by J M Alvey
‘No relatives have come to the house,’ Zosime said sadly.
‘He could have lost his family to some cruel misfortune.’ I gave her hand a comforting squeeze. The Fates visit every family with untimely deaths. Zosime was still a child when Menkaure lost her mother in childbed. I had seen one sister buried with her infant, and Kadous had come back all the way from Egypt with the grievous news of my brother’s death in battle. Such loyalty is merely one reason why I value my Phrygian slave so highly.
‘No one believes that he killed himself,’ Zosime said, emphatic. ‘He had no business troubles, and even if he had, Eumelos wouldn’t take a coward’s way out. People don’t believe the potion he drank is what poisoned him, or they say he must have been tricked into swallowing it.’
‘But how would someone persuade such a shrewd man to do that?’ We were making no more progress than a dog chasing its tail.
Before we could continue, Tromes opened the gate to Menekles’ knock. I saw Apollonides instantly register the sorrow clouding Zosime’s face.
‘Sweetheart!’ He hurried over to embrace her. ‘We must visit the markets together. The crimson and scarlet woollens here are as glorious as everyone says, and much cheaper than at home.’
‘Their perfumes are well worth a look, too, or should I say a sniff.’ Menekles offered Zosime his wrist.
It wasn’t much of a joke but it made her smile and I was grateful to him for that.
‘We went to the North Market first.’ As Kadous brought more cups, Apollonides poured us all some wine.
I could see Menekles wanted to ask how I was getting on rewriting those key scenes. For the moment though, he was content to tell Zosime about their afternoon sauntering around Corinth to take her mind off a day spent in a house of mourning.
When Apollonides finished extolling the exquisite local almond pastries, she raised a hand. ‘Why haven’t you been rehearsing? How did the auditions go? Where’s Lysicrates?’
‘I’m here.’ He appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the rooms he was sharing with the others. ‘Have you heard about all the excitement?’ He joined us and poured some wine. I tried to catch his eye, but he was avoiding everyone’s gaze.
By the time Menekles had told the tale of our eventful day, Zosime was looking pensive. ‘I hope there won’t be any trouble at the funeral.’
‘They wouldn’t dare risk divine disfavour for such impiety,’ I said with rather more confidence than I felt.
Lysicrates looked up at the lavender sky. ‘We should get an early night if we’re going to be up before dawn.’
There was no argument there. Soon after Kadous had served us fresh-griddled fish, wheaten bread and a local dish of spiced chickpeas, we all retired to our rooms. In bed, I held Zosime close until her breathing softened into sleep. I was still wracking my brains over Eumelos’ death but I came up with nothing before I followed her into welcome oblivion.
Kadous woke us with softly persistent knocking and I opened my eyes to the darkness that shrouds all funerals. We dressed quickly in our plainest clothes and joined the others in the courtyard. Kadous was yawning from staying awake through the night to wait for the slave that Nados sent to summon us, so I told him to head for his own bed as soon as he closed the gate behind us.
We found a sizeable gathering at Eumelos’ house, silently waiting in the pitiless grey light before dawn. There must have been a hundred men and women, young and old. Looking discreetly around, I couldn’t see anyone wearing any sign of the Brotherhood. That was a relief.
The gate opened and the funeral procession emerged. The slaves who’d taken Eumelos to the Asklepion now carried the litter bearing his body. The corpse was richly dressed and crowned with a laurel wreath. Nados and two other young men walked ahead of the bier in the place of a dead man’s sons, dressed in black as befitted the chief mourners. They carried torches and the tears on their cheeks gleamed in the flickering light.
It took me a moment to realise the woman following the bier with her hair covered was Telesilla. As the man behind her played a dirge on his flute I recognised Hyanthidas. The sorrowful little procession moved on and Telesilla sang a soaring lament that brought tears to my eyes. Everyone here to mourn Eumelos shuffled their feet and sniffed as her glorious singing gave voice to their heartbreak.
