by J M Alvey
‘Your fellow actors and your musician.’ Perantas smiled without humour. ‘Leaving your chorus utterly bereft if Alypos persuades the Council to summon you when you should be singing your first song in the theatre, keeping you answering questions all day.’
‘Could he do that?’ I asked uneasily, remembering the temple slaves arriving at Eumelos’ funeral.
‘If he can muster enough allies, and I hear he’s made common cause with Philolaos Kypselid, at least for as long as it takes to stop our play.’
Perantas’ smile took on a cruel twist. ‘Though they will have to find a new complainant. I gather your accuser cannot be found this morning. But that will only take Alypos a few days,’ he warned. ‘A fat purse of silver will outweigh someone’s fear of the consequences. I suggest you make arrangements to sail back to Athens as soon as possible after your performance.’
‘Indeed.’ We’d all be ready to leave this city where we had been beset by malice at every turn. Even so, I would make sure to learn all I could from Arete before we took the road to Kenchreai.
Perantas was still occupied with his own concerns. ‘Keep your man off the streets as much as possible. Alypos won’t order the Sons to snatch you or any of the actors, for fear of insulting an Athenian as influential as Aristarchos. A slave will be fair game though, especially one who’s clearly a favourite. Who knows what they might demand in return for sending him back.’
I was learning to read Perantas. He thought my loyalty to a slave was as foolish as it was distasteful.
I rose to my feet. ‘We’ll be careful.’
‘I look forward to seeing you all at the theatre.’ Perantas glanced at Wetka, who stepped forward to escort us out.
I turned to the Nubian as we reached the outer gate as casually as I could. ‘Talking of slaves, have you had any success hunting down Tromes?’
I’d like to think that we’d know if they’d caught him, not least because we’d be neck-deep in the shit alongside Nados, Aithon and Simias, but I had to consider the possibility that Perantas would ignore our complicity in the slave’s escape, at least until the play was over. Meantime, I had no doubt the slave’s death would be ugly and painful if he had fallen into Bacchiad hands.
Wetka let slip a hiss of exasperation. ‘Not yet.’
I shrugged. That seemed safer than saying anything. We walked through the gate, Kadous a few paces behind me, and I offered a meaningless smile to the Brotherhood boys loitering in the shade.
When we drew level with the theatre, I slowed to let Kadous walk alongside me. ‘It looks like Tromes is well away. Let’s hope he’s still running.’
The Phrygian allowed himself a grin. ‘If he’s got any sense.’
‘I made a bad mistake with those buckles and brooches,’ I acknowledged. ‘You’re going to have to stay out of sight. I won’t have some Corinthian oligarch thinking he can get to me through you.’
Kadous scowled. ‘I’m not—’
‘The same goes for Zosime,’ I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘She’s not an Athenian citizen, and one of these bastards may think they can attack her without fear of legal consequences. I need you to stay as close as her shadow, on or off the streets.’ With luck, they’d both stay safer that way.
‘Now let’s head back up this sodding mountain.’ Not for the first time on this trip, I felt as if I’d already put in a full day’s toil before we’d even started on the work we were actually here to do.
The effort was worth it. Thanks to Apollo, Dionysos, Athena, and any other god looking favourably on our efforts, the day’s rehearsal went really well. The chorus were nigh on step and word perfect. The actors were well satisfied with the changes they’d made to keep Apollonides’ exertions to a minimum. The challenge of the marketplace scene still lay ahead, but all I could do about that was trust in Chresimos’ steamed herbs.
Menekles and Lysicrates kept their masks on until the last of the chorus had left, convincingly busy with something or other. When they took the masks off, I was relieved to see their faces weren’t too badly marked by this morning’s misadventures. Lysicrates’ knuckles were discreetly bandaged but he had no problem holding a jug as he quenched his thirst, so I could hope no bones were broken.
‘What did Perantas have to say?’ Apollonides poured his own drink.
As everyone gathered, dragging stools into a circle, I related my conversation with the Bacchiad.
Lysicrates shook his head. ‘Corinthians—’ He pulled up short with a guilty look at Hyanthidas.
The musician shrugged. ‘You may as well go ahead and say it. Our noble Council can hardly be called great or good at the moment.’
He tried for a rueful smile and failed. Telesilla slid her arm around his shoulder and drew him close to plant a comforting kiss on his cheek.
‘A handful of the Council, perhaps,’ I countered, ‘but we’re not here to perform for them. We’re here to entertain the men and women who we’ve met in the agora, and in the taverns and temples. They’re not to blame for a couple of oligarchs’ scheming.’
Apollonides backed me. ‘We can all see how much the chorus are enjoying themselves. Their families and friends will have a great time.’
‘That’s true enough.’ Hyanthidas looked a little happier.
‘All we need now are those rewrites.’ Menekles looked at me, expectant.
‘You’ll have them tomorrow, at first light,’ I promised. ‘I’ll get them done, if I have to work all night.’
I really should know better than to tempt some listening deity with promises like that.
‘Philocles!’
We turned our heads to see Thettalos and a gang of the Brotherhood approaching. The bull-necked man looked at me. ‘I need you to come with me.’
‘Why?’ I said warily.
‘We may have found Demeas.’ Thettalos looked grimly satisfied. ‘We need to see if you recognise him.’
I hesitated, but it wasn’t as if I had any real choice. Leaving the others to pack away and lock up, I headed down the mountainside with him.
‘We’re still hunting Tromes,’ Thettalos said, unprompted and belligerent, as we reached the agora. ‘We will catch him.’
‘So I would hope,’ I lied with all the sincerity I’d ever seen Menekles display on stage.
