’re not going to deny it was you, are you?”

  I shook my head. The beggar deserved his chance, and it wasn’t as if I could do anything to make my predicament worse.

  We watched in silence as the pole settled into place with a solid thunk. The narrowed end pointed straight up. Araxes chuckled. “Actually, I think the client’s emotions may run to a stronger sentiment than dislike. He specifically demanded this end for you … end! Get the point? He ordered this end.” Araxes chuckled at his own demented joke.

  “I normally find a quick sword thrust does the job with least fuss and pain. Most clients are satisfied by that arrangement. Either you have been particularly annoying, or else your enemy, my dear Nico—may I call you Nico? I feel we’re forming a bond—your enemy, as I say, is a person of remarkable vindictiveness.”

  “I don’t even know who he is.”

  “Client confidentiality is my watchword.”

  “It’s Barzanes, isn’t it? Barzanes set you on to me.”

  “I told you in Ephesus the wise hound creeps around the lion. Nor does he play with vipers.”

  “What of the girl?”

  “The girl? Oh yes, the girl. Rather odd having her back, it’s so rare that I get repeat business.”

  “You have her too?”

  “You will be pleased to hear the girl ran away during the excitement of hauling you in. I considered you the greater threat. That may have been an error. She bit deep into the hand of one of my men and he foolishly released her long enough to make her escape.”

  Who had done this to me? Who hated me enough to want to kill me in this horrible manner? Perhaps Themistocles, if he had discovered my purpose; perhaps Barzanes, despite Araxes’ denial; or maybe Archeptolis. He and Mnesiptolema had a good reason to hate both me and Diotima. Then a horrible thought hit me. What about Asia? Who else knew we were going to the alley? Was it reasonable that a girl could escape when I was captured?

  Now that I sat upright I could see a group of men behind me—perhaps ten or twelve—dressed similarly to Cheiro and Durgo. Some of the men spoke Persian, some Greek. Two had the appearance of local peasants, some were light-skinned, some dusky. A typical pack of brigands. They lounged about watching the other two work. Their horses were tethered to sparse bushes in the minimal shade.

  I searched about for something—anything—that might save me. Perhaps if I could see the road I might shout to a passerby. But no, the road was nowhere in sight. We were surrounded by low hills, covered in gravel and rocks and a few suffering bushes sufficient to block my view of beyond.

  The main road could have been two hundred paces away and I wouldn’t have known it. Even if I did attract the attention of a passerby, it would be a foolish man who came to investigate with a dozen cutthroats in plain view.

  “Ready, Boss,” Cheiro called.

  “Put him on,” Araxes said without emotion.

  I screamed, hoping against hope that someone might hear. The only effect was for the dozen loungers to guffaw and make insulting comments. I kept screaming.

  Araxes shook his head and said, “Come, come, Nico, this does you no credit at all. Would you die like a woman?”

  “I wouldn’t die at all.”

  “I’m afraid that option isn’t available. You should follow the example of Thorion; he died cursing me. Carry on, men.”

  Cheiro and Durgo complained. “We’re tired, Araxes. We dug the hole, someone else should do the rest.”

  Araxes nodded. “A fair comment. Take a break. You two.” He pointed at the nearest two cutthroats. “Stick him on, but do it gently, I don’t want him dying too fast.”

  Two ugly men grinned, stood, dusted themselves off, and approached me.

  I yelled, “Wait! Only the Great King and his officers are allowed to execute like this. If they catch you, you’ll be in big trouble.”

  Araxes said, “Oh goodness! I’ve never been in trouble with the law before.” He waved an arm at his goons. “Drop him on.”

  They stood each side and pulled me up by the arms and thighs. My heart raced and I was dizzy, I felt like I was about to vomit.

  I called out, “Araxes, if you have any decency you’ll kill me before you put me on the pole. That sword thrust—”

  “There is no degree of pleading that can weaken my resolve. I’ve heard it all before, Nico: the false bravado of the brave as they stare down fate, the whines of weak men, and the desperate entreaties of women clutching their children. I wish I hadn’t heard those things, but life gives us few choices. If I could ignore them, I can certainly ignore you. The commission specifies impalement, so impalement it must be.”

