The Ionia Sanction (23 page)

There was a thick wooden door in the middle of the temple carving, hung on iron hinges. Cleophantus gripped the handle and pulled it back. It moved almost silently; someone had oiled the hinges.

Mnesiptolema sat inside, exposed to view as the door swung open. Her hard, angular face was sharpened by the contrast of light and dark.

I said, “I hope you’re here to tell me who killed Brion.”

“I rather thought you did.” She pursed her lips. “I must say, you don’t look like an assassin. But if Thorion sent you, I suppose you must be the best Athens has.”

*   *   *

We sat on the stone benches carved into the walls, which should have held bodies but which had been long empty. It was cool and damp inside the tomb, and very private, which is what the children of Themistocles wanted. I sat opposite three of them: Mnesiptolema, Cleophantus, and Nicomache. Nicomache had been sitting unnoticed in the corner when the door opened. Invisibility seemed to be Nicomache’s skill.

I said, for the third time, still not believing, “You want me to kill your
father
?”

“Surely Thorion explained this to you?” Mnesiptolema said, her impatience plain.

“So it was you three who sent the letter to Thorion?” I studiously avoided her question.

“Four. You forget my husband. Granted, that’s easy to do.”

“That’s a good point. Why isn’t Archeptolis here?” I asked.

“I speak for us both,” Mnesiptolema said at once.

That was believable.

“Are you experienced at this sort of thing?” Mnesiptolema asked, as if I were an artisan interviewing for a commission.

“I haven’t assassinated that many people.”

“How many?”

“Well, none actually.”

“None?” Cleophantus said. “We ask Athens for a killer, and they send
you
?”

“Athens didn’t send me to kill anyone. I’m not an assassin; I’m an investigator, an agent.”

“But we told Thorion—”

“Thorion’s dead,” I said.

Silence.

“How?” Mnesiptolema demanded.

“An assassin got him. A
real
one.”

“I
told
Nessie this was a bad idea,” Cleophantus said glumly.

I said, “The man who killed Thorion stole the letter before we could read it.”

Nicomache gasped.

Cleophantus went pale. “Then whoever sent the assassin—”

“Has the letter. I don’t know who he is.”

“Barzanes, it has to be him,” Nicomache said. “But if Barzanes knows, why hasn’t he arrested us?”

We all turned to look at her. She went red when she realized the answer to her question. Even if Barzanes had perfect evidence, he would do nothing against his future wife.

“I suppose it could be someone else,” she muttered.

Cleophantus sat down and held his head in his hands. “The one time in my life I try and do something positive, and this is what happens.”

“If Thorion didn’t send you, then why did you come?” Mnesiptolema said.

“To solve Thorion’s murder. So you’re telling me this letter said nothing of treason?”

“Certainly not treason against Athens. Treason against Persia, definitely.”

“So Thorion
wasn’t
a traitor.”

Mnesiptolema shrugged. “If he was, it’s nothing to do with us.”

“And Brion?”

Nicomache muttered, “Poor Uncle Brion.”

“
Uncle
Brion?”

“Well, not in fact, but that’s what we called him when we were children.”

“Oh, really? So much for him being a mere acquaintance like you said at dinner, Mnesiptolema.”

Each looked at the others, waiting for someone to speak. Eventually Cleophantus said, “Nessie said that for our protection, Nicolaos. Please understand, we have a good reason to be nervous. But she didn’t entirely lie. Brion was a friend on our mother’s side of the family. There may have been a distant relationship; I’m not sure. He visited our home in Athens whenever he was in town on business, and Father received him. I couldn’t say what the relationship was. You have to remember, we three were young children and Asia was a baby. Then when Father was condemned, it was a very scary time for all of us.”

Nicomache nodded. “I don’t think any of us ever got over it. I still have nightmares. The stigma…”

Mnesiptolema snorted.

Nicomache said, “It’s true, Nessie. Just because
you
were happy to throw the stones back.…”

Cleophantus said, “The family became hated, you see. We were the children of a traitor. People spat on us. Other children threw stones. Father was already in exile. There was no protection.”

