The Great King by Christian Cameron Page A

that we should leave him in peace to decide our futures – for our own good. I really, truly believe that’s what he thought, in his heart.
    Now, let me confess something to you, my daughter. He was smarter than almost anyone. He alone saw all the ramifications of building a mighty fleet for Athens, and he remained true to them. Other men made compromises – Themistocles was above such stuff. But in the world of mortals, there are no absolute answers, and so, when Themistocles became the saviour of all Greece, he had already planted the seeds of treason.
    Hah! Aeschylus might yet write a play. It has all the great themes, does it not?
    It is one of the little tricks of the gods that, as soon as a man takes part in some great moment, discussing the affairs of all Greece or considering ethics or philosophy, in the next moment he either has to deal with an angry child, an intestinal ailment, or a bureaucracy. Or perhaps all three at the same time. Just when you feel your most godlike, someone will come along to remind you that you really live in a Cratinus play, not an Aeschylus.
    The evening began well, with Paramanos and Harpagos and Moire and some of my other friends and former associates in piracy joining us for wine. It had only been a few weeks since we had raided Illyria, and we were all rich and full of ourselves – which, I can tell you, makes for a fine symposium. We had couches of straw laid out, and the slaves and my oarsmen built us a fine fire of wood they collected high on the slopes – I remember Leukas complaining about how far the men had to go to get wood. Truly, with twenty thousand people on the plain, wood was hard to find.
    And the place stank – have I mentioned that? Humans are not the cleanest of animals. I had Megakles pace off our camp and we dug latrines. Most other people didn’t. If you catch my drift.
    At any rate, I was just reclining on my elbow, with Hector pouring me some wine mixed three to one with water, while Harpagos was telling of our heroism at Lades. There must have been fifty men at our fire, and a few women – drawn not so much by my famous name as by the promise of free wine.
    Out of the sunset came Polymarchos, like the proverbial ghost at the wedding.
    He crouched by my pallet like a slave waiting on his patron. I could tell it annoyed him to be so subservient, and thus I could tell he needed something.
    Power has many difficult aspects.
    ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘What’s the trouble?’
    He shook his head. ‘They’re threatening to disqualify my athlete. You know he’s late?’
    I nodded. Like any Greek, I knew that athletes had to be present thirty days before their event, to train – very hard. In effect, to prove that they had the right to compete. Young Astylos was only four days early. I shrugged. ‘He was shipwrecked,’ I mentioned.
    Polymarchos hung his head. ‘Would you consider . . . speaking to the judges?’ he asked.
    I misunderstood. ‘I can speak about the storm, surely.’
    He met my eye. ‘I suspect they’ve been bribed.’ He looked around. ‘There’re other men here who came late, and there have been many men admitted late over the years.’
    Cimon, at my elbow, leaned in. ‘Bribed is such a strong word,’ he said with a smile. ‘You mean that someone has an interest – perhaps a political interest – in strict enforcement.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What events are we discussing?’
    Polymarchos looked annoyed to be interrupted, but he shrugged it off. ‘Stadion and diaulos,’ he said.
    Cimon nodded. ‘Athenians in both events,’ he said.
    Let me tell you how the world works.
    In that one line, Cimon was saying that he – he, one of the most powerful men in Athens – had an interest in the two running events. It was all in the twist of his mouth, the light of his eye. But it was there.
    As was – by implication – the question. Is this important to my friend Arimnestos?
    I had become one of them. I understood the nuance of