Scorpions in Corinth

by J M Alvey

  ‘Shit.’ Hyanthidas stopped as three men appeared from some unknown property’s rear door. ‘This way.’

  We followed him down an alleyway. Now Hyanthidas was running and Menekles was pushing Apollonides forward to take my outstretched arm. The alley was barely wide enough for the two of us to run side by side. That meant I crashed right into Hyanthidas when he skidded to an abrupt halt.

  We had stumbled into a small square surrounded by shuttered houses. One familiar face and three unknown men were waiting for us. They’d herded us here like hunters running deer to ground.

  I nodded to the wiry man. ‘You’re Demeas, I take it?’

  His grin was all the answer I needed.

  I took a step forward. ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘We escort you to Kenchreai and put you on the first boat back to Athens,’ he said cheerily, ‘or your loving families get the tragic news that you died in a street robbery in Corinth.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s all the same to me, as long as none of you set foot in the theatre.’

  He sounded confident, but I could see tension in the men beside him. ‘How long have we got to choose?’

  Demeas laughed. ‘Take all the time you need.’

  I saw more unease among the men with him. I stepped backwards, still watching for any hint of an attack, but close enough to talk to my friends without being overheard.

  ‘Menekles, can you hold that alley entrance on your own?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘I can try.’ He sounded reasonably certain.

  ‘He keeps looking around. So do his cronies. They’re waiting for the rest of their phalanx to find us.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Demeas shouted. ‘Where would you like your bodies found? In the house fire that will unaccountably consume Perantas’ property, or floating face down in Kenchreai harbour?’

  ‘See how happy he is to keep talking?’ I murmured. ‘Apollonides, are you fit to fight?’

  ‘If we’re quick about it.’ He was wheezing like a blacksmith’s bellows, but his colour was good and his eyes were determined.

  ‘We’re not going to get another chance,’ I said. ‘That man Demeas has a hand in all their schemes.’

  ‘Let’s shut his mouth, and see how well they cope without their chorus leader.’ Lysicrates cracked his knuckles.

  I took a step forward with him at my side. Apollonides was at my other shoulder, flanked by Hyanthidas.

  ‘Oh, come now.’ Demeas laughed, less convincing. ‘You can’t expect . . .’

  We kept walking, our pace increasing. The gap between us closed. I was pleased to see Demeas’ lips narrow and a frown crease his brow. The three men with him were scowling, fists clenched. Their eyes were darting this way and that, still looking for reinforcements.

  ‘They’re coming,’ Menekles shouted behind us.

  I could only trust that the alley’s narrow mouth meant he only faced one attacker at a time. With his long reach, I could hope he’d have the advantage. I hurled a prayer at Ares as Lysicrates flung himself on the man at the end of Demeas’ line.

  ‘I’m going to rip your ears off, shithead!’ He knocked the Corinthian clean off his feet and they wrestled in the dust.

  Apollonides was saving his breath to fight. His opponent swung a wild punch. The stocky actor ducked, and drove his own fist into the Corinthian’s ribs. Right hand and left struck in swift succession. The Corinthian staggered back.

  I had no idea what Hyanthidas was doing, and taking a look would be utter folly. As fate would have it, Demeas was straight ahead of me and I relished my chance at revenge for the grief he had caused us.

  ‘Stupid fucking Athenians. You have no business in the Peloponnese.’ He was backing away. For all his belligerent words it seemed he wasn’t so keen on fighting face to face, preferring to punch a man in the kidneys from behind.

  I wasn’t fooled. He unbuckled his belt, and started wrapping the leather around his knuckles like a wrestler.

  ‘Come on,’ he taunted. ‘Let’s see your dance steps.’

  I made a move, as if I was about to rush him, only to recoil at the last instant. That meant I avoided the heavy bronze buckle hitting me in the face as he lashed out with his belt, the leather snapping like a striking snake.

  Maybe he’d picked up that trick from the Brotherhood in that fight at the Sanctuary. Maybe it was a common Corinthian tactic. It didn’t matter. I was ready. In the same breath, I lunged forward with my hand outstretched. The leather smacked into my forearm, burning like a whip lash. I didn’t care. I closed my hand, too quickly for Demeas to realise I had a firm grip.

