The Ionia Sanction (29 page)

Mnesiptolema began to wind her fingers through my hair once more.

“I know why you were in that cupboard, Nicolaos.”

I gulped. “You do?”

“You want me, don’t you? No, don’t pull away. There’s no use denying it. Why else would you have been hiding, watching me whip that fat fool.”

“Mnesiptolema—”

Mnesiptolema sneered. “He’s fat and cries like a baby.”

“Then why do you stay with him?”

“Divorce my own brother? What would Father say?”

“It is an unusual situation, isn’t it?”

“Father insisted, you know, after I became pregnant by Archeptolis when I was twelve.”

“Dear Gods, aren’t you ashamed?”

“It’s shocking, I know. My taste in men was abysmal.” She laughed. “So, I fell pregnant and Father insisted we marry. I hated him for that.”

“Archeptolis?”

“Father. He was the one who made me. I could have simply had the bloody child and then killed it. No one would have cared, people expose babies all the time. But Father gets weirdly sentimental about that sort of thing; can’t stand to see a child hurt. That’s why there are so many bloody girls in this family.

“Then I miscarried the baby, after all that fuss. It died in my womb and I had to push it out anyway. So there I was with a dead baby and a worthless husband.”

“No other children?”

She shrugged. “Been pregnant a few times, but they always die.”

“I’m sorry, Mnesiptolema.”

“Probably because their father is such a weakling. But you, tough, strong, handsome Nicolaos, you wouldn’t cry at the first hint of pain, would you? No, you’d endure, rise above it … yes, rise—”

Mnesiptolema pushed me back on the bed and jumped on top. She kissed me deeply, then bit my lip hard. All the while her hands were fondling down below, which had exactly the effect she wanted.

She might have had a fine body, but the rest of Mnesiptolema didn’t bear thinking about, particularly her mating habits. Thoughts of ice-cold water had no effect—her hands were too skilled—but the memory of what she’d done to Archeptolis—that she probably wanted to do to me—and the thought of a whip in her hand with me in my erect state had the desired effect.

I deflated.

I lay there and thought to myself, Diotima would be proud.

That was a mistake. The mental image of Diotima sent me back up, straight and hard.

“My Gods!” Mnesiptolema said in delight. “Thanks be to Aphrodite.”

The door opened.

“What’s going on here?”

Diotima stood in the doorway, hands on hips, where Mnesiptolema had stood not long before. She saw me lying flat on the bed, with the voluptuous and surprisingly strong Mnesiptolema straddled on top of me.

“Oh, hello Diotima,” I said.

“This one’s taken, dearie,” Mnesiptolema said. “Try the next room.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“You
are
innocent, aren’t you, little girl? Nicolaos lusts after me.”

“I don’t believe you. Nicolaos would never cheat on me. Why don’t you throw her out, Nico?”

“Are you going to let this woman tell you what to do?” Mnesiptolema demanded.

I pondered which answer would cause the least shouting.

When I said nothing (it seemed the safest choice), Mnesiptolema swung a calculating eye from me to Diotima and back again. “Well, you have reasonable taste, I’ll say that for you, little girl.”

“I’m not little, old woman,” Diotima said.

Mnesiptolema sneered, “You’re too young for some things, if the way Nicolaos responded to me is any sign.”

“Oh, is that so?” Diotima glared at me.

Mnesiptolema said, “You need to service a man properly if you expect to keep him.”

I watched Diotima’s reaction to this with some interest. She went bright red.

Mnesiptolema climbed off—careful to knee me in the groin as she did—pointed and said, “Look at the poor man!”

Two female heads observed me as I lay on the bed in a rampant state. I stood, to regain what little dignity I could. Now I was both standing and … er … outstanding. I decided the only way to handle this was to throw out both women.

I said, “That’s enough from both of you. Leave at—”

“You can give yourself all the airs of cleverness you like,” Mnesiptolema spoke over me at Diotima. “But as a woman you’re a total failure.”

Diotima said, “Oh? Well I’ve seen what you do with that slab of rancid grease you call a husband. You want failure? Imagine the laughter when the whole world knows—”

Mnesiptolema slapped Diotima.

