by J M Alvey
Arion hefted the cooking pot from the brazier. Fish in cheese sauce was spiced with pepper, lovage, and rue berries and finished with a dusting of ground cumin. The shallow bowl held shredded meat and salty cheese on slices of barley bread layered with cucumber, pine nuts and chopped onions. I tasted ginger and coriander in the olive oil and wine dressing, sweetened with honey and raisins.
‘You are a wonderful hostess,’ I told Telesilla. ‘Layered salads are a particular favourite of mine, and Zosime always says how time-consuming they are to prepare.’
‘You are most welcome.’ She was looking a lot happier than she had done when we arrived. ‘Please, eat.’
None of us needed any further urging. Eventually, though, none of us could eat any more. Kadous and Arion began to clear away the meal’s remnants and Hyanthidas mixed another serving of wine.
‘So.’ He resumed his seat. ‘What now?’
I took a long swallow of wine. ‘Tromes may be Perantas Bacchiad’s slave but I take it we’re agreed that he’s sowing discord on someone else’s orders?’
Lysicrates set his cup down on the table. ‘It makes no sense for Perantas to pay us to stage the play while he’s urging Tromes to wreck it behind our backs.’
Apollonides looked troubled. ‘He won’t be pleased if he learns we’ve been keeping this from him. Tromes is his property. He has a right to know.’
‘But we only have half a story,’ Menekles countered. ‘Surely Perantas will want to know everything?’
‘If we tell him now, there’s every chance he’ll hand Tromes over to someone like Thettalos,’ I said with distaste. ‘To beat some answers out of him.’
‘How long will it take to get to the truth,’ wondered Menekles, ‘as opposed to whatever Tromes thinks Perantas wants to hear?’
‘Or whatever he thinks might save his neck.’ Zosime grimaced.
‘Assuming Thettalos doesn’t beat him to death first.’ Telesilla shook her head.
We all fell silent. The only sound was Kadous and Arion over by the storeroom door scraping the leavings off our plates into a refuse pail.
Kadous looked up and our eyes met. We both knew that, whether we told Perantas sooner or later, Tromes’ fate was sealed. The Bacchiad wouldn’t forgive such betrayal from a slave and the law would endorse whatever brutal vengeance the wealthy man chose to exact.
‘So how do we learn the full story?’ I looked around the table.
‘Set someone to follow Tromes?’ Lysicrates suggested. ‘To see where he goes and who he meets?’
‘Who do we send?’ Apollonides gestured around the courtyard. ‘We’re the only ones who know what he’s been doing, and he’ll recognise any of us.’
Menekles agreed. ‘Besides, there’s no chance we could get close enough to hear what he might be saying, so how could we learn anything useful?’
‘What about one of Eumelos’ lads? The one from Kenchreai, what’s his name, Simias? Tromes won’t know who he is.’ Lysicrates leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘They have a cockerel in this fight, if whoever’s behind this shit-stirring killed their mentor.’
Hyanthidas shook his head. ‘The more people we tell, the more risk of word getting back to Perantas, even by accident.’
I saw Menekles’ gaze stray towards Arion. ‘We can’t use our own slaves,’ I said firmly.
‘Absolutely not.’ Telesilla was adamant. ‘If an accusation comes down to one slave’s word against another, they’ll both have their evidence tested under torture. I won’t put Arion at such risk.’
I nodded. ‘The law’s the same in Athens and I value Kadous too much for that.’
‘Besides,’ Hyanthidas pointed out, ‘Tromes knows both of them by sight.’
‘You’re talking as if we’re taking this before a court.’ Lysicrates drummed his fingers on the tabletop. ‘I take it Hyanthidas would have to come forward as the accuser, because none of us have any standing to bring a case before Corinth’s courts. Then there would have to be a preliminary hearing, to test the evidence before a prosecution could be launched. How long would that take to arrange?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not just that our argument is as threadbare as a beggar’s blanket. I can’t see an Athenian magistrate being convinced, if one of us was acting for a bunch of Corinthians accusing a man of our city’s most well-born, especially after we’d spent nearly a year away from home. Do you want to face counter-accusations of disloyalty to your fellow citizens or of vexatious litigation? Assuming the case wasn’t thrown out for lack of credibility or proof, then we’d still have to wait for a date when your Council will be sitting in judgement. There’s no chance that could happen before we stage the play.’