We’ve all been to funerals where you feel that people are only there to make sure that some unloved or despised deceased is really dead. This was completely different. As we walked through the sleeping city, through this last fading hour of the night, I heard whispers all around us struggling to accept that a man so full of life and vigour was indeed lying dead on that bier.
The procession threaded through the agora, past the theatre and northwards out of the city to the west of the Asklepion, where the land slopes sharply down to the plain. The grave in an extensive burial ground had already been prepared and Eumelos was laid to rest. I looked for any gravestones to tell us he was being buried in the same plot as his family but there was nothing to be seen.
Zosime slipped her hand into mine as we stood witness to the funeral rites. Nados, Aithon and Simias cut off handfuls of hair to cast into the grave. This was no perfunctory nod to offering a lock for the dead. Their voices shook with grief as they poured their libations to their lost friend and mentor. As the young men offered fervent prayers to the gods above and below, others all around us added their own intercessions. Killers usually fear being pursued by an angry ghost. Whoever had murdered Eumelos should be more afraid of his vengeful friends.
As the first true sunlight flooded the Corinthian plain with the soft golden promise of warmth, the two mute slaves began filling in the grave. Nados turned to address the gathering waiting in respectful silence.
‘Thank you for honouring our beloved Eumelos. Please, come back to his home, to eat and drink and celebrate his life.’
As he managed a shaky smile, I realised he was searching for someone in the crowd. As soon as he saw me, he raised a hand, and I saw Simias and Aithon focus on me as well. They clearly wanted to talk, so as everyone else moved off, I waited with Zosime.
The three young men came over to us. They were all much of an age, with Simias perhaps the oldest. He was shorter than Nados, heavily browed and muscled like a rower.
‘Philocles, it’s good to meet you.’ Aithon had a faint Thessalian accent but I guessed he had lived here long enough to qualify for Corinthian citizenship, since he was participating so fully in the funeral.
‘I wish it had been under better circumstances. What can I do for you?’
Nados ran a hand over his ragged hair. ‘We still can’t find Dardanis, and we can’t find Eumelos’ will.’
‘We can’t find his savings either,’ Simias added, anxious. ‘We’ve searched everywhere.’
‘Didn’t he keep a strongbox in a temple?’ I guessed the priests of Apollo acted as the city’s bankers, and most sensible merchants only keep money for their day-to-day needs at home.
‘He did, but that’s not the problem.’ Aithon explained. ‘He told me that he kept his silver reserve here in Corinth, where Nados could make up all the accounts.’
The tall Corinthian took up the tale. ‘But he told me that Simias kept the accounts, as well as his private strongbox, in the Lechaion house.’
I looked at the stocky man. ‘While he told you that Aithon kept everything safe in Kenchreai?’
‘He said no one would think of looking there to rob us,’ Simias confirmed.
Zeus help me, what had Eumelos been thinking? I looked past the three young men to the dark scar of his grave. There was no way we could ask the dead man now, not unless someone fancied following in Odysseus’ footsteps and making their way down to the Underworld.
Chapter Seven
We arrived at Eumelos’ house to find the courtyard paving dull with water. Abrosyne and the household slaves
had barely finished the cleansing rites after the dead man’s departure. They hurried to serve wine and food to the gathering throng. I wondered how many of these men and women had truly been the merchant’s friends, and how many were just here to fill their bellies.
Thettalos was eating heartily and grief wasn’t dulling the appetites of his handful of companions. They all wore Pegasus insignia, though only Thettalos showed any sign of the fight at the Sanctuary. There was the dark shadow of a bruise under his beard and his legs looked like he’d been mauled by a wolf. As he made his way towards me, his warning scowl made sure no one jostled him.
I toyed with the idea of slipping away through the crowd but that would be pointless as well as childish. So I waited to hear what the brute had to say.
‘We will have our vengeance for our brother. Never doubt that, Athenian.’
I was a little surprised to see unshed tears of genuine grief in his eyes. ‘May the Furies bless your endeavours.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘You need a chorus. Perantas said—’
‘—the play will be staged.’ I nodded. ‘We’ll hold our auditions and rehearsals without your help, thanks all the same.’
