by JM Alvey
I copied another line, and watched the gleam of wet ink dull as the words dried. I wanted to ask if the man was any kin of mine. I could tell Kallinos this was none of my business, when he admitted the victim was no one I knew. We have no epic poets in my father’s family, or through my brothers’ and sister’s marriage ties. But I didn’t say any of that.
‘Let me finish this and I’ll come with you,’ I said instead.
I would need to go into Athens to deliver these lists. I might as well take news of this latest attack to Aristarchos. Either what I heard from this unfortunate man would underscore the impossibility of me finding this killer, or I could tell him that Kallinos had got some hint the Scythians could pursue. It wasn’t as if I’d be facing any danger.
Whatever the outcome, my duty would be done, and I could go to the Theatre of Dionysos to find Zosime, Menkaure and Telesilla. With any luck I should arrive while the singers accompanied by twin pipe players were still competing. Telesilla could point out anyone likely to challenge Hyanthidas in the competition for pipe players performing alone.
I left the papyrus on the table and found my sandals. Kallinos wandered over to take a look at what I’d been writing.
‘May I?’ he asked.
‘Go ahead.’ I laced my sandals and explained how I’d spent yesterday. A thought struck me, and I looked up. ‘Who was attacked? You say he survived, but will he be fit to perform?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Kallinos consulted the list. ‘Here he is. Thallos of Teithras.’
‘Has anyone told Melesias Philaid?’
Kallinos shrugged. ‘I sent word to Aristarchos Phytalid since he’s been taking an interest.’
That made sense. A public slave is well advised to keep on the right side of the great and the good. I didn’t envy Aristarchos dealing with Melesias’ reaction to this news.
‘Thallos is due to take to the platform early in the second day’s performance.’ I had every detail of the competition committed to memory by now. ‘There’s time enough to find another poet if he’s too badly hurt. Though I can’t believe this is some sort of attack on the festival or the commissioner. There would be so many better ways to do that.’ I’d run through a whole lot of far more dramatic and effective possibilities as I walked home last night.
‘Then what’s the point of these killings?’ Kallinos gave way to his own frustration. ‘A man dying in a drunken fight, or knifed for sneaking into another man’s bed, I can understand such things. But these deaths make no sense. Daimachos was a surly bastard, and we scrape enough of those off the streets for crossing the wrong man’s path, but no one had any cause to kill Hermaios, from everything anyone says.’
‘Let’s see what Thallos has to tell us.’ I nodded at Kadous.
The Phrygian opened the gate, and the Scythian and I went on our way. One thing did occur to me.
‘I saw Thallos in the middle of the afternoon yesterday. He was fine then. He must have been attacked after that.’
Kallinos grunted. ‘I’ve asked the lads, but no one saw anyone with a red cloak involved in the scuffles and other nonsense they were dealing with.’ He looked at me, with barely veiled challenge in his eyes. ‘There are only three hundred of us. We can’t be everywhere at once.’
‘No one could expect you to be,’ I assured him.
He muttered something under his breath in his own tongue as we walked on. I didn’t have to understand it. He was exasperated and so was I. The Scythian was right. These killings made no sense.
We made our way to Thallos’ cousin’s house in Limnai. The slave on the gate remembered me from yesterday, so we were welcomed into a comfortably cool porch and served well-watered wine to quench our thirst. The slave seemed to assume that I had the festival commissioner’s authority for my visit today and I said nothing to make him think any different.
I did check the sundial high on the courtyard wall. I still had time in hand. I didn’t really need to see the singers’ competitions, and the solo instrument contests wouldn’t start until well after noon.
All the same, I was relieved when Thallos appeared reassuringly quickly once a lad was sent to fetch him. He was walking stiffly all the same, with the caution of a man who’d taken a beating. I could see bruises where his tunic left his arms bare, as well as on his jaw.
He was surprised to see Kallinos in the Scythians’ easily recognisable linen and leather armour. ‘I don’t see how I can be accused of disturbing the city’s peace, when I was the one who was grabbed and attacked.’