Diotima hit Mnesiptolema. She hit hard, but her aim was poor and the blow landed on Nessie’s shoulder. It spun Nessie around but otherwise did no damage. Nessie staggered back a step, in surprise that Diotima had actually hit her, before she lurched forward to grab Diotima by the throat with both hands. Before I could intervene, Diotima went over backward and Mnesiptolema landed on top of her with an “Oomph.”

I knew from experience how surprisingly heavy Mnesiptolema was. Diotima had been in fights before, but always at a distance with her bow, never hand-to-hand. She struggled under the weight. She turned her eyes to me and I could see the fear in my girl’s eyes.

Mnesiptolema clawed her right hand in preparation to rake Diotima’s face.

“No you don’t!” I grabbed Mnesiptolema’s raised arm from behind and yanked her off Diotima so hard, Mnesiptolema stumbled across the room and into the opposite wall.

I ordered, “Stop this, both of you.”

Mnesiptolema pushed herself off the wall, and launched into a diving tackle, as if she were a boy in roughhouse play, except Nessie wasn’t playing. She caught me around the midriff and it was my turn to go down. But unlike Diotima I knew what to do. I rolled back, letting her momentum drive me, so that I somersaulted backward and came up in one motion. Mnesiptolema had flown over my head. She came up as quickly and grabbed me from behind with an arm across my throat. She was tall enough that her face was at my neck and I wondered if she would bite me. I easily held back her arm from across my throat, but I was perplexed what to do next. It was obvious Nessie would keep coming at us. How was I to end this? I couldn’t knock out the daughter of my host.

Diotima rose up from the floor, right before my eyes. She said, “Nico, duck.”

I didn’t. Instead I tilted my head to the side.

Diotima threw an almighty punch, exactly where my head had been.

She didn’t miss this time. Diotima’s fist whistled past my ear and struck Nessie square in the forehead. Mnesiptolema never saw it coming. She fell to the floor, unconscious.

Diotima shook her hand and said, “Ouch. That felt good.”

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

Diotima looked down at the unmoving Mnesiptolema and asked, “Is she still alive?”

“You didn’t hit her that hard.”

“But I did hit her, Nico.” Diotima sounded fearful, and with good reason, but there was no point worrying about it now.

“I’m glad you did,” I reassured her. “She hurt you.”

“If she tells Themistocles, I’ll be in huge trouble.”

“No, I will be, and I’ll deal with it. It’s my responsibility. You’re my responsibility.” I grabbed Diotima by both arms and looked into her eyes. “Diotima, I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Never. You understand?”

“Yes, Nico.”

I took her in my arms and hugged her tight.

While I held her I said, “I’m sorry about Mnesiptolema. You finding us like that. Believe me, nothing happened.”

Diotima laughed. “I know that for sure, and I understand, Nico. Remember, days ago? It was
me
after all who said I knew you’d enjoy throwing her. For the record, punching had its moments too.” She let go of me to look down at the body. “Er … what do we do with her now?”

“I don’t know, but she won’t be happy when she wakes up.” I didn’t mention that by tomorrow Nessie would have a lump on her forehead the size of an apple.

The door opened. “What’s all the noise?”

Archeptolis stood there, fat and naked but for a loincloth. He looked down to see his wife, Nessie, out cold and naked at my feet, then looked back up at us. Diotima and I stared at him in horror. He smiled.

“Ooh, is it a party? Hit me too!” He tugged and dropped the loincloth, exposing himself, and licked his lips in Diotima’s direction.

“Oh Gods!” Diotima swung her arm before I could stop her and punched out Archeptolis with a single blow to the jaw. He dropped to the ground beside his wife.

Diotima said, “I’ve had it with these perverts.”

She stepped over his unconscious body and down the corridor.

*   *   *

I dragged the bodies of evidence back to their own room. It wasn’t easy. Questions would be asked if I was spotted hauling the Satrap’s unconscious children down the corridor by their feet. I had to pull the overweight Archeptolis by the ankles. I hefted Mnesiptolema in my arms with difficulty, a deadweight, and tried not to drop her, nor notice the breasts that pressed against my chest, and deposited her on their bed next to her husband.

I left a note beside them where they were sure to see it, pointing out that if the night’s fun ever came to light then we would all be losers, and shut the door behind me.

I found Diotima in her room. She sat on her bed, with her head in her hands. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Diotima said sadly, “I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”

“Do you mean when you threatened the daughter of our all-powerful host, when you brawled with her, or when you punched out his son? No, probably not.”

