Empire of Ashes: A Novel of Alexander the Great

XXIII

Machon hauled himself to his feet. With the possible exception of the archon, he appeared to be the most dejected man in the room.

“Regarding the first charge, failure to fulfill his oath to the Assembly, the jury finds the defendant, Machon son of Agathon, not guilty. The votes are 251–249…”

The room erupted as the jurors turned on each other. Accusations were met with counter-accusations, hands raised in denial, fingers jabbed in every chest. Deuteros was almost pushed off his bench as a juror leapt to his feet behind him, screaming that the vote had been fixed. Another raised his arms toward heaven beseechingly, crying “May the gods protect us from the fury of the Macedonians!” Soon the bailiff’s truncheons were swinging, men were hitting the floor, and two citizens dueled with knives. It took some time before order was restored.

Swallow was silent throughout the riot. In fact, this was only the second most even tally he had seen in his time. Machon was acquitted by a margin of two. Five years earlier Swallow participated in a corruption trial that ended 251 to 250, with the tiebreaking vote for conviction cast by the archon.

“Whatever we do, we must talk to that shepherd!” he told Deuteros.

“On the matter of the second charge of impiety,” Polycleitus announced at last, “the jury finds the defendant not guilty. The votes are 309 to 191. Clerk, release the jurors.”

The five hundred poured out in the alley in front of the courthouse. The jurors were each clutching their jury-pay-seven newly-minted obols-in their hands. Despite the lateness of the hour, a number of vendors on the agora stayed open for business. A man went around selling fresh water from a spigotted skin on his back. Another hawked flatbread from an oily sack, while a handful of women of various ages haunted the half-shadows around the crowd, murmuring to whomever was nearby.

Some of the jurors went off right away to taverns specializing in the law court trade. The rest surrounded the bewildered Machon, pounding him on the shoulders, pumping his hand, begging to drink with him.

“Tell us, were those your own words?” someone asked.

“Did Demosthenes write the speech?”

“Demosthenes,” Machon replied, “would not have been so inept.”

“Has anybody seen Aeschines?”

“Gone through the back door, I’d think! With his reputation, after so many trials, to be so thoroughly beaten by an amateur…”

Searching the mob, Swallow caught sight of the shepherd. Someone had left his lamb tied to a stake outside the courthouse; the man had already spent some of his pay on water for the sick thing. Swallow poked the man with his walking stick as the lamb lapped the water from his cupped palms.

“Friend, tell us-did you hear anything of the case?”

“Can’t see it’s any business of yours, friend.”

Swallow tossed an obol on the ground. The other looked at the coin, gathered it under himself with his foot.

“In case you didn’t see, I was…out… the entire day.”

“So how did you vote?”

Silence. Swallow showed him another coin.

“Are you sure you want to pay him again?” asked Deuteros.

“There’s another case to be tried tomorrow…and the day after that. For now I must know his answer.”

The lamb having finished its drink, the shepherd dried his hands on his ragged tunic. “I would love to take your money,” he said, “but no one explained the rules to me. I can’t remember which token I dropped. I can’t remember at all.”