Shadows of Athens

by JM Alvey

  My father would have been shouting by now, scarlet-faced and with his calloused hands furiously waving. Aristarchos’s icy composure was even more terrifying.

  ‘You tried to kill a man. If this comes before the courts you will be stripped of your citizen’s rights and exiled. Since I can see the guilt in your eyes, I will save our city and its people such time and trouble. I will also shield your brothers and sisters from the spreading stain of your crime. What do you have to tell me to mitigate your offence, to deserve my mercy?’

  To my astonishment, Hipparchos’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘He can’t be certain whose voice he heard and there are no witnesses. It would be my word against his.’ A hiss of contempt made it plain what he thought of my social standing.

  ‘There was a witness,’ his father countered.

  Hipparchos was still defiant. ‘A slave?’ He looked at me, smug. ‘His evidence will have to be tested under torture. When do you want to deliver him up to the public executioner?’

  The Furies hound him to Hades. He knew I’d never hand Kadous over to suffer such agonies, just because the law insists that’s the only way to prove a slave isn’t his owner’s mouthpiece.

  ‘How do you know this witness could be a slave?’ Aristarchos enquired calmly. ‘If you weren’t even there?’

  He cut his son off with a sharp gesture. ‘No, don’t lie to me. Not if you want any chance of remaining within this household. Don’t threaten Philocles either. No one will lay a hand on him or his slave because this will never come before the courts. I will see justice done as is my right and duty as the head of this family. Your only hope of mercy is to tell me the truth, and all of the truth, here and without delay.’

  Hipparchos looked at the masks. I saw his fists clenching. Then he looked at the knife on the table and visibly came to a decision. He moved towards a stool, about to sit down. ‘I never sought to kill anyone—’

  ‘You will stand,’ ordered Aristarchos. ‘Continue.’

  ‘I wasn’t carrying the blade,’ Hipparchos protested, plaintive.

  I struck at that first chink in his arrogance. ‘No, but you were carrying a spear shaft.’

  I hadn’t been going to mention that, to leave Aristarchos with at least the pretence of doubt over Hipparchos’s involvement. But the little shit had threatened Kadous.

  ‘I took it off you,’ I reminded him. ‘Hoplites learn how to do that, as well as to keep hold of their own weapons.’ Evidently no one bothered teaching the cavalry such skills.

  ‘But that much is true.’ I turned to Aristarchos. ‘I used the spear shaft on the man with the blade. Hard enough to bruise his arm, maybe even break a bone.’

  We could all see there was no mark on Hipparchos’s arms, bare to the shoulder in his embroidered sleeveless tunic.

  The boy looked surprised to think I was showing him some support. I strove to keep my face as impassive as Aristarchos’s. He was the one I owed the truth to, not his fool of a son. Though it couldn’t hurt to give Hipparchos a reason to be grudgingly grateful to me, to counter any urge to seek revenge, once this was all over.

  ‘So you didn’t set out intent on murder. What a relief.’ Aristarchos’s sarcasm echoed around the courtyard. ‘What were you doing and with whom?’

  Hipparchos capitulated. ‘We went to a tavern after the satyr play. Nikandros came to find us. He said a friend of his had a sister pursued by an unsuitable suitor. The man had taken to lurking in the alleys around their house. A good beating should scare him off, that’s what Nikandros said. That’s all I was there to do.’

  His pleading eyes slid from his father to me and back again. I guessed that was as much of an apology as I was going to get.

  ‘The name of Nikandros’s friend?’ Aristarchos demanded. ‘His father and his voting district?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hipparchos muttered.

  He looked shamefaced enough to convince me that was the truth.

  ‘So you simply took Nikandros’s word?’ Aristarchos shook his head with disgust. ‘When you know full well he’s dragged you into utter folly more than once, and lied about it afterwards, just to save his own worthless skin?’

  I wondered what that was about, but it was hardly the moment to ask.

  ‘Whose idea was it to wear masks?’ Aristarchos snapped. ‘Where did you steal them from?’

  ‘One of the other men brought them.’ Now the youth was growing sullen. ‘I don’t know where he got them.’

