Memnon Read Online Free PDF Page A

head bowed in thought. Finally, he looked up. “You admire men such as Alcibiades, Pericles, Socrates? They are great men in your esteem, aren’t they? Peerless politicians and statesmen?”
    “Yes, and you could be their equal, if only you’d listen to me!”
    Memnon stood and caught Timocrates by the shoulders. He wanted to shake him. “These men, father, were all soldiers first! They knew the value of blood spilled in the cause of glory; they knew the horrors of war, which made them, in later life, never enter into it lightly. I cannot hope to rise to be their equal by sitting at the feet of dried out demagogues. I must strike out on my own, see the world for myself and decide my own fate. Surely you understand?”
    Timocrates sighed, his resistance crumbling. “I forget sometimes that you are a child no longer. Perhaps my blessing …” he trailed off. The sound of sandals crunching on gravel brought a frown to the older man’s face. Memnon followed his gaze and saw Glaucus running full out down the path toward them. He skidded, nearly falling.
    “Peace, Glaucus. What goes?” Timocrates said.
    The secretary, his racking breath flecked with spittle and sweat, pointed back to the Assembly building. “Come quickly! It’s Philolaus! He’s trying to force a vote!”

     
    “I S IT NOT THE HALLMARK OF A DEMOCRACY TO ALLOW THE PEOPLE TO decide their own fate?” Philolaus stood atop the plinth, surrounded by a sea of upturned faces. Their voices threatened to drown him out. He gestured to the impassioned crowd. “To deny the people their right to vote, when a quorum is present, is tantamount to dismissing the basic premise of your beloved democracy!”
    Diogenes, perched on the highest riser in order to be seen, thrust his staff at Philolaus. “I will not allow you to mock our greatest institution! There are rituals to observe before a vote can be taken! Traditions to follow! We—”
    “Ritual and tradition? Fear and sloth, more like! Are you too afraid, Diogenes, or are you simply too lazy to fulfill your obligations to the people?”
    “He is neither!” Timocrates thrust his way through the Assembly, Memnon and Glaucus in his wake, and took the plinth beside Philolaus. “Diogenes is wise. He’s forgotten more about the inner workings of democracy than you or I will ever know! The law is plain, Philolaus! The Council can vote upon no measure or decree without prior deliberation! To suggest otherwise is to risk exile, or worse!”
    Diogenes nodded, vindicated, but Philolaus only laughed.
    “This is why it takes the word of Zeus Savior himself to accomplish anything in a democracy! A council of old men fattened on spoils stolen from the people decides what can and cannot be discussed? Tell me, how is that any different from an oligarchy? Drop this pretense of freedom and admit …”
    Memnon felt the crowd’s agitation; he felt the heat, the pressure of their anger. He glanced up at his father. Timocrates and Philolaus stood toe to toe, so caught up in their own feud that they were oblivious to the effect their words had on their followers. Like oxen with blinders, they plowed on, shouting each other down, debating esoteric points of law at the tops of their lungs. Beneath the plinth, scuffles broke out. Men shoved one another, cursed, spat, and struggled like leashed dogs.
    “Can they not see what they’re doing?” Memnon said, clutching Glaucus’s arm. “We’ve got to separate them before they cause a riot!” Glaucus, though, could only stare, his eyes wide, his fist upraised in defiance of tyranny. Memnon released him, turned …
    Something whistled past his ear. A rock, smaller than a child’s fist, missed Timocrates by a fingerbreadth and struck Philolaus above his right eye. The oligarch reeled, clutching at his forehead.
    “No!” Memnon yelled. But, at the sight of the oligarch’s blood, the simmering crowd boiled over in a frenzy of rage. All semblance of order fled as men turned on one