Shadows of Athens

by JM Alvey

  ‘The Pargasarenes,’ the slave said briefly. ‘Do you wish to come in and wait for the master? He’s gone to call on Megakles Kerykes.’

  ‘Yes, please, and thank you.’ I spoke quickly before Nymenios could refuse. Apart from anything else, I really needed to sit down.

  Mus stood aside and as Nymenios went ahead, I caught Lydis’s elbow. ‘Tell me he hasn’t gone alone.’

  ‘He took Ambrakis.’ The slave smiled briefly as he saw the name meant nothing to me. ‘Our torchbearer.’

  ‘Good.’ I was glad to think Aristarchos was escorted by that sturdy slave.

  Mus was about to shut the gate when we all heard a shout outside.

  ‘Ho there!’ It was Sarkuk, accompanied by Azamis and, more surprisingly, by Tur.

  No one would be looking at my bruises if the two of us went out and about together. The boy’s nose was horribly swollen and he still couldn’t see out of one gaudily bruised eye. The other was blackened now and his split lip looked vilely sore.

  The three Carians were accompanied by a handful of Scythians, all armoured in linen and leather and ready with their bows.

  Their leader bowed to Azamis. ‘We’ll bid you good day.’

  I recognised Kallinos, who’d come to recover Xandyberis’s body. ‘Good to see you again. The Polemarch sent you as an escort?’

  The tall Scythian nodded. ‘The Archons are gravely concerned about these recent disturbances. He didn’t want these honoured guests of our city to suffer any further insult.’

  ‘Good to know.’ So the city’s highest magistrates weren’t involved in these attempts to stir up ill-feeling against Ionians. ‘Have you learned anything more about Xandyberis’s killer?’

  It was worth a try, but Kallinos shook his head without elaborating.

  ‘Thank you for accompanying us.’ Azamis offered the Scythian his hand. ‘Good day to you.’

  ‘You must need some refreshment.’ Lydis ushered the Pargasarenes in as the armed men marched away. ‘I’ll see that wine and food is brought to you.’

  His glance included Nymenios and me in this invitation, so we followed the three men and the slave to the far side of the courtyard.

  As Lydis withdrew, Azamis heaved a heart-rending sigh. His wrinkled face was drawn with grief. Sarkuk cleared his throat and made a visible effort to be polite despite the burden of his own sorrows. ‘Good day to you, Philocles. Are you going to introduce your companion?’

  ‘Forgive me.’ I was embarrassed by my thoughtlessness. ‘This is my brother and the head of our family, Nymenios Hestaiou.’

  He shook Sarkuk’s hand. ‘I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. My condolences on your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sarkuk grimaced. ‘We buried him this morning. It was for the best.’

  He didn’t need to elaborate. We’ve all seen death. Even kept in a closed room away from birds or insects, Xandyberis’s corpse must have been turning putrid. Better by far to shroud the gruesome processes of decay under the kindly earth.

  ‘We will take his bones back, after we’ve returned for the Great Panathenaia,’ Azamis said, resolute.

  We nodded our understanding. By the height of summer next year, the grave would hold only a skeleton. Disinterring such remains and sending them home is common enough practice when travellers from some great distance have died unexpectedly in the city.

  ‘Meantime, his shade can keep watch,’ Tur snarled, ‘to make sure that your Archons deal fairly with us when this cursed levy is reassessed.’

  Before anyone could react to that, the young man burst into tears. As he hid his face in his hands, I winced in sympathy. Not just for his grief but at the thought of those racking sobs twisting his swollen face and setting his bruised ribs heaving.

  ‘My grandson…’ Azamis struggled with his own tears. ‘He hoped for the best for so long. When Xandyberis didn’t come back to the hostel, he convinced himself that our friend had been seduced by your city’s entertainments. After all, a man has his appetites and Xandyberis lost his wife some years ago.’

  ‘He was not easy to like, not until you got to know him.’ Sarkuk’s bearded chin trembled. ‘But he was always an honourable man. He was dedicated to our town’s well-being and to preserving the rule of law against tyranny, whether by the Persians or from among our own people.’

  ‘A loyal friend.’ Azamis’s shoulders sagged. ‘A faithful husband and a loving father.’

  ‘A eulogy any man would be proud of.’ My own throat tightened.

