by Roger Hudson
Lydos looked pleased for a moment before he registered that they had actually failed and that he had just confessed to another serious crime. He was trying to place all the blame on Phraston, when Sindron knew that Lydos’ old master had treated the slave as a full partner, involving him in all decisions, even if he was not yet a freedman. Could this be the friend who had saved him when Sindron got into difficulties as they were swimming, the friend he had defended against that group of youngsters who had accused him of being a Persian spy because of his skin colour? He felt a bitter taste in his mouth.
Lydos started pouring it all out as though this would somehow improve his situation.
"It all went wrong. You started asking questions instead of accepting it as an accident. Philebos panicked, didn’t claim credit for the meeting as planned, so it was more difficult to blame him. He kept running to Amynias who threatened to involve Phraston. He hadn’t done enough to implicate Hermon, so we couldn’t do a citizen’s arrest and set him up for trial. It was all a mess."
Lysanias stepped in again. "And Hierokles? Was he in on the plot to 'frighten' Klereides?"
"No, master, just the accounts." Was that the truth? Lydos was looking even more uncomfortable now.
"Then why did he set off for Athens before he could have heard of Klereides' death?" asked Sindron. Lydos looked startled, but he had an answer.
"According to Phraston, he and Ariston summoned their key men to Athens as soon as they heard Kimon was on his way back, that the Spartans had humiliated him." It sounded plausible.
"Kimon, was he involved in all this?" Lysanias hated to ask it about his hero.
"Great gods, no. He’d have been horrified."
"What by? The inefficiency?" Lysanias new cynicism took over but he was pleased to hear the re-assurance, even if he couldn’t be sure it was true or that Lydos, as a slave, would have been trusted with that knowledge.
"The tomb carving, what about that? Sindron asked but it seemed they had reached the limit of Lydos' knowledge or what he was prepared to talk about.
"Surely, n-no-one w-would be that stupid, would they?" Lydos was shivering now in the chill of the morning.
"Boiotos might be," came in a sleepy voice from the slight figure curled up on the floor. They'd forgotten Philia. Lysanias realised he should look after her, see she was warm enough, but no time now.
"That foolish man! I should never have trusted…" In his sudden anger at Boiotos, Lydos blurted it out, and then pulled himself to a halt as he realised he had done exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Now it was out, strangely Lydos looked less frightened.
"Thank you, Lydos. I think we get the picture." Sindron glanced across at Lysanias and their eyes met. He felt sure they had come to the same conclusion. That it sounded as though Lydos had joined forces with Boiotos to pay the assassin extra to kill Klereides instead of frightening him. Boiotos probably in the hope of gaining the inheritance for his father. Lydos to please his master or to cover his own embezzlements but the reason didn’t really matter now. Come to think of it, the conspirators would have needed someone not in the public eye like Boiotos to get messages between them and to the assassin and to organise things. Why had they always dismissed Boiotos as a stupid bully instead of checking on him more? There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them not to try to spell it out. It could come out when Lydos was tortured. Lysanias was coming to like that idea.
"And the stories of Klereides' gambling debts, bad investments? Where did that idea come from?"
"Well, we had to have some cover, something to tell Otanes and Makaria, in case they got suspicious." Lydos even seemed to recover a degree of confidence, now he had confessed. "Just so long as Klereides didn't hear about it. Lucky Klereides, they called him. Always picking good investments, hardly ever losing a bet, knew how to pick a winner, whether it was a fighting cock or a runner."
"Well, you and your master made sure his luck ran out, didn't you!" Lysanias tone was grim. It almost sounded like a threat, and Lydos shrank back. Or was that from the knife that Lysanias had raised threateningly? Lysanias did feel like having his revenge on one more person, but he couldn't do it, not in cold blood.
Then he remembered his promise to Stephanos. Lysanias’ uncle wasn’t the only victim.
“So what about Ephialtes? Who was in on that plot?”
