Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [84]
That was all, until the next blow fell.
That was all, but in every other way, our lives changed. Because Master barred the house to the satrap. And Artaphernes’ peace conference collapsed in an evening, because every house in the city was closed against him.
Your eyes shine, honey. Do you understand, indeed? Let me explain. Artaphernes was a guest, and a guest-friend. Persians and Greeks are not so different, and when a man, or a woman, becomes a frequent visitor, he and the household he visits swear oaths to the gods to support oikia.
Adultery is the ultimate betrayal of the guest oath. Pshaw – happens all the time. Don’t think I haven’t seen it. Men are men and women are women. But Artaphernes was a fool to risk a war on getting his dick wet – hah, I am a crude old man. Pour me some wine.
Hipponax did a rare thing. He told the city what had happened. That was the only punishment he inflicted on his wife – he branded her faithless in the assembly. From then on, Artaphernes was a breaker of the guest oath. No citizen would receive him.
He tried for two days to make amends, and he offered various reparations. Hipponax ignored his messenger and finally sent me with a herald’s wand to tell Artaphernes that the next messenger would be killed. Indeed, there were armed men in every square of the city. Archi was being fitted for his panoply – the full hoplite armour – even as I went on my errand.
Those were bad days in the household. Mistress didn’t leave her rooms. Penelope wouldn’t speak to me. I admit that I called her a whore. Perhaps not my best course of action. And Archi – I couldn’t fathom whether he knew he had wronged me or not.
At that age – the age you are now, honey – it is often hard enough to know which way the wind blows. Eh? And any betrayal is magnified by the heat of your blood, tenfold. Yes – you know whereof I speak.
So my head was spinning when I went to the Persian camp. I was worried that Darius would spit me on sight – I had dared to cross blades with them. I was worried that my harsh message would result in my own execution. I was angry that my brave deed – and it was brave, honey, facing four of the Great King’s men in a dark corridor – had received no reward but curt thanks, because I loved my master and wanted his approval with all the passion of the young who want to be loved. I was desolate that Penelope was Archi’s, even though I knew inside my head that she had never really been mine.
I ran up to the Persian camp, wearing only the green chlamys of a herald and a pair of ‘Boeotian’ boots. I’d never seen anything like them in Boeotia, but in Ionia they were called Boeotian. They were magnificent. They made me feel taller. I thought that, if I was going to die, I should look good.
The gate guards sent me straight to the satrap’s tent with an escort. The escort halted before the tent-palace and while their officer fetched the palace guards, one of the soldiers whispered, ‘Cyrus wants to see you.’
‘I am at his service as soon as I have seen the satrap,’ I said. ‘If I am alive,’ I added. A keen sense of drama is essential to the young.
Artaphernes was writing. I couldn’t read Persian then. I waited as his stylus scratched the wax. There was an army of scribes with him, some Persians, mostly Greek slaves.
Finally he looked up. He smiled grimly when he saw me.
‘I had hoped Hipponax would send you,’ he said.
I stood straighter.
‘You saved my life.’ Sweet words to hear from the satrap of Lydia.
‘I did, lord. It is true.’ I grinned in sudden relief.
He leaned forward. ‘Name your reward.’
‘Free me,’ I said. ‘Free me, and I will hold the deed well done.’
Abruptly he sat back and shook his head. ‘I have tried to buy you for three days, and now Hipponax sends you to my camp. What am I to think? That you are a guest? A gift?’
The satrap had tried to buy me? That explained much that had passed in the last three days. But I was an honest young man, mostly. ‘He tests