The end of the play set off a convulsion of sorrow and regret. Phrynichus’s words brought home to the mass of men what the fall of Miletus had meant — and what role they had played, or not played. Never once had he named the Alcmaeonids, or spoken harshly of the power of Persian gold — but when men dried their eyes after the last speech, a demand by a Persian general that all Greeks submit or share the fate of Miletus, the crowd turned on the Alcmaeonids like wild dogs.
They were pelted with filth, and their retainers were beaten. At first, men were restrained, both by the prestige of the aristocrats and by fear of their bruisers — but there were no bruisers in evidence.
Then some of the oarsmen grew bolder and pressed forward.
But the aristocrats weren’t cowards — far from it. These were the leaders of Athens, and swords appeared, despite the law. Commoners were cut down.
The area behind the stands was now enveloped in the chaos of a formless fight. I pushed my way there, past men trying to join the fight and others attempting to flee it. I wanted Cleitus — I wanted to see his face.
Instead, I saw Themistocles. He was grinning from ear to ear, and yet he was struggling to restrain some thetes who had cudgels and were trying to finish off a fallen man.
Themistocles shook his head at me. ‘You see what you’ve done?’ he roared — not that he was displeased.
I pushed past him, looking for Cleitus. I took a blow on the shoulder and I wondered if the Alcmaeonids would be finished off right here in a massacre by the Royal Stoa, but the crowd wanted more and less than blood, and already the older aristocrats were clear of the crowd. And running. A sight that the demos never forgot.
Cleitus was holding the crowd back with a dozen armed men. The thetes feared his sword and his ability to use it.
I didn’t. I pushed forward through the last edge of lower-class men, and I laughed at him.
As if by prompt on the stage, Paramanos appeared with my slave girl in tow. Her eyes widened when she saw me — until then, as I later heard, she’d assumed the worst. If there can be worse than working in a brothel in Athens.
I grabbed her hand and she came with me.
‘I have back what is mine,’ I called to Cleitus.
‘You’re a dead man,’ he roared at me.
And then he ran, pursued by the sound of my laughter.
I gave her her freedom, as I had promised. It was a year or more late, and I paid her the best damages I could, hard silver for her lost year. She was never again the open-faced, friendly companion of our first weeks together. The gods had used her and cast her away, and I had forgotten her, who had sworn to save her. It’s not a pretty story. How many men did she service in the Agora because I was heartsick?
But we made the Athenian aristocrats pay. No Alcmaeonid dared come into the streets for weeks thereafter, and my court case was won by the absence of my opponent, and the unanimity of the jury was a sign of the collapse of aristocratic power. Miltiades argued my case with a deep voice and an unworried countenance, because he knew he was going to win — both as my proxenos and in his own case. No jury in Athens would convict Miltiades of anything after Phrynichus’s play. And the Alcmaeonid political machine died with their handlers. I’m afraid I taught the Athenians a terrible lesson, and they still fear the demos.
But I smile to think that Phrynichus and I saved Athenian democracy from the Alcmaeonids so that the man who wanted to be tyrant could save it from the Medes. The gods — who is so foolish as to not believe in the gods? — work in the strangest ways.
Aristides was distant for the next week, until my case was resolved. He was no fool, and he knew where the muscle had come from, and so did Themistocles. I went back to staying with Phrynichus, who was now deluged with money and offers of more from admirers as distant as Hieron of Syracuse.
Phrynichus knew I’d done something, but I never let on exactly what — and yet, by having Agios and Paramanos and Black and Cleon for dinner every night, Phrynichus became untouchable. We kept fifty oarsmen in the streets around his house at all hours, on Miltiades’ money.
But on the day that Miltiades was released — the jury refused to hear the charges read, which had precedent in Athenian law, and seemed to satisfy everyone — I met him and Aristides together with Themistocles. We met as if by chance in a wine shop at the edge of the Agora, where well-to-do men used to cement business deals.
Themistocles didn’t meet my eye. Miltiades, on the other hand, rose to his feet and embraced me.
‘Money well spent,’ he said. ‘Pardon my doubts of you, friend. I will always be in your debt.’ He gave me a broad wink. ‘I don’t think these other gentlemen liked their taste of your politics.’
Themistocles spat. ‘I do not want to live in a state powered by blood,’ he said.
‘And yet you seek increased power for the lowest class,’ Miltiades answered. ‘What do you expect?’
Themistocles glared at me. ‘I expect them to learn to be men of honour, and to stand in their places and vote — not cudgel each other like thieves.’
But Aristides shocked me. He took my hand and embraced me. ‘I thought to hate you,’ he said. ‘I considered asking for a writ of banishment against you.’
Themistocles looked at him as if the gods had taken his wits. ‘But you did not?’
Aristides shook his head and sat. ‘Drink wine with us, Arimnestos,’ he said. ‘I invited Cleitus to join us, but he declined. I wanted all the factions.’ He almost smirked. ‘Perhaps their faction isn’t worth having today.’
‘They’ll be back,’ I said.
‘So they will,’ Aristides agreed. ‘But no amount of Persian gold will buy them the mob now.’
‘And for that, you forgive this foreigner who used violence to achieve his ends?’ Themistocles asked.
Aristides shrugged. ‘In former times, when a city had reached a point of stasis — civil war — the leading men would invite a foreigner, a lawmaker, to come and save them.’ Aristides smiled. ‘My wife told me that I was being a fool, and that I should see the Plataean as a man who came to Athens and restored order.’
I looked around at all of them. ‘You see me as a killer of men,’ I said. ‘But I was trained by Heraclitus of Ephesus, and I know a little of how cities work. Athens has too many poor, and too few rich, for the rich to control the poor with fear and silver. Too many of Athens’s poor are seamen and oarsmen. They’re not cowards, as all of us around this table have cause to know. And they have no reason to love Persia.’ I shrugged.
‘I know all that,’ Themistocles said. ‘I don’t need some eastern-trained foreigner to tell me.’
‘You know it all,’ Aristides said, ‘but despite that, you did not act.’ He turned to me and smiled. ‘I prefer the rule of law, Plataean.’
‘I am a man of property, too,’ I said. ‘Not as rich as you lot, but I have a good farm, a forge, horses. I, too, treasure the rule of law. But when one side controls the laws, the other side must appeal to another court.’
Aristides nodded. ‘We all wish to ask you to leave the city now.’
I smiled. ‘You are going to run me out of town after all?’
Aristides nodded. ‘We have to. You killed ten men — and most citizens know how. You will be welcomed back soon enough.’
I rose to my feet. ‘Gentlemen, I have fought for Athens, bled for Athens and now I have schemed for Athens. The depth of your thanks never ceases to amaze me.’
Aristides shook his head. ‘Don’t be like that, Arimnestos. If you were one of us, we would all now fear your power. Since you are an ally, we can ask you to leave, and trust you again in the future.’ He said this as if it made sense, and in a way it did. But I was hurt, too. I had planned a brilliant campaign, and the only person who thanked me was Irene, wife of Phrynichus.