I found Pericles in the Stoa Poikile off the north side of the Agora, in the corridor of colonnades. The two painters I’d seen before were both still at work, and both had moved on to color. The battle with the Amazons was coming out with brilliant, vivid hues, but the Fall of Troy was looking a bit monotone to me.
The stoa was already the favored place for men to meet and talk. The porch was wide and cool, far enough away from the stalls that the dust kicked up by the shoppers didn’t hang in the air. The columns were stylish, tapered at the top so they appeared to be straight all the way. Some men sat on the steps of the porch, their clothing tucked up, but most stood within the shady area. There was much angry talking, much hand waving. Pericles was talking, but he wasn’t making speeches.
He talked to small groups of men, going from one to the next. He harangued other speakers calling for revenge. He took men aside and spoke to them quietly. He coaxed the doubtful, soothed the angry, cheered the fearful. His message was the same every time: don’t jump to action, think first, consider the consequences, wait for news.
Although I needed to speak to him myself, I stood back and watched, not daring to interfere while he worked. Pericles was barely controlling a mob ready to lynch someone, a Councilor of the Areopagus for preference, but any rich aristocrat would do. He played heavily on being Ephialtes’ trusted lieutenant, telling the mob what Ephialtes would have wanted. But his own wealthy aristocratic family told against him, and when someone shouted Pericles was son of the murderer, it all threatened to boil over. Who was he to say what the people should do?
“There will be news!” Pericles bellowed in a voice that could command a battle, jumping upon an empty plinth. That shut them all up for a moment.
“There will be news,” Pericles said more quietly, forcing the people to listen carefully to his words. “We do not know who killed Ephialtes, but we will. And when we do, people of Athens, if the murderer is Xanthippus, then I, Pericles, son of Xanthippus, will lead the prosecution against him. And if the killer of my friend was any other man, then too I will lead the prosecution. Our democracy favors no man.”
As he stepped down from the plinth I heard him whisper sadly, “Not even me.”
Pericles and I had made eye contact some time before. Now, with the crowd breaking up under the force of his personality, he strode over to me where I stood in the full glare of the sun, between the stoa and the stalls.
“There will be news, won’t there, Nicolaos?”
“There will, sir.” I had been feeling a trifle warm, now I began to sweat. I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. I had intended to tell him of my troubles and doubts, but changed my mind having seen his own load. Instead I detailed what I had discovered to date, neglecting to mention most of the events in Euterpe’s rooms.
“I have to emphasize, Pericles, if the point Archestratus made of Cimon is good, and it may well be, then you are in mortal danger.”
Pericles stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It’s almost as useful if Cimon is behind it as the Areopagus.”
“But aren’t you worried?”
“Hmm? Worried? No, I’m not.” Pericles began to stroll about the perimeter of the Agora, I guessed to prevent anyone from eavesdropping. We had the chaos of the markets to our right and the relative calm of the public buildings on our left. Pericles went on, “Athens is no good to anyone if it’s a burning wreck, and the murder of a second democrat now would tip us into civil war, no question. You saw the mob yourself. I am not being arrogant, Nicolaos, when I tell you the only thing standing between Athens and self-immolation this moment is me. If Cimon is watching then he knows that. But surely he must be out of Attica by now. If he were found within the territories during his period of exile he could legally be killed on the spot.”
“You forget the agent theory.”
“Cimon has many friends, that’s true.”
“Does he have enough to stage a coup?”
“Take Athens by force? It’s been done before, of course. Who have you been talking to, or is this your own idea?”
“Lysimachus mentioned it to my father.”
“Lysimachus, of course. I think I said when we first met that your father and I have a common friend. That’s him. Lysimachus is prone to dramatize any situation. But in this case it would hardly be possible to overestimate the danger.”
“So you agree. Cimon has the ability to foment revolution.”
Pericles considered. “Yes, I believe he could; the man is an outstanding military commander, even if he is an aristocratic prig. But Nicolaos, you must remember no one has ever successfully held Athens long-term by force. The people will rise against a tyrant they don’t like.” We had to stand to the side for a moment while a donkey laden with small pots trundled by. From the spicy sweet smell, it had to be fish sauce. As we watched the donkey’s backside recede down the road, Pericles continued, “A tyrant is a king in all but name. If the people like him, no force is required. Peisistratus ruled as tyrant for decades, yet he died an old and happy man, because some men make good kings.” He paused. “But then of course, others don’t.”