  ‘Does he leave young children?’ Nymenios’s question betrayed his own worst fears.

  The old Carian shook his head. ‘His eldest son is some years older than Tur, well able to shoulder his responsibilities. The eldest girl married a good man, my own sister’s grandson. We will all support them.’

  As they spoke, I heard a noise above us. Glancing up, I saw a shutter rattle and wondered if there’d been a gust of wind or if someone was listening to our conversation. If so, it could be a slave or one of Aristarchos’s family; his wife or one of their daughters. Unless it was one of his sons.

  I found myself fervently hoping Hipparchos was eavesdropping. I very much wanted that arrogant shit to see the full extent of Tur’s injuries. I wanted him to hear the boy’s searing distress at Xandyberis’s murder. Let that sheltered and privileged ingrate learn about Xandyberis’s family, now left without a father. Let him consider how their little town would suffer, deprived of such a staunch guardian. These were the crimes against gods and men which his friend Nikandros had dragged him into, when he’d drunkenly agreed to have some fun brutally beating a stranger to a pulp.

  ‘We must decide if we send word on ahead, to break the news of his death.’ Sarkuk sighed heavily again. ‘Or if we should wait and tell his family in person once we arrive home.’

  ‘How long before you travel?’ Nymenios asked.

  The older Pargasarenes exchanged a glance. Tur was still lost in his own distress.

  ‘If there’s no reassessment of the levy, we have no reason to stay.’ Sarkuk rubbed the back of his neck wearily.

  Azamis looked at me. ‘Aristarchos has asked us to remain as his guests until he uncovers who is stirring up such hatred for Ionia. How long do you suppose that will take?’

  ‘Do you suppose he’ll be able to do it? I mean no disrespect,’ Sarkuk hastily assured Lydis as the slave returned with two girls carrying laden trays. ‘But I imagine these malefactors will have covered their tracks quite thoroughly.’

  ‘We have a new scent to follow,’ Nymenios began.

  ‘That remains to be seen.’ I cautioned him with a stern look before explaining to the Pargasarenes. ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes, not until Aristarchos hears what we have learned.’

  I didn’t want to discuss what we’d learned until Aristarchos was here. Distressed as he was, if Tur was recovered enough to see Xandyberis buried, he was capable of rushing out to start hammering on doors and demanding answers. I didn’t want the young hothead getting a knife in his throat like his friend.

  ‘Thank you.’ I took a cup from Lydis and offered Athena the first sip. Then I drank deep. Aristarchos didn’t save his fine wines for rich and powerful friends. Even this household’s day-to-day refreshments were better than the finest vintages I could afford.

  The tray of food offered morsels of fresh fish and tender venison lightly seared in herbs and oil, along with a choice of olives, fresh and pickled vegetables, together with fine wheat bread. Even Tur shook off his misery and ate a little food, though he glowered as he chewed. To ward off any comment about his unmanly tears, I guessed, or because some punch in the agora had loosened a few of his teeth.

  Sarkuk surprised us with a sudden bark of laughter. ‘Do you remember Xandyberis and that octopus?’ he asked his father. ‘On Mykonos?’

  Azamis shed decades with his grin. ‘Of course.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Tur didn’t know this story.

  Nymenios an
d I sat and drank and ate and laughed appreciatively in the right places as the Pargasarenes reminisced about their friend. As they spoke I found myself wishing I’d had the chance to know Xandyberis. He’d assuredly deserved better from Athens than his miserable fate. This city owed his friends justice for his foul murder.

  Aristarchos returned as we were picking at the last tidbits and I was wondering if we might summon another jug of wine. As Mus answered the gate and we heard voices, Lydis appeared from the inner courtyard.

  ‘No, don’t get up.’ Aristarchos strolled across and pulled up a stool. He looked thoughtful.

  ‘I hope we haven’t intruded,’ Nymenios looked more nervous than I had seen him for a good long while.

  I introduced him to Aristarchos and went on. ‘We’ve been fitting some more pieces of all this together.’

  ‘Have you, indeed? Thank you.’ Aristarchos waited for Lydis to set down a fresh tray of food. A serving girl brought more wine. ‘Do tell,’ he prompted, reaching for bread and salad leaves.