The actor reached for his wine as Telesilla and Hyanthidas nodded reluctantly. ‘We don’t have time for all that. Not when whoever’s working against us will use all his influence to weight the scales of any legal proceedings in his favour. We need to thrust a spear through the spokes of his chariot wheels and wreck this bastard’s plans once and for all.’
‘Tromes is just the stick someone’s using to knock this olive harvest down from the tree,’ Menekles said thoughtfully. ‘Why not see if we can use him ourselves?’
‘To draw whoever’s behind all this into the daylight?’ Apollonides clearly liked that idea.
So did I. ‘If we can get them to betray themselves in front of Corinthian citizen witnesses, they’ll have no defence in court or anywhere else.’
‘If we can snare them in front of enough Council members, no case need ever come to court,’ Hyanthidas remarked. He liked that idea even more.
‘As long as they’re the right Council members,’ Telesilla pointed out. ‘If we don’t know who we’re laying this trap for until it’s been sprung, we can’t know who their allies might be.’
‘The Sons of Heracles, or the Heirs of Hephaistos.’ Zosime looked around the table. ‘It’s someone involved with one of these hero cults, surely? No one else wants to wreck our play.’
I turned to Hyanthidas. ‘Who’s paying for the Sons of Heracles’ pleasures?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out,’ he assured me.
I wondered what else we could do. ‘What about the Council members who Philolaos Kypselid tried to enlist, when he accused us of causing a riot? You said they were more interested in making money than hero cult intrigues. Wouldn’t they make good witnesses?’
‘They would,’ he agreed.
‘We still need a plan to lure whoever’s suborned Tromes in front of them,’ Lysicrates pointed out. ‘In some way that betrays him without the possibility of question.’
Hyanthidas got up from his stool. ‘Who wants more wine?’
‘Just some water for me, thanks.’ I had a feeling I’d need my wits about me to devise the plot we needed now.
Chapter Fourteen
I slept surprisingly well that night. When I did stir, I heard the household slaves starting their day. Perantas’ slaves, I reminded myself. They must all be convinced by our performance this morning. It was safest to assume that Tromes had told the slaves under his direction whatever lies would enlist their unwitting aid.
Zosime and I rose and dressed, barely exchanging a word. We went down to the courtyard and the others joined us. The kitchen girls served us with bread, cheese and fruit while Tromes brought jugs of fresh water and sweet black wine for mixing a morning cupful.
Apollonides was diligently sucking on the reed stuck into his pot of steaming herbs. He set it aside and looked at me. ‘So now we’ve all had a chance to sleep on it, are we really going to do this?’
‘Will we need to cut today’s rehearsal short?’ Menekles looked concerned.
‘If we do, it’s hardly going to matter.’ Lysicrates reached for the water jug.
‘We don’t want to prompt too many questions.’ Apollonides shared a no
d with Menekles. ‘Not until the deal is done.’
I can recommend actors as fellow conspirators. Even without a script, they were wholly convincing. Hopefully Tromes would be able to put these pieces together and see the full picture. This wasn’t a play where two characters could remind each other about people, places and plans they both already knew, purely to inform the audience.
I hoped I could match the actors’ easy sincerity as I kept my eyes fixed on my plate. The temptation to look at Tromes was consuming me but I dared not yield. A single careless glance from Orpheus had undone all his struggles to win Eurydice back from the Underworld.
I cleared my throat. ‘We’ll know what we’re doing once Kadous gets back.’
‘What are we going to say to Hyanthidas?’ Apollonides seemed genuinely troubled.
‘Nothing,’ Lysicrates said curtly. ‘Not after what he said to me last night.’
If I hadn’t known he was acting, that vicious edge to his voice would have sent a shiver down my spine.
‘What’s done is done,’ said Menekles, placating. ‘But, now we know where we stand, we’re entitled to look after our own interests.’
