by J M Alvey
‘Go on.’ The doctor examined Eumelos’ hands and arms, testing every joint from his fingers to his shoulders, as the three of us described the Corinthian’s terrifying convulsions.
‘I take it he has no history of the falling sickness?’ The doctor looked up from studying Eumelos’ well-muscled legs and sandalled feet.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I said helplessly. ‘But he has a fever.’ I didn’t think the gods added such torment to that brutal punishment for hidden sins.
The doctor stepped back from the table. His broad face was thoughtful. ‘His skin is hot to the touch, but this is no fever born of sickness.’
‘So this is no disease that we might succumb to?’ Hyanthidas’ face betrayed his anxiety.
‘I don’t believe so.’ The doctor pursed his lips. ‘I don’t think it’s the falling sickness either. Those so afflicted so often piss themselves, though not always, of course.’
I looked at the other two. We all wanted to ask what the doctor thought was wrong. Or rather, we all wanted somebody else to ask.
The doctor eased the big Corinthian’s mouth open and cautiously sniffed his frail breath. Sliding back an unresisting lid, he ran a fingertip around Eumelos’ eyeball and rubbed it against his own thumb. As I winced, I saw Lysicrates grimace.
‘Help me undress him,’ the doctor ordered.
That wasn’t easy with the big man now limp in his stupor. Lysicrates and I lifted Eumelos’ shoulders. Hyanthidas unbuckled his belt and the doctor began easing his tunic up under his buttocks. As the Cycladean freed the fabric, lifting it as far as Eumelos’ waist, something slipped free. Not the purse tucked inside his tunic and held secure by his belt, but something smaller. It rolled across the table and fell to the floor with a sharp clatter.
‘What was that?’ the doctor demanded.
We all stepped back carefully, looking this way and that among the dark bars of shadow cutting across the tiles.
‘There!’ Hyanthidas crouched to retrieve a vial of thick blue glass as long as a man’s thumb. It was stoppered with a wax-crusted cork.
‘What’s this?’ the Cycladean demanded.
‘A pick-me-up, that’s what he said.’ Lysicrates nodded at me and we laid Eumelos down. It looked as if undressing him could wait.
‘He drank this?’ The doctor looked at the actor, exasperated. ‘You didn’t think to mention this earlier?’
‘He emptied it into his first cup of wine, but he was perfectly fine after that,’ Lysicrates protested.
‘Until he wasn’t,’ the doctor said caustically. He freed the cork and sniffed it warily. ‘You say he was distressed, but he wasn’t actually weeping? You were drinking for some time, but he never left the table to piss?’
‘No,’ said Lysicrates, defensive.
The doctor set the little vial down and tugged Eumelos’ tunic up, exposing his groin and belly. His deft fingers probed the area between the unconscious man’s hips, just above his cock. He nodded, speaking quietly to himself more than to us. ‘Bladder full to bursting.’
Then he seized a fold of skin deep in Eumelos’ groin, pinching it viciously hard between finger and thumb and twisting his hand for good measure. We all exclaimed in pointless outrage, but Eumelos had no need for our sympathy. Not a flicker of response crossed his slack face.
The doctor drew the fabric down to cover the stricken man’s nakedness. ‘Your friend has been poisoned, or rather, he was persuaded to poison himself, with the contents of that vial.’
‘What’s in it?’ Now Lysicrates looked at the blue glass bottle with loathing.
‘Thornapple, mostly, judging by the scent.’ The doctor folded his arms.
‘That’s a medicine,’ Hyanthidas objected.
‘In the right hands, in a carefully measured dose.’ The Cycladean shrugged. ‘Not like this.’
‘Will he recover?’ I asked, hoping against hope. ‘If he’s endured this far?’
‘I have no reason to hope so,’ the doctor said, dispassionate. ‘I believe he’ll be dead by morning.’
He looked at the three of us, brisk and businesslike. ‘You can stay or you can go, as you see fit. He may as well rest here for the night. He’s feeling no discomfort so I see no need to move him.’
He left us in the cubicle without waiting for an answer. Hyanthidas and Lysicrates stared at me, appalled. I looked at them, horrified and equally at a loss.
