“Really?” answered Crixus.
Xenophon caught the glance of his father who seemed to be trying to encourage him to change subjects. At the very least, he looked sweaty and uncomfortable. He knew his father would have nothing in common with dictators, so they must have made major concessions to get him involved.
“Your father told me that both of you would do whatever was necessary to keep Attica safe and secure. Is that true?”
“Of course,” he replied in a calm tone.
What is he after, an informant?
“Good,” answered Crixus with a slight smile forming at his lips.
“We do not intend on staying here forever, just long enough to ensure we will not be turned on by vendetta and revenge. What we need is new blood, people that can take the place of the Thirty as a transitional stage.”
“I…don’t quite understand you, sir. You want me to find people?”
“No, no,” laughed Crixus.
He pointed out to the skyline of the city.
“I don’t want just anybody. Attica needs people who are conservative, those that understand stability and security, as well as growth and prosperity. The proletariat don’t know their own arses from their elbows, as I’m sure you know.”
Xenophon shrugged in agreement. It was hard to argue against it.
“Look, your father has already agreed, and I would like you to join him in replacing two of my compatriots in the Thirty.”
Me, one of the Thirty? Is he mad?
“Yes. I will stay as the senior member, but the two of you would take the place of the two youngest in my group. You will help liaise between the Attican bureaucracy and also vote amongst us.”
“But why?”
“You have seen the damage being inflicted by various underground groups here, I’m sure. They want us out, and I can understand that. The harder they push though, the harder we have to be. We will leave when it is right for all of us. If you can help keep the population under control and hold back these groups, I think you’ll find the Thirty will be gone in, well, perhaps less than a year.”
“You hear that, son? A year, and we could be back to normal.”
Xenophon looked at them both carefully. The idea sounded all well and good, but he seriously doubted it could change that quickly. The thought of being one of those that almost every citizen hated was something he hardly relished.
“Thank you, but no. I have no real interest in politics. I am happy to try and help get us through this difficult period, but I really will not become one of the Thirty.”
“You disregard us that much?” asked Crixus with mock surprise.
“Not you, but my countrymen will never forgive those that collaborate.”
Crixus looked disappointed but didn’t push it.
“I understand, and I expected as much. Perhaps we could offer you a compromise instead. One that would help steer this conflicted state away from war, and at the same time, help keep order in the city.”
Xenophon looked a little confused.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked.
“If you will not serve with us, then you might take one of the more ceremonial roles. A public position, one that will show members of the old established order are moving back into control. It will allow us to give ground slowly until we will finally leave you and your city. The position of deputy Praefectus urbi is still vacant. It would be a powerful symbol to put an Attican citizen in charge of the historical centre of the capital.”
Xenophon thought about it for a moment. It was an odd choice, and he was deeply suspicious of the offer of free power in the city. What did they have to gain by putting him there?
“Of course, by becoming deputy Prefect, you would assume the responsibility of the safety of the civic centre and most of the inner wards of the city.”
“Deputy, how exactly would that be a position of authority?”
Crixus smiled, clearly enjoying the little game.
“Fair enough. Look, I have placed a Laconian officer, one of my trusted lieutenants, in this position. As a deputy, you would be the public face for the office. If all goes well, when we leave, you will take his place. To all intents and purposes, you would be the prefect. If you don’t do this, then I will simply not appoint a deputy. Since we took over, the armed forces have been disbanded, and we need police and security forces. I could bring in Laconian troops, but in my experience that just creates more trouble. If you helped in this area, it would help us, and it would help the city. You would have full authority over police and paramilitary forces within the prefecture of the inner city wards.”
Xenophon looked over to his father and looked at his face, trying to gauge his reaction. The idea of working for a faction he had been so recently fighting irked him, but was that a reason to simply walk away? Seeing nothing on his father’s face, he looked back to the leader of the Thirty.
“If I did this, I would be a turncoat working for the regime. They’d execute me for treason.”
“Who would? Would you rather a Laconian administration? I offer you a free hand in controlling the prefecture of the city, without interference by my forces.”
Xenophon looked back to the glass windows and the view of the city. His heart told him to turn and run, but where could he go. In theory, he would be doing this to help his own friends and citizens, but would they see it that way? He looked back to Crixus who waited patiently.
“Well?” he asked.
“Put your Laconian officer and his voices under my command, and I’ll do it. The public will see right through this unless an Attican citizen is in control. It will make no difference to how things are run.”
Crixus waved to a group of Laconians and a similar number of Attican officials. One of them was a woman, a well-known city politician called Erika Montoya. Xenophon had already seen her pubic addresses on behalf of the occupying power. She had been the first Alliance member to join the body, and rumour had it that her family was actually of Laconian ancestry.
“This is the man you were telling me about,” explained Crixus.
“Ah, you must be Xenophon, our resident war hero,” she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“No hero, just one of the few that survived the insanity of going to war with Laconia.”
Crixus looked at them both, then placed his hands on each of their shoulders.
“Very well. It was not my intention, but I accept. From today, Xenophon, son of Gryllus, will become the Prefect of the Inner Wards. You will report directly to me.”
The woman glared at Xenophon, but he couldn’t tell if it was because he was in a more prestigious position, or because Crixus had made the decision without giving her a chance to give her approval.
Xenophon approached the barricades with caution. Behind him moved a force of security troops picked from the few ex-military that had joined the new government’s forces. Part of the debris mixed in with the barricade had been burning for hours, and it sent columns of smoke up into the sky.
“Who goes there!” called out a man from the shadows of the structure.
Xenophon stopped and examined the temporary wall. It was almost five metres tall and manned by nearly forty people. Behind it were hundreds more, as well as press and a mixture of citizens.
“Prefect Xenophon of the Inner Wards. I want to speak with your leader.”
“What?” shouted the man.
“You heard me. Now bring me your commander!”
There was a mixture of sounds as people moved about behind and inside the barricade. As he waited, he looked back at his guards. Each wore the uniform of the Attican Militia rather than Alliance and were all armed with Laconian weapons. He just hoped this wouldn’t turn to violence. A shape appeared along the wall and looked down at him.
“Xenophon?” called the man. His voice was familiar.
“Yes, who is that?”