“I don’t know, master. I’m a slave. They knew I could be tortured, so I wasn’t in on their meetings, so that I wouldn’t know names.”
“But you were about to be given freedom, the running of a bank!” interjected Sindron.
“Even so, even so. They’re sticklers for propriety,” Lydos rejoined with a tinge of bitterness.
“But you found the assassin. You were briefed. Who did that? Phraston? Hierokles? Ariston?”
“Yes, master. Yes, master. Those three. And someone whose name I don’t know. Red hair, a stutter…” Lydos was abject, cringing.
“And strong hints from them that they’d like Klereides dead as well, were there?” Sindron interjected and, to Lysanias, “There’s more than one way a master can give an instruction, master.”
Lydos didn’t answer. He seemed to clamp his mouth shut, as though he knew he had said too much already.
"Master, I suggest we hand this miserable creature over to the authorities," Sindron could guess that some of the money Makaria had supplied to make good Klereides' so-called gambling debts had found its way into Lydos' own account, but that seemed too unimportant after all the other things they had discovered. He felt sure they had extracted all the substantial information they were going to get. Sindron found he could feel no sympathy, no further friendship towards someone who had so totally abandoned all those principles he once thought they shared. The friendship was dead.
"I think we should hand him over to the Fellowship of Hephaistos, Sindron, and see how much they leave of him when they find out he organised the assassination of Ephialtes." Lysanias gave Sindron a slight wink. Lets make the evil worm suffer a little more, it said.
Suffer he did. "No, master, please, not the Fellowship. Let the Scythian guard arrest me!"
Sindron joined in. "Maybe the radicals would be better, master, after all they are the dominant faction now and Ephialtes was their leader."
"No, please, the magistrate in charge of the Scythian guard, he supports the radicals but he's a fair man, he'll lock me up safe in the prison." The panic-stricken words poured out, and, when he stopped, the sound of his teeth chattering filled the silent room, over-riding the regular breathing and occasional whimpers from Philia where she had fallen asleep again on the floor.
With the new agreement between the radicals and the aristocrats, they weren't sure exactly who was in charge, so, in the end, they decided to take Lydos to Perikles' house. They knew it was relatively near and dawn was breaking.
***
" ... I still think it's a terrible deal. We gave away too much!" Arkhestratos great, coarse voice boomed out as they were shown into Perikles' entertaining room. The rowers' champion stood angrily, as Perikles and Themistokles beside him lounged, breaking their fast. Themistokles seemed very subdued.
"I agree entirely, but it's done now ... " Themistokles broke off as he saw Sindron. "Ah, my slave friend." He rose, looking genuinely pleased. Lysanias looked quizzically at Sindron, who mouthed “later”. He and Sindron had been gripping Lydos by the arms. They now released him, though Lysanias kept his hand on the knife concealed in the folds of his cloak. Philia had followed behind, Sindron’s stick on her shoulder like Herakles with his club. The discolouration round her eye showed purple and red even through the brown of the walnut oil, and her lips were swollen. He knew she must have aches and pains – he had quite a few of his own – but she hadn't complained. Now she stood blearily just behind him. Lysanias could almost feel her weariness.
Themistokles came towards them and drew Sindron to one side, as Lysanias explained to Perikles the need to have Lydos arrested and gaoled as
quickly as possible for both murders. He spoke confidentially, not wanting to risk Lydos being killed by a mob before he went through the whole process of torture, trial and execution. Lydos seemed to sense the danger and stayed quiet, though his eyes remained alert. He had dropped the guilty and humble slave pose, Lysanias registered, and seemed to be presenting more as the dignified and possibly wronged banker. Well, that won’t do him any good, he thought.
"As you see, I am safe, thanks to you," Themistokles told Sindron, gratitude in his eyes. "But they've reached an agreement that I'm to leave Athens for good." Sindron looked sympathetic, but wasn't sure what to say. Perikles had overheard.