  ‘It seems that Megakles’s son, Nikandros, is securing as much leather as he can. My guess is they’re trying to profit from outfitting any phalanxes sent east to quell dissent in Ionia.’ I’d been thinking about that while I sat here, remembering Father cursing rich men who sent other men’s sons to die while they grew richer still trading in timber and metal and linen and everything else that Athens’ fleet and army needed.

  I explained what we’d seen and learned today, with Nymenios chipping in as his unease faded. Finally I told Aristarchos we’d seen the man with the broken arm at Theophilos’s tannery yard.

  He turned to his slave. ‘Lydis, establish just how many leather workshops and tanneries Megakles owns and whom they trade with.’ He looked at me. ‘I wonder how Nikandros is financing such extensive purchases?’

  That seemed an odd question. ‘Using the Kerykes fortune, surely?’

  ‘That’s not as substantial as you might think,’ Aristarchos said crisply.

  ‘Megakles told you that?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Aristarchos smiled, thin-lipped. ‘But one hears things around the right dinner tables.’

  ‘What did he have to say? What did you tell him about last night?’ I was at a loss to imagine how Aristarchos had started such a conversation.

  ‘I wished to share my concerns that our two young sons had fallen in with bad company,’ Aristarchos said gravely. ‘It seems they were involved in some brawl, though I informed Megakles that Hipparchos won’t tell me the details. I suspect an intrigue over a woman so perhaps I would rather not know.’

  As he shook his head with fatherly dismay, Aristarchos’s act was so convincing that Apollonides and Menekles would have applauded.

  There was an appreciative gleam in Sarkuk’s eye. ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘Oh, he was very grateful that I’d come to him.’ Aristarchos’s sarcasm was as acid as the vinegar on pickled beets. ‘Apparently Nikandros admitted to getting into a fight, but it seems that he and his friends were provoked by unruly Lydians insulting Apollo Delios and Athena Polias. Can you believe that these villains were swearing they no longer owed the gods their allegiance? More than that, they swore not a bent scrap of silver would be coming from Ionia next year. Naturally these well-born youths took up arms, or at least used their fists, to defend our city’s honour.’

  ‘We already know they are telling lies.’ Azamis was unsure where this tale was heading.

  Aristarchos grinned. ‘Megakles doesn’t know that I know these stories are bilge water. All he knows is I support the proposition that Athens should look westwards as we seek to profit from Callias’s peace. I’m in favour of expanding our colonies in Etruria and other untroubled, uncontested lands. So he was eager to persuade me that Athens must first put down these troubling hints of rebellion in the east, and do so hard and fast, by force of arms if necessary.’

  ‘Did he say that?’ I looked at Aristarchos.

  He shook his head. ‘Not in so many words. Though he has invited me to be his guest at a private banquet tomorrow, to meet those of his friends who have convinced him that looking eastwards promises far better returns than westward ventures for wealthy men with money to invest.’

  ‘Are you going?’ I asked, apprehensive.

  ‘It’s surely our best chance to see how far this rot has spread among the great and the good,’ Aristarchos pointed out.

  ‘I wonder if we can find out who first spread these rumours, and when.’ I’d been thinking about that. ‘Nikandros wanted to start stockpiling leather before these slanders against the Ionians began circulating.’

  ‘Suggesting Megakles knew someone would create a demand for military equipment which the Kerykes tanneries and workshops could then satisfy?’ Aristarchos looked at me, his reservations plain. ‘We’ll need solid evidence, not merely suspicion, if we want to accuse him in court.’

  I nodded, exasperated. ‘And whatever might be said at this banquet, it will be your word against theirs without at least one other Athenian citizen witness with no stain on his character.’

  Aristarchos set his wine cup on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘So how do we get you in, so you can testify in court?’

  I sucked my teeth. ‘If we don’t know who’s going to be there, we don’t know who might remember me from the theatre.’

  Aristarchos leaned back. ‘Would you,’ he asked cautiously, ‘consider shaving off your beard? No one would recognise you then.’

  That was undoubtedly true. Like everyone else here, I hadn’t gone clean-shaven since I could first boast whiskers. Seeing Aristarchos arrive for an evening of fine dining and wine with a beardless companion, one with his curls dressed with perfumed oil just for good measure, Megakles and his friends would doubtless dismiss me without closer inspection. A rich man’s couch companion is often an idler who uses a razor to signify his lack of interest in taking on a citizen’s duties, preferring a life of indulgence in the pleasures of the flesh.

