Roxana trudged back to Pericles's residence, utterly spent after a full day of trials at the Areopagus. She had watched him scold the traitors and sentence the conspirators of last week's uprising. But after shadowing him for several days, she realized he wasn't quite as harsh as he'd first appeared. There was a constant cloud over him—Roxana guessed it was the grief from losing his wife, Aspasia, to the plague. His solitude fueled long nights of study and reflection. Unlike Alcibiades, he despised symposia and public festivals. Still, as an orator, he was unmatched: he could sway the common people and unsettle the very elites he belonged to. Roxana had seen this game before, and it rarely ended well.
Though she wasn't an Athenian citizen, Pericles had twice summoned her to testify on his behalf. Three elder magistrates —scions of the city's most venerable families — demanded the death penalty for the men who'd assaulted and murdered their daughters during the revolt. Pericles alone dared challenge them in public, yet behind closed doors, he'd lifted not a finger to halt the executions. Roxana understood his strategy perfectly — and recognized herself as one of his chess pieces. She wouldn't play much longer.
Only yesterday her reply from Lesbos arrived, aboard a ship that bore the unmistakable scars of battle — likely a skirmish with pirates. The letter had warned that Deucalion's health was failing fast, but better news awaited: Athens would soon have thirty more triremes added to its fleet, even more than Pericles had dared hope. He'd seemed pleased, and for the first time, even let her read the latest dispatches from his contact in Eretria. The city was at a crossroads: should they stand firm or open their gates to Sparta, which after sacking Thebes now pressed at their walls? The magistrate feared the opposition faction would prevail and betray their city at any moment. Roxana was surprised Pericles would reveal such sensitive intelligence — and more surprised at how calmly he took the news.
Arriving home, she retired straight to her chambers. The maid, who'd anticipated her return, had drawn a generous bath. Sinking into the warm water, Roxana reflected on everything that had happened that day. Wrapping herself in a lightweight linen cloak, she slipped out to the central garden and felt the cool of early evening brush against her skin. There, she opened her poetry book and began jotting down lines. The first poem fizzled at its midpoint. The next one ran aground well before the final stanza. One after another, none reached completion.
Then— just as Sappho had taught her — she tried weaving fragments into something new, but it all felt too shallow. Finally she set the book aside in frustration and stared out over the lake. A rush of memories flooded her mind, kindling warmth in her chest, and she wrote line after line about the man who'd once skimmed these very waters. Where was he now? she wondered. She'd never had the chance to say goodbye; he'd already departed when she'd returned from another long round of meetings. By now he must be in Thebes, pursuing whatever he sought. She didn't blame him. Even though these walls no longer made her feel small, they hardly felt like home. She was always on edge — and ever since the revolt, no one would let her go anywhere unaccompanied. I'm a prisoner, she thought.
Her reverie was broken when the maid appeared to deliver an invitation from Pericles. Roxana nodded, left her poetry behind, and climbed to the third floor. She rapped on the heavy dark wood door. A muffled voice beckoned her in. The room was inky black, save for a single candle flickering on the table beside the figure who invited her forward. All the windows were shuttered; the sharp scent of wine lingered in the air.
— Please, sit — The voice said. She obeyed. Pericles continued reading from a long scroll without once looking up.
— I trust you understand the gravity of the situation in Eretria? — he began.
— Perfectly.
— Excellent. I need your help one last time
— Pericles — She interrupted — when does this become more than a one-sided arrangement?
He narrowed his eyes under the dim glow. — How so?
— I've spent the last week following you around, testified on your behalf, mobilized the ships you requested… and you've yet to fulfill your end of the bargain. What's really happening in Eretria? Where is the ship? — She ground her teeth.
— You read the letters…
— I read only what you chose to show me — she cut in — I'm tired of your stories. I don't believe any of them. I want the truth.
He laughed, dryly. He set the scroll aside and laced his fingers beneath his chin.
— You seek truth in the wrong place, child. I hope you know that.
— Don't call me child — she snapped — You know my name, and you'll use it properly. Now tell me the truth. No theatrics, no speeches, no beating around the bush or I will leave your excessively large house this very moment and send your precious fleet to the bottom of the Aegean alongside those damned pirates. And believe me, I'll find a way to do it.
This time he did not laugh. He stared at some distant point just over her left shoulder, remaining motionless.
— I knew your father, you know.
