Free The Pericles Commission by Gary Corby Page B

leadership of the people, not control over them. So too does Pericles, or at least, that’s what he says.”
    “You think he doesn’t mean it?”
    Archestratus mused, “It must be difficult, having grown up the son of a wealthy, aristocratic family, groomed to lead Athens from his earliest days. His distinguished ancestors merely reached out to take the reins as their birthright, and yet he must ask the people for permission to lead, must persuade, where his ancestors had only to command. The temptation to reach out and take as his ancestors once did must be almost overpowering at times. And then, of course, there’s the matter of your employment. Odd, wouldn’t you say?”
    “What?” I said, startled. “What’s odd about it?”
    “My dear young man! How many friends do you think Pericles has? How many allies? And how many of those do you think are more experienced than you, more skilled in diplomacy, with a better knowledge of the power game? Yet he chose you, a young man of no experience, to carry out this important task. Why? I speculate, of course, but could it be Pericles wants to be seen to be doing something without wanting to risk an unfortunate result?”
    I bristled at that. “Archestratus, I was hired to find the truth, and I swear by the Gods that’s what I’m going to do.”
    “My boy! My boy! I never suggested otherwise; you wear your integrity like a cloak. It’s not your motivation I question.”
    “What are you saying?” I demanded.
    “Simply this: if you reach the point where you can no longer fully trust Pericles, come to me.”
     
    I found the fine artwork missing from Ephialtes’ home. It was all in the home of his mistress. One of them had good taste. I decided it must be Euterpe of Mantinea, since surely Ephialtes would not have selected that statue of Apollo cavorting with a nymph? The anatomical detail was remarkable.
    The house slave sniffed at me when I knocked, as if I were too verminous to cross her threshold. The name Ephialtes got me as far as the public receiving room, where I had been left to linger long enough to have inspected every art piece in the room, and there were a lot of them. I had never before been in the salon of a hetaera. The murals were short on Homeric battle scenes but gratifyingly long on sporting nymphs, satyrs, and priapic Gods. I peered at them closely, my nose almost pressed to the wall.
    “Educational, aren’t they?”
    I turned, startled, and crashed my knee against a nearby table. Trying not to swear, and clutching my knee, I saw framed in the doorway the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on.
    Euterpe had reddish brown hair that flowed down her lovely neck and over a shoulder to her breasts. She was wearing a dress that, even if it were not made of fabric I could see through, would have been considered scandalously immodest. As it was, she had my body’s full and immediate attention. The dress was tied in some way so that the material flowed with her skin. My mind ceased functioning since it was not required for the moment.
    “Oh! Are you hurt?”
    She knelt before me and touched my knee where I’d banged it. Waves of pleasure coursed up me.
    Euterpe looked a little higher, and smiled. She stood, swayed to a couch, and reclined, arching her back so that her nipples pressed out against the material and her legs were exposed.
    “So, what may I do for you, young man?”
    I collapsed back against the nearest couch, unable to speak and agonizingly aware how I must look to her.
    Euterpe let me recover. She clapped her hands. A young woman appeared, whom I barely noticed.
    “Diotima, dear, would you bring me wine? And a carafe of cool water for our guest.”
    The young woman reappeared with an exquisite thin pottery watercooler. I took it and thankfully let it rest in my lap, where it did me a lot of good. Euterpe eyed this arrangement while a half smile played on her lips, and her gaze traveled up and down.
    “I understand you’ve come