Sophocles turned a dangerous red.
“I don’t think I know you?” Pericles said to Lakon. I knew what Pericles was thinking. I could imagine the effect if that voice spoke before the People’s Assembly. If Pericles had a competitor for best orator in Athens, he wanted to know about it before they faced each other in debate.
“You don’t recognize me, yet you have seen me many times,” Lakon replied with a superior air. “I am the protagonist, the lead actor of this play.”
“Oh, I see. Nice to meet you,” said Pericles dismissively, and with an audible trace of relief. He had once said to me that no one in their right mind would ever vote for an actor. That Lakon had trod the stage automatically meant he had no future in politics.
Pericles said to the assembly at large, “Is there anyone in Athens to avenge the murdered man?”
“His family,” I said. “He has a sister and brother-in-law here. But they of course are also metics.”
Several grunts of dismissal sounded around the room. Everyone knew a metic had little chance of avenging a murder in Athens.
Pericles said, “Are there any other questions?”
The Eponymous Archon had only one. He said, “How quickly can you get the play restarted?”
Everyone present stared at the Eponymous Archon in astonishment.
“We can’t,” Sophocles said.
“What? Don’t you have a replacement actor? Surely you do.”
Sophocles said, “The problem is it would be impious to continue.”
“Even so I must insist the festival carries on,” said the Eponymous Archon. He sounded angry. “It’s a question of national pride.”
“Didn’t you hear what Sophocles said?” asked the Basileus. He was the archon in charge of religious affairs. “Did you not hear that the God’s statue was placed on the stage, facing the crime? Gentlemen, this is a murder committed in the presence of the God. On his most sacred ground-the theater-right before his most sacred festival, the Great Dionysia.”
Everyone glumly contemplated his words.
“The god Dionysos must be furious at what’s happened. Can you imagine the bad luck that would descend on the city if we continued as if nothing had happened? I’m sure the High Priest of Dionysos agrees with me.”
All eyes turned to the High Priest Theokritos. He nodded unhappily. “It’s true.”
“What would it take to appease the God?” the Eponymous Archon asked.
“Perhaps a major sacrifice?” the High Priest suggested. “Like the Eponymous Archon, I too am most reluctant to abandon the Dionysia, or even delay it for an instant.”
“Your reluctance is understandable, my friend,” said the Basileus. “But we all know impiety is a major crime, the biggest there is.”
Theokritos sighed. “Yes. I know what you’re about to say.”
“The Great Dionysia must be suspended,” said the Basileus.
In the shocked silence that followed, the Eponymous Archon asked, “What would it take, then, to restart the festival?”
“Punishment of the killer, of course,” the Basileus said.
“What’s the penalty for impiety?” someone asked.
“Death by stoning,” Theokritos said. That meant the murderer would be taken to a nearby quarry, where he would be tied to a stake, and the people of Athens would take turns throwing rocks at him until he was dead.
“All right then,” said the Eponymous Archon. “Let’s execute the murderer and get on with the festival.”
“There’s only one little detail,” Aeschylus pointed out. “We don’t know who did it.”
My stomach lurched.
“Whose job is that?” the Eponymous Archon asked.
“Er, that would be me. Sir,” I said.
The most powerful city official in Athens turned to stare at me. “I didn’t catch your name. You are?”
“Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus,” I said.
“I’ve heard of you,” the Eponymous Archon said. He didn’t say if what he’d heard was good or bad. Instead he went on, “This is a disaster on so many levels, I barely know where to begin.”
I hoped he didn’t mean me.
“Murder is always a disaster,” I said.
The Eponymous Archon stared at me in surprise. “Murder? That’s nothing. Young man, a dead actor is the least of our problems.”
“It is?”
He pointed to the door, beyond which lay all of Athens. “Have you any idea how many leading dignitaries from other cities are out there? How many wealthy merchants? Dear Gods, we even have a contingent from the Great King of Persia visiting. If word gets out that we can’t hold a play without it going wrong, we’ll be the laughing stock of the civilized world.”
“We need to think about this,” the Basileus said.
“We have to do something,” Aeschylus said. “Can you imagine what the other cities will say?”
“Can you imagine the jokes they’ll tell?” a comedy writer said sadly. “And I won’t be able to use a single one of them.”
“Why don’t we cancel the festival?” the Polemarch suggested.
The reaction to the Polemarch’s suggestion could not have been more horrified had he suggested we eat live babies. When he saw the expressions on our faces he said, “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not an arts man, I can see,” Aeschylus said. “Stop the Great Dionysia? It’s unthinkable.”
“You’re not a religious man either,” the Basileus added. “What would the God think if we canceled his most important festival? The final ceremony is the parade through the city, followed by the crowning of Dionysos. How do you think the god of the harvest will feel if he isn’t crowned this year? Do you want to think about the consequences for the food supply?” Heads nodded at the words of the Basileus. If the God was displeased, we could expect a pitiful crop. It would mean hunger for the city.
“Nor are you a diplomat,” Pericles added. “Did you not hear the words of our Archon, that hundreds of representatives from the most important cities in the world are in Athens right now? They will watch and wait with interest to see how we handle this crisis.”
“And then there are the Athenian people,” the comic writer said. “They’re expecting a party.”
The Polemarch threw up his hands in surrender. “All right, it’s only an idea. Let me know when you have a better one.”
Pericles said, “Gentlemen, Aeschylus is right when he says we must act. If we don’t, our esteemed foreign visitors will soon see a genuine Athenian riot. Could we proceed with the Dionysia, but without the play by Sophocles?”
A man whom I’d not seen before stood beside Sophocles, older, with short, dark hair and a pained expression. Sophocles turned to him now and said, “You’ve been quiet, Thodis. What do you think? It’s your play and your investment.”
So this was Thodis the choregos, the man who backed the play with his money. He had been strangely absent during the troubles. If my money had been at such risk I would have been present every day.
Thodis looked about the assembled company with wide eyes. “We must certainly do as Pericles suggests,” he said. I had rarely seen a man appear so out of place as Thodis did.
“That idea’s not a starter in any case,” said the Basileus, and the High Priest nodded. “The crime of impiety is against the God. Whether Sisyphus opens is of no moment to cleansing the theater. You want to cleanse the impiety? It has to be vengeance. There’s no faster way.”
Sophocles said, “What say then we postpone the Dionysia? Tell the people the plays will resume after the murderer is caught.”
“How long will that take?” someone asked.
Every eye turned back to me. I was the junior man in this company, by a long way. I felt my face go red.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A day? Ten days? Maybe a month?”
“Days?” the Eponymous Archon spluttered, as if I were a handyman who’d just delivered too high a quote. “Can’t you hurry it along?”
I forbore from pointing out that I hadn’t even started.
“You can’t delay that long in any case,” the Basileus said. He seemed to take a morose pleasure in destroying every suggestion. He said, “The crowning of Dionysos is scheduled for the fourteenth of Elaphebolion. It’s a particularly lucky date. If we pushed the crowning ceremony back to an unluckier date-not something that I’d advise in any case-then the festival of Rhea that comes straight after would be delayed by the same amount. It gets worse. Even if you don’t mind offending Rhea, the mother of the Gods, the rites of Pandia come straight after that, and those are in honor of Zeus. The Spring rites for the king of the Gods would land right at the end of the month. You all know what that means.”