"It was the only way to save you from execution. I've told you,” he said.
"We could have taken full power, got rid of the aristocrats!"
"That's right," Arkhestratos joined in, from where he had crouched to help himself to some bread and herring. "That's what we should have done! That attempted takeover gave us good enough reason."
Perikles sounded tired of explaining the reasons as he enunciated carefully and clearly, "You both saw the situation yesterday, and there are four thousand fully-armed battle-ready pro-Kimon hoplites approaching the city at this moment, with many inside eager to join with them in any struggle. Without Kimon's co-operation we can't hope to contain them. We had no choice. I just thank the gods we have avoided the civil conflict that could have torn the city apart. We’re still on a knife’s edge. Don’t you see that?"
The other two politicians didn't respond. Clearly they did see it but had just needed to protest at something they knew had to be. Themistokles broke the silence. “Anyway, you’re rid of Kimon for ten years. At least I achieved that for you – one promise kept. They’ve no leader now. Perikles has proved a most able pupil, able enough to outmanoeuvre the master,” he said with a slight wry smile. “Make the most of it. Hang onto that majority and you can do what we always wanted.”
Suddenly it struck Sindron that maybe this could have been the deal Themistokles had made with the Great King. In return for a princedom, he would damage Sparta and get rid of the Greeks’ leading general, disabling the Greeks as a fighting force. Blatant treachery if one didn’t understand his motive of giving power to the ordinary people. Knowing what he was capable of, how could the radicals risk letting him stay, even if that were feasible? But what chance would the old schemer have back in Persia once the Great King realised he had been tricked? Or had he? Sparta was crippled. Athens teetering on the brink of civil war, its great war leader exiled. The Great King had what he wanted but what had Themistokles really intended to achieve?
The defeated look in the elderly politician’s eyes revealed his awareness that he would never again be top dog in his native city. Stop the romancing, Sindron, he thought. This man’s a tough politician. He knows the rules of the game. That the crafty newcomer will always seek to oust the crafty oldster. His day was over and he knew it.
Themistokles turned to Sindron again, a slight twinkle in his eye now. "At least, they say I'm to be re-instated when I'm dead and have the honour of a tomb on the harbour side at Peiraeos," he said with a rueful smile. "So I'll be back some day, maybe fairly soon." Despite the smile, he looked much older than yesterday, less firmly erect. "You win and you lose. Have to be going now. The ship is waiting, I'm told."
They all wished him well, even Lydos. Philia felt awed and tired and didn't really understand who these people were, but she felt the emotion in the air. She would ask Lysanias to explain when they got home, she decided. She felt she had proved herself and that it would be difficult for people not to give her more respect in future and hopefully the control of the household that was her due. She had learned a lot in the last few days about the world of women and the world of men. She was determined to make use of that knowledge.
Arkhestratos went with Themistokles to be sure he reached the ship safely. He had a few of his boys waiting nearby as escort and bodyguard.
Perikles moved into action. He called the Scythian guard to arrest Lydos and imprison him awaiting trial. He arranged a chariot, so that Sindron could take Philia home, and they went, though Sindron would have liked to see this through. At least the boy’s future now seemed secure, he thought, as Hierokles would now surely be unable to challenge Lysanias’ inheritance. His own future looked safe too, especially now Lysanias could see where Otanes’ loyalties lay.
Then Perikles sat Lysanias down to break his fast, and the young man discovered he was starving, despite the full dinner the night before. Between mouthfuls, Lysanias told the politician the whole story. Perikles looked surprised, appalled, intrigued, and pleased at appropriate points.
He immediately took steps to have the bodies removed from the dye works before the workers there could spread too many rumours and sent messages to Lydos' family and to other political leaders. Then he surprised Lysanias in his turn.
As Lysanias sat, pleased to relax, Perikles paced before him.