I said, “Pericles, you should not assume everyone thinks the same as you about the state of Athens. Political assassination happens; we’re looking at it right now. I’d prefer not to have to say ‘I Told You So,’ while pulling an arrow out of your chest, or a dagger from your back. At least arrange for some bodyguards.”
“Certainly not! What would the people think? However, Nicolaos, to appease you I will avoid dark alleys, and ignore dubious summonses to meetings in lonely corners of Athens. Now, tell me of my father.”
“If you’d asked me two days ago, I’d have sworn he did it. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Pericles long face brightened to a smile. “You have evidence in his favor!”
“No, I have too many suspects, all of whom could be killers.” Pericles’ face fell once more.
I said, “Ephialtes left his mistress Euterpe that morning. She says she doesn’t know where he was going, but we have only her word for that. Of course it’s ridiculous to think she could have pulled the bow, but she could easily have sent a man.”
“A man willing to commit murder just because she asks? Is that realistic?”
“I see you haven’t met her.”
“It sounds like I should.”
“You see, Pericles, only someone who knew Ephialtes was going to be on the Rock of the Areopagus at that time could have killed him. Euterpe could have known the time and place well in advance. She’s one of the few.”
“But surely she would be the last person in the world to want him dead. Even his wife has a better motive.”
“Yes, that annoying little detail gets in the way of my otherwise sound theory. If Euterpe is behind a murder plot, then I need a very good reason for it.”
“What about the wife then?”
“I hadn’t thought about her.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t get near to question her, because it’s unlikely she might have known where he was going, and because she doesn’t have Euterpe’s outstanding powers of…er…persuasion to cause a man to act for her.”
“But she might have family. What about a male relative avenging insults to her?”
“Pericles, this doesn’t sound promising to me.”
“But it’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I reluctantly conceded. “But why reach for the top of the tree when there is low-hanging fruit to be plucked?”
“Your meaning?”
“Your father. He knew the time and place. He has the motive, he had the opportunity.”
Pericles leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. “Could I bring my own father to trial for murder? Should I? Would it count as patricide?”
“You would have to ask a priest that, or a philosopher.”
“Perhaps I’ll have to ask Archestratus to act for me.”
“On that subject, Pericles, what would you do if Archestratus is the killer?”
Pericles opened one eye. “Are you saying he might be?”
“He did have a reason for wanting Ephialtes dead. Look at the way he’s behaved since. I think he already has more followers than you do, Pericles. You need to watch out for him. You don’t seem to be doing much to build your position.”
Pericles laughed and said, “Ah, Nicolaos, Nicolaos! How we do change! It wasn’t so long ago, my young friend, a mere four days, that you had to ask me my name. Now you are my political advisor!”
Our meandering had taken us close to where the fishwives were screeching at the tops of their voices, the aroma of warm fish was not enticing, and somewhere close by someone was cooking goat meat in garlic. Pericles screwed up his face and said, “Come, let’s go for a walk elsewhere.”
He guided me south along the Panathenaic Way, away from the crowd. Archestratus was speaking to some men on the other side of the Agora. As I looked in that direction a face surfaced among the sea of heads, and I thought I glimpsed the young man who had disappeared at Xanthippus’ house and then Euterpe’s, but I couldn’t be sure. I said to Pericles, “Wait here,” and pushed my way through the crowd. But either I was wrong, or the man had spotted me yet again and disappeared, easy enough to do in the noisy, busy crowd. In frustration, I elbowed my way back to Pericles, who lifted an eyebrow but chose not to ask me what I’d been doing. We continued our walk.
Where Pericles walked, men followed. A few came up to Pericles to discuss the killing, urging him to take action. Some had other issues.
“Tell us true, Pericles, will you put your hand on the leadership of the people, or won’t you? Do it now!”
“Pericles, there isn’t enough corn in Athens, and what there is I can’t afford. My children starve while farmers send their corn to richer markets. What can be done about it?”
“Pericles, the tax on imports is ruinous.”
“Pericles, what do you say to Archestratus leading the people?”
“Pericles, my neighbor is moving the boundary markers between our farms…”
“Pericles, they say you saw your father murder Ephialtes, is it true?”
Pericles abruptly stopped, and turned to face the crowd. His piercing, intelligent eyes looked down on them. They fell silent.