Roxana exhaled, her shoulders dropping as the lines of anger smoothed from her brow.
— H-how?
— It was a tragedy — he said softly. — I lost good man that day.
— Explain yourself! — she demanded, shifting in her chair. — My father… how could you…?
— Amphipolis — he began, impatience edging his voice — It was an Athenian colony, surely you knew that. — He paused at her outburst, then continued briskly. — Of course you know. Founded long before either of us were born, but it only truly mattered about a decade ago. Your father was among the first, one of the few to volunteer for that mission. We'd just learned that route was part of a vital trade artery stretching from the heart of the continent to distant eastern lands. Barbarians plagued those roads then, as they do now, and our outpost became a kind of safe harbor. Transporting precious goods over land was foolish and dangerous.
She rolled her eyes. — I still don't see where you're going with this story.
— Just listen. That's where your father comes in. We were occupied expelling the last Persians to the south, and the war had already cost us dearly. So I combed the city's alleys for anyone who'd ever served in our navy, mostly rowers, though by then skill didn't matter. I kept searching until I found your father. A poor outsider, but ambitious, and he crafted wood like few I'd seen. I thought, What if we put this man to work building ships? And he agreed, volunteered eagerly. A week later he was on a vessel bound for Amphipolis and he stayed there until his death. If anyone deserves to speak for Athens's unchallenged presence in the Aegean, it's him.
— So that's it? My father was just another one of your successful investments?
— Not at all, Roxana. Your father was a great man. I wept when I heard of his death. — She gave a mocking cough.
— When I learned your daughter was alive and held captive in Pella, I personally contacted the governor to intervene and he released her.
— Too late.
— How?
— Too late! — she yelled.
— Perhaps. In any case, what happened to your sister was a tragedy. What was her name again?
— It doesn't matter. She'll be all right. I'll help her — she murmured, almost to herself.
— Roxana?
— Look — she interrupted — I'm weary of your tale. Why are you telling me all this? To persuade me to help you?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then rose and poured two goblets of wine. Roxana shook her head, so he drained hers and set it aside. Still silent, he crossed to the window, threw back the shutters, and cold night air swept the room. Looking out over the moonlit Athenian rooftops, Pericles finally spoke.
— When I learned that one of Arcesius's daughters had been taken captive by that ragtag band, I spared no effort to find her — he said. At Roxana's faint, ironic exhale, he went on — Of course, we'd already been on their trail. They'd ambushed at least ten supply caravans in the region, so stopping them was our priority. But only when I heard you'd been taken did I reassign Deucalion's detachment to the area and entrust him with the mission. Thankfully, they found her and freed her. I first learned the details from a letter I read with my wife.
— My wife… Aspasia… she was a dear friend of Sappho's — he added, and Roxana sat up straighter — As you know, Deucalion is Sappho's husband, and… well, we persuaded them to shelter you. Sappho was more than willing… She's always helped women in dire straits. I think that's one reason Aspasia admired her so deeply. And that's why I welcomed you under my roof and have listened to your every word. I care about you, Roxana, and I want to help.
Roxana said nothing. Her knees jittered like loose parts; she shifted uncomfortably in the chair, the old scars along her back throbbing. A low, insistent buzzing filled her ears. She pressed her palms to them, but the sound persisted. It came from within. A chill ran through her, sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped onto her linen cloak like tears. In an instant, her eyes closed, and she found herself in a vast, sapphire-hued cavern, where a voice answered her.
— Fresh bread with hooooney — called a little girl's voice.
— Honey, honey, honey, hon… — echoed the cave.
— Sheep's cheese with fiiiiigssss.
— Figs, figs, figs, fig…
— Stop it, Roxana — scolded another voice.
— I'm hungryyy.
— Hungry, hungry, hungry, hun…
— I've already given you almost everything. There's only one wing left for me.
— Hungryyyy!
— Alright, you pest. Go ahead and eat. I'll look for some fruit. You think you'll be okay?
— Yes. But hurry. I'm…
— Hungry! I got it, I got it. Don't do anything foolish. I'll be right back.
— I won'tttt.
— I will, I will, I will….
Then everything went black. She felt someone seize her hair and agony like her scalp was being torn away. Suddenly she slammed onto damp stone, the wind knocked from her lungs as she gasped for air.
He shoved her away.
— Let go of me, you idiot!
— Thought you'd get away with it again, didn't you?
— I don't know what you're talking about — she muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.