  “He’ll never know, whoever he is. Kill me first. Lie to him.”

  “What if he comes to inspect? He might, you know, before you’re gone. It takes a few days to die.”

  I thought of the impaled man by the road, how I had watched him in his agony and, on the advice of Asia, been ready to walk away. I cursed myself.

  “I’ll kill myself quicker by pushing down.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ve heard that one before, but once they’re on the pole they always change their minds. They fight for every moment, every agonizing extra moment.”

  “I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you money if you make it quick.”

  Araxes stepped back as if I’d struck him. “What do you take me for? That would be unethical!”

  Another man stepped up with a large jar. He put the jar on the ground, took off the lid, and reached in with both hands. The hands emerged with two enormous handfuls of dripping pig fat. He smeared this over the point of the pole and, when the top was smothered, reached into the jar again and smeared more greasy fat down the sides.

  “This isn’t the best of fits,” Araxes explained. “The Gods did not create the human rectum to be able to take a large piece of wood a handsbreadth across, so we must have grease to ease it in. I’m afraid it will attract ants, which will add to your discomfort, but it can’t be helped.”

  I began to struggle seriously now. There was no hope for me, but at least I could fight to the end.

  They hoisted me higher as if I were an ungainly sack. Then, with a grunt, they pushed me up so that my bottom was higher than the point of the stake. Their grip was like fighting iron bonds. They walked me over. The stake came closer with every step, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I think I sobbed, but I don’t remember. My mind insisted this wasn’t real. My heart thudded so heavily it seemed to shake the ground.

  Then I realized, it was no illusion. The ground really did shake. Cavalry appeared around the hill, a troop of Persians.

  The cutthroats shouted in alarm and raced for their own horses. The two carrying me let go. I fell with a bone-jarring crack and my head hit a rock. I could feel it bleed but I didn’t care. I rolled to get a view of the fight.

 
The two who’d held me turned to face the newcomers. A horseman saw them and broke from the pack. He leveled his spear and charged. The spear took the first man in the chest, but the second brigand swept his sword into the horse’s neck. The wounded animal reared and threw his rider, who landed right beside me. The brigand killed the prone soldier with one quick thrust.

  On the outside of the mêlée I could see Cleophantus sitting his horse as if he were on a parade ground. He thrust with his spear. I saw him kill one man and then prance his mount backward out of the chaos.

  The black scowling face of Barzanes appeared in the center of things before he was obscured by the rising dust. I thought there must be twelve men among the attackers, plus Barzanes and Cleophantus, and that was more than enough to save me.

  Cleophantus spotted Durgo, standing his ground with bloodied sword in hand. The son of Themistocles kicked his mount forward. He leaned in with his spear to catch Durgo on the right. But Durgo knew his business; at the last moment he jumped to the unprotected left of Cleophantus.

  Cleophantus leaned far down the right of his mount, the opposite side to Durgo. Durgo’s sword passed over the back of Cleophantus by a whisker.

  Cleophantus wheeled on the spot, yelled a war cry, and thrust. The spear took Durgo in the throat. His eyes bulged and he vomited blood as he collapsed. I was impressed; the playboy knew what he was about when it came to riding in battle.

  I lost sight of Araxes until I saw him run at Cleophantus from the rear. I screamed, “Cleophantus, behind you!” With my arms still bound I scrambled to my feet and ran at them.

  The Gods were with Cleophantus. He had the sense to look behind him. He swung his spear in alarm so it connected with the blade of Araxes, which was within a moment of taking him in the back. This was enough time for me to reach them and I shoulder-charged Araxes. He dropped the sword, bounced off the hindquarters of Cleophantus’ horse, and came back at me with a well-placed kick to my groin. I went down in agony.

  Cleophantus tried a thrust with his spear, aiming at Araxes’ shoulder, but Araxes—a true professional—stepped aside, grabbed the shaft, and pulled. Cleophantus toppled forward, right on top of me.