‘We can go where we please,’ agreed Apollonides, ‘and take our play with us.’
Lysicrates glowered. ‘Somewhere we’re not going to be fucked about and fucking insulted.’
‘You gave as good as you got last night,’ retorted Zosime.
I watched Tromes out of the corner of my eye. His face was as expressionless as any prudent slave’s, but his unfocused eyes told me he was listening intently. There was a tension in his lean body as well, as if he were poised to fight or flee. If I’d had any lingering doubts about his duplicity, this would have convinced me.
A heavy-handed knock rattled the gate. Tromes went to open it. As Kadous entered the courtyard, he looked uneasy. I could only hope Tromes took that for nervousness. Anxiety was surely natural when a slave was up to no good, even if he was following his master’s orders.
‘Well?’ Lysicrates demanded.
Zosime muttered something disapproving under her breath and spread soft cheese on bread with forceful knife strokes. We’d agreed last night that anger would explain her silence as the actors played their parts.
I beckoned my loyal slave over and held his gaze with my own. That was as much to stop me looking at Tromes as to help Kadous recite the fiction we’d invented with Hyanthidas and Telesilla’s help. ‘Tell me.’
The Phrygian knotted his hands behind his back. ‘The Sikyonians are definitely interested. They’re willing to pay you handsomely.’
‘How much?’ Lysicrates asked at once.
Apollonides had other concerns. ‘Did anyone mention knowing a piper who’d be willing to work with us there? Did you remember to ask?’
‘Hush.’ I cut them both short with a gesture and a glare. Kadous didn’t need these interruptions if he was going to recall everything we needed him to say. ‘Did they propose a meeting place, where we can discuss our terms?’
Kadous nodded. ‘There’s a ruined temple not far from the city, out on the Sikyon road. Their representatives will meet you there in the last hour of the day before sunset.’
‘Very good.’ I nodded sincere approval. ‘Go and get yourself some food.’
‘Thank you,’ he said with heartfelt relief.
The actors were quick to continue the conversation, determined to keep Tromes’ attention on the five of us as Kadous disappeared.
‘We’ll need to get the baskets of costumes and masks brought down from Demeter’s Sanctuary.’ Menekles looked thoughtful. ‘Before anyone has reason to think we’ll be leaving.’
‘Especially Perantas Bacchiad. I don’t fancy trying to fight my way past Thettalos and his merry band,’ Apollonides said fervently.
‘We don’t want to move anything too early,’ countered Lysicrates. ‘We could give ourselves away just doing that. The Sanctuary slaves will be bound to ask what’s going on.’
‘We should ask for carts to be waiting for us by the Sikyonian Gate, as soon as we’ve come to terms,’ Apollonides decided.
‘We still have to get the baskets to the gate.’ Lysicrates frowned, thoughtful.
Menekles looked at me. ‘Do you think young Nados would lend us some of Eumelos’ slaves?’
I pretended to think about that. ‘I can send Kadous to sound him out.’
In fact, I had already given Kadous very precise instructions for his conversation with Nados. He’d be going to Eumelos’ house as soon as we departed for Demeter’s Sanctuary. For one thing, that would take my Phrygian into a household where Tromes had no good reason to follow. However seemingly casual the disloyal slave’s questions might be, and however unarguable Kadous’ defence against them surely was, that he could not betray his master’s confidence, there was always the risk that he would say something to arouse Tromes’ suspicions.
We wanted the traitor heading into Corinth, looking to confirm as many of our lies as he could, before he took our carefully woven tale to whoever was paying him to betray us.
We finished our breakfast and got ready to set out for our rehearsals, as if this were any ordinary day. Kadous followed us to the corner of the street, then turned off to head for Eumelos’ house. Apollonides stumbled convincingly and knelt to retie his sandal’s laces.
‘Well?’ Menekles asked, apparently gazing idly up at a nearby window where a woman was shaking out a blanket. She draped it over the sill and disappeared from view.
‘He’s gone back inside and closed the gate.’ Lysicrates stood up and brushed dust from his knee.
‘It would look a bit obvious if he rushed out as soon as we left.’ I tried not to worry that we’d somehow given ourselves away.