Lysicrates was the first to break the silence. ‘What’s that they say about Corinth? Look for a scorpion under every stone.’
‘How dare you?’ Hyanthidas was outraged.
‘Please,’ I interrupted. ‘There’s no need to quarrel among ourselves.’
‘You said he took the dose himself,’ Hyanthidas insisted. ‘Whoever mixed it must have made some mistake. This is just a dreadful accident.’
Lysicrates shook his head. ‘This man’s been poisoned by some enemy. The gods only know what he was mixed up in. We all know that Corinth—’
‘Enough!’ I clapped my hands. They both subsided, though I saw them slide sullen glances at each other. I made a series of swift decisions.
‘I’ll stay here, until we know if the Fates have truly cut Eumelos’ thread. You, go and reassure Telesilla.’ I jerked my head to send Hyanthidas on his way. ‘Tell her there’s no need to fear any sickness.’
I turned to Lysicrates. ‘Can you find your way back to our house?’ I was relieved to see him nod. ‘Tell everyone what’s happened. And tell Zosime I’ll be back as soon as I can tomorrow.’
I glanced at the slaves sitting stolidly on the steps. ‘Send that pair home, and tell them to tell Dardanis to call on us first thing in the morning. I should be back by then, but if not, you find out exactly what he’s told Perantas. And tell Zosime I love her.’
‘Always.’ He managed a crooked smile.
I watched them all leave, wondering how long the musician would be annoyed about Lysicrates insulting his home. I still didn’t understand what the actor had against Corinth. I also wondered uneasily if he was right about Eumelos’ fate. Had some enemy found the means to poison Perantas’ man? I didn’t like the thought of being caught up in someone’s murderous quarrel in a strange city.
The doctor had left the little blue vial on the shelf with the lamps. I went to look at it but there was nothing to tell me where it might have come from. If Zosime’s father had been with us, I could have asked what he thought. Menkaure is widely travelled and as a potter, the Egyptian has a keen eye for ceramics and glass. But he was back in Athens, staying in our little house to make sure no thieves took advantage of our absence and ransacked the place.
Still, somebody might recognise the vial, if they were familiar with whatever novelties traders brought to this seafarers’ crossroads. I made sure the little cork was rammed down and dropped the vial inside my tunic. The cold glass slid down my ribs to be caught by my belt.
Footsteps echoed in the courtyard. The Cycladean reappeared with a thin mattress rolled up under one arm and carrying a folded blanket. ‘Your friends said you were staying the night.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ I took the bedding.
The doctor looked at me with measured sympathy as he snuffed all but one of the lamps. ‘You realise that all you can do here is give him an obol for Charon.’
I nodded. ‘But no one should die alone.’
The doctor smiled briefly. ‘Asklepios bless you both.’
He left and I unrolled the pallet across the open end of the cubicle. After all the day’s upheavals, I welcomed the colonnade’s stillness. With the blanket as well as my cloak, I wrapped myself up, warm and comfortable. Sleep soon claimed me.
When I woke up the next morning, Eumelos was stiff, cold, and dead.
Chapter Three
I slid the Pegasus seal ring off Eumelos’ rigid finger with some difficulty. The gol
d band left a noticeable dent in his skin. His jaw was clamped so solidly shut that I couldn’t put an obol in his mouth, so I settled for wedging the tiny coin between his waxen lips. It had been minted in Athens, but our money is accepted by Hellenes everywhere so I didn’t imagine Charon would quibble.
I felt sorrow for an untimely death rather than grief. I barely knew Eumelos, so this was hardly a personal loss. At least he was at peace after last evening’s violent seizures. Though the torment was only beginning for his family and I was sorry for that. They would want to know why he had drunk the dose that killed him. Had he been tricked into doing that, or had he sought his own death? Hades help him if he had. There are so many easier ways out of this life than such a brutal poison.
Once I’d delivered the ring to his family, I needed to call on Perantas Bacchiad. I’d inform our Corinthian patron of this tragedy and see what he wanted to do next. He must know who to contact among Corinth’s ruling Council to get this murky death investigated.
