The Ionia Sanction Read online

  For Helen, Catriona, and Megan

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The author is merely the point man in the team that creates a book. So many talented people have contributed to these mysteries.

  First and foremost, thank you to my wife, Helen, and my daughters, Megan and Catriona. Without their support, love, and encouragement, there would be no books.

  Janet Reid is the best literary agent any author could have. How she manages to do what she does is beyond me. She must be superhuman.

  Joanna Volpe most generously critiqued The Ionia Sanction, taking time out from her own vastly successful agenting career to help me, with no hope of reward but my thanks.

  Judith Engracia probed for logic holes in the plot and did an outstanding job. Meredith Barnes is lucky to retain her sanity after assisting with the booking of author events.

  Kathleen Conn and Keith Kahla at St. Martin’s Press are dream editors. Countless people at St. Martin’s Press contributed to the book, from design to printing to shipping, and I’m sorry to say that in many cases I don’t even know who they are. Thank you to a great organization.

  Anneke Klein and Bill Kirton read early versions of the book, and as always provided invaluable comments. Tehmina Goskar helped me with advice on early Zoroastrian rituals and beliefs.

  Belinda Byrne, editor of the Australian edition at Penguin, has been an amazing support and provided great advice on the manuscript.

  And finally, a big thank-you to the countless people who follow my book adventures online: who read and comment on my blog, and talk to me on the social networks. There are far too many to list, but you know who you are, and your support and encouragement make writing all the more fun.

  A NOTE ON NAMES

  Most modern names come from the Bible, a book which had yet to be written when my hero, Nico, walked the mean streets of Classical Athens. Quite a few people have asked me what’s the “right” way to say the ancient names in these stories. I’ll be getting hate mail from classical linguists for this, but the truth is, there is no right way. I hope you’ll pick whatever sounds happiest to you, and have fun reading the story.

  For those who’d like a little more guidance, I’ve suggested a way to say each name in the character list. My suggestions do not match ancient pronunciation. They’re how I think the names will sound best in an English sentence.

  That’s all you need to read the book. For those who’d like to know more about Greek names, I’ve included a short reference here.

  THE ACTORS

  Characters with an asterisk by their name were real historical people.

  Thorion

  THOR-ION

  Proxenos for Ephesus

  HE JUST HANGS AROUND.

  Nicolaos

  NEE-CO-LAY-OS

  (Nicholas)

  Our protagonist

  “I’M NICOLAOS, SON OF SOPHRONISCUS, OF THE DEME ALOPECE.”

  Socrates*

  SOCK-RA-TEEZ

  An irritant

  “FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY, I’LL BE YOUR SLAVE.”

  Pericles*

  PERRY-CLEEZ

  Leader of Athens

  “IT’S A DISASTER, NICOLAOS, A BLOODY DISASTER.”

  Diotima*

  DEO-TEEMA

  A Priestess of Artemis

  “YOU VILE, DISGUSTING GOAT, YOU MAKE ME SICK!”

  Onteles

  ON-TELL-EEZ

  Son of Thorion

  “THERE’LL BE A STRANGE BUT INNOCENT EXPLANATION.”

  Callias

  KALL-EE-US

  The richest man in Athens

  “AH, THE LACK OF IMAGINATION OF YOUTH.”

  Sophroniscus

  SOFF-RON-ISK-US

  Father of Nicolaos

  “A FATHER HAS TO DO WHAT’S BEST FOR HIS SON.”

  Phaenarete

  FAIN-A-RET-EE

  Mother of Nicolaos

  “DON’T BE SUCH A BABY.”

  Araxes

  ARAX-EEZ

  A bandit leader

  “MAY I CALL YOU NICO? I FEEL WE’RE FORMING A BOND.”

  Asia

  ASIA

  A slave girl

  “I’M AFRAID YOU’LL HAVE TO TAKE PAYMENT ON DELIVERY.”

