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CHAPTER 1

THE SINGER FROM MEMPHIS

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

"Master, there's a man at the door who wants to see you. He says his name is Herodotus."

I looked up from my cup of wine. The house slave stood over me, awaiting my instructions on what to do with the visitor.

I relaxed on a dining couch, under the stars in our courtyard, on a fine evening, in the quiet company of my family. I had no wish to be disturbed. I especially didn't want to be disturbed by a stranger.

"I've never heard of him," I said. I turned to my wife and asked, "Honey, do we know a Herodotus?"

My wife, Diotima, lay on the dining couch beside mine. She looked up from the wax tablet on which she scribbled notes, because she had taken it into her head to write a book of philosophy. Diotima chewed on the end of her stylus while she thought about it.

"Never heard of him," she said.

I turned to my younger brother. "How about you, Socrates?"

He was reading a scroll. He tore his attention away long enough to say, "No." Then he returned to his scroll.

The slave spoke up again. "Master, the man says he's from Halicarnassus."

Ah, that explained it. Halicarnassus is a city far away, on the other side of the Aegean Sea.

"He's a tourist to Athens then," I said. "Give him directions to the agora and tell him to go away."

"But Master, he says he has work for you!" the house slave said.

That made me sit up.

"Then why in Hades couldn't you say so at once? Show him in."

The visitor sat opposite me, in our andron, the room at the front of the house reserved for male guests, which I also used for business. He had a glass of wine in his hand and a bowl of olives by his side. He sipped the wine but ignored the olives. I studied him closely, because it is always wise to know a client, or a potential client.

Herodotus was a man not much older than myself. He could not have been more than twenty-six. He wore a beard of a conservative cut, which oddly he had ringleted in the Persian manner. His clothes were of fine linen. He wore the ankle-length chiton of a gentleman who had no need of manual labor to earn his living. Yet his sandals were of the heaviest workman leather, and his feet showed the sort of calluses that you would expect to see on a veteran soldier.

The overall effect was a man who was both young and old, Greek and Persian, rich and poor. This man, I decided, cultivated contradictions.

I asked our visitor what I could do to help him.

He said, "I require an escort for my safety. You were recommended to me."

I am the only private agent in Athens. I was used to hearing requests like this. I had once gained some notoriety when I protected a woman who sought a divorce. Her violent husband had proven a genuine threat. Yet it seemed odd to me that a healthy man like Herodotus should admit he couldn't defend himself. Nor did he look like a coward. I asked the obvious question.

"Do you have any enemies?"

"None," Herodotus said. "But where I am going, I will require protection nonetheless."

"And where is that?" I asked.

Herodotus set down his cup. He leaned forward, and said, "I want you to be my personal escort when I travel to Egypt."

I was startled. What Herodotus proposed was a very long journey. I knew right away that I would have trouble avoiding this commission, even if I wanted to. Diotima loved to travel. Besides which, my wife was a philosopher, and Egypt was the land of ancient wisdom.

There was only one problem. I voiced it.

"But there's a war on there."

Everyone knew about the war. The people of Egypt had risen up against their Persian overlords. When the rebels had called for help, Athens had instantly dispatched a fleet of two hundred triremes to assist our new friends, because anyone who kills Persians can't be all bad. We'd done enough of it ourselves, when the Persians had attacked Hellas thirty-five years before. Now there were three armies roaming across the land of the Pharaohs.

"Yes, precisely. That's why I need the escort," Herodotus said.

"Sir, I'm a private agent, not a small army."

"But it's you I need," Herodotus said earnestly. "If you are with me, then I'll have a safe passage through any territory controlled by the Athenians. The Egyptians are your allies and I am a Hellene; they will not trouble us."

"What about the Persians?" I asked.

"My native city might be Hellene, but Halicarnassus is a client state of the Persian Empire," Herodotus said. "I am technically one of their citizens. Thus with you to escort me, I will have safe passage everywhere."

I thought about it for a moment.

"Where do you want to go in Egypt?" I asked.

"Everywhere," he said simply.

"The place is bigger than all of Hellas!"

"Everywhere that I reasonably can," Herodotus corrected himself. "You need to understand that I am embarking on a noble course, for I am writing a book."

I wasn't impressed. "Isn't everyone?" I said, thinking of Diotima in the courtyard, scribbling away.

Herodotus looked at me strangely. "This is a book of ... histories, I suppose you would say."

"A book of inquiries?" I repeated.

"Just so." Herodotus nodded.

"You're a playwright then," I said.

"No," Herodotus said. "The stories I'll be telling are all true." Herodotus spoke more quickly, with excitement. "My plan is to set down in writing the history of the wars between the Hellenes and the Persians!" He spoke as if I should instantly recognize the genius of this idea.

After a short pause I asked, "Why bother?"

"So that the deeds of men will not be forgotten in time," he said. "This conflict between us and the Persians is the greatest war since the Trojan. It deserves to be remembered."