“But the bitch was right, Nico. I’m a failure.”

“You’re the most competent woman I know. When you return to the Artemision—”

“I’m not going back to the Artemision. I failed there too.”

“Oh. You mean the fight with the other priestesses?”

“Who told you?”

“Geros.”

“There’s something wrong with me, Nico. People just don’t like me.”

I reached out and held her hand. “I like you.”

“Do you know how many other friends I have?”

I thought back over all the time we’d spent together. Who had she mentioned?

“Er…”

“That’s right. Nobody. Never in my life have I had a girlfriend to talk to. No prospect of a decent husband—I had to flee my own city to even have a chance—no future in the temple because everyone hates me. I’m as doomed as any woman can be.” She drew a deep breath. “You know where my life is going? I’ll end up one of those withered old women who keep the temple clean and boss the slave girls, whom everyone pities because she never lived a proper life.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

“I’m sure I will.” She stood and looked me in the eyes. “But I’ve decided something, Nico. If that’s my fate, I’m going to please myself and have a life first.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked, worried. “Diotima, don’t do anything rash.”

“It means this.”

Diotima reached up to the shoulder pins of her dress and pulled them out. She shrugged and her chiton fell to the floor. Diotima stood before me naked. My heart raced.

She said, “Get onto that bed.”

*   *   *

I don’t remember being tired in the days that followed, but I certainly should have been. Diotima and I spent our days in the pavilions of the paradise, and our nights in my room. I’m not sure how many, because I wasn’t counting. The entire army of the Great King could have marched past, and as long as they didn’t actually tread on us as we rolled in the grass I doubt I would have noticed. For all I knew, the Third Persian War had begun.

Whatever. I was sure Pericles could handle it. It was about time he did some useful work.

Our only concession to the real world was to avoid Archeptolis and Mnesiptolema as much as possible. Of course, we had to meet at dinner, where relations were formal but no worse. When we passed in the corridor, a frosty nod sufficed.

Diotima ceased chewing on her thumbnail. It looked almost normal. In between making love we reverted to habit: we talked about death. But neither of us could see how to make any headway. We were confident we knew the story of the pots and the treasure; it seemed reasonable to think Thorion was killed for the letter, but every other line had run cold. The letter and the smuggled pottery appeared to be unrelated, and above all, we still didn’t know why Brion had to die.

“Hey, Nicolaos.” A man approached: Philodios, the frustrated torturer. “Got a letter for you.”

I sighed, let go of Diotima, and sat up, dragging my mind back to what passed for reality in Themistocles’ palace, populated as it was by an incestuous couple, a brutal Persian spy who worried about ethics, and an overweight strategic genius suffering from relevance deprivation, not to mention Diotima and me totally in love. Roaming the streets outside the palace walls was the nicest assassin you could hope to meet. Somewhere among that bunch was the killer of Brion.

“A letter for me?” I opened the tablets at once and read the first line. “It’s from my father.”

SOPHRONISCUS SAYS THIS TO HIS SON NICOLAOS: GLAD TO HEAR YOU’VE COME TO YOUR SENSES. DELIGHTED WITH YOUR CHOICE OF GIRL
.

“What does he say?” Diotima asked.

“He says he’s delighted we’re together. He must have changed his mind,” I said, confused. “But, how did he know?”

“Got another message for you,” said Philodios. “The Satrap wants to see you. At once.”

*   *   *

Themistocles was in his office. He came to the point straightaway.

“I’m not a harsh man with my children, Nicolaos. You’ve probably noticed that. Some might say I’ve spoiled them, but I find it hard to say no.”

“You’re a father who loves his children, Themistocles. You give thought to their happiness, and that’s a fine thing. More fathers should do it.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, because Asia has asked me for you to be her husband. I take it you have no objections?”

“I … uh…” I choked. Everything went black. I can’t have fainted, for Themistocles didn’t notice, but when I came to my senses I heard, “You’re young to be marrying, of course. Ideally you need another ten years, but you’re a man of talent. When you arrived, Nicolaos, I confess I only spoke to you because I was homesick. Since then I’ve come to appreciate your qualities, particularly your ambition. In some ways, you remind me of me at the same age. You have promise, young man.”