by J M Alvey
I looked at Zopyros, unsmiling. ‘Are you proud of your achievement?’
‘Forgive me.’ The herbalist bowed to Apollonides. ‘This was business. It’s nothing personal.’
‘It’s pretty fucking personal for me.’ Apollonides outstripped Lysicrates’ menace without breaking a sweat.
‘Who did you sell the hellebore to?’ I demanded. ‘Who bought the poison that killed Eumelos?’
‘The hellebore lotion—’ Zopyros turned his hands palm upwards. ‘My customers pay for my discretion.’
Lysicrates smiled nastily. ‘If you want them to think that we beat it out of you, I’m happy to oblige.’
‘We can smash every bottle and jar in the place,’ Apollonides agreed, ‘to make your bruises look more convincing.’
Zopyros looked at me. ‘I was thinking more in terms of you paying for such information. I am simply a businessman.’
‘No,’ I said flatly. ‘You can tell us, or you can answer to the Council, when we accuse you of murder and attempted murder.’
‘No,’ Zopyros said instantly. ‘I have no idea what happened to your friend. I’ll swear to that on any altar you name. As for the hellebore lotion, that wouldn’t kill anyone, not unless they tried eating a mask.’
‘So what was the plan?’
Zopyros folded his arms. ‘If I tell you what I know, can you promise me that my customer won’t hear what you’ve learned from me?’
‘That depends on what you tell us.’ I wasn’t making any deals.
The herbalist grimaced. ‘Then I’ll deny everything, if anyone comes asking, when I’m standing before the Council if needs be. Kittos here will go on oath that we’ve never even met.’ He nudged his brother’s foot with his toe.
‘Here all night, alone.’ The man’s voice was muffled as he lay there facing the floor. ‘No customers at all.’
Mention of customers made me realise we needed to leave before someone came genuinely looking for a rise under their tunic.
‘We’ll keep your secrets as long as you keep ours. As long as you don’t tell whoever’s paid you that we know what they’ve done.’
‘Do you think I’m a fool?’ he protested. ‘If they poisoned your friend, and believe me, I had nothing to do with that, they’ve proved that they’re willing to kill. I was only paid to make sure your play was a shambles, with your chorus ripping their masks off halfway through.’ He glanced at Apollonides with mingled satisfaction and regret.
My blood ran cold as I realised how close our enemies had come to success. ‘Who paid you?’
‘A man called Sosandros.’ Zopyros shrugged.
‘Who does he work for?’ I demanded.
Zopyros shrugged again. ‘I’ve no idea.’
I tried another approach. ‘What hero cult does he belong to?’
This time Zopyros hesitated.
‘If you can’t tell us anything useful,’ Lysicrates growled, ‘we’ll just have to smash everything in here, to make sure you can’t make any more mischief.’
‘Maybe break both your arms for good measure,’ Apollonides agreed darkly.
A blind man could see this was no idle threat.
‘Isn’t it just easier to tell us?’ I invited the herbalist. ‘We won’t tell anyone.’
‘I have heard,’ Zopyros said reluctantly, ‘though I cannot vouch for the truth of it, that Sosandros is sworn to the Sons of Heracles.’
So it was no coincidence that we’d found so many trinkets decorated with the divine hero’s club after the brawl on that first day.
‘Who’s their paymaster?’ Lysicrates looked at me.
I shrugged. I had no idea.
‘Wait a moment.’ Apollonides was still intent on the herbalist. ‘Was it just the chorus masks that were poisoned? What about the rehearsal masks, the stage-skins and the costumes?’
‘As far as I know, it’s just the masks for the performance,’ Zopyros assured him. ‘Sosandros talked about using the hellebore on the costumes but I said that risked blistering the hands of whoever sorted them out before the play. Then the whole game would be up.’
It really was just a game to him. I resisted the urge to punch him so hard he’d be shitting teeth for days.
‘Let’s go,’ I said shortly.