His words reminded me of the persecution of Onteles, the son of Thorion, and the fate his family faced. I recalled the graffiti on their wall, which threatened to burn down their house with them in it. I nodded and said, “I know someone in a similar situation. I understand what you went through.”

Cleophantus went on, “A man called Epicrates—a friend of Father’s—smuggled us out in a cart. They killed him for it later, for helping us.” Cleophantus paused and I could see, even in the dim light, the color in his face fade to an awful white. “It’s awful knowing a man died for the
crime
of saving you when you were a child. Nicomache talked of nightmares; that’s mine. Anyway, people think Epicrates took us all the way to Father, but he dropped us off at his farm estate. The man who took us the rest of the way was Brion.”

“Themistocles must have been grateful to him for that.”

“He never talked about it, but of course he must have been.”

“I suppose he was a frequent visitor to you here then.”

“Oddly, no. We never saw him again. Until recently, that is, when he began making trips to Magnesia.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

“What drove the three—four—of you to conspire to murder your own father? You do realize the Gods would curse you?”

Patricide is the worst possible crime for a Hellene, worse than any other form of murder. The only crime that comes close is bedding your own mother. Only one man ever committed both. That was Oedipus, and the Gods went out of their way to make him suffer.

Mnesiptolema smirked. “Our hands will be clean. We merely informed Athens of certain facts. The rest should have followed naturally.”

I hoped for her sake the Gods saw it in the same cynical light she did.

“I gather this was your idea.”

“You think these soppy fools could come up with a sensible scheme?”

“Nessie!” Nicomache objected.

I turned to Nicomache. “What could make a nice girl like you want to kill your own father?”

Nicomache clasped her hands together and rubbed them, as if she washed her hands in some invisible water. “I
don’t
. I love Father. I don’t wish him harm. But he’s so determined to marry me to Barzanes. When I think of his hands on me I feel sick.” She visibly shuddered.

I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t want that cold fish handling me either.

“I’ve pleaded with Father, and pleaded, and pleaded, but he says the marriage is a good one and I should be pleased. What he means is, the marriage is good for his ambitions. He doesn’t care about my happiness at all.”

“That’s his right, you know, to make the judgment.” As I knew all too well. Suddenly I felt a sympathy with Nicomache that I would never have expected.

“My brothers have promised me”—she looked to Cleophantus—“if Father dies, they’ll annul the agreement with Barzanes and allow me to marry the man I love, my cousin Phrasicles of Athens.”

“There’s still the blood curse,” I pointed out.

Nicomache said, “No, Nessie’s explained it. If all we do is tell Athens of the threat to the city, then we aren’t being bad at all. Quite the opposite: we’re being good citizens.”

Mnesiptolema said, “It’s amazing how easy it is to persuade someone an action is moral when it’s in their own best interests.”

“Oh, be quiet, Nessie,” Cleophantus said angrily. “Why must you always attack people? I don’t want to be brother-by-marriage to Barzanes, any more than Nicomache wants to marry him.”

“I see.” I thought for a moment. “I think I’ve met this Phrasicles of yours, Nicomache.”

Nicomache clasped her hands and said, “Oh, do please tell me, how is he? Is he well?” she asked with such a voice that I realized this was a lovelorn girl.

I shook my head. “It’s only a passing acquaintance. What’s your excuse, Mnesiptolema?”

“That’s my business.”

“Then explain to me why Athens should help you homicidal offspring commit murder.”

They all three looked at each other in confusion, almost like comics playing in the agora.

Cleophantus said, “We explained it all in the letter.”

“That would be the letter stolen from Thorion’s dead body.”

Cleophantus hung his head, shifted in his seat, and said, “Father’s best days are behind him, his victory—despite everything, people still honor him for that—it would be terrible if he did something to destroy his greatest legacy. In a way, we’d be doing him a favor, because an honorable man in his situation would commit suic—”

“Oh, get on with it!” Mnesiptolema snarled at him. “Can’t you do anything?” Mnesiptolema turned to me. “Our father is writing an invasion plan, and the Persians are going to use it. If someone doesn’t do something, Athens will be conquered.”

13

To spy upon the enemy, alone in the dead of night, it will be a deed of great daring.