Thankfully he was more curious than defensive.
‘He wants to know who attacked you so the Scythians can keep a look out for the bastard,’ I explained. ‘We think this may have something to do with the attacks on Daimachos and Hermaios.’
‘I think you may be right.’ The poet teased a split in his swollen lip with the tip of his tongue.
I sat up straighter and set my cup down on the table. ‘Please, tell us what happened?’
Thallos took a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘It was some time after you and I talked yesterday. Maybe an hour?’ He glanced at the sundial carved on the wall by the gate. ‘I’d arranged to meet some friends at a tavern not far from here.’
He waved that away. ‘I never got there. Someone grabbed me from behind. Before I knew what was happening, they wrapped my cloak around my head and dragged me into an alley. Somebody started asking me something, beating me while they were at it. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. When they realised that, they pulled the cloak away so they wouldn’t have to shout.’
‘They? There was more than one?’
‘Oh yes. I was shoved up against a wall by the bastard who did this.’ He pointed to the bruise on a cheekbone that was spreading to blacken his eye. ‘He kept hold of my arm on this side while he punched me. His slave had hold of my other wrist so I couldn’t fight back.’
He gestured as he spoke, and I realised the bruises on his arms were the marks left by brutal fingers.
‘The second man was definitely a slave?’
I saw my own distaste reflected on Kallinos’ face. If we found this killer, his helpless accomplice would have to be tortured to guarantee his confession, no matter what he might want to say willingly. Only public slaves could give evidence in court without facing that brutality.
Thallos had no doubt about it. ‘He wore a plain, rough tunic and had shackle scars on his wrists. He didn’t say a word and he looked more afraid of the Athenian than anything else that might happen. He didn’t take his eyes off the man.’
That certainly sounded like a slave to me. ‘This man was an Athenian? From the city itself?’
As far as outsiders are concerned, we’re all Athenians, whether we live within the city’s walls or somewhere out in the countryside. Thallos was from Teithras out in Attica though, so I hoped he knew better. We can usually tell a farm mouse from an agora rat from the differences in a man’s speech.
‘Definitely. Not that I knew the bastard. Otherwise I’d have gone straight to the Archons.’ Thallos was outraged, as any citizen would be. Athenian law denies any man the right to thrash a citizen of our great city.
‘What else can you tell us about him?’ I could already see this man must have been strong. Even with a slave’s unwilling help, overpowering the poet wouldn’t have been easy. Thallos was maybe ten years older than me, but he was fit and well-muscled enough to take his place in the line of any phalanx.
The poet sat gazing into the distance. ‘Dark hair and beard. As tall as me, maybe a little taller. Broader across the shoulders though, otherwise he’d never have got the better of me. He wore a good-quality tunic, but there was nothing memorable about it. He wore no jewellery apart from a gold seal ring. That’s what did this.’ He pointed to his split lip.
‘Did you leave any mark on him? A scratch or a bruise?’
‘No.’ Thallos shook his head, chagrined. ‘It happened so fast. They had me pinned before I could think of fighting back.’
I tried to hide my disappointment. Even knowing we were looking for a citizen who lived inside the walls, there was no way the Scythians would find this man among the festival crowds.
Thallos was still talking, as baffled as he was indignant. ‘I didn’t get a chance to ask what he wanted before he started hitting me. He kept asking me where she was, over and over again. The Athenian, I mean. “Where is she? I know you seduced her and stole her away. What have you done with her now? Tell me where to find her!”.’
An epic poet makes an impressive witness. As he mimicked the killer’s single-minded savagery, a chill ran down my spine.
Thallos shivered with fear that was clearly slow to fade. ‘It didn’t matter what I said. I told him I had no idea who he meant. He said he’d beat the truth out of me. If I didn’t tell him where I’d hidden her, he’d kill me. Then she’d have to come home. I begged him to tell me who he was looking for. That just made him angrier. He said if it wasn’t me, I must know who had stolen her. I must know where to find them. He wasn’t listening to a word I said. He was just hitting me so hard I couldn’t even catch my breath to call out—’
He broke off and emptied his cup in a single swallow. His hand trembled as he put it down and the pottery clattered against the tabletop. He must have thought he was going to die. I wasn’t surprised he was so shaken.