Apollonides put his hat back on to shadow his face and opened the door to the street. I thrust Zopyros’ knife deep into the table and bent it until the blade snapped. Tossing the hilt on the floor, I followed the actor out. Lysicrates was close behind me, walking backwards to keep the herbalist and his brother in view until he slammed the outer door shut.
We walked swiftly back towards the bustling heart of the citadel by unspoken agreement. When we reached a busy thoroughfare, Lysicrates was the first to speak.
‘Do you think we can trust him to keep his mouth shut? He’s proved he’s a treacherous bastard.’
‘I think we can trust him to serve his own interests. Letting this Sosandros know he’s betrayed him would hardly be good for his health.’ I shook my head. ‘That’s not what bothers me. Zopyros admitted to poisoning the masks but he swore he had no hand in Eumelos’ death.’
‘So he’s a lying arsehole.’ Lysicrates had no doubt about that. ‘He knew we had him caught, so there was no point in denying he supplied the hellebore. But he’d hardly admit to supplying the means for a murder in a place like this. The Council would probably hand him over to their executioner without a trial.’
‘Maybe so.’ I wasn’t convinced.
Though I was certain of one thing: the attacks to stop our play would continue.
Chapter Twelve
I was trapped in a labyrinth with no idea how to find the way out. Turning a corner showed me three more routes. They all looked exactly the same. Any one might be a dead end. I might stumble into some pitfall in this ominous gloom, to lie lost and injured until I died of thirst. But I had to go on. In the shadows behind me, I could hear running footsteps, getting faster and closer. Was my pursuer man, or beast, or something monstrous in between?
I woke up with a gasp. After an endless moment, I realised I had been dreaming. I lay there limp with relief. Then I looked for any hint of daylight through the window shutters. No such luck. But I didn’t dare sleep again, and risk returning to that dreadful maze.
Zosime rolled over to press her naked body against the length of mine. Her toes stroked the top of my foot. I drew a breath. She laid a finger on my lips before leaning over to kiss me. Her thigh slid over mine. As she kissed me again, longer and deeper, she reached for my hand and cupped it around her breast.
I freed my lips from hers. ‘Have you . . . ?’
‘All taken care of, before you got home.’
As she spoke she straddled me, shrugging off the blanket. She moved slowly at first, the feel of her against me softer and more inviting with every stroke. I grew harder, my breath coming faster. She took me inside her in one swift movement and her hips bore down on mine. I caressed her nipples until I felt her flesh tighten around my manhood. I took firm hold of her hips, moving more quickly beneath her. She rode me ever faster until ecstasy rippled through her.
I bit my lip. ‘I can’t—’
With one swift movement, we swapped places. I was already so close to the brink, it wasn’t long before I was spent in a glorious spasm. I sank down to lay my head between her breasts, hearing her heartbeat gradually slow. Beads of sweat trickled and tickled between my chest and her belly.
She stroked my hair. ‘Better?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I kissed her soft skin.
Now Hypnos had me in his clutches. I didn’t care what city we were in, still less whatever else might be happening. As Zosime shifted beneath me, I rolled onto my back. I was asleep before she came back to bed.
I slept so deeply that sunlight shone bright around the edges of the shutters wh
en I finally woke. Opening the window that overlooked the courtyard, I saw the others sitting around the table as a kitchen girl served breakfast.
I waved to Kadous as he looked upwards. ‘Water for washing, please.’
I made myself presentable as fast as I could but the others were ready to leave for the Sanctuary by the time I got downstairs. I tore open a hunk of barley bread and filled it with mashed chickpeas, fragrant with herbs and garlic. ‘Let’s go.’
Zosime took my hand as we walked through the city and followed the rising road up to Demeter’s Sanctuary.
‘What happened last night?’
I told her the tale of our visit to the Acrocorinth. ‘So it looks as if it’s just the performance masks that were poisoned.’
She pursed her lips, unconvinced. ‘We’ll look utter fools if we’re wrong. I’ll check the costumes anyway.’
‘How?’ I objected. ‘You can’t cover yourself in blisters.’
