Akropolis Page 9

  The courtroom was now in uproar, the jurors shouting words of abuse at Dareios, the spectators excited by the drama playing out before them. The magistrate sought to restore order to the proceedings and eventually the noise subsided, to be replaced by calls from several jurors for Sebastian to continue. The calls rose and multiplied until “Speak, Sebastian!” could be heard throughout the courtroom.

  Seb held up his hand for silence. He continued his speech.

  “You have heard the orator Stephanos condemn the slave Melitta as a thief. You have heard her statement telling us of her innocence, telling us in her own words what really happened. Until this morning, the only witness willing to speak for her was the defendant Alexios, who from a short distance saw her retrieve the purse from the ground, saw Nikodemos attack her savagely with a heavy staff, and who was the only person in the crowd to go to her aid. Why no other? Is this what Athenian society has come to, that we would fail someone in desperate need‌—‌slave or not?

  “I said until this morning there was no other witness. But still among us are those Athenians who value the truth so greatly they would risk their lives for it! Such a person approached me this morning, a fisherman, Georgios, who was in the marketplace that day to sell his fish‌—‌an Athenian citizen who saw what happened. I ask him now to speak.”

  Georgios took the platform beside Sebastian and with quiet confidence recounted the story he had earlier told Seb. Seb asked him if he was absolutely sure of what he had seen.

  “The girl was innocent,” Georgios said. “When she was attacked I thought of my own daughter. If anyone had beat her like that I would have killed him. Before I recovered my wits enough to help her, the boy, the defendant Alexios, knocked the staff from Nikodemos.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Nikodemos picked up the staff and attacked Alexios while he was helping the girl. He knocked him to the ground and was about to hit him again”‌—‌Georgios glanced at Seb‌—‌”until you stopped him. Nikodemos was crazy and would have killed Alexios. I would have done the same as you.” He paused. “I couldn’t have fought like you, though. What a fight! You would have won if he hadn’t pulled the knife. A low trick like that and him a magistrate! If Alexios hadn’t come up and hit him with the staff, you’d be dead. You owe him your life.”

  Seb turned to the jury. “Members of the jury, I believed then, as now, that Alexios’s only concern was to protect the lives of people who he knew were innocent of any crime.” He again faced Georgios. “As a witness to these events, Georgios, do you believe Alexios guilty of murder?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Thank you for coming forward and giving this court a truthful account.”

  Georgios stepped down from the platform, content with himself. He knew without any doubt Alexios was an honourable man. And Sebastian! What of him‌—‌no more than a slave? Better than any citizen Georgios knew. And what a fighter! Sebastian had fought like that to save his life, no more.

  As Georgios left to join the spectators, Seb took a moment to prepare the final stage of his argument.

  “Athenians, it’s true that I am a slave. I work as a sandal-maker with Andreas, and my homeland is far from here. Melitta too is a slave. I would ask you, is a slave to be judged dishonourable by default in Athens? Where is the fairness in that? According to the civic records, slaves comprise one third of the population of Athens. Many of you in the jury know slaves as friends. Are we all corrupt?

  “We work your fields, we build your roads, we construct your homes. We do the work that many Athenians consider inferior work. I recognise good men when I meet them, Athenians or slaves. I recognise injustice. Georgios spoke the truth: Nikodemos was a cruel and violent man, not a good Athenian. He was himself responsible for his terrible fate, as much as any man who abuses the rights of others, whether citizens or slaves. Now he is dead, answerable only to the gods. His family and friends may mourn him, but he finds no redemption in this court!

  “Alexios has committed no crime, and yet he stands accountable for the death of Nikodemos. I ask you to find that Alexios killed Nikodemos in order to protect others from certain death‌—‌an act of justifiable homicide in Athenian law‌—‌and that he is therefore not guilty of murder. I ask you to do your duty, to honour your laws, by delivering the only just verdict‌—‌not guilty.”

  As was customary in the law courts, there was no deliberation. Each juror had been given two jurors’ ballots‌—‌small bronze discs, one with a hollow hub for guilty, the other with a solid hub for acquittal. Only one was used to cast his vote.