When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. ‘There’s nothing to this accusation. I’ll swear that on Hera’s altar with any oaths you like. I want your word that you won’t repeat this. I’ve never been a seducer, and I won’t have my reputation sullied by hearing this repeated around the agora. There will always be someone who’ll say there’s no smoke without fire. So if anyone asks about this—’ he touched a fingertip to his split lip and examined the smear of blood. ‘I’m saying a street thief was after my silver. Do you understand?’
‘I do.’ Rumour can be a vicious goddess. ‘How did you escape?’
Thallos managed a faint smile. ‘By Aphrodite’s good grace. A street walker and her Paris-for-the-evening came down the alley looking for a little seclusion. The young hero was ready to fight, but as soon the girl started screaming the brute dropped me like a dog caught with a chicken and ran. His slave went scurrying after him. I was in no state to stop them.’
‘Do you know who he was? Your rescuer, I mean.’
Thallos shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. A lad from the Peloponnese, maybe? When he saw there was no battle to be had, he was more interested in getting what he’d paid for. I just wanted to get home.’
That was understandable. I poured him another cupful of wine. ‘Will you be fit to take part in the Iliad tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’ He looked surprised that I’d even asked. In the next instant, he was alarmed. ‘Does Melesias Philaid think he needs to replace me? Please, assure him that I am well able to take my place and compete. Tell him I’ll be there, as Athena is my witness.’
‘I will,’ I assured him. At least, I’d tell Aristarchos, who would know how to pass the message on. ‘One last thing. If the Furies lead us to this man, would you know him again? To swear to it before the Areopagus Court, so that he will answer for these murders?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Thallos was certain of that.
That was something at least. I got to my feet. ‘We will leave you to rest.’
‘Thank you.’ Thallos looked up at me. ‘I will be up at the Pnyx tomorrow. Don’t doubt it.’
‘That’s good to know.’ I recalled how Orpheus’ head had carried on singing while it was floating down a river after he was torn apart by maenads. I saw similar determination on Thallos’ face.
He grinned, and winced as his lip started bleeding again. ‘Then I hope to see you there.’
‘Perhaps.’ I didn’t want to commit myself before I’d spoken to Zosime. I still had to make things up to her, so I’d go along with her choice of festival entertainment. ‘Good day to you.’
Kallinos followed me to the gate. He glanced at me as the slave closed the entrance behind us. ‘To Aristarchos?’
I nodded, walking quickly. The sooner this errand was done, the sooner I could be at the theatre to see the soloists compete on the seven-stringed concert lyre. Hyanthidas would perform after that. ‘We’re agreed we’re looking for one murderer now? There can’t be two men in the city willing to beat or stab a poet to death because he can’t answer his questions.’
‘Agreed.’ The Scythian pursed his lips as he strode beside me. ‘And whoever this killer is, he’s getting bolder, to strike in daylight.’
‘The shadows can have barely been lengthening,’ I agreed. The sooner this brute was caught, the better.
‘So he’s looking for some girl – or woman,’ the Scythian said thoughtfully.
‘Wife? Sister? Mother?’ There was no way to know.
‘And he thinks she spread her thighs for an epic poet, but he doesn’t know which one?’
‘Not just any poet,’ I pointed out. ‘He may not know who this man is, but he knows he wears a red cloak. None of the poets here to take part in the Odyssey have been attacked, have they?’
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ Kallinos confirmed, ‘and believe me, I would have been told, after everything that’s happened.’
I heaved a sigh. ‘So now someone will have to go and see each and every one of the poets again, to ask them about their love lives.’
‘Someone?’ Kallinos shot me a sideways glance.
I ignored that unsubtle hint. ‘No, that won’t work. They’ll lie, rather than admit to such a shameful crime. The authorities will have to find out more discreetly.’