  I planted my feet, bent my knees and hauled. He let go. It was still too late. He’d been dragged off balance, staggering towards me.

  Now I had the belt in both hands. I dodged behind him, as light on my feet as any chorus singer. I flipped the leather over his head. Instantly seeing the danger, he got one hand up. That wasn’t enough. I drew a loop tight around his neck. With his hand trapped, and me behind him, he could only flail wildly, unable to land more than ineffectual buffets with his other elbow.

  His hair was close-cropped. I could see the skin below his ear, behind his beard, growing dark with blood. As his knees buckled. I hooked my heel around his shin to sweep his foot out from under him. As he collapsed, I leaned forward to make sure I kept the belt tight around his neck until he lay face down on the paving.

  ‘Are you going to kill him?’ Lysicrates was sitting on his victim’s belly, his knuckles bloody. The man waved his hands feebly in surrender, his face cut by Lysicrates’ rings. His anguished mumbling made me wonder if his jaw was broken, to go with his bloody nose and two blackened eyes.

  ‘It’s probably best if he lives.’ Halfway across the square, Hyanthidas stood over a man lying huddled and weeping, hiding his head in his arms. I’ve no idea what the piper had done, but just the sound of his voice made the fallen man flinch and curl into a tighter ball.

  I slackened the strangling loop of leather. I had no wish to stand before Corinth’s Council accused of murder by Alypos Temenid. This wasn’t Athens, where I could trust in a citizen jury’s wisdom, where the law insisted on a panel of hundreds chosen by lot to pass judgement. Our democracy negates attempts at bribery or coercion by men of wealth and influence.

  Besides, I wanted to know what this bastard knew about Eumelos’ death. Moving quickly before Demeas regained his senses, I buckled his wrists together behind his back. Stepping to one side, I reached for his feet. The belt was just long enough for me to knot the leather loosely around one of his ankles, drawing it up behind his arse. That left his other foot free, but if he wanted to come hopping after us, he was welcome to try.

  ‘That won’t hold him for long,’ Apollonides observed, breathless.

  ‘Long enough.’ I looked at the actor, who was standing hunched over with his hands on his thighs, his chest heaving. ‘Where did your brave Son go?’

  Apollonides managed a grin. ‘He couldn’t get away fast enough when he saw that bastard go down.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here before he comes back with some friends.’ I glanced across the courtyard to see Menekles smacking a man’s head into a wall. The Son reeled backwards, only to trip over one of his fallen allies. A third man was lying moaning in the mouth of the alley. I wondered how many others had fled in search of reinforcements.

  As the actor hurried towards us, he pressed a palm to his side, and blood trickled from his split lip.

  ‘Well done, Leonidas,’ Lysicrates said lightly. ‘You’d think they’d remember Thermopylae if they admire the Spartans so much.’

  He stood up and I saw he’d taken a few blows to the face. I also noticed him grimace as he cautiously flexed his bloody hands. There was no time to ask how much damage he’d done to himself. At my feet, Demeas was starting to stir. I kicked him in the groin to give him something else to think about.


  I looked at Hyanthidas. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Follow me.’ There wasn’t a mark on him.

  We left the square with Demeas spitting incoherent insults, unable to free himself with his wrists buckled together behind his back. None of the other Sons were in any condition to help him, and they wouldn’t be any time soon. We walked along a side street to arrive at the main thoroughfare leading to the citadel gate.

  ‘How do you know your way around this labyrinth so well?’ Menekles asked Hyanthidas.

  ‘I learned my trade up here. There’s always plenty of work for musicians in these taverns and brothels and they’re forgiving audiences, with so much else around to distract them. Generous, too.’ The piper’s face hardened. ‘Bullies like the Sons and the Brotherhood are always hanging around, ready to demand half your earnings in tribute to whatever hero they’re flattering.’

  I guessed that was when he’d learned his fighting skills, but that was a conversation for another time. We were approaching the open gates and the road winding down the mountainside.