  Anaxagoras

  ANAX-A-GOR-US

  Philosopher

  “A PHILOSOPHER SHOULD ALWAYS PRAISE HIS HOST. THE GODS KNOW WHERE HIS NEXT MEAL IS COMING FROM.”

  A cloth seller

  He’s from Phrygia

  “I GOT A FAMILY TO FEED.”

  Orbanos

  ORB-AN-OS

  Harbormaster at Piraeus

  “DON’T BOTHER ME TILL I’VE EATEN.”

  Koppa

  KOPPA

  A slave with an interesting rod

  “NOW PAY CLOSE ATTENTION, YOUNG MAN.”

  Pollion

  POLLY-ON

  A merchant trader

  “HOW DID AN INEXPERIENCED YOUNG MAN LIKE YOU GET SUCH A RESPONSIBLE JOB?”

  Macrobianos

  MACRO-BEE-ARN-OS

  “Mac”

  A small-time hustler

  “HEY MISTER, MY SISTER’S LONELY! YOU WANNA COME WITH ME?”

  Geros

  GEROS

  A eunuch

  “IT’S NOT INFECTIOUS.”

  Brion

  BREE-ON

  Proxenos for Athens

  “HIS FINGERNAILS ARE ALWAYS TRIMMED AND CLEAN.”

  Philodios

  FILL-O-DEE-US

  A torturer

  “THE HORSES, MY LORD? OR SHALL I REMOVE HIS TOES?”

  Barzanes

  BAR-ZANE-EEZ

  A Persian official

  “I CONGRATULATE YOU, ATHENIAN. I HAVE RARELY SEEN A MAN SO COMPLETELY ENGINEER HIS OWN DESTRUCTION.”

  Themistocles

  THEM-IST- O-CLEEZ

  Satrap of Magnesia

  “WE WOULD HAVE BEEN UNDONE, HAD WE NOT BEEN UNDONE!”

  Mnesip-tolema

  NESSIE-TOLEMA

  “Nessie”

  Daughter of Themistocles

  “YOU’VE BEEN A NAUGHTY BOY, NICOLAOS. I LIKE NAUGHTY BOYS.”

  Cleophantus

  CLEO-FAN-TUS

  Son of Themistocles

  “I TOLD NESSIE THIS WAS A BAD IDEA.”

  Archeptolis

  ARK-EE-TOL-IS

  Son of Themistocles

  “MY FAVORITE SCENE: SLAVES BEING TORTURED.”

  Nicomache

  NEE-CO-MASH

  Daughter of Themistocles

  “THEY CALL IT A PARADISE.”

  Ajax

  A horse

  “SNORT”

  The Chorus

  Assorted traders, slaves, bandits, eunuchs, soldiers, sailors, and drunken barroom brawlers.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A Note on Names

  The Actors

  Maps

  Athens

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Ephesus

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Magnesia

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Author’s Note

  A Note on Names

  Also by Gary Corby

  Copyright

  ATHENS

  1

  Evil deeds do not prosper; the slow man catches
up with the swift.

  I ran my finger along one foot of the corpse, then the other, making the body swing with a lazy, uncaring rhythm. I stared at his feet, my nose so close I went cross-eyed as the toes swung my way.

  “He was like this when you found him?” I asked.

  “I touched nothing,” Pericles said, “except to confirm Thorion was dead.”

  “Are there any sons?” I asked.

  “One, of twenty-four years. He’s at the family estate, according to the head slave.”

  Thorion had died hard. He hung from a rope tied to a crossbeam in the low ceiling. A stool lay toppled below. The fall was nowhere near enough to snap his neck; instead he’d strangled. He must have changed his mind after the air was cut off, because there were deep red scratch marks in his throat where he’d tried and failed to relieve the pressure. Yet his arms were long enough to have reached the beam to pull himself up and call for help. Why hadn’t he?