“Was Ephialtes a tyrant, that the city should collapse in a heap without him?” Pericles singled out the importer. “You there! The taxes are the same they were yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. So why do you come to me now? Taxes are a question for the Ecclesia.” Pericles pointed to the farmer. “There is a court for grievances such as yours. If the boundary markers are moved, they will be put back, and your neighbor fined. And while you are about it, sell some of your corn to this man whose children hunger. Perhaps we need a law banning export of corn while any Athenian starves.” He looked over the people, who now seemed abashed at the way they had thronged about him. “Neither Archestratus nor I can be your leader, because in our city the people lead themselves. Are you sheep without a shepherd, or are you the men of Athens, living in the democracy of your own making? Talk to each other instead of to me.”
Pericles turned to go, but hesitated, then said, “And for the future, I will advise the people of Athens as best I can.”
After that we walked silently for some time. We came to the spot where Ephialtes had fallen, and gazed awhile at Ephialtes’ blood, which still stained some of the small rocks.
I asked, “What will you do, Pericles, if Archestratus is the killer?”
He hesitated. “Do you have anything against Archestratus other than his ambition?”
I had failed to discover where Archestratus had been that morning, but I wasn’t going to admit that.
“Not yet.”
“I want you to forget about Archestratus. Your job is to find the link to the Areopagus that we both know is there.”
“No Pericles, my commission is to find the killer, whoever it might be.”
“It’s the same thing,” he said.
Much against my will, I was forced to recall the words of Archestratus, that Pericles might be using me to deliver the answer he wanted.
“Pericles, why did you choose me for this investigation?”
“You pick a strange time to ask the question. I explained at the time: you impressed me when we found the body, you are intelligent and energetic, and you don’t panic in a crisis.” He raised an eyebrow and with an arch tone said, “Are you saying you want to resign your commission?”
“No!” I said, suddenly afraid he might be about to take it from me.
“Then trust me on this, Nicolaos, you are wasting time on extraneous issues.”
“There are some who might call that interference.”
“Let us say instead that I am directing your energies in the most fruitful direction.”
I took a deep breath. “I will pay close attention to any hint of a link to the Areopagus, as well as other suspects that come my way.”
Pericles said nothing, so I repeated my question.
“What would you do if Archestratus is the killer? Would the democratic movement collapse if the killer was a democrat?”
He said slowly, “I think, though I am not sure, we would have to suppress the knowledge.”
I gasped.
Pericles went on. “It would be for the good of the city. I cannot imagine Ephialtes wanting to see his greatest triumph crumble for revenge of himself, and which is more important, the democracy of Athens or punishing one murderer? I think we would take the evidence to Archestratus and offer not to prosecute if he exiles himself for the rest of his life.”
I felt like my insides had turned to ice. “I seem to recall a man, not long ago, saying he would prosecute whoever had murdered his friend, without fear or favor.”
“There is what a man says to a mob to avert a riot, and there is what a man does for the good of Athens.”
“And what, then, if the murder was done by Xanthippus?”
“Him I would prosecute.”
“Because your father is a conservative, and Archestratus is a democrat?”
“That’s right. Welcome to politics, my new advisor.”
I had thought Pericles a good man, and now I realized he was a politician like the rest of them. I was deeply disappointed.
We continued the walk up the steep path to the Acropolis. The giant rock with the flat top had been the bastion of Athens since time immemorial. In ages past it had been the palace of the kings, and later, of the tyrants. In modern times the government had slid downhill, and what remained up high were the sacred temples, or at least, what was left after the Persians were finished with them.
When we reached the top we saw fallen, charred pillars, masonry rubble littering almost every part, and burnt timbers that were mostly charcoal. The old temple to Athena Polias, the protector of our city, once sat here. There had been a temple to Athena on this spot since the city was founded, rebuilt again and again. The one the Persians burnt to the ground had been a hundred years old. The replacement temple was a ramshackle collection of planking and daub mud that rose like a pimple out of the ruins, put together so that the city would still have the presence of our founding Goddess. The rough temple was so small it barely fit its statue of Athena. The plan of the original temple was clear upon the ground: the foundations had proven harder to destroy. There had been other buildings here too that suffered the same fate, notably the old palace of the tyrant Peisistratus, which if the exposed floor plan was any indication, must have been sumptuous.
We sat upon a toppled wooden pillar that lay cracked and rotting in the sun. I broke the silence by asking, “Pericles, what were you doing up here, on the day Ephialtes died?”