  Holding one ballot in each hand with the thumb and forefinger concealing the hub, the jurors filed past two large earthenware urns. Each juror deposited the ballot representing his vote in the official urn and placed the other in the discard urn. When all votes had been cast, the court officials counted them. At the end of the count, Alexios was declared not guilty by a vote of 420 to 81.

  As they all filed out of the courtroom and onto the street, Seb was accosted at every step by excited supporters wanting to praise him. He and Alexios were flushed with their success and Seb couldn’t remember when he had felt so elated. Stepping into the late afternoon light he heard someone speak his name.

  “Sebastian.”

  He turned to face Dareios. “What do you want?” he said, tense and cautious.

  Dareios kept his voice low. “Change is coming, Sebastian. Be warned. You believe in this system of justice but a new system will replace it. The Age of Akropolis is upon us.”

  He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  14

  Korinna stood still. There was a movement in the corner of the darkening room. It was late in the day and she was waiting for the return home of Zenon and Alexios. She had left the courthouse, unable to sit through the verdict count, and was waiting outside when the spectators spilled onto the street, followed by jurors, witnesses, the defence team‌—‌all united in victory. She had wept with relief, then left her son and her husband to their celebrations.

  She had wandered the house restlessly since then, aware there were problems ahead. In the years since she had arrived here as part of the First Transition, Korinna had kept her identity a secret from all but her husband. Within her close circle, she knew no other Survivors. These days she rarely saw Kleitos, her Guide, who had long taken on other responsibilities. She was deeply embedded and her assimilation had been all but complete. There had been only one journey outside this timespace, nothing since then. Now there was Sebastian, and only she and Zenon knew the truth.

  The interior of the andron was cool and dim. A small window overlooked the street and another faced an inner courtyard. Most nights Zenon entertained friends here to discuss politics and current affairs, but by day it had become Korinna’s chosen retreat to think calmly upon recent events.

  “Who is there?” she said, alert, peering into the dark. She supposed it was a servant, looking for a quiet place to rest a moment.

  Out of the shadows emerged a tall, loose-limbed boy and a dark-haired girl with striking looks, both regarding her apprehensively. Korinna froze in shock. Immediately she realised they were from another timespace‌—‌their appearance, their perplexed air. They were clearly unaware of their present location.

  Why were they here without a Guide?

  “Come into the light,” she said softly, “I need to talk to you quickly before the others get back.”

  Nat glanced at Norika. The woman was speaking in her own language but they could understand her words. How was that possible?

  Norika said, “Where are we?”

  “You’re in Athens during the time of Perikles. My name is Korinna.”

  She understands us. They walked closer and stood facing her. The room, Korinna’s clothes, her hair, reminded Nat of an illustration from an ancient history textbook.

  He said, “I’m Nathaniel, this is Norika.”

  “Why are you here?” Korinna said. “Are y
ou searching for something‌—‌or someone?” She looked at Nathaniel closely. There was a familiar look about him, a resemblance she now recognised in the light. “Do you know someone called Sebastian?”

  “Seb is my brother!” Nat said. “Do you know him? Where can I find him?”

  Korinna frowned. If they had been tracked, Sebastian was in immediate danger. She needed to contact Kleitos and warn him.

  She said, “Sebastian is on his way here with my son Alexios. I ask you to remain in this room until they arrive. I will bring food.”

  Nat and Norika exchanged looks.

  “We’ll wait here,” said Norika. “Thank you.”

  When Korinna had gone, Norika nudged Nat urgently. “Look down,” she said in a low voice. Nat followed her gaze and his eyes widened. The entire floor was a mosaic with a series of decorative borders surrounding its centrepiece. Even in the half-light he could see they were standing on the mosaic from the diagram‌—‌below their feet was the messenger pigeon perched on the vessel.

  “This is the first destination!” Norika said. “We’re meant to be here.”

  They looked around the room. Several low couches were placed against the walls and tables held oil lamps. They looked through the window onto the courtyard. Outside a child was bouncing a ball while in one corner a tethered goat munched on scraps.