I had my doubts. Why would anyone care about our war more than any other? But that wasn't my problem. "Let me see if I understand. You want to go to a war zone, not to fight, but so you can write about it?"

"You understand," Herodotus said, unaware that with those words he brought his sanity into question.

"How did you hear of me?" I asked. I wanted to know what person thought I was crazy enough to do this.

"You were recommended, as I said before," Herodotus told me. "I was speaking to your head man here in Athens —"

"Pericles?" I said, surprised. Pericles had never in his life done a man a favor that didn't have something in it for himself. The mention of Pericles made me instantly suspicious.

"Yes," Herodotus said. "I met Pericles the other night, at a symposium. I told him of my plans and asked his advice. Pericles said you would be just the man to lead me around Egypt. He was most helpful."

"I'm sure he was." I rubbed my chin. "Well, Herodotus, I thank you for your proposal. To travel to Egypt is a long undertaking. I'm sure you understand that I must think on this. Does it suit if I give you my answer tomorrow?" "That would be wise." Herodotus nodded gravely. He indicated my cup of wine. "I recommend that you get drunk tonight."

"Oh? Why do you say that?" I asked, for though I thought his advice sound, it did seem a little unusual.

Herodotus said, "I merely suggest to you the custom of another land. In Persia, when a weighty matter is to be decided, the men consider it first when they're drunk, and then again when they are sober the next morning. If their plan seems good when both drunk and sober, then they proceed with it."

I had lived among the Persians. Not once had I ever seen them do such a thing.

"Thank you for your advice, Herodotus," I said, showing him to the door. "I will give this assignment every consideration."

What I didn't say was that first thing in the morning I would be at Pericles's house, to find out what he was up to.

THE MISSION

I was at the door of Pericles's home before Apollo's rays had touched the city.

Pericles was already awake. The most powerful man in Athens had more work to do than any other three men combined. His first words when I walked into his office were, "Kalimera, Nicolaos. I've been expecting you."

"Kalimera, Pericles." I asked Pericles what he had intended when he sent Herodotus to see me. I finished with, "Do you want me out of Athens for some reason?"

"Not out of Athens, but in Egypt, yes," Pericles said. "I will explain. The thing is, Nicolaos, we have a situation, and this fellow Herodotus has given us the perfect opportunity to deal with it. We've received a request from our allies in Egypt." He handed me a scroll. "Here, read this. It came by boat not ten days ago."

I took the scroll and sat down on the couch opposite Pericles's desk. It was the comfortable old dining couch that had been placed to catch the sun that streamed through the window overlooking the courtyard. I sat without being invited, as I always did when I visited, and Pericles took no notice. I was struck by the easy familiarity of it all. How many years had I sat in this room, from time to time? Five now, I realized, counting back. Five years since my first commission.

The first time I sat in this room, I had been half-terrified. Now familiarity — and Pericles's habit of landing me in the raw end of every crisis — had reduced me to this assumption that I was free to take my comfort among the rich and powerful, though I myself was neither.

The scroll had been written in a firm hand, in good Greek. The message said:

Inaros son of Psamtik greets the Athenians and says this: the war against the Persian proceeds well. Together the Egyptians and the Athenians have won a great victory. Most of Lower Egypt lies in our hands.

The enemy has retreated to their stronghold within Memphis. It is their final chance.

There was more, but I looked up at Pericles. I said, "This is a status report. Who is Inaros?"

"The leader of the rebels," Pericles said. "Inaros inspired the uprising. He raised the native army. If it weren't for him, there would be no rebellion. Oh, and he's a Prince of Libya."

"Libya?" I said. "I thought the rebels were Egyptian." "They are. Inaros is a Libyan prince who claims to be a descendant of the last Pharaoh."

"That sounds doubtful," I said. "Is it true?"

"Does it matter?" Pericles countered pragmatically. "The man is causing trouble for the Persians, and that's good enough for me. Read the next part. It concerns you."

Inaros says this: the battle for Memphis will be a formidable task. In the south of the city lies the White Fort. It is almost impregnable. The Persian holds this fort with all the strength that remains to him.

The fort can be reduced by starvation. But that takes months or years, and the Great King of the Persians will certainly send another army before then. The fort can be taken by assault, in a glorious battle. Such enterprises are risky, as all men know.

There is a way to reduce the Persian's hold without a great battle. Send me an agent, a man of cunning and resource, someone I can trust, as I could trust no Egyptian in this matter. Do this, and Memphis shall fall, and the Persian shall be driven from Egypt.

Thus speaks Inaros to the Athenians.

That was the end of the message. I put it down and said, "So Inaros wants an agent. What does he want the agent to do?"

"He doesn't say," Pericles said.

"I noticed that," I said unhappily. I had little doubt who Pericles would nominate to be this agent of cunning and resource.

"Obviously the Prince of Libya wants you to represent him in some delicate matter," Pericles said.