“I was wondering when you would think to ask that. I was considering my plans for the Acropolis.”
“You have a plan?”
He shrugged. “A new temple to Athena, at the very least.” He gestured at the small shack. “Look at that pitiful excuse for a temple. Do you think the Goddess is happy to be housed in there? What does it say about us? The people decided, after the Persians were defeated, to leave the ruins as they were, as a reminder of what had happened. But I say Athens has lived long enough in her past. It’s time to build for the future.” He paused. “That sounded good. I must remember that phrase for a speech.”
He shifted his position on the toppled pillar, then shifted again, in a search for comfort. Each time he did, Pericles edged away from me.
We made desultory conversation about the site, where a new temple might be laid, what should be done for gates.
“There was a second temple here,” Pericles said.
“There was?”
“Right next to us is where the new temple to Athena Parthenos had been planned. They were halfway through building it when the city was sacked.”
I looked but couldn’t even see the outline in the ground.
Pericles abandoned his seat and stood. I noticed the seat of his chiton was smudged and decided not to mention it. I stood too and we walked slowly around the site, avoiding the subject of Ephialtes.
We stopped at the northern edge where we could see conelike Mount Lycabettos, reaching up higher even than me, and directly below, the chaotic Agora. The people looked like ants scurrying at my feet.
The Rock of the Areopagus rose to the west, lower and much smaller. The ground between fell sharply away from the Acropolis, ambled along, then rose almost as quickly on the other side. The seats cut into the rock, upon which the Council sat when they met, stood out in strong relief in the reflected sunlight. The sight of the Rock of the Areopagus before us made me think back over the crowd who had accosted Pericles with their questions, and I realized something that bothered me. He had answered all but one. He had not said whether he’d seen Xanthippus murder Ephialtes.
“Pericles, did you know your father was to meet Ephialtes?”
“Yes, he told me of it.”
“And the time and place?”
“Not that.”
“Did you see them here, that morning?”
“No! And I did not see my father pick up a bow and shoot my friend, and I did not know he was dead until I came across his body upon the path, with you skulking in the shadows, ready to stab me in the back.” He was shouting, the first time I ever saw Pericles lose his self-control.
He turned and walked away.
I watched his back and thought to myself, I have lost the most influential friend I am ever likely to have, and with him goes my chance of rising in Athens. I would return to my family’s business and spend the rest of my days making statues of men more important than me.
I sat and buried my head in my hands. There was no point in moaning, but that didn’t stop me from doing so for some time. However, someone would eventually find me there, and I didn’t want to be seen wallowing in self-pity, so I rose.
I walked to the southern edge of the rock. The sea was easily visible in the far distance. It was from here that King Aegeus had thrown himself to death when he wrongly believed his son Theseus had died fighting the Minotaur. I looked down. Yes, jumping off here ought to do the job.
To my right stood the temple to Athena Nike: Athena Victorious. It was a small building because that’s all the Athenians had been able to manage at the time. It had been built to celebrate the victory over the Persians and give thanks to Athena for our deliverance. The tiny temple stood where the last defenders of Athens had died.
When the Persians invaded they had swept through Thrace and Macedonia and had come down upon us from the north. Themistocles ordered the evacuation of the city. The women and children were carried on our merchant boats and trireme warships, mostly to the island of Salamis where the government relocated, but also to the city of Troezen. I was among those who went to Salamis, but I was too young to remember it; a baby who had not yet seen his first year. Had the Hellenes lost the coming battle, the Persians would have taken my small body and dashed me against the ground, or run a spear through me.
But not everyone evacuated. A rearguard of volunteers remained. They were joined by the old and infirm, for whom there was no room on the boats, and some priests who refused to leave their holy places. They held their last stand atop the Acropolis. They used stone and wood to block the only path to the top, then sharpened their weapons and waited to die.
And, of course, they did die. But first they sent a lot of Persians to Hades before them. They held the barricades for longer than anyone thought they could. The Persian attacks broke up against their spears. But the tough soldiers and the old men and the priests died one after another. At the end they were overwhelmed when a few Persians climbed the unclimbable rock face on the far side and surprised the defenders in their rear.
I looked at the ground and imagined how much blood had flowed across this bare rock. Those men hadn’t given up, merely because what they attempted was impossible. I didn’t know if Pericles would continue my commission, but I would see it through to the end anyway.