  ‘So you’re a fool and a brute, but not a would-be murderer nor yet a despoiler of temples,’ Aristarchos observed. ‘Your mother will be so relieved.’

  Hipparchos reddened. ‘I can ask Nikandros—’

  ‘No.’ Aristarchos forbade that notion. ‘You will go nowhere and speak to no one until I have got to the bottom of whatever crimes you have committed. Lydis!’ He didn’t look at the slave, his gaze still levelled at Hipparchos, as piercing and as menacing as the point of a javelin. ‘Make sure that the entire household knows my will on this matter. Tell Mus first of all. Tell him he may accept any letters delivered for Hipparchos but they are to be brought straight to me. No one is to carry any messages for my son, written or repeated.’

  ‘Of course, Master.’

  Aristarchos flicked a hand at Hipparchos. ‘You may go.’

  The boy took a step, then hesitated. ‘What…?’

  Aristarchos raised an eyebrow. ‘What will happen to you now? That will entirely depend on what I discover. Go to your rooms. I don’t want to see you until I send for you. If you remember something else that I may need to know, ask to see Lydis and he will bring me word.’

  Hipparchos retreated, his head hanging like a whipped dog:

  I took a deep breath once the boy had gone. ‘I am so sorry—’

  Aristarchos silenced me with the same sharp gesture he’d used towards his son as he turned to his slave once again. ‘You know as well as I do which young fools he goes drinking with. Draft letters to their fathers from me. Warn them that Nikandros Kerykes has been sucked into some rabble-rousing plot against our Ionian allies. If they don’t want to see their sons face charges of stirring up civil strife, they had better rein them in hard and quickly. With my compliments, naturally.’

  ‘And Nikandros Kerykes?’ Lydis ventured.

  ‘I will call on his father myself.’ Aristarchos’s expression was ominous.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Too late, I realised I’d repeated myself.

  Aristarchos dismissed Lydis with a flick of his hand. ‘Don’t apologise to me,’ he said when we were alone. ‘You’ve done my family a significant service.’

  ‘Really?’ I allowed myself a little sarcasm.

  ‘I don’t mean to undervalue your injuries, I can see you’re in pain, but let’s be grateful that no one died,’ Aristarchos said frankly. ‘My situation – this whole household’s situation – would be far worse if you had been killed. You can’t imagine you were the only target here.’

  I glanced at the knife. ‘I’m sure they were out to implicate Tur.’

  ‘Then I would have had to vouch for him, to insist that he couldn’t have left his bed. My slaves would be put to the torture, to swear that the boy was laid up and being cared for, throughout yesterday and last night.’ Aristarchos shook his head. ‘I could no more allow my household to be abused like that than you would see your man Kadous suffer. So our enemies would be free to whisper and murmur all around the agora. What disgraceful secrets could I possibly be hiding, if I refused to let my slaves testify? What’s my real connection with these ungrateful Ionians? If they’re not paying the tribute they owe to Athena, whose strongbox is their silver filling?

  ‘As for Hipparchos…’ He shook his head again, eyes shadowed. ‘I don’t suppose he would have been openly accused of your murder, not at first. I imagine someone would have visited me discreetly, to let me know that he’d been involved. Of course, they’d have witnesses to your death. Hades, depending on what they wanted from me, they’d probably ha
ve ten men ready to swear that he’d held the knife that killed you.’

  He startled me with a growl of wordless fury.

  ‘I don’t know what their price would have been to save my son from public trial, exile or execution and my other children from disgrace. Perhaps it would just be my silence while they set Athens and Ionia at each other’s throats. Or if they were bold enough, they might have demanded that I do something to promote their cause. You have saved me from those particular dangers.’ He brushed plaster flakes from the table onto the paving. ‘As for Hipparchos, he was always going to get into serious trouble, sooner or later. All things considered, I’m glad it was sooner and no worse than this. The boy has been spoiled and sheltered all his life. That’s as much my fault as his mother’s,’ he admitted, his voice tight. ‘After his brother was killed in Egypt…’ He closed his eyes.

  ‘I know.’ I didn’t need him to say any more.