  Norika settled herself on cushions to wait. Nat paced restlessly.

  The light had almost gone when Korinna arrived with bread, cheese and olives. She placed the food on a table and fetched a taper to light the lamps. Then she left, promising to return with Seb.

  They ate well and sat back satisfied. Nat began to feel uneasy. Where was Seb? Could they trust anyone here?

  They were dozing on the cushions when they heard voices outside the room. A youth was first through the door, followed by an older man. “I am Alexios,” the boy said, “and this is my father Zenon.”

  Nat looked past them for Seb to appear. “Where’s my brother?” he asked, suddenly fearful.

  “Seb has gone,” Alexios said. “We don’t know where he is. We’ve searched the streets, but we can’t find any trace of him. We were walking home from the courts when he disappeared.” He looked to his father.

  Zenon stepped forward. “Someone, a stranger, approached Seb, they were conversing, there was no apparent force. We don’t know where he is, but we believe he’s safe.” He turned to his son. “Alexios, please ask your mother to join us here.”

  After his son had left the room, Zenon said, “I am an Athenian citizen, as is my son. We were born here in Athens. My wife is different, out of place, like Sebastian.” He paused a moment. “Alexios knows nothing of this.”

  Korinna had entered the room quietly and stood beside Zenon. She said, “Sebastian was repositioned in this timespace, with a Guide. We believe his identity was discovered by his enemies and his Guide has removed him before they could take action.”

  Seb’s enemies? Who were they? Nat looked at Norika, trying to get her attention. We should get out of here.

  “What do you mean, with a Guide?” Norika asked.

  “Guides are appointed by the Committee of the First Transition. Kleitos is Sebastian’s Guide here in Athens, as he was mine. If Kleitos is with him, he will be safe.”

  Nat remembered Yoshiki had mentioned a Committee. On an impulse he asked Korinna, “Do you know Yoshiki?”

  Korinna hesitated. “Yoshiki is a Descendant of the first Survivors. He once led the Committee, in a timespace beyond mine. There have been many leaders since the Committee was set up. In your time its members are mostly Descendants.”

  Nat took a few paces. “Okay. Which are you?”

  Korinna said evenly, “I am a Survivor. This is my timespace, where my code is unremarkable and has gone unnoticed. Unfortunately, Sebastian’s code marks him.”

  Nat stared at her. “Seb’s a Descendant? I don’t believe you. He’s from St Annes, like me!” His voice had gone up a pitch. He tried to keep his arms still, slowed his breathing. Stay calm.

  “Sebastian’s father was a Descendant,” said Korinna, “murdered because of his belief in a changing, hybrid society. St Annes is not safe, there’s nowhere safe from Ascendants since the Second Transition began.” She knew it would take time to convince him, too much time. She turned to Zenon and made a decision. “Nathaniel and Norika can sleep here tonight and tomorrow we will find Kleitos. A night’s rest will prepare them for the long day. I’ll send Melitta to arrange it.”

  Norika was thinking she needed to sleep, no matter where she happened to be.

  “What about our clothes?” she said, “We look strange dressed like this.”

  “Chitons and cloaks will cover your clothes while you’re here,” Korinna said. “Melitta will bring them.”

  After they left, Norika took a couch and Nat the one opposite. Fatigue overcame them and when Melitta arrived with bedding and clothing they were already asleep on the cushions. The girl left the garments on a chair and quietly left the room.

  * * *

  Kleitos had told Seb, you will know when someone comes for you.

  When it happened, at a time when he was exhilarated with success, Seb wasn’t ready. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected to be repositioned. He had thought several times lately he was being watched. On the streets near the marketplace or on the way to Zenon’s house he would sense a presence, as if he were being followed. He knew that the trial had made him more visible not just to Athenians but to those Ascendants who Kleitos had warned were looking for him. His busy routine‌—‌working with Andreas, preparing for the trial, meeting with Zenon’s friends‌—‌had distracted him and he’d become careless.

