The situation was becoming grave

We walked straight out of Pericles’s tent and straight into Philipos. He was waiting for us.

“You went and chased criminals without me,” he complained.

“Sorry about that.”

“If I’m to be your apprentice, we need to do things together.”

“You’re quite right.”

“Are we ready to do some detecting now?” he asked.

It was the end of the day, most of which I had spent in a boat chase. I had started off thinking I was going to be outnumbered in a knife fight; instead, I had been sunk, dragged through the sea, almost drowned, and then had to watch while my quarry escaped. I was exhausted. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but Diotima got a word in first.

“As it happens, there is something you can solve for us,” she said.

“Yes?” he said eagerly.

“Philipos, you said when you spoke to my husband that you fell into an opened grave?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “What other sort of grave can you fall into?”

“What I don’t understand,” Diotima said patiently, “is why there was an opened grave in a graveyard that hasn’t been used for a century.”

That stopped Philipos for a moment. He scratched his head. “I didn’t think of that.”

“It’s too dark to look now,” Diotima said. “Meet us there at first light tomorrow.”

We went in search of Karnon. It had been absolutely necessary to report to Pericles first, but now that we were free we knew the accountant would be desperate for news. We also needed to find out about the guards. Who were they?

We went first to the Oikos. The slaves there told us that after the theft had been discovered and I had given chase to the guards, Karnon had repaired to his office at the Oikos, his face a mask of total despair, and had sat there, staring at a sharpened dagger, for longer than anyone had thought healthy.

The slaves had sent for Marika. The relationship between Marika and Karnon seemed to be an open secret. Marika had wrapped a blanket around the accountant and led him to his home, gently, with the help of the slaves.

The slaves worked in administration. I asked them about the guards.

“There are six, sir,” the slave said. “They work in shifts.”

“Who organizes the shifts?” I asked.

The slave looked surprised at the question. “There’s nothing to organize, sir. One pair works from before dawn to midday; another pair from midday to evening; and the third pair the night shift.”

“Don’t they mix their shifts?” Diotima asked.

“No, madam,” the slave said. “Why would they need to do that?”

“Where can we find the other four?” I asked. “I assume they’re Athenian soldiers.”

“I believe they’re all mercenaries, sir.”

Diotima and I looked at each other in despair. Those guards were next to useless as protectors of the treasure. Worse than useless, in fact, because they’d given everyone a sense of security that was entirely false.

I went to Karnon’s desk, where I found an old piece of papyrus, a brush, and some ink. I scribbled a note to Philipos, asking him to organize a roster of guards from among the Athenian soldiers, to protect the treasury day and night. I gave the note to one of the Oikos slaves and asked him to carry it at once.

“Who organized this fiasco?” I said to the remaining slave.

It had been a rhetorical complaint, but the slave had a ready answer. “Karnon funds the guards, sir.”

“But he doesn’t manage their shifts.”

“No, sir.”

The slave gave us directions to the barracks, which were not much larger than a hut, on the outskirts of the New Village. There we confirmed what the slave had already told us: that the guards had their own regular schedule.

“It’s an odd job for mercenaries,” I commented to them. They looked the usual sort for their line of work: rough, a little unkempt, slightly untrustworthy but competent when it came to looking out for their own skins.

One of the guards said, “The pay’s bad, but we get fed, and there’s not much chance of dying, you know?” He shrugged.

“There’ll be even less chance now,” I told them. “I’m replacing you with Athenians for the duration of this crisis.”

They took this news as stoically as I expected. But there was also a hint of suspicion.

“Before you ask, none of us knew anything about what those two were doing,” one of them said. “We might be mercenaries, but we got honor.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, but I was sure of no such thing. It was perfectly possible that one or more of these men was in on the crime, and it wouldn’t be the first time a hired man had betrayed a wealthy employer. “Where are you lads from?”

“Me and Axiagos, we’re from Macedon,” their apparent leader said. “Enalkides and Orotheremes, they’re from Crete, right guys?”

The other two nodded.

The guards had arrived in pairs. That was completely normal. Mercenaries often traveled and hired on with a buddy they could trust. Mercenary work was dangerous enough without having to rely on strangers to watch your back.

“What about the two guards that ran?” Diotima asked. She wrinkled her nose. All the time we’d been in the barracks, she had been holding her breath. The smell of sweat and unwashed bodies was strong.

Our friendly guard spat on the ground in disgust.

“Their names are Ippoloxos and Zelmontas. Since you seem so interested, they’re from . . .” He paused. “I don’t remember. Somewhere on the other side of the sea. Any of you guys know?” he asked the rest of the room.