  It would be Aristarchos they’d be looking at more closely, surprised that he indulged in such dalliance. There’s no law against it, but he’d never had a reputation for dissipation. A model Athenian, he was well known for his long and respectable marriage.

  I frowned. ‘What happens afterwards, once these people know you’re their enemy, if they start spreading word that you’ve taken a younger lover to a dinner? You don’t think they’ll twist the tale to hint that you’re one of those unsavoury types who like to prowl a gymnasium and grope little boys without any hair on their balls? They’ve already painted me as a Persian’s cock warmer,’ I reminded him.

  I also didn’t relish the prospect of staying indoors until my beard grew back to a respectable length, to avoid the startled glances and indelicate curiosity of family, friends and neighbours if I ventured out.

  Aristarchos’s grimace told us he took my point. ‘That is a risk I’m prepared to take. My reputation should be sound enough to withstand it.’

  ‘But if someone does recognise him?’ Nymenios demanded. ‘They’ve already tried to kill him once!’

  Sarkuk was frowning. ‘We know they’re watching Philocles. If someone sees him without a beard the very day after this banquet, they’ll guess he was Aristarchos’s companion. They’ll surely try to silence him then, to make certain he can’t speak up in court.’

  ‘Could he go pretending to be Aristarchos’s slave?’ wondered Tur.

  ‘A slave won’t be admitted to the drinking and entertainments after the food.’ Aristarchos spoke half a breath before I slapped the boy down for his ignorance. ‘That’ll be when anything incriminating is discussed. Otherwise I could just take Lydis.’

  ‘A slave could still bear witness to who came and went,’ the young Carian said stubbornly.

  ‘Enough!’ Sarkuk silenced his son. ‘Surely admitting he’d been willing to pretend to be a slave would discredit Philocles in the eyes of most jurors?’

  ‘It would,�
� I confirmed. In fact, it was worse than that. An Athenian seen behaving like a slave, with no regard for his obligations, is swiftly stripped of the citizen privileges he has so clearly shown he disdains.

  ‘Does anyone have any ideas?’ Aristarchos asked, exasperated. ‘He can hardly go wearing a chorus mask.’

  ‘No,’ I said slowly, ‘but I don’t suppose they’ll give the musicians a second glance. I can play the double pipes—’

  ‘Aristarchos can’t turn up with his own piper,’ Nymenios objected. ‘That’s not like bringing an amphora of wine as a gift for your host.’

  ‘You would need to arrive with the musicians they’ve hired,’ Aristarchos looked at me with tentative hope.

  ‘If we can find out who they are,’ I said slowly. ‘I’ll bet Hyanthidas would know.’

  Aristarchos’s grin answered my own. ‘Lydis, go and offer my compliments to the Corinthian, and ask him to call here as soon as convenient.’

  We had the beginning of a plan. Hopefully, whatever we found out would shed some light on recent events.

  If not, well, at least I’d have an idea for a hero’s masquerade to work into a new comedy plot. Though I reminded myself how often such schemes go awry on the stage. It would be no laughing matter for us if this all went wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hyanthidas proved invaluable. He soon discovered that Megakles had hired Potainos, an Aitolian with a reputation for providing tastefully erotic entertainments. Potainos was perfectly happy to add another pipe player to his ensemble in exchange for a fat purse of silver. That was merely to stop the rest of the troupe asking awkward questions, he assured us. Aristarchos obliged without comment. Potainos wasn’t asking any questions and that was well worth paying for.

  Though the Aitolian did insist on hearing me play. Then he made me promise I would only wave my double pipes around and mime. His musicians had their good names to consider.

  I didn’t waste my time feeling insulted. It would be much easier to hear the dinner guests’ chatter without my own tootling in my ears. Add to that, even after another night’s rest and an undemanding day watching Zoilos’s superb final trilogy of tragedies, I was still in no fit state to be taking deep breaths without sharp pains in my ribs. Most importantly, I needed to get in and out of the banquet without anyone recognising me. I hardly wanted to attract undue attention by blowing sour notes.