  After a moment, Aristarchos regained his composure and looked steadily at me. ‘He’s run wild ever since he came back to the city, him and his idiot friends. They’re so certain that their names and their families’ money will shield them from any follies they fall into. But now he has stepped into this swamp, he realises he needs me to drag him clear of it. He’s had a glimpse of just how easily he could have sunk and drowned.’

  He sighed. ‘That’s a lesson I was able to teach his brothers before they risked their necks. If Hipparchos has chosen to learn this the hard way, that’s between him and Athena. You have nothing to apologise for. If anything, I owe you my thanks.’

  ‘We both owe whoever’s behind all this a hard and painful reckoning,’ I retorted.

  ‘That is very true,’ he agreed.

  ‘But we’re no closer to finding them.’ I let my exasperation show.

  Aristarchos’s sigh betrayed his own frustration. ‘Perhaps we’ll get some indication when I speak to Megakles Kerykes.’

  ‘Nikandros’s father?’

  He nodded. ‘He won’t want his son’s involvement in some attempted murder made public, nor several other things that I could let slip about his business dealings.’

  I rose cautiously to my feet. Even sitting for a short time meant I’d stiffened up horribly. ‘Let me know as soon as you hear anything.’

  ‘Go home,’ Aristarchos advised. ‘Go to bed and rest until I learn something useful and we can plan our next steps in this campaign.’

  That was tempting, but my day’s labours weren’t over yet. ‘I have to go to my brothers’ house. I owe my mother a visit. That’s not too far, and I can’t believe these people are so bold that they’ll murder me in broad daylight inside the walls.’ Though it was unnerving to feel that my own city’s streets weren’t safe. ‘When I’m ready to leave, someone there can walk back to Alopeke with me.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll send word when I have news.’

  Chapter Twenty

  I had several good reasons to head for my brothers’ house once I left Aristarchos. The walk home last night had been long and exhausting, even with that spear shaft to lean on. Kadous and I had passed several people who knew one or other of us. They’d all exclaimed with concern over my battered face and dirty clothes. With Rumour so quick on her wings, some busybody or other would have surely decided it was their duty to alarm my mother with lurid exaggeration.

  I was right. The slave who opened the gate clapped his hand to his chest. ‘Zeus be thanked! You’re—’

  ‘Walking, slightly wounded,’ I said wryly. ‘Maybe a couple of cracked ribs. I assume you’d heard far worse?’

  He bit his lip. ‘The master is on his way to your house.’

  I grimaced. ‘When did he leave?’

  ‘Not long ago.’ The slave looked expectant.

  I nodded. ‘Send someone to run and catch him.’

  If he found my gate locked and the house deserted, Nymenios would surely fear the worst. Not that learning I wasn’t laid out and clutching my obols for Charon’s ferry would see me forgiven. Since I wasn’t all but dead, he’d be furious that he’d missed today’s tragedies.

  Still, I reminded myself to look on the bright side. At least I didn’t have to go all the way to the theatre and try to persuade him to leave in the interval between two plays.

  ‘I must speak to my mother.’ I walked through the courtyard, past the empty workbenches. Every knife and tool was neatly racked, ready for work, and a silent reminder of my duty here. Now I no longer had my play to occupy me, I had to help save the family business. I headed for the door to the house. The wide porch was swept clean and tidy. Baskets of fleece would soon clutter up the empty space here, needing to be combed and spun before the yarn could be woven into household essentials. These generous gifts come from Mother’s brothers out in Kolonai, and are as much of an annual ritual for our family as the summer festivals are for the city.

  Most families have some such ties with the villages out in Attica. Back in my great-grandfather’s day, Cleisthenes wisely decreed that each voting tribe in our new democracy should be a triad of city, country and coastal districts, to make sure that everyone’s interests were represented. As a result, the men of Alopeke, including my father, were honour-bound to help Kolonai’s refugees when Mother and her family fled the Persian advance. Their parents became good friends, and Father was of an age to want a wife, while Mother was of an age to be married. The match was made and they were happy together, until our family’s worst sorrows a decade ago.

  Going inside, I could hear voices in the upper end room, where Mother and my sisters used to sit and spin with their distaffs and spindles, or weave finer lengths of cloth on smaller looms. I followed the corridor to the corner and went up the stairs.

