Memnon Read Online Free PDF Page B

veneer of blood. “I sense the hand of a god in this,” he said. “Very well, son of Timocrates. Go in peace with my thanks. Perhaps someday the gods will allow me to discharge my obligation to you.”
    Memnon turned and ascended the last few steps. “I said you owe me nothing.” But, his voice was lost amid the cries of victory that arose from the Assembly building. They could only claim dominance by the slenderest of margins, but claim it they did.
    Memnon imagined word of the battle had already reached the harbor.
The oligarchs have risen! Death to the democrats!
Both factions would arm themselves with spears and javelins, swords and knives, arrows and sling stones. Old soldiers would take their shields down from the hearth; young soldiers would don their bronze panoplies. Merchants would beat a hasty retreat to their country manors, or load their wealth onto ships bound for secluded beachheads on the western shore of the island. The threat of civil war, of
stasis,
would paralyze the city. Memnon glanced back over his shoulder at Philolaus, who held court amid the wounded like a conquering king.
All of this because I spared you.
    Memnon had not reckoned that his act of conscience might cost Rhodes its life.

2
     
    “C OME AWAY FROM THE WINDOW,” T HALIA SAID, CLUTCHING HER bedclothes tight. The rooms she rented above a tavern on the Street of Ophioussa, near the temple of Aphrodite, reminded Memnon of the seraglio of a Persian satrap. Paneled and furnished in dark wood, its four lamps, two of polished bronze and two of terracotta, drove away the shadows, their sweetened smoke mingling with a haze of costly frankincense. Colorful carpets and brocades covered the floor and the walls. Wide-eyed, Thalia gestured to Memnon. “Please! Come sit by me. I’m afraid.”
    Memnon smiled, but stood his ground, peering out into the flame-flecked night through drawn shutters. At dusk, Rhodes had erupted in an orgy of fiery violence. A foreign mob, no doubt purchased with Carian gold, rampaged through the homes and shops of known democrats, torching what they could not kill or carry off. Though he’d hoped otherwise, this descent into
stasis
caught his father’s faction off guard; the threat of mob rule swayed any who might have thrown in with them to the oligarch’s cause. Disgusted, Memnon turned from the window.
    “Please, Memnon!” Tears sparkled on Thalia’s lashes.
    The young Rhodian sat beside Thalia, pulling her into his embrace. “Don’t worry yourself so,” he said, stroking her tawny hair. Thalia came from Cyrene in North Africa; her straw-colored hair, common in her homeland, gave her an exotic cast favored by the jaded sailors of Rhodes. “This will be over soon, and your life will return to normal.”
    “But what will I do with you gone?” she said. “Who will care for me?”
    “I expect you’ll find yourself a fat, rich merchant and settle down to a life of luxury. Maybe even see something of the world, yourself.” Memnon had no illusions about the young woman in his arms. Men were a flock of sheep to her; some ripe for shearing, others earmarked for the altar of Aphrodite—sacrifices to the patron goddess of the
hetaera.
Among men, Thalia could be as sleek and predatory as any leopard.
    “The world holds no allure for me if I’m not at your side,” she said, her voice a throaty murmur. She craned her neck, kissing the hard line of his jaw. “Take me with you.”
    Memnon shook his head. “A mercenary camp is no place for a woman of your tastes. The food is of the roughest sort, inedible by all save the hungriest of foot soldiers. And there are no beds, no sheets. Everyone sleeps on the ground at the mercy of the heat and the cold, exposed to the elements. Can you see yourself carrying my gear over mountains and through valleys? No, Thalia. A life as a mercenary’s woman is not one I’d wish on you.”
    “Forget the mercenary life, then,” she said. “We could go to Ephesus or Athens or