I tried, and failed, to avoid sounding acid. Thettalos’ lip curled.
‘If you think you can defend yourselves, three actors, one scribbler and a piper—’
‘If you want to defy Demeter’s priestess, that’s between you and her and the goddess.’ I let him see my anger, though I kept my voice low out of deference to the mourners around us. ‘She said you are no longer welcome in the Sanctuary.’
‘Then don’t come crawling to me,’ he sneered, ‘with a knife in your guts.’
‘The further I stay from you,’ I retorted, ‘the safer I reckon I’ll be.’
As I turned my back, I saw Abrosyne looking uneasy as she passed by with a jug in her hand. More slaves I didn’t recognise carried laden platters to and fro, their eyes hollow with anxiety. I could hardly blame them, but I had no reassurance to offer. I had no idea what would happen to them if Eumelos’ will had gone missing.
Nados, Aithon and Simias kept looking at me, between shaking hands with mourners sharing some fond memory of Eumelos and expressing their shock at his death. The crowd was spilling out of the gate into the street now. Hushed condolences were giving way to louder reminiscences and even an occasional laugh as someone was caught unawares by some amusing recollection.
I remembered my father’s funeral. I hadn’t been much older than these three, but I’d had my brothers to share the burden. We’d had so much more besides. There were our mother’s brothers, as well as cousins on our father’s side. Our married sister Kleio’s husband, Kalliphon, was a true friend, and we could turn to the district brotherhood that we’d belonged to since we were children. Those guarantee every Athenian citizen’s rights and see to it that a dead man’s dependants are dealt with fairly, even if no will can be found.
Aithon excused himself with a shake of a weather-beaten man’s hand. Simias and Nados extricated themselves from their respective conversations, and I could see they all had something to say to me.
Taking Zosime’s hand, I edged my way to the elegantly painted portico at the side of the courtyard. The handful of people there politely yielded the space to us, so we were unlikely to be overheard. That was good, because I had some hard questions to ask, after thinking through what they’d said at the graveside.
‘Did Dardanis know where Eumelos kept his silver reserves? Did he tell you this same tale about the strong box and the accounts being kept in different places?’
The trio exchanged apprehensive glances and nodded.
‘Was he involved in keeping the day-to-day records of your trades? Did he handle correspondence, cargo lists and such?’
‘He’s an excellent secretary,’ Aithon confirmed.
‘He carries letters back and forth for us all,’ Simias added.
‘So he knew more about Eumelos’ business than any of you. Don’t we have to consider the possibility that he is Eumelos’ killer? That he’s fled with the fortune?’
Perantas Bacchiad was ready to blame the slave because that was most convenient for him. Now I was forced to wonder if he was right.
‘I know you’re afraid that Dardanis fell foul of whoever murdered your master, but surely he’d have turned up dead or injured by now? How could someone seize him between here and our lodging without Menekles and those two noticing some scuffle?’
I nodded at the doleful slaves who’d carried their master to his final resting place, now lugging heavy water jars from the nearest fountain. ‘If Dardanis can’t be found, surely he doesn’t want to be found? If you can’t find Eumelos’ will, did Dardanis know where it was kept?’
‘He wrote it,’ Aithon said, sullen. ‘Eumelos revised his bequests every year.’
‘Sensible, since he was a man with many trading interests.’ I looked at the three of them. ‘So I’m guessing his will was a lengthy document. Have you any idea what it said? Who might have a claim on his property?’
‘He said we’d be treated fairly.’ Nados sounded utterly bereft. ‘But none of us expected him to die. No one did.’
He gestured vaguely at the crowd in the courtyard, and I smiled blandly at the closest men and women trying unsuccessfully to conceal their curiosity about our conversation. I turned back to the trio.
‘Dardanis knew where the silver was hidden. Dardanis knew that without a will, you’d be too busy sorting out the confusion to pursue him.’
‘Eumelos trusted him,’ Simias protested. ‘More than anyone else.’