Uneasily, I supposed it was always possible that he’d decide to cancel our play’s performance. Still, there was nothing to be gained by delay. Quite the contrary. If we were going to be packing up and heading straight back to Athens, the sooner we knew it, the better.
I slid the ring onto my middle finger. I’d better take care not to lose it. The gold band was noticeably loose, and the expertly carved agate was heavy.
‘Farewell.’ I laid my hand briefly on Eumelos’ chest. ‘I wish you peace in the asphodel fields of the Underworld.’
I rolled up the thin mattress and left the blanket folded on top of it. The morning light showed me the wide basin filled by a spring over in the south-west corner of the courtyard, and I washed the night’s staleness from my mouth and sluiced my head and face. A few hearty shakes got the worst creases out of my cloak and I repinned it around my shoulders. The sky was a clear, pale blue and the morning was still cool enough to raise gooseflesh on my forearms.
Going in search of the Cycladean doctor, I found a hatchet-faced Arcadian in charge of the hall full of patients sitting at the table by the door to the stairs. He was concocting assorted doses, mixing herbs and powders from an array of plain glazed jars. He looked up, his expression enquiring. ‘Good morning?’
‘I came here last night with a man who had been poisoned. He died, so I must tell his family.’ I slipped the Pegasus ring off my finger and held it out, so no one thought the corpse had been robbed. ‘I’ll be returning this to them.’
‘Chresimos told me to expect you. My condolences.’ His sympathy was sincerely meant. ‘We will care for your friend until his family come to take him home.’
‘Thank you.’ I nodded gratefully and made my way out of the hall. Outside the entrance, at the bottom of the long ramp, a welcome sight greeted me. Kadous was leaning against the temple wall. He stood up as I drew close.
‘How long have you been waiting?’
The Phrygian shrugged. ‘I left the house at first light. We weren’t sure if you could find your way back.’
‘It would have been a challenge,’ I admitted. ‘Did you get everything unpacked?’
‘We did.’ He cocked his head. ‘Will we be staying?’
My father prized quick wits in his slaves, and Kadous was one of the most astute he’d ever bought.
I sighed. ‘That remains to be seen.’
We reached the Lechaion Road and walked south towards the heart of the city. Ahead, I could see the great, grey bulk of the Acrocorinth, barely gilded by the morning sun. Its rugged crags rose up beyond the houses and temples, with the lofty citadel within the embrace of Corinth’s long walls that stretched all the way behind us back to the sea.
Our Athenian acropolis is the heart of our city, the sanctuary where we honour our gods, and our refuge where they defend us in time of gravest danger. By contrast the Acrocorinth looms over its city. Its brooding cliffs are four times the height of our acropolis and the twin-headed summit offers ten times the space for temples and fortifications. Now I’d seen the famous mountain for myself, I could see why no army would advance into the Peloponnese if Corinth was set against it. By the same token, no Peloponnesian foe could threaten Athens as long as Corinth was our ally. Aristarchos had reminded me of that more than once.
‘This way.’ Kadous headed down a side street. I committed the route’s turns to memory, so much easier in the daylight. I’d simply been following Hyanthidas last night, too distracted to pay much attention. We soon arrived at the sizeable residence Perantas had put at our disposal. Kadous knocked and Tromes opened the gate. He was the most senior of the Bacchiad slaves sent to serve our temporary household’s needs.
We walked into the spacious courtyard, ringed on three sides by pillared porches and two-storey buildings. The family house, when a family lived here, was straight ahead. Stairs led up to guest apartments above the storerooms and slave accommodation on either side.
Zosime was sitting at the table in the courtyard, eating bread and figs for breakfast. Apollonides sat beside her, sipping at a cup. He studied my face. ‘He died?’
‘He did.’ There was nothing else to say about that.
‘He emptied some poison into his own wine?’ Zosime had evidently heard the full story from the others.
‘He did.’ I unbuckled my belt and the blue vial dropped to the beaten earth. Until she reminded me, I’d forgotten about it, with the glass warmed by my body overnight. I scooped it up and tossed it over. ‘If we can find out where that came from, we might learn more.’