‘What do you suppose he’ll do, if he thinks we suspect him?’ Apollonides wondered as we started walking.
‘Tell Perantas Bacchiad we’re supposedly going to Sikyon?’ Menekles hazarded. ‘Playing the loyal slave warning his master about our deceitfulness?’
‘Hoping to cause a breach between us that will still achieve his new patron’s aims?’ Lysicrates laughed without humour. ‘Maybe Perantas will reward him. Then he’ll be getting paid twice.’
‘What do we do then?’ Apollonides didn’t relish the idea of such complications.
‘We explain everything,’ Zosime said briskly. ‘Perantas can hardly blame us for trying to find out who’s been setting out to wreck the play.’
I took her hand. ‘It’s not as if we’ve really had any dealings with Sikyonians.’
Though I wouldn’t give a clipped obol for our chances of learning who Tromes’ hidden paymaster might be if he did go running to Perantas. That would mean the slave was confident he could brazen this out, denying Hyanthidas’ accusations, even with the rest of us bearing witness to what Lysicrates had actually said.
Would the Bacchiad really take his slave’s word over four Athenian citizens’ testimony? When their word was backed by a true-born Corinthian? Tromes would have to trust absolutely in Perantas’ goodwill, to risk his life on the Bacchiad’s favour.
I couldn’t see it, not after talking to Kadous last night. I guessed Tromes would simply disappear. If he took to his heels straight after telling Perantas about our supposed meeting with Sikyon’s representatives, he could hope for a day’s head start. He would want to get as far away from Corinth as he could before the confusion he’d created was cleared up. He had to know that Perantas would send someone like Thettalos to pursue him.
A slave’s betrayal is the foulest treachery and it cannot go unpunished. I guessed Perantas would insist on some bloody, brutal punishment that would ensure the rest of his household wouldn’t dream of such disloyalty without suffering the vilest nightmares.
I was in a sombre mood by the time we reached the Sanctuary.
Zosime waved a hand. ‘There�
�s Hyanthidas.’
The piper was sitting on the edge of a step. As he got to his feet, he was smiling. ‘Arion tells me the neighbours were thoroughly convinced by last night’s play-acting.’
‘Naturally,’ Lysicrates said with a wicked grin. ‘We must have rattled their window shutters.’
‘Let’s hope Tromes goes looking for gossip around your local fountain.’ I hadn’t found the argument they’d staged as the first act of our plot amusing. The insults they’d hurled at each other had been a little too cutting and rather too pointed.
‘I told Thettalos and his brutes to head for their beds.’ Hyanthidas handed me the angled brass keys as we walked through to the courtyard.
Lysicrates looked around before nodding with satisfaction. ‘Nothing amiss.’
‘Make sure you two don’t look too friendly when the chorus arrives,’ Zosime warned. ‘We don’t know who any of them might be talking to at lunchtime, even in all innocence.’
Lysicrates immediately looked at Hyanthidas with cold disdain. The piper’s lip curled as he looked down his nose at the actor. Turning their backs on each other with lofty contempt, they both stalked away.
I sighed as I walked to the costume store with Zosime.
She squeezed my hand. ‘Don’t fret.’
‘You don’t think they meant some of what they said last night?’
‘I’m sure they did.’ She was unconcerned. ‘Until they heard themselves saying such ridiculous things aloud. All the while, they were looking each other in the eye and remembering the friendship they’d shared in Athens. Now they’ve got that poisonous nonsense out of their systems, they’ll be fine.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ I threaded the key through the door and jiggled it to force the bolt back.
We didn’t have any further opportunity to discuss my misgivings. The chorus singers were arriving, eager to begin rehearsals. Apollonides helped me drag the basket of practise masks to the storeroom door and we began sharing them out.
The chorus men handed them round, laughing at the mismatched array of gurning caricatures drawn from a handful of different plays. As soon as they tied them on, though, I couldn’t see anyone’s face to see what they might make of Lysicrates and Hyanthidas ostentatiously ignoring each other. I wished I’d thought of that earlier. Some unguarded expression might have given us a hint of malice lurking in our midst, but there was no helping that now.