"Lysanias, you are new to Athenian politics, though I can see you have learnt a lot in your brief time here. We have a very delicate political situation at the moment." Lysanias signified that he realised this. "Because of that, to have all this exposed to the public gaze would do more harm than good. Clearly, the aristocrats will not wish it known that some of their leading figures could behave in this way. And I think I can persuade the radical leaders to moderate their desire for revenge for the killing of Ephialtes, as you have exacted it for us. It really is down to you."
"I don't think I know what you mean," Lysanias murmured, confused.
"You have to decide if you will have Lydos charged with complicity to murder, and with embezzlement of your uncle's money. If you do, as a slave, he will be tortured to establish the truth in a way acceptable to the courts and, I'm sure, found guilty and executed by nailing to a board in the usual way. You have that right and he deserves the punishment. But, in the process, everything else will be in the public gaze as well. As for your own killing of a man, that was clearly in self-defence as well as righteous vengeance, so you should have no problem there."
"I think I was aware of most of that," Lysanias responded when the politician paused, "but I'm still not sure what you're trying to tell me." He was surprised, too, at the new authority in this Perikles. His leader only recently assassinated, Themistokles only just despatched to permanent exile, and now here was Perikles, young for a politician, until yesterday only one of a group of men behind Ephialtes, talking as though the fate of Athens were in his hands. Was this presumption or did politics work like that? Was he just taking advantage of good fortune, even though it was the bad fortune of his friends? Or was it possible he had been using Themistokles and Ephialtes to engineer the series of events leading to the exiling of Kimon and had now taken the opportunity to get Themistokles out of the way to clear his own path to leadership?
Could Perikles really have planned all this to end up to his advantage? Down that avenue of thinking, Lysanias realised, lay total cynicism. He dismissed the thought. But still ...
"If you do, we risk major civil unrest, calls for the trial of Ariston and Hierokles, Amynias and Inaros, if not of others."
Lysanias began to see what was being asked of him. To give up all further desire for vengeance in the cause of peace in the body politic. After the riots and looting of the previous day, narrowly brought under control, he could see why Perikles was concerned, though he found the man's cool, detached way of regarding everything as slightly alien.
He sighed to himself. "What do you suggest?"
"I will send a message to the leaders of the aristocrats, indicating what has happened. I'm sure General Ariston will choose exile with Kimon, as soon as he hears what you've discovered. Hierokles appears to be implicated for certain only in the embezzlement of funds. I'm sure he will choose to return to his estate and stay there, keeping out of politics for a long time."
Lysanias had to say it. "I think he is implicated in the murder as well, and defi
nitely in the murder of Ephialtes."
"Yes, well, he's not young. Maybe I can see that Boiotos is sent to a military outpost a long way away. Possibly Hierokles too." He paused to see how Lysanias had taken this, but the young man was waiting for more blurring of the clear issues of guilt and innocence. But no, he had to assert himself. After all he had done, he couldn’t give in to tiredness. “I’d want a guarantee of that. For both of them. They must feel it as punishment for their crime not just political retribution.” Had he really said that? Talking to Perikles as an equal? He kept his expression severe.
“That should be possible.”
It didn’t sound much of a guarantee but he had to trust this man who was talking as though he had authority.
Perikles continued, "We were planning to round up the members of the Golden Trident and question them about the assassination of Ephialtes, but we couldn't do that till after this business with the troops is settled and Kimon is out of the way. We didn't really believe they would leave such a blatant clue, so we were trying to think of other suspects. Now you've cleared it up for us, and you have my thanks and, I’m sure, those of the city, which will doubtless be given more fulsome expression at some future date."
"Surely you want to see them punished?" Lysanias found all this disturbing. Where was Nemesis now? Or Apollo or Athene, guardians of justice? He wondered what Stephanos or Glaukon would think, if they knew the conspirators were to escape retribution. He found himself agitatedly picking at bits of food, half eating them and putting them down.