  No one was spinning or weaving today. Mother was clearing out her storage chests while Melina was relaxing on a couch, watching her children as they played amiably on the floor.

  ‘Uncle Philocles!’ Nymenios’s two little boys came running to the door, their wooden animals abandoned.

  Hestaios might only be five but he’s as tall as boys a full year older. Kalliphon is catching up fast, for all the two years between them. Without thinking, I stooped low to sweep them up in my arms, one onto each hip. Staggering, I nearly dropped to my knees as I lowered them hastily back down to the floorboards.

  ‘You need to spend more time at the gymnasium,’ Melina observed drily.

  Mother rushed to embrace me. ‘They said you were beaten senseless and left for dead!’

  ‘Careful! I may have a cracked rib.’ Though I wouldn’t have admitted that much if I’d had any other way of stopping her hugging me painfully hard.

  ‘What happened?’ Anxious, she stroked my bruised face with her hard-worn hands.

  I glanced at the children. They were staring at me, open-mouthed. Even Amynta’s beloved ragdoll was forgotten.

  Melina clapped her hands and one of the household’s girls appeared. ‘Please take the children to their room.’

  As I stepped aside to let the slave pass, Hestaios and Kalliphon protested loudly.

  ‘We want to—’

  ‘But Uncle Philocles—’

  My niece was already on her way to the door, dolly in hand. Melina smiled. ‘Amynta may have a honey cake.’

  That goaded the boys into gathering up their toys and begging for the same treat.

  ‘That depends,’ Melina interrupted their pleading. ‘If you’ve been good, you may all have a cake this evening. But Amynta still gets one now because she did as she was asked without arguing.’

  I tried and failed to hide a smile as the disgruntled boys trailed out after their sister. I recalled my own childhood, with both parents teaching me and my brothers and sisters that it was in our best interests to co-operate.

  Mother examined the bruises on my arms. ‘I’ll find some salve. Sit down.’

  I obediently took a stool and shared a grin with Melina. ‘Where’s Chairephanes?’

  Her smile broadened. ‘Gone to the theatre with Pamphil
os and his family.’

  ‘Do you think he and Glykera will make a match of it?’

  She nodded. ‘I hope so. She is a very nice girl.’

  I looked at her ruefully. ‘I’m so sorry you’re missing the plays. It’s my fault Nymenios had to go to Alopeke.’

  Melina shook her head. ‘I wasn’t going to the theatre today.’

  An unplanned day at home with her feet up? I wondered if she was pregnant again. It wasn’t easy to tell if her waist was thickening under her pleated gown’s swathes. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise though, Amynta was well past her second birthday. But it wasn’t my place to ask.

  Mother returned with a tray of cups and a jug of well-watered wine as well as several pots of pungent paste.

  ‘Now,’ she commanded. ‘What’s this all about?’

  I related a carefully crafted summary of the past few days. I told no lies, though I did hold back too much distressing detail, and I definitely didn’t share this morning’s speculations. I didn’t want a breath of this floating around the local fountains. I also didn’t want Mother knowing how close she’d come to burying another one of her children.

  Melina sipped from her cup while Mother pulled up a stool and anointed my bruises and grazes with various concoctions. I tucked up my tunic to allow her to salve the boot print on my thigh. I could tell she wanted me to strip off completely to see what damage had been done to my ribs, but thankfully she wouldn’t ask me to do that with my brother’s wife there.

  The glint in Melina’s eye told me she knew it too, so she wasn’t going anywhere. I slipped her a grateful wink as Mother tugged my tunic back down to my knees and swapped the pot of ointment for her own cup of wine.

  She sat clutching the black-glazed ceramic, thin-lipped with anxiety. Even though she’s lived in this city for thirty-five years, Mother has never forgotten the tales her own mother and aunts told her, warning of all the dangers lying in wait for innocents in Athens. Still, her countrified ways are no bad thing. She’s as vigilant as a hawk watching over her grandchildren. If Mother lives to see little Amynta married, no one will ever be able to cast doubt on my niece’s citizen-born rights by claiming she’d been seen behaving like some foreigner, ignorant of Athenian decorum.