I tried to recall if I’d seen any sign of any of the poets hiding a woman in the various houses and hostels where they were lodging. I couldn’t think of anything in particular, but then I hadn’t been looking. Even so, my spirits rose. Now we had a definite reason for this mayhem.
‘Once we know who this woman is, and where she’s tucked away, we’ll be able to put a name to some outraged father or brother or son. Once we start asking questions – I mean, once Hermaios’ brother starts asking questions – it’ll only be a matter of time before one of her relatives won’t be able to account for their whereabouts when all three of these men were attacked.’
Kallinos looked sceptical. ‘Unless they browbeat their slaves and womenfolk into lying for them.’
‘That won’t impress a jury.’ I shook my head. ‘Besides, Thallos saw his face. He can stand before the Areopagus Court as a citizen witness. He’ll be vindicated when we can identify the seducer, so he need not worry about his reputation. Everyone will see he’s doing Hermaios’ family a service by making sure they see this brute condemned.’
The law allows the head of a family to cut down any man caught violating the household’s women within his walls, but that legal right ends at the threshold.
‘Let’s hope so, with the Furies’ grace. But until we can put a name to this man, and be sure that he’s our killer, we had better warn the poets to watch their backs,’ Kallinos observed. ‘Thallos can say he thinks he fell foul of a street thief, and I won’t risk a flogging for betraying his trust, but I won’t see another man dead because he thinks the danger has passed.’
‘I agree.’ I nodded.
‘Still, we’ll know where to find most of the red cloaks, for the next few days at least,’ the Scythian said with satisfaction. ‘They nearly always go up to the Pnyx, to see the full performance before and after they take their own turn.’
That made sense to me. Every playwright sits through the whole of a drama competition, to see what his rivals have done. I felt a frisson of envy. Those poets who still had to take to the speaker’s platform would be able to review and revise their own performance in the light of what they’d seen and heard from the others in this contest. No playwright can make such last-minute changes in a bid to outstrip his competitors.
I reminded myself to concentrate on the here and now. At least I wouldn’t have to spen
d today retracing yesterday’s endless quest, if the poets were all up at the Pnyx. Then my elation faded. ‘Do you suppose the killer knows that too?’
Kallinos saw my point immediately. ‘Whether or not he does, it’s the obvious place for him to go hunting for them, now the Iliad recital has started.’
‘How many of your men can you get up there? How quickly?’ I didn’t wait for him to answer. ‘Go and do what you can. I’ll tell Aristarchos what’s going on.’
The Scythian loped off. I forced myself into a run. Delay might cost another innocent man his life, or perhaps the guilty one would be attacked. Either way, we needed men ready to catch the killer.
I was thoroughly out of breath when I reached Aristarchos’ house. I leaned on the wall for a moment and forced myself not to hammer on the gate like a messenger with news of a Persian invasion.
Mus opened the grille when I knocked with suitable decorum for this neighbourhood. ‘The master is not at home.’
I should have thought of that possibility. It was the first day of the festival after all. ‘Lydis? Ambrakis?’
Mus nodded. ‘Lydis is here.’
I blessed Athena for that. ‘I need to speak to him.’
Mus didn’t need to be told it was urgent. ‘Come in.’
As he opened the gate, he was already snapping his fingers at a passing slave. I waited, pacing back and forth in the entrance, too anxious to take a seat. Lydis soon appeared. I told him what I had learned today, both about the killer and his motives, as well as the danger that might threaten the poets gathered on the Pnyx.
He was nodding before I finished speaking. ‘I will go and tell the master. I’m sure he will send word to Melesias Philaid.’ He turned to the barbarian gatekeeper. ‘Send for Ambrakis. Tell him to gather the strongest of the household’s men and take them up to the Pnyx.’
I was surprised to see the slender slave give such orders on his own authority, but Lydis was Aristarchos’ trusted secretary and the rest of the household would know that. I watched him run down the street, deftly dodging out of anyone else’s way.