  There was no answer to my question, except the high-pitched wails and long, low moans that had assaulted my ears ever since I arrived. They came from the women’s quarters across the inner courtyard. The wife and girl-children had begun screaming the moment they’d learned their husband and father was dead. They would screech, tear their clothes, and pull their shorn hair every waking moment until he was cremated. The caterwauling meant that by now the whole street knew Thorion was dead.

  I stepped across to the narrow window facing onto the street. A small group stood below; citizens, and their slaves holding torches, the black smoke floating up to me with the distinctive bittersweet aroma of burning rag soaked in olive oil. The crowd would have entered the house by now but for the two city guards who stood at the door. The moment they were allowed, these neighbors would cut down Thorion and carry him to the courtyard, laying him out with his feet pointing toward the door to prevent the dead man’s psyche from straying. Then the women would come downstairs to wash the body and dress it for eternity, with no more than three changes of clothes, as the law demands. They would place an obol in his mouth, the coin as payment for the ferryman of the dead, Charon, to carry Thorion across the Acheron, the river of woe.

  The pressure would be building on the guards to let through the crowd and allow the rituals to begin. I might have only moments left to learn what I could.

  “Did you know him?”

  “No, not really.” Pericles handed me a torn scrap of parchment. “This is the message which brought me.”

  THORION SAYS THIS TO PERICLES. I HAVE BETRAYED MY OFFICE AND MY CITY. NEWS OF A THREAT TO ATHENS. COME AT ONCE.

  “It’s not the sort of message anyone could ignore,” Pericles said. “The head slave led me up here to Thorion’s private office, where we found him dead. Is it reasonable for a man who intends suicide to summon someone he barely knows, purely to make him discover the body?”

  “It might be if the man summoned is you.” Pericles at the young age of thirty-three was recently elevated to leadership of the new democracy. Though he held no official position, already men came to him, to seek his approval before any important decision was made. I knew Pericles fairly well, might even claim to be a minor confidant, which was no easy position. The last time Pericles and I had been together in the presence of death, it had very nearly resulted in my own execution.

  “The slave boy who carried the message says Thorion had a scroll with handles carved as lion heads open before him. Thorion appeared upset, shocked even. It seems obvious whatever this news is, it’s written in the scroll, but there’s no such scroll here. I’ve looked. How could it have disappeared? Something is wrong.”

  “You’re correct, something is indeed wrong. His feet are dry.” I pointed at the dry floor beneath the corpse. “Where’s the urine? Everyone knows a dying man releases whatever he holds.”

  Pericles shrugged. “Not everyone does; not if they relieved themselves shortly before they died.”

  I lifted the hem of Thorion’s chiton, which fell all the way to his ankles. I kept lifting until I found what I sought, at thigh level. I took a big sniff.

  “He let go all right. It’s on his thighs, but it didn’t run down his leg.”

  Pericles stepped forward for a closer look, careful not to touch the body. He grunted. “You’re right.” He cast about the room, and so did I. Ceramics and pots and amphorae and jars stood on every possible surface, on benches and tables and even on the floor, giving the room more the look of a small warehouse than a man’s private office. They must all have been imported; none had the look of the famous Athenian red figure pottery. Many appeared delicate and had small bases, yet not a single one was out of place or knocked over.

  “Whatever happened, there wasn’t a fight.”

  I lifted each pot and shook to see if the missing scroll had been dropped inside. Only one amphora rattled, and it proved to hold three old coins, not even Athenian.

  I got down on all fours and crawled about, paying particular attention to the areas where a man might ordinarily stand or sit. Pericles watched from the entrance as I nosed about like a hunting dog searching for scent.

  “Here, under the desk. The floor is damp, the smell is obvious.”

  “Let me see.” Pericles, not one to fret about form when an important matter was at stake, shoved me aside and checked beneath the desk for himself. He surfaced to say, “It seems you are correct. Thorion died at his desk.”