‘I can moisten cloth and test it against the inside of my arm or my thigh, somewhere that won’t be obvious. I’ll wash it off if I feel the slightest tingle.’ She wasn’t going to be dissuaded. ‘I’m sure Apollonides will share his ointment if needs be.’
A few steps ahead, the actor halted as he heard his name. ‘What’s that?’
‘Never mind.’ Zosime smiled at him.
Apollonides’ thoughts had already moved on. ‘I’ve been wondering, in case someone in our chorus can’t keep his mouth shut, should we keep the leatherwork to ourselves?’
He looked at me meaningfully, as if there was a real possibility that some Corinthian passer-by might understand and go running to tell our enemies.
Lysicrates stopped walking as well. ‘We don’t want someone breaking in to cut everything to pieces.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said reluctantly. One of the very best jokes in the play relied on the special props that my brothers had devised. It wouldn’t be nearly as funny without the whole chorus involved. Then again, half a loaf is better than none. Four of us in on the secret should still raise a good laugh. ‘I’ll need to make a few changes to that scene.’
Menekles took a few long strides to draw level with me. I expected him to ask me about the other rewrites, but he had something else on his mind. He’d been talking to Lysicrates and Apollonides.
‘What are we going to do about these Sons of Heracles?’
‘I’d say we do nothing. If we make any move against them before the performance, if we give them an excuse for more violence, we’ve handed a weapon to all of these factions who want to stop our play.’ A good night’s sleep had clarified my thoughts. ‘As long as they think we don’t know about their hellebore lotion, there’s no reason for them to risk anything else. They’ll just bide their time, come to watch the performance, and wait for their poison to strike us down.’
‘Do you think this weasel, this Zopyros, will keep his mouth shut?’ Menekles didn’t sound convinced.
‘I think so, to save himself aggravation.’ Though there wasn’t anything we could do if he went running to tell tales.
Menekles still wasn’t satisfied. ‘What do you think they’ll do, when they realise they’ve been foiled?’
I heaved a sigh. ‘I have no idea.’
Menekles grimaced. ‘If we’d known what we were getting into . . .’
Still, the day was fine, and a fresh breeze made the climb to Demeter’s Sanctuary that much easier. The chorus was already assembling and the last few singers arrived close behind us. We were soon ready to start rehearsing while Zosime continued working on the masks. All we lacked was musicians.
Apollonides came out of the costume store, concerned. ‘There’s no sign of Hyanthidas or Telesilla.’
‘Has anyone seen our piper on their way up here?’ I called out to the chorus.
Their only answers were shrugs and shaken heads. There was no cause for alarm just yet, I told myself sternly. The musicians simply didn’t have a houseful of talkative actors to wake them if they overslept.
That didn’t loosen the clutch of dread in my guts. Hyanthidas had composed all the music that enhanced the actors’ performances, not only the songs for the chorus. He was integral to our play and irreplaceable.
I beckoned to Menekles. ‘Where did you last see Hyanthidas and Telesilla?’
He looked at me uncertainly. ‘We parted ways in the agora.’
‘This is their own city,’ Apollonides protested.
Lysicrates came over to join us. ‘That’s supposed to keep them safe? When we know there are any number of bastards here who would happily do us harm?’
I wished I could dismiss that as his grudge against Corinth but I could imagine too many plausible and violent scenarios. I also saw the chorus singers looking at the four of us, growing curious about this delay.
I looked for any signs of guilty knowledge, for any veiled satisfaction that might suggest a hero cult spy in our ranks. I saw absolutely nothing. I couldn’t decide if that was reassuring, or if it merely proved that Corinth’s festivals train actors as talented as the city’s singers.
‘They could have eaten some bad fish and spent the night each hugging a bucket.’
The three actors looked at me dubiously.
‘Let’s find out.’ I saw Kadous returning with a jug of fresh spring water, and beckoned him over. ‘Do you know where Hyanthidas lives?’
‘I can find out,’ the Phrygian said, obliging.
‘It’s not like him to be so late, without sending word.’ I resolutely ignored catastrophic possible explanations. ‘Go and make sure there’s nothing they need.’
