Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2005

“I count myself blessed by the gods indeed to have Tidius assigned to my play,” Sophocles said. “We shall, I think, Phidias, see a performance as great as Tidius gave in The Persians. And now that our actors are also given prizes in competition, Tidius shall receive his just recognition.”

“Persians? More talk of Persians?” Nicias came up behind Phidias and myself. He slipped between us and sidled up to Sophocles. “I do not understand this obsession some people have with our former enemies. After all, those days are over. Most of us have no further interest in the Persians or even in plays about them. The performances of old Aeschylus are gone too,” he said, turning to Phidias. “We have young and imaginative playwrights like Sophocles here. With the help of young actors, Sophocles will climb to glory. I myself think it is inevitable.”

Sophocles blanched.

Phidias made a choking sound. “Do pardon me,” he said. “I seem to have something stuck in my throat. Perhaps a bit of bad bread oversweetened with honey.”

I thought for a moment that Nicias might swing at Phidias, but the actor was too clever for that. He wouldn’t want to offend either Sophocles or Pericles by attacking their friend. “Well perhaps,” Nicias sneered, “the honey will help. They say it has curative powers for that which is sour.”

I laid a restraining hand on Phidias’ arm. “Well there you are,” I said, looking Nicias in the eye, “even drones with their honey are good for something then.” I considered ducking behind Phidias then but, like the quail, decided to hold my ground. Of course, I was more broad-shouldered than Nicias, so I can’t claim the honor, as the quail could, for standing up to an enemy larger than myself.

Phidias grinned at me, then announced that he had come to the agora in search of some talented artists to help with the sculpture for the Parthenon. “Since the only talents I see here,” he said, “are Kleides’ sophistic wisdom, Sophocles’ writing, and Tidius’ acting, I shall have to seek elsewhere. Unless, my dear Nicias...” He paused. “Unless you know some talented men among your Persian friends?”

Phidias turned and strode off.

I thought I heard Nicias mumble something about the taste of rotten eels. He turned to Sophocles. “You’ve been in the public eye ever since you were chosen to lead the dance of victory after we defeated the Persian navy at Salamis. You’ve been chosen for public offices in the democracy and are likely to be chosen for more. You know, as well as I do, the importance of forging ties to achieve victories. It is hardly a crime to see the Persians as possible allies, perhaps against Corinth. Why, we all know that one of the judges for the play and actor competitions is quite friendly with one of the Persian ambassadors.”

“You indeed have more knowledge than I have,” Sophocles said.

“Yes, well I believe that you know several of the judges just as I do,” Nicias said, “and Kleides here knows how important knowledge is.”

I considered decking the sniveling boar for his nasty implication about Sophocles. While I was debating the wisdom of that action, Nicias reached out to put an arm round my shoulder, but I sidestepped away rather neatly.

This didn’t bother Nicias at all. He went on smoothly. “I would certainly like to act in one of your plays soon, Sophocles. I think we could be successful together. You know the plays of Ion, even though I am acting in one this year, are increasingly dull.”

Sophocles had had enough. “I doubt that we could work together at all. Our principles are entirely different. Perhaps you might appeal to the Persians. I know that they do not practice our Greek invention of theatre, but they do have spectacles into which you might fit.”

I smiled. This was very sharp talk for the normally polite and charming Sophocles. Phidias would have been pleased.

“You will pardon me now,” Sophocles said to me. “Tidius and I must go the forgers’ area to secure a sword for the play.”

I was still thinking about leveling Nicias for his insidious implication about Sophocles. Sophocles was thoroughly honest and his talent too great to need influence with the judges. Reluctant to risk a black eye or bruised chin, since I intended spending the night with the nubile Selkine, I settled for a comment. “Cheer up, Nicias, perhaps at the next Great Dionysian Theatre Festival you can serve as Sophocles’ prop man. A man of talent like Sophocles shouldn’t have to waste his time securing props.”

Nicias glared. “Well, I must go now to the animal vendors in the agora to purchase a weasel. There are too many mice about in Athens, and I’d like to have the weasel get rid of a few.”

I stepped up to Nicias. “Waste of a drachma for you to buy a weasel. You could just catch the mice yourself.” It wasn’t that clever, but I was angry.

His long, sharp nose quivered. I figured that I’d have to deal with a bruised chin after all. But I’d be able to inflict some pretty good damage myself.

Nicias stepped back. His weasel nose twitched.

I smiled.