Inaros had used the same word we would for a commercial agent, or someone delegated to act on another's behalf. It could mean anything from negotiating to buy a house, to arranging to have someone killed. There was no way to know. I also didn't like that part about Inaros not being able to trust an Egyptian. I asked Pericles what it meant.

"I don't know," he admitted. "However there's something else you need to hear. We've had word that another agent has been sent to Egypt. The word is that this man is a Hellene, but a Hellene who works for the Persians."

This job was getting worse every time Pericles opened his mouth. I said, "So just as Inaros has asked for an agent from us, the Persians are sending their own man."

Pericles nodded. "Whatever's happening down there, it's important."

"How did you hear of this?" I asked.

"A source from within the Persian Court," Pericles said, somewhat evasively. "We have friends there — visitors to Susa and the Great Court — sometimes they hear things. One of them wrote to us with this news."

"There's a traitor among the Hellenes then," I said.

"Not necessarily." Pericles shook his head. "Many Hellenes are legitimately members of the Empire. Those who live in cities on the far coast of the Aegean, for example."

"Do we know who the agent is?" I asked. "His name? His city?"

"No."

I suddenly caught the drift of Pericles's argument.

"You think this Herodotus is the Persian agent!" I exclaimed.

"He might be," Pericles said. "Think about it, Nicolaos. Herodotus comes from Halicarnassus. It's a city on the other side of the Aegean Sea. It's under Persian sway; he could hold Persian sympathies. Consider that at the moment he arrives in Athens, on his way to Egypt, we hear of an enemy agent dispatched to that very same destination."

"It could be a coincidence," I said. "Many traders travel to Egypt."

"Yes, that's why I deliberately sought out this man Herodotus, to judge for myself, when I heard he was in Athens and enquiring about Egypt."

"Then the coincidence of you two meeting — "

"Was no coincidence," Pericles agreed. "I arranged for a friend to invite Herodotus to a symposium that I would be attending. I made a point of speaking to him. The moment he said he needed an escort, I suggested you. Thus if Herodotus is an agent of the Persians, I've planted on him an agent of the Hellenes." Pericles smiled a sneaky smile. "As I said before, it was too good an opportunity to pass up."

This was typical Periclean convoluted thinking. Pericles thought he was smarter than everyone else. The fact that he was right did nothing to make his devious schemes any less worrying for the people who had to execute them. If Herodotus was an agent of the Persians, then Diotima and I would be in mortal danger every moment we were with him.

"This is important, Nicolaos," Pericles said. "All eyes are turning to Egypt. All armies, all strategies are concentrating there. There's certain to be a major decision in that country. I don't know what it will be — there are too many factors, too many chancy options — but whatever happens will change the future of every city and every nation of civilization."

Pericles's words strangely echoed Herodotus himself when he had said he wanted to go to Egypt to record the great deeds of men.

"Your mission, Nicolaos, is to go to Egypt, talk to this Inaros, do whatever he wants, within reason, and report back to me on what is happening down there."

"What of Herodotus?" I asked. "What if he proves to be the Persian spy?"

"Then kill him," Pericles said.

ALL AT SEA

I accepted the commission from Herodotus. As the fee for my services, I asked for ten drachmae a day, plus expenses. It was twice what I thought I could get. After all, the average workman only earns one drachma a day.

I expected Herodotus to haggle with me. Instead, he agreed instantly to my outrageous demand and told me to find passage to Egypt at once. He said he was worried that something exciting might happen before we got there.

I was more worried that something exciting might happen after we arrived, but I had little choice in the matter since I had Pericles's secret commission to enact.

As I walked down to the docks at Piraeus, I thought about Herodotus. Money was no object for him. Either Herodotus was a wealthy man, or he was backed by someone with a great deal of coin; such as the Persian Empire. It was something to think about. In either case, for the sort of money my new client was paying, he had every reason to expect perfect service. I went to find us a boat.

Cargo ships leave for Egypt every third or fourth day. It's one of the most profitable trade routes for luxury items. The Egyptians send us papyrus and jewelry. We send them ceramics and amphorae of wine. The big, fat traders were prepared to take a passenger or three. The problem was, they would all be far too slow. Every trader followed the coastal route. They would spend interminable days haggling at every port of call.

Luckily I had an answer. I arranged our passage to Egypt with my friend Captain Kordax. Kordax was a retired navy captain who had reluctantly given up command of a warship, and then instantly created his own shipping line. Four of his five boats were slow tubs designed to carry grain to the islands. There was always money to be made in that. The fifth was the pride of his small fleet. It was a courier boat that he commanded personally. Kordax hired it to wealthy businessmen, state emissaries, or other important men who needed to be somewhere else, fast.

Friendship didn't prevent the good Captain from charging me a fortune. I didn't mind, because Herodotus was paying, and because we'd chartered the entire boat for our own use. What Kordax asked seemed a fair price for a sleek private ship.

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Excerpted from "The Singer From Memphis"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Gary Corby.
Excerpted by permission of Soho Press, Inc..
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