‘Of course.’ Kadous understood what I wasn’t saying.
I clapped my hands. ‘Let’s make a start. We haven’t got time to waste.’
Menekles stepped forward onto the stretch of well-trodden ground serving as our stage. In the guise of the Homeric hero Meriones, he claimed this stretch of as-yet-unknown land for his shipload of Hellenes. His posture was noble, his gestures commanding, and his deep voice echoed around the courtyard.
Apollonides, playing Thersites, hovered like a gad-fly. He challenged every bold proclamation. He seized on every hesitation. Finally, he forced Meriones to admit that, yes, they were hopelessly lost.
His voice wasn’t as strong as I was used to. Thersites didn’t caper and leap as he tormented Meriones. Several times, Apollonides seemed on the verge of breathlessness.
I couldn’t spare any time to worry. The chorus’ first cue was approaching. Thankfully, Lysicrates is one of those people who can pluck any note out of thin air. He stepped forward to sing the first line, confident and full-voiced.
The chorus followed his lead with impressive promptness, and I led the singers through our first dance. There were a few mis-steps but nothing caused more than a hasty scurry to catch up.
As we finished singing, Lysicrates stepped forward in his first, and main, speaking role. Incongruous in his tunic and without his beard hidden by a mask, he greeted these ancient Achaeans as Egeria, a voluptuous and voracious Etruscan matron. These wayward mariners had washed up on the wild, wooded shores of Italy, far from any hope of civilisation.
Even lacking costume and wig, Lysicrates was mesmerising. Several of the chorus doubled up laughing as lustful Egeria pursued startled Thersites.
‘Let me show you my favourite hidden hollow,’ she cooed, before turning to the audience, lascivious. ‘I’ll soon have this straying lamb entangled deep in my undergrowth.’
I wasn’t smiling. Back in Athens, Lysicrates had chased Apollonides all around the stage. Now Thersites edged away, step by wary step. Egeria stalked him with the measured intent of my mother’s ferrets pursuing a leather-gnawing mouse.
Distracted, I nearly missed my own cue. As the chorus leader, I had to take the lead in the debate between the Achaean warriors and the noble Meriones over
how their new colony would be governed.
I really wished I wasn’t in the midst of the singers, as the first proposal to be made was the oppressive Spartan system; condemning the locals to serfdom and training citizens as warriors with merciless rigour. In Athens, the chorus emphatically rejected this. Here in Corinth, I wanted to see the faces around me, in case someone’s expression betrayed the Sons of Heracles’ sympathies with the Spartans.
The debate moved on to hereditary kingship, with Meriones and Thersites bickering loudly over who was more fit to rule. The chorus briskly dismissed such pretensions from both of these heroes, endorsing all men’s duty to help their neighbours, so that when hard times came, they could expect help in return. Not quite what the chorus in Athens had proclaimed, but more palatable to a Corinthian audience.
The singing was loud and enthusiastic and everyone was making encouraging strides with their dance steps. When we finished, I clapped my hands in appreciation.
‘Let’s go straight to the next choral piece. The song about building this new city in the wilderness.’
I avoided Menekles’ eye. I didn’t need to see his unspoken question about the play’s rewrites. There were other issues we needed to discuss if we were using our special props differently.
Since the singers knew nothing about that, they were content to carry on celebrating the glories of the temples they would build to honour the gods. Hyanthidas’ inspired music made this song a highlight of the whole play. Back in Athens, I’d assumed he was inspired by the new buildings that Pericles persuaded the People’s Assembly to finance, to raise our city from the rubble left by the invading Persians. Now we’d come to Corinth, I realised this melody showed Hyanthidas’ pride in his own city.
I desperately wanted to know where the piper was, to be reassured that all was well with him and Telesilla. But Kadous didn’t reappear until we were ready to halt for the noon break. At least we’d managed a nearly complete run through by then.
‘Well done, everybody. Get some food and drink, and we’ll start again when the heat’s passed.’ I managed an encouraging smile as I included all the Corinthians in my praise.
