"With the House of Sinanju with us, Pseudo-Macedon will never threaten Athens."
"Macedonia wouldn't threaten a flea," said Remo. "They have all of two cannon."
"Bah. They are monsters who have stolen our heritage."
"Says you."
Toasts were drunk next. Remo and Chiun declined all wine and entreaties to sample more exotic fare. That it was offered them was enough, Chiun whispered.
As the evening wore on, the alcohol took hold, and the Greeks began telling sad stories of their fallen glory. Alexander was cited often. As was Philip of Macedon. But Alexander was the name that fell from every lip most often.
"Tell us. Tell us what your histories say of Alexander," the Greek prime minister insisted.
Chiun pursed his lips. "The House served Philip, Alexander's father."
"Yes, yes, of course. Philip was a great man, in his way. But he was no Alexander, who was a true Greek. Favor us with tales of Alexander, who was truly great."
"I do not know those stories, I am sorry," Chiun said hastily. "The greatness of Alexander came at a time when the House was preoccupied with the Peacock Throne."
"The Persians were great, but not so great as Alexander, who conquered them," a cabinet minister said loudly. "But surely you have tales to tell us."
"Go ahead, Little Father," Remo prompted. "Tell them."
"I know these tales imperfectly and would not wish to sully the memory of your Alexander with my poor attempts."
Someone pointed at Remo. "You! Tell us stories if you know any."
"He knows nothing, being but a servant of Sinanju," Chiun said quickly.
"I'm a full Master," Remo said hotly.
"A servant full of ambition," Chiun sniffed. "He aspires to head the House."
And everyone laughed at the idea of a white American heading the greatest house of assassins in human history.
"You wouldn't laugh if Chiun told you the true story of Alexander and the House of Sinanju," Remo said.
Chiun's eyes flashed in warning.
"What story?" asked the prime minister. "We must hear this story."
Since he'd eaten his fill and was growing tired of Greek men trying to kiss him with their wine-dyed lips, Remo decided it was time for a little payback.
"When Alexander was trying to conquer the world, the House was between emperors. Alexander brought down the Persian empire, which was the best client the House had in those days, and so when the Master at that time heard about it, he swore to get Alexander."
A hard silk-clad elbow caught Remo in the ribs.
"Silence," Chiun hissed in Korean.
"Go on, go on!" the Greeks urged.
Chiun interrupted. "He knows no more, being only an apprentice Master of Sinanju."
Remo grinned. Score one for him.
"He must tell. We do not know this story. Please."
"It is only a fable," said Chiun.
"We accept fables. Many of the stories we tell are fables. We prefer fables to true stories, for they are truer."
"Okay," said Remo. "The Master sent a message to Alexander by handpicked messenger. When he got it, Alexander threw it away because it was written in Korean. He didn't know Korean."
A sea of Greek faces looked perplexed.
"Yes, continue, please."
"The handpicked messenger had a disease. Alexander caught the disease from the messenger. Then he died."
The faces looked expectant. "Is there no more to the story?"
"Just what the message said."
"Yes…?"
The hard elbow caught Remo in the ribs again, just as—but not before—he said, "Gotcha."
"Gotcha?"
A hushed silence fell over the state dining room.
Whispering began.
"Sinanju slew our precious Alexander," a man whispered in Greek. "It was not a natural death. It was an assassination. All these centuries and we did not know."
"And after all these centuries, we have invited the filthy murderers into our country," said the Greek prime minister in a voice as tight as a violin string.
Hearing this, Chiun groaned aloud.
"Guess it's time to seek our fortune elsewhere," Remo undertoned. "Huh, Little Father?"
Chiun said a steamy nothing.
They were allowed to leave. Their departure was attended by a cold silence and stony regards.
On the way to the Athens airport, their taxi—they were denied use of an official car—was strafed by matched Greek warplanes.