  There were times he wished he’d paid more attention in Miss Irwin’s class, so he could fully appreciate the significance of the reforms enacted here every week in the law courts or at the assembly. Some of them seemed so inconsequential, so minor, that their later importance in history, easy to recognise in retrospect, astonished him. He spent a great deal of time making notes on contemporary figures, poets he’d met, playwrights whose plays he’d seen performed at the Theatre of Dionysos. He was pleased he’d remembered quite a few.

  Now someone had come for him. He had thought if not Kleitos, it might be Korinna. Ever since she’d spoken to him on the street, he’d known she was like him, someone out of her time. Don’t forget where you came from. He had thought a lot about those words over the past months.

  As it turned out, it was a stranger who came.

  Seb had been celebrating the outcome of the trial, high on the praise of his team following his defence of Alexios. Seb’s group was walking back home, Seb a short distance ahead of the others, when they were overtaken by revellers from a nearby symposium, drinking, calling out, singing, as they passed. After they’d moved on, one remained.

  Seb was surprised when the man addressed him by name.

  “Sebastian, a moment please,” said the stranger. He spoke in a soft voice, unheard by the others. “I am Demokritos, your new Guide. You have been discovered, you must be repositioned. Are you ready?”

  Seb recoiled slightly. Not yet. Not now. But he realised the foolishness of resistance. He glanced back at the others. They were laughing and talking together, oblivious to his dilemma. He turned to Demokritos and nodded briefly.

  Demokritos took Seb’s arm and led him forward into a now shimmering section of the street. A few seconds of darkness and they were standing in Andreas’s empty shop. Seb could see the familiar contours of the benches by the pale moonlight through the window. He turned to Demokritos with an unspoken question. Why here?

  Demokritos said, “Collect your belongings, you will need them.”

  Seb moved fast, retrieving his pack from where he’d hidden it and removing the leather pouch from underneath the bench. He took out his timeband and fastened it to his wrist.

  Thoughts crowded his mind. He wished he could have thanked Andreas before he left. Andreas had been
his mentor in Athens and Seb would remember their long discussions. The sandal-maker had kept Seb informed on Athenian life and society, and in turn, Seb had told him about his island home. Seb never once revealed its location, but talking about Tasmania had eased his early homesickness, and Andreas had requested no more information than Seb volunteered.

  He would miss Andreas. He would miss Athens. He checked his timeband.

  “I’ve lost track of time,” he said. “Did Kleitos send you? What’s happened?”

  “Kleitos is dead. Don’t worry about lost time. I’ll brief you as we go,” Demokritos said. “We have to leave. The Committee is waiting.”

  15

  Athens stirred early, noisy and busy. The sun had barely come up and merchants and stallholders were setting up their wares in the marketplace. In arcades small groups of students were gathered around their teachers. Children were out playing ballgames and rolling hoops along the street.

  Nat stood gazing at the activity from the window while Norika inspected the chitons and sandals left by Melitta. She chose a creamy-coloured rectangle of cloth with an embroidered border, which she draped around herself, fastening the fabric at the shoulders so that it covered her white tanktop. It fell to below her knees, revealing a glimpse of her long cotton pants beneath. She secured it around her waist with a long strip of leather and slipped her feet into the sandals. Pleased with the effect, she tested it by walking a few paces with the confidence of a well-born Athenian.

  Nat turned to see her and thought how beautiful she looked, how self-assured.

  They had slept long and deeply on the cushions, and he was restless to start searching for Seb. Norika tossed him a chiton which he managed to adjust to cover his board shorts and t-shirt. He checked his pockets‌—‌the rock and phone were safe.

  Korinna had explained the workings of the household. The women had their own quarters at the rear of the house where the kitchen opened on to a small garden. The front of the house was reserved for the men and their guests, although in practice many families shared meals. The role of women was changing, Korinna told them. Those like Aspasia, the partner of the great Perikles, had growing influence in intellectual circles and public life. Such insider information absorbed Norika. She wondered what it would be like to live here in Athens during these times, and hoped for the opportunity to question Korinna further.