Every man present shrugged.

“Did any of you know Ippoloxos and Zelmontas before they arrived?” Diotima asked.

“No,” they said in unison.

“Hmm,” Diotima said.

When Diotima and I arrived at Karnon’s house, we discovered that even the two boisterous little boys had gone quiet. We delivered the news that the guards had escaped, and with them, no doubt, any hope of recovering the lost treasure. At this news Karnon had turned a terrible gray, and gravely thanked us for our efforts. Then he wept.

The boys hugged their father and cried with him, though they could not have understood what terrible misfortune had befallen the family. I wasn’t sure that Marika understood either, and I did not enlighten her. For it is the law of Athens that any treasurer who loses state funds shall be punished by death. Nor is it one of those laws that everyone knows about but no one ever enforces. That terrible penalty had been carried out in my own lifetime.

I had said as much to Diotima as we walked back to the sanctuary.

“But you’d defend him, wouldn’t you Nico?” Diotima had asked anxiously.

“Of course I would, and I’d fail,” I told her. “The law applies if a treasurer merely fails to protect state funds, even if he didn’t embezzle them himself.”

“That’s harsh,” Diotima said.

“Yes, but it gives city officials a decided interest in making sure state funds stay safe.”

Diotima was furious. “This changes things,” she said. “Before we were looking for the killer of a man who—I’ll admit it—nobody liked much. Now we have to save the life of a good man.”

“Assuming the good man isn’t also the killer,” I said.

“You don’t believe that, do you Nico?” Diotima said.

“Try this scenario . . . let’s assume Karnon has been stealing from the treasury for years, knowing that so long as he is treasurer he will get away with it. There’s so much money flowing in and out that no one will ever know. Then we Athenians turn up to take the funds. Soon someone else will check his numbers. Suddenly he’s in trouble.”

“All right, I can see that,” Diotima said. “He would need to do something to save himself.”

I nodded. “He kills Geros, who as you point out nobody likes, and plants on him three coins that appear to come from the treasury. Then during the inevitable murder investigation—which you, my dear wife, are conducting—Karnon can ‘discover’ the theft of state money.”

“Why would he?” Diotima asked.

“Because Karnon knows the missing money will come to light anyway. With Geros dead, and framed by the coins, Karnon can point the blame at the priest. Karnon would be safe.”

Diotima looked puzzled. “But wait, you just said that a treasurer must be punished for losing state funds.”

“Aha.” I smiled. We had come to the clever point in my theory. “So I did. Who is the second treasurer on this island?”

Diotima thought about it, then said, “Geros is treasurer to the temples!”

“Yes. In court, Karnon can argue that we should take the word of the law literally. A treasurer must be punished. Geros was a treasurer. Geros is dead. No further action required.”

“But Geros wasn’t the treasurer for this particular fund,” Diotima pointed out. Then she answered her own objection. “But Karnon is a likeable man. Likeable men have been let off for technicalities more unlikely than this.”

“That’s what I think,” I said. “A jury will look for any excuse to save Karnon, especially since Geros looks so guilty of theft, and he a holy a man at that.”

“What about the soldiers who ran?” Diotima asked. “Explain them.”

I shrugged. “They’re in on it with him. He could have had that fast Phoenician boat ready and hidden, which is why we never caught up with the guards. With the guards gone, and with the priest dead, it leaves Karnon looking completely innocent.”

“What if the accountant gets caught later?” Diotima asked.

“Caught for what?” I asked. “On the evidence, you’d say Geros was the thief, wouldn’t you?”

Diotima nodded.

“Right. Karnon would have successfully thrown all the blame on the dead man. As long as Karnon doesn’t steal from this point on, then he’s safe from prosecution.”

Diotima frowned. “Safe from prosecution for embezzlement, perhaps. But if you’re right then Karnon killed Geros. We can still get him for that.”

“There is that detail,” I admitted. “But we have no evidence.”

“Why would Karnon do this?” Diotima asked.

“That’s easy. Karnon needs the money to run away with the woman he loves and his two sons. He’s completely dependent on his wife’s family. The only way he’ll ever have enough to leave her is to steal some.”

“When you put it that way . . .” Diotima thought about it. She nodded. “Yes, it’s possible. Do you believe it?”

“Not for a moment. He’s too honorable.”

“We have to save him,” Diotima repeated. “Think of his family. Nico, they’ll starve without him.”

We would save Karnon. If we could.