Purple and Black by K.J. Parker Page B

write something. The courier's been waiting in the corridor outside for two hours already, while I've been here staring at this stupid sheet of parchment, trying to think what I'm going to say. So, I figure that if I just start writing, maybe
    Three hours now. The poor bastard. And not just him. They'll have got his horse all ready, tacked up and tethered in the despatch yard, with a groom standing by. I expect they're all wondering what's going on. Me too.
    All right, let's start at the beginning.
    Gorgias is alive. You can't imagine how wonderful that is. Particularly after you told me he was dead. Phormio, you bastard, you lied to me. Why did you do that? Gorgias is alive; you've known that all this time, and you didn't tell me. Us.
    The others have been in here with me all night. A sort of pattern emerged. There'd be a long silence, minutes at a time. Then we'd all start talking at once; then we'd be shouting, swearing at each other—the guard came busting in at one point, they thought I was being murdered—and then back to the long silence.
    You two should know that the four of us have talked it through, and I'm speaking for Menestheus and Aristaeus. Strato gave up at about five o'clock this morning. He stood up, said, I think I'll go to bed now, and off he went. He hasn't been back. It's been too much for him, I guess. I think, when we all thought Gorgias was dead, it hit him the hardest. Now this.
    Four hours. About an hour ago, I got a note from Strato. It says; whatever the rest of you decide is fine by me. Then they told me he's gone. Left the City. My guess is, he's gone back to Anassus. So it's just the three of us here now. But we've sort of reached an agreement, though we haven't actually called it that.
    Phormio, I can't. When I read your letter the sixth time, I thought; hell, yes, why not? Do what they say, and it'll be all right. It'll work. As soon as their army passes the twentieth milestone, go to the Senate and abdicate, like Phormio suggested. It'll work, I thought; and then it'll all be over, this stupid job, this pretence. Gorgias is coming to take charge, and I've been let off.
    Let off; that was where it broke down.
    When I was at school in Histamenon—actually, thinking about it, Histamenon was a good experience for me. Because whatever happens to me in later life (a monastery, on campaign, even prison), it's got to be better than Histamenon. When you've been that miserable, as I was there, it gives you a wonderful sense of freedom. And I survived school, so I can survive anything.
    When I was at Histamenon, they used to make us play the boot game, once a week, even when it was so cold outside that even the peasants stayed indoors. I hated that so much. So I spent a large part of my life trying to find ways of getting let off the game. Illnesses; I had my brother smuggle me in Semonides' Medical Summary, and I'd read it for hours, looking for new illnesses I could fake. I joined every club and society going, took up every musical instrument going. I'd do anything, just to be let off. And when I was successful, I'd watch the other poor bastards trooping off to the playing field in the murderous cold, and I felt awful.
    So; I'm done with being let off. That's not a good enough reason.
    Then I went to the cellar, where they generously allow me to store a few personal things (can't have them in the palace; it's not seemly) and I dug about in my old college trunk until I found my diary. You never knew I kept a diary; you'd have kidded me about it, and got hold of it somehow. But I sat there and read it, trying to remember. And I found the entry for 16 aK Trip, 1115. I quote;

    Board meeting, back bar. Poverty & Justice. Very drunk. Gorgias on good form, Aristaeus had a good point but said it badly. Phormio, mostly. Can't remember what he said. Can't remember what I said. Can't read own handwriting, so sod it. Got stuck with the bill, again. All right, I've got more money than them, but it'd be nice if