  Apollonides was breathing easier by now, and Menekles was striding along without any obvious sign of pain. Lysicrates was the one of us who’d most clearly been in a fight. Bruises on his face were darkening and he held his blood-stained fingers loosely curled. Anyone who came close enough to risk jostling him was warned off with a glare.

  The gate guards seemed their usual indolent selves as we drew closer, but we hadn’t given them cause to be curious about us before.

  ‘Are there going to be awkward questions?’ I asked Hyanthidas.

  ‘If you swear out a complaint, they’ll investigate, and they’re pretty good at sniffing out answers.’ He shrugged. ‘If you don’t say anything, they won’t ask. People come up here to get their fun in all sorts of ways.’

  We went on our way unhindered, and had an easy enough walk to the Sanctuary. Unsurprisingly, Zosime, Telesilla and the two slaves were startled by our battered appearance.

  ‘What happened?’ Zosime demanded. ‘The chorus will be here any time now. How do we explain that?’ She gestured at Lysicrates and Menekles.

  ‘We wear the practise masks,’ the tall actor said tersely.

  ‘Let’s wash and wrap your hands.’ Telesilla directed Lysicrates towards the dining suite where we were storing our supplies.

  Zosime narrowed her eyes at Apollonides. ‘You look as if you could use a cup of wine.’

  ‘I need papyrus and ink.’ I headed for the other door. ‘Hyanthidas, does Arion know the way to the House of Pearls?’

  ‘Yes.’ The musician had fetched a jug of water and was pouring drinks for us all. ‘Here.’

  I took the cup he offered and emptied it in one breath.

  ‘More?’ He raised the jug.

  ‘Later.’ I handed Menekles the cup and went to the table inside the costume store where writing materials lay ready to hand.

  ‘What is going on?’ Irritation was starting to outstrip Zosime’s concern.

  ‘I’ll explain, I swear, but later.’ I wrote a swift note to the brothel keeper Eirene. ‘Forgive me, but lives may depend on this.’

  I rolled up the crackling papyrus and handed it to Arion. ‘Give this to the gate guard, Sekis. Tell him it’s for his mistress and no one else. As quick as you can.’

  As he scurried off, I looked at the actors. ‘It only takes one of us to tell Perantas what’s going on. Can you manage the rehearsal between you until I get back?’

  ‘You’re not going alone,’ Lysicrates said, forthright.

  ‘Of course not. Kadous!’ I beckoned to the Phrygian.

  Zosime wasn’t going to waste her breath. ‘We’ll tell them you’re still working on the rewrites,’ she said sardonically.

  I really wished she hadn’t reminded me about that. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Kadous and I left the Sanctuary and headed down the road to Corinth. ‘Keep your eyes open,’ I warned, before I told him the tale of our morning’s adventures.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We arrived at Perantas Bacchiad’s house safely. I didn’t recognise the Brothers guarding the gates but they knew who I was. One of them went running to fetch Wetka.

  The Nubian was his usual imperturbable self. ‘Good day.’

  ‘Is your master at home?’ I had no time to waste on pleasantries.

  He nodded. ‘He needs to see you both.’

  As we followed him through the outer courtyard to the shady inner sanctum I wondered why. I had more time to ponder the question than I expected. Perantas wasn’t sitting amid his painted olive trees. Wetka pointed to stools in the empty porch. ‘Please wait here.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ I told Kadous, thankful for the chance to take the weight off my own feet.

  The Nubian disappeared through a nearby door, and I wondered what lay beyond it. I had no idea if Perantas had a wife or children, whether he had an acknowledged lover or used slaves to warm his bed and slake his lusts. Somehow, he didn’t strike me as the type to visit the Acrocorinth’s brothels.

  He soon arrived, narrowing his eyes at Kadous who was already rising to stand behind my stool as a good slave should.

  ‘I told him he could sit,’ I said quickly.

  ‘That’s of no consequence.’ Perantas waved a hand but his tone implied that something else was.

  I got straight to the point. ‘I take it Thettalos told you what we discovered last night? There’s a Sons of Heracles plot to cause chaos at our performance with tainted wine?’

  Perantas nodded. ‘He did.’