  “And likely was murdered to prevent him passing on this intelligence. How could a comfortable citizen in the middle of Athens come to learn of a threat to the city?”

  Pericles said, “Do you know what a proxenos is?”

  “A citizen who acts for another city.”

  “A citizen who represents the interests of another city in its dealings with Athens. Thorion is … was … the proxenos for Ephesus.”

  Ephesus is a major city, across the sea on the east coast of the Aegean. The Ephesians speak Greek—they’re as Hellene as we Athenians—but their city lies just within the Persian Empire.

  “You think the summons had something to do with Ephesus.”

  “Don’t you? Every proxenos receives regular news from his client city.”

  I nodded. “If your theory is good, then Thorion received letters today.”

  Pericles summoned the head slave of the household.

  The man was thin, balding, and middle-aged. He shook with dread as his dead master hung before his eyes, and the most powerful man in Athens stared at him grim-faced. At twenty-one I was unimportant, and certainly less threatening to a slave, so I said, “Did your master receive any letters or packages today?”

  The slave turned to me and said, “Oh, yes sir. The regular courier from Ephesus arrived at dusk, straight from the boat. He still smelled of the sea.”

  “You’ve seen this man before?”

  “The same man always brings the mailbag, sir.”

  I glanced at Pericles. He glanced at me. This was progress.

  “Was that when you last saw your master alive?”

  “No sir, he was alive when I announced the second courier.”

  “The second courier?”

  “The first left, taking the mailbag with him back to Ephesus. The master stayed in his office. I was summoned again later to bring a boy, and the master gave him a note for Pericles.”

  Pericles nodded.

  “Then a second courier walked in as the boy went out the door, I hadn’t even time to shut it. The second courier said he had an urgent message, sir, from Ephesus.”

  “What did Thorion say to that?”

  “It’s never happened before, sir. The master was startled when I told him.”

  “This second man must have given a name.”

  “Araxes, sir. He said his name was Araxes.”

  “Did he too smell of the sea?”

  The slave thought for a moment. “Yes sir, now that you mention it, he did. He stayed longer than the first—I suppose he had more to say—and when he walked down the stairs he tol
d me the master didn’t wish to be disturbed until supper. I opened the door for him and he left.”

  “You didn’t think to speak to your master after that, to check with him?”

  “No sir, I always obey orders.”

  I sighed.

  “Describe the second courier,” I ordered.

  “He had white hair,” the slave said without hesitation.

  “You mean he was old?” Pericles asked.

  “No sir, I’d guess his age to be thirty, maybe thirty-five. The hair wasn’t gray, it was white.”

  “Was he Hellene?” I asked.

  “He spoke like us.”

  “What did he wear?”

  “A chitoniskos. ’Twasn’t worn either. It looked new.”

  The chitoniskos is cut short at the shoulders and thighs for easy movement. I wore one myself. Since the material is never cut to fit the body, there are always extra folds of material in which you could hide anything, such as a scroll for example.

  “So the murderer tricked his way into Thorion’s office. He slipped a loop around Thorion’s neck, strangled him, and strung him up to make it look like suicide. Then he tucked the missing scroll inside his clothing and walked out.”

  “Oh, sir!” said the slave. “Did you say murderer? You’re not suggesting the courier had something to do with the master’s death are you? No, it’s impossible.”

  His tone intrigued me. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because he spoke so nicely. I’ve never known a man who minded his pleases and thank-yous so well.”

  “You liked him?”

  “Yes sir, who wouldn’t?”

  Pericles said, “Nicolaos, the murder of Thorion is important, but not as important as recovering the contents of the scroll. The safety of Athens depends upon it.”

  I nodded and rubbed my hands. “Any chance of sending a slave to Piraeus for a jar of seawater?” I had touched a dead man, and so would be considered ritually unclean and not permitted to eat until I’d washed my hands in seawater. The call from Pericles had made me miss dinner, and I was hungry.