— Oh, you know exactly what I mean and soon everyone will. I'm going to have your right hand for this, thief!
— Okay, okay, okay. Can you just leave me alone? You're insufferable.
— Not only a thief, but insolent as well. Didn't your mother ever teach you how to speak to a man, girl? You're going to get what you deserve. Just wait and see!
He slammed the door, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Then came a torrent. When she next opened her eyes, she was on the floor of Pericles's study. He knelt beside her, concern etched on his face. She realized she was still crying.
— Roxana? Are you alright? What happened?
— Nothing — she snapped, pushing herself to her feet.
— You…?
—Yes, yes. I'm fine. Now, where were we?
— Are you sure…?
— I SAID I'M FINE, PERICLES!
He fell silent, then cleared his throat.
— You were asking how I intend to help you. Well…
— Cut to it. How do you plan to help me, Pericles?
— I need you to go to Eretria.
— Eretria?
He nodded.
— Yes. That's what the letter I sent you to deliver requested.
— Why Eretria? What for?
— The dispatch calls our Athenian fleet to retake the city and root out the traitors eager to join Sparta.
— But you said you'd send ships to reclaim the Aegean and drive out the pirates…
— We will. Later.
— Later? — She laughed, furious — You're unbelievable.
— Roxana, this is military strategy. You don't…
— You don't think I'd understand? Fine. Explain it.
Pericles exhaled.
— If we send our fleet to Lesbos and the surrounding isles and Eretria opens its gates to Sparta our rear would be completely exposed.
— But the pirates…
— There were pirates before the war, yes. A few dozen, perhaps. Now there are hundreds, and they haunt exactly the islands in the Delian League. Coincidence?
— You think Sparta backs them?
— Not overtly. Spartans don't usually dabble in that sort of thing. But trust me, there's rotten blood in those ranks. That's why I sent Demosthenes to Samos.
— Demosthenes and… Cadmus? — she remembered, startled by her own poem.
— Cadmus assisted him, yes, but Demosthenes's mission was to discover why local governors had stopped answering our communications. Our spies reported suspicious activity in the ports.
— And what did Demosthenes learn?
—That the Persians are involved — Pericles spat the word like spoiled fruit.
— But… the peace treaty…
— A dracma can't buy its own shadow now. Tissaphernes, the satrap in that region, is funding those pirates and likely helping Sparta build ships. Their navy was never strong. That sudden shift and the disaster at Syracuse only makes sense if the Persians are bankrolling them.
— So that means…
— It means we have another enemy. And the last thing I want is to be trapped between Spartans, Persians, pirates, and cowardly traitors. That's why I need your help.
— But this makes no sense. Lesbos will…
— Lesbos will suffer from pirates, yes. But sending a fleet there would be suicide in under a week. No. We must secure our defenses first so we can protect our allies.
— Why not send Demosthenes? Why me?
— A fair question. Demosthenes's situation spiraled beyond my control. His mission to Samos wasn't council-approved, and I wouldn't explain my reasons publicly. Persian and Spartan spies are everywhere. If he'd known, he'd have been compromised. And then Alcibiades that ass staged the Syracuse fiasco behind my back. Half the fleet was destroyed by the Spartans; we lost at sea! — His anger burst through for the first time. — I couldn't publicly challenge him or Samos would come up. And look where that got us. So I had to find a way to save both Demosthenes's skin and my own. In wartime, every man counts. I figured no one would oppose sending him to Megara. They're strangely fond of that place.
— But Megara isn't unimportant.
— Megara matters, yes. But Corinth, a major Spartan ally, borders Megara, while we're farther away. They have a superior supply route. Megara will fall sooner or late, that's inevitable.
— So… you sent Demosthenes to his death?
— Demosthenes is a soldier. Soldiers wage war. Confine them to comfort, and they war within themselves. Look at Cadmus
— Cadmus? How…
— Finally, to answer your question: I need you in Eretria because I don't want it to become a bloodbath. There are rotten elements, yes, but not all of them. I need you to root them out from within.
— But I don't…
— You are an exceptional diplomat. A powerful orator. I can't think of anyone better.
— Pericles…
— I know you care about the fleet and that's why I'm giving you this safe-conduct and my diplomatic seal. It will grant you access to anything you need to know.
He held out his hands: in one, a sealed parchment; in the other, a silver token bearing the owl of Athens set in lapis lazuli.