Apollonides studied the vial. ‘I can ask around the markets, to see who might make or sell such work.’
‘Just keep your eyes open,’ I cautioned. ‘We don’t want to add to his family’s grief by starting rumours, or to slander some innocent by accident.’ I had no idea how Corinth’s laws dealt with unfounded accusations but Athenian courts exact harsh punishment.
The door to the storerooms on my right opened and Menekles appeared, holding a handful of masks by their linen ties. Lysicrates followed, with his arms full of the tightly woven stage skins that our new chorus would wear beneath their costumes.
Behind them, I glimpsed two more of the slaves we’d been loaned. Their faces were shifting between curiosity and apprehension. Tromes clapped his hands briskly and shooed them backwards, before disappearing through the main door into the house, intent on his own duties.
Menekles’ full lips thinned as he saw my expression. ‘He’s dead then.’
Lysicrates shaded his eyes from the bright sun with a hand. ‘Have you any idea where we’re supposed to go for rehearsal space? Eumelos said he’d arranged that for us.’
‘He’d already spread the word about our chorus auditions,’ added Apollonides. ‘Singers will be turning up tomorrow and we need to know where to meet them.’
Clearly the actors were assuming the play was going ahead and expected me to fulfil all the chorus master’s duties.
I held up the Pegasus ring. ‘This must go to his family, along with the grievous news. Once I’ve done that, I’ll go and see Perantas Bacchiad. Someone in his household should know something about the arrangements for the play.’ I hoped so, anyway. I looked at Menekles. ‘Do you know the way to Eumelos’ house?’
The actor nodded. ‘Tromes showed me last night. It’s close by.’
Apollonides got to his feet. ‘I’ll help finish checking through the baskets.’
‘I need something to eat first.’ I sat beside Zosime and helped myself to sweet, ripe figs and bread.
‘Did you get any sleep?’ She squeezed my hand.
‘I did, by Asklepios’ grace,’ I assured her.
The actors stood motionless, watching me eat, as though they were poised for some cue on a stage. In the silence, I heard those slaves in the storeroom whispering.
I snapped my fingers to attract Kadous’ attention. ‘Tell Trome
s to tell his people to keep their mouths shut around the markets. There’s going to be enough gossip without them adding to it.’
‘I’ll see to it.’ The Phrygian spoke loudly enough to be heard by those two in the shadows who instantly fell silent.
‘Come on.’ I swallowed my mouthful and nodded at Menekles. As I stood up, Kadous opened the gate for us.
Eumelos’ home was only a couple of streets away. I was surprised to find it was a modest residence, though. I thought he was supposed to be a prosperous merchant.
An unknown youth opened the gate to our knock, his sharp-cheekboned face drawn with anxiety and exhaustion. ‘Is there word from the Asklepion?’
I could see he was desperately clinging to hope, at the same time as dreading the worst.
Menekles looked past him. ‘Where’s Dardanis?’
The lad’s eyes widened. ‘Isn’t he with you?’
Menekles was puzzled. ‘No.’
I held up a hand to quell the lad’s next question. ‘Good morning, I’m Philocles Hestaiou. Please excuse me, who are you?’
I couldn’t see a family resemblance to Eumelos, but that’s not necessarily any guide. I needed to know to whom I was speaking, before I shared the dreadful tidings.
‘I’m Nados.’ He stepped back to let us into the narrow courtyard. ‘Eumelos’ business partner. Junior partner,’ he added hastily. ‘One of three. There’s Aithon in Kenchreai and Simias in Lechaion.’
‘Where does your master’s family live?’ I hoped he’d say Lechaion. That would be an easy walk, there and back before noon. Going all the way to Kenchreai and dealing with a shocked widow’s concerns and questions would take up the rest of my day.
Nados frowned. ‘His family?’
‘His wife and children? I’m afraid I have grievous news. Eumelos died last night.’
But Nados was shaking his head. ‘It’s just us. Eumelos never wed. It’s—’
He tried to go on, but grief choked him, as tears spilled down his cheeks.