  ‘We think we’ve discovered who supplied the Colchis honey. He’s a trader in dubious herbs and worse, up on the Acrocorinth, Hermaios Hygestratou. Unfortunately, he has close ties to the Sons of Heracles, and he realised who we were. They know we’ve discovered their plot. Whoever’s storing the wine will destroy it as soon as they get word.’ I spread apologetic hands. ‘It couldn’t be helped, I’m sorry.’

  Perantas nodded, not unduly perturbed. ‘That’s unfortunate, but Thettalos and his Brothers are keeping watch outside Alypos Temenid’s house. Hopefully they’ll pick up a scent that will lead them to those responsible. Regardless, now that we know, the Brotherhood will guard the wine I’m supplying for the theatre like Cerberus guarding the Underworld.’

  He broke off as a slave approached, carrying a tray with two fine ceramic cups and an equally expensive jug. Wetka poured aromatic amber wine and Perantas raised his drink to his lips.

  ‘There’s more.’ I waited until the slave had set the tray on a table and retreated. I leaned forward to take my wine. ‘Hermaios let something else slip. He supplied the poison that killed Eumelos.’

  ‘To whom?’ Perantas looked at me intently.

  ‘As yet, I don’t know, but they must be Athenians.’ On the walk down the mountain, I’d realised what was chafing me about that encounter. ‘I was with Menekles who was hinting we were up to no good. When Hermaios heard our accents, he assumed we were part of that earlier conspiracy, not this plot to poison the wine.’

  I saw no reason to mention Arete’s involvement, and not just because she didn’t deserve to be interrogated by the likes of Thettalos. There was no knowing who might overhear her name mentioned here. There was no knowing which conniving oligarchs on Corinth’s Council might have their own spies in Perantas’ household.

  The Bacchiad’s face was impossible to read as ever. ‘Alypos has no allies in Athens, as far as I am aware.’

  ‘It’s hard to imagine Athenians conspiring with such a staunch supporter of the Spartans,’ I agreed, ‘but we know Aristarchos’ rivals back home are opposed to the Thurii colony.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Perantas allowed.

  ‘Surely that means they’re opposed to our play,’ I continued.

  That also meant I wanted to know about any At
henians whom Arete had had dealings with. We needed to talk before anyone had a chance to silence her. I’d take whatever I learned back to Aristarchos. This could be our chance to discover who had paid the Peloponnesian killer Iktinos to do their dirty work back in the spring.

  Perantas smiled. ‘How are your rehearsals going?’

  ‘Very well, and I had better get back.’ I drank my wine and stood up.

  Perantas raised a hand. ‘There is something else we need to discuss.’ He glanced at Kadous. ‘Your slave is accused of theft. Apparently he stole a valuable belt buckle as well as sundry rings and brooches, and sold them to a trader in the agora.’

  ‘Who says so?’ I demanded.

  ‘A sewer rat who rents a charcoal storehouse on the Kenchreai road, built on land that Alypos owns. He swears he can identify the belt buckle as his own. It’s stamped with the Sons of Heracles’ insignia,’ Perantas explained, sardonic. ‘A valuable family heirloom.’

  I realised what this was about. ‘They’re talking about the bits and pieces we swept up after that fight at Demeter’s Sanctuary, when the Sons tried to wreck our auditions. We had no way to know who that lost property might belong to.’

  ‘Did you make any effort to find out?’ Perantas asked.

  ‘No.’ I stared at him. ‘Are you saying we should have?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, but that’s what Alypos and his cronies will say, if they get a chance to drag you and your man before the Council.’

  ‘That decision was mine,’ I said firmly. ‘I told Kadous to dispose of the rubbish and see if he could sell the rest, to use the silver to buy some treats for the slaves you’ve been lending us, as a reward for their diligent service.’

  ‘Is that an Athenian custom?’ Perantas didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘Alypos and his allies will choose not to believe in such generosity, and many others will find it hard to credit.’

  So did he, I suspected. ‘I have witnesses to the instructions I gave my slave, all of them free men of Athens, as well as Hyanthidas, and he’s a Corinthian citizen.’