I didn’t hesitate. As soon as we returned the horses to the stable, I went straight to the agora in Magnesia and bought two wax tablets and leather cord, exactly as I had in Ephesus, and as before I took them back to my room, wound the cord about the pole, and began to write.

URGENT! THEMISTOCLES PREPARING INVASION PLAN OF HELLAS. PERSIAN ATTACK IMMINENT WHEN HE COMPLETES. PREPARE AT ONCE
.

That ought to get Pericles’ attention.

Twice before the Persians had tried to conquer Athens. The first time had been in the reign of King Darius, thirty years ago. Twenty-five thousand Persians had landed at Marathon. The Athenians, outnumbered three to one, had attacked, and the Persians were pushed back into the sea. It was a famous victory. Ten years later Xerxes, the son of Darius, launched his own massive invasion, and was defeated at the sea battle of Salamis, but not before taking Athens and razing it to the ground. No one doubted the Persians would try a third time if they could, and it seemed Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes, had decided that with Themistocles on their side the time was ripe.

I continued the coded message to Pericles, in smaller text, passing on all the details I’d learned from the homicidal siblings.

Back in the tomb I’d asked them, “How long has this been going on?”

Mnesiptolema said, “Months. Three months at least. Probably longer, but that’s when we noticed.”

Cleophantus added, “Usually he’s open with us about whatever he’s doing, I think because he wants us to take an interest—we’ve all disappointed him by not having any talent for statesmanship—the only one who pays attention is Asia. She dotes on Father.”

Nicomache said, “Then one day as I cleaned the room—I’m the only one allowed, because I’m family—I chanced upon some notes. They talked about Persian forces in Hellas. I showed them to Cleophantus.”

Cleophantus said, “I had a horrible feeling they were what they turned out to be. At which point we took Archeptolis and Nessie into our confidence.”

“You came to this tomb to meet?”

“It’s the only place we can be certain no one listens.”

“But surely difficult to find a pretense to come here very often.”

“It’s no pretense,” Nicomache said. “My mother—mine and Asia’s—lies in the new crypt at the end of this row.”

“Asia told me she was dead. I’m sorry.”

“If she had lived, she would never have allowed Father to betroth me.”

“How did you get the letter to Thorion?”

Mnesiptolema said, “Through Brion, of course. Brion handles so much correspondence to Athens, it was the simplest thing in the world to slip him the letter when he was in Magnesia. No one even blinked.”

“Did Brion know what you’d written?”

“Not unless he’s been reading our mail.”

Which he may well have.

Mnesiptolema said, “When are you going to kill him?”

“Your father? I’m not.”

“You must!”

“I’m not a murderer; I catch murderers.”

“Well,
we
can’t do it, we’d be cursed.” She thought for a moment. “This man who killed Thorion, I wonder if he’s for hire?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll write to Pericles telling him what’s happening. He’ll put Athens, maybe all of Hellas, onto a war footing and prepare for the coming invasion. The Athenians have beaten off the Persians twice before; they can do it a third time. He might do other things, who knows? He might even send a real assassin to solve your problem.”

“It won’t work. Barzanes will read your message for sure.”

“He won’t suspect a thing.”

“Then don’t mention us in your letter. We went to great trouble not to get caught last time. We have no wish to die with you.”

I finished writing on the cord and put away the ink and thin brush. Now I placed the blank wax tablets before me and took up a bronze stylus to scratch words, beginning,

NICOLAOS GREETS HIS FATHER, SOPHRONISCUS, AND PRAYS TO ZEUS FOR HIS GOOD HEALTH. THE WEATHER HAS BEEN FINE. I HAVE SEEN MANY INTERESTING THINGS IN MAGNESIA …

I meandered—it seemed only fair given my location—around general topics for some time, enough to fill two tablets and justify the need for the cord. When I was done I sat back to gaze at my handiwork with pride. I confess I was pleased with what I’d achieved. I had discovered the contents of the missing scroll, precisely as Pericles had commissioned, and it had proven to be of paramount importance. How many other men had saved Athens, and probably all of Hellas, with a timely warning? Only one, and he had been a king of Sparta. If this didn’t persuade Pericles to reinstate me, nothing would.