‘Enough to drink whatever medicine Dardanis gave him? A pick-me-up before he visited a brothel?’ I steeled myself for their response.
‘He wouldn’t do that!’ Nados’ shout echoed around the courtyard, silencing the chattering crowd.
I turned to challenge the motionless figures with wide-eyed stares and gaping mouths. This tragedy didn’t need a chorus. As I glowered, stealthy movement caught my eye. A wiry man slipped behind a portly mourner, heading for the gate. As well he might. That was the bastard who’d started the fight to wreck our auditions.
I took a stride to follow him. Men and women shuffled like startled hens, only inconveniencing each other and thoroughly blocking my path.
‘Let me through.’ Simias pushed his way through the crowd.
He wanted to be anywhere but here. I remembered that feeling all too well from my father’s funeral.
‘I have to . . .’ Nados disappeared into the house. Aithon followed him without a word.
Conversation resumed, awkward and abashed. A few people decided it was time to leave. I saw Hyanthidas leaning against the opposite wall of the courtyard. He looked as weary as Eumelos’ slaves. At his side, Telesilla couldn’t stop yawning.
I wondered if he’d seen the wiry man. I took a step, only to find Zosime holding me back.
‘Why are you blaming the slave?’
‘Who else is there? Who else is missing? No one likes to imagine such betrayal, but slaves have been known to kill.’
‘When they’re driven to it by brutality,’ she retorted. ‘Everyone says Eumelos treated his household fairly.’
‘No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.’ That was a feeble answer and I knew it.
Zosime gave me a withering look. ‘Abused slaves run away. They reach a new city, they change their name and no one is ever the wiser. Why would Dardanis risk murder with Corinth’s two ports within such easy reach? When a killer will be pursued by gods and men alike?’
I couldn’t deny her logic but she hadn’t answered my first question. ‘Then where is Dardanis?’
‘Killed by whoever killed Eumelos, who knows how quickly a missing slave will be blamed.’ Zosime had no doubt about that. ‘Do you think Kadous could do such a thing?’
�
�What?’ This abrupt swerve in the conversation wrong-footed me.
‘Would he ever kill you, to rob you and run away, after serving you faithfully for so many years?’
‘Of course not, but that’s different.’
‘How?’ Zosime demanded. ‘Everyone says that Dardanis was as loyal to Eumelos as Kadous is to you. I spent the whole day here, when his body was brought back from the Asklepion. These people knew both of them. None of us did. They all swear Dardanis couldn’t do this.’
‘Then where is he?’ Though she was right about one thing. I wouldn’t know the missing slave from a stranger on the highway. We’d barely exchanged twenty words and I struggled to remember the man’s face. But I’d definitely recognised that wiry man and he was getting away. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll discuss this later.’
I shook off Zosime’s hand and headed for Hyanthidas. Before I could reach him, the crowd at the gate parted, and a handful of stern-faced men entered. They wore plain tunics of undyed wool, and I guessed that the same barber kept their hair and beards clipped close. Temple slaves.
The leader pointed at me. ‘Are you Philocles Hestaiou of Athens?’
‘I am.’ There wasn’t much point in denying it.
‘You’re summoned before the Council of Corinth, to answer for the disruption you’ve brought to our city.’ His tone was matter-of-fact.
‘When do the honoured Council wish to see me?’ I asked warily.
‘Now.’ He didn’t need to explain how much trouble I’d be in if I baulked. None of these men carried chains, but I guessed such things wouldn’t be hard to come by.
‘By all means.’ I agreed.
‘Follow me.’
As the slaves’ leader turned around, I looked at Hyanthidas with desperate appeal. He gave Telesilla a swift kiss of farewell and fell into step beside me. As we reached the gate, the temple slaves flanked us. If we weren’t under arrest, we certainly couldn’t run.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Telesilla join Zosime, both women unable to hide their concern.
‘Just answer the questions you’re asked,’ Hyanthidas advised in an undertone. ‘Don’t elaborate. Don’t speculate.’