Thettalos glanced at me, his suspicions plain. I smiled sunnily back, and we went on our way to yet another unfamiliar part of this city. The size of the houses and the cleanliness of the broad, gravelled street indicated this was another enclave of the wealthy. A gate guard watched us pass, a slave from some northern barbarian land with pale eyes and hair the colour of old straw. Thettalos was a big man but this doorkeeper could probably take him with one hand.
We turned a corner and the Brotherhood leader led me down a narrow lane running between two high walls. The gravel gave way to earth underfoot, still swept scrupulously clean, and the lane was wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side. Subtle changes in the masonry and narrow iron-banded gates were the only indication that one luxurious property had given way to the next. Finally, the end came into view and I saw a skinny youth lurking an arm’s length from the corner.
Thettalos snapped his fingers in front of my face. ‘Stay out of sight of the street.’
‘All right,’ I said mildly. ‘Are you keeping watch on Alypos’ house?’
‘Hardly.’ He looked at me, scornful. ‘There’s half a phalanx of the Sons standing guard over there.’
‘So what are we doing here?’
He didn’t answer, his stride slowing as we approached the youth.
‘Well?’ Thettalos demanded.
‘No one in or out.’ The lad could rival the Spartans for brevity.
Three could play at this game. ‘Well?’ I asked.
‘We wait.’ Thettalos hunkered down, leaning his back against the wall
. ‘For as long as it takes.’
Since he’d forestalled my next question, I asked a different one. ‘For what?’
I could see he was tempted to keep me guessing, now that he had the upper hand, but our task here was more important.
‘Of course we watch Alypos’ house. We’ve done that ever since we realised he was funding the Sons. The man we’ve followed here is the only new face we’ve seen go in and out of the Temenid residence, and he’s someone we can’t put a name to. Add to that, he paid a grain merchant to let him help with a delivery of wheat to get him inside the gate. He didn’t know we have a man in that merchant’s yard who slips us interesting news.’
‘I see.’ How exhausting a hero cultist’s life must be, perpetually conniving to ferret out secrets, and endlessly suspicious of everyone else.
I slid down the wall to squat beside him and leaned my head back. I wondered idly about writing a comedy for next year’s Dionysia with a chorus of hero worshippers. Maybe not, if that risked me getting a thrashing from some Athenian devotees with no sense of humour. I’d have to ask the others.
Thettalos nudged me so hard I nearly lost my balance. ‘Don’t go to sleep.’
‘I’m just resting my eyes.’ Though if we were still here when dusk deepened, I wouldn’t take any bets on me staying awake.
Before he could challenge me again, we heard two things. Bolts rattled, and the lad snapped his fingers to summon us as he peered around the corner. I didn’t need Thettalos’ shove to tell me this was my cue.
I crept forward, crouching low. I saw a man emerge from a gate. He scanned the street before turning to pull on the thong that secured the lock. Like every man since Deucalion survived the Flood, he looked this way and that, but only at head height. More than one comic writer has made good use of that perpetual human failing.
I ducked back. ‘That’s him. Demeas.’
The lad who’d been keeping watch took to his heels, heading back down the lane fast enough to win a victor’s wreath at the Nemean games.
Thettalos stepped out into the street with a shout that cut through the peaceful early evening. ‘Demeas!’
Our quarry made a convincing show of surprise, half-turning as if he imagined we were talking to someone behind him.
‘Yes, you.’ Thettalos strode forward.
I followed, for lack of anything better to do. Demeas realised that play-acting was pointless when he recognised me. As we drew closer, I saw the vicious welt I’d left on his neck with that belt. I’d come closer than I realised to killing him. Perhaps that was why he’d taken the risk of going to Alypos’ house in person.
‘Give me your key to that gate.’ Thettalos held out a hand.
The plaited leather thong around Demeas’ neck disappeared beneath his loose tunic. We could both see the characteristic dog’s leg shape against his chest beneath the thin wool.
‘You want to say hello to my friends?’ Demeas raised his voice as though he was alerting some hidden allies.
Thettalos mocked him with a harsh laugh. ‘If there was anyone inside there, they’d have bolted the gate, and you wouldn’t need a key to get in.’
That didn’t mean the bastard didn’t have friends elsewhere. I heard the crunch of running feet on gravel, and turned, braced for trouble.
I need not have worried. The fleet-footed lad was approaching with a handful or more men. I recognised several faces from the Brotherhood’s evening stints on guard at the Sanctuary. Wherever they’d been waiting for me to confirm that this was Demeas’ lair, they hadn’t been far away.
Thettalos waved a welcoming hand. ‘Besides, I’ve got plenty of friends of my own.’
Demeas was already drawing the loop of plaited leather over his head. He reached inside his baggy tunic, his expression rueful and resigned. Thettalos chuckled, triumphant.
At the very last instant before his hand emerged, I saw Demeas’ gaze cut from the bull-necked man to me. There was no hint of defeat in his eyes.
He’d had a knife hidden in his tunic. He ripped off the sheath in one fluid movement and the blade was coming for my chest. Thettalos moved but Demeas could reach me before the big man could intercept his thrust.
So he thought, anyway. As he lunged forward to bury his dagger in my entrails, I took a sidestep and spun around on my front foot. Now we were standing hip to hip, with his knife hand outstretched between us, and both of us facing the approaching Brotherhood.
I had my fist between us drawn back. Before Demeas could withdraw his blade, I punched him in the jaw and as he staggered, I straightened my arm. Using my forearm under his chin, I forced his head up and backwards. My other hand had already seized his knife arm at the wrist. Now his back was bent, arched like a bow from head to heels. As he lost his footing on the gravel, I dropped to one knee. Demeas fell backwards, unable to save himself since I still had firm hold of his knife hand.
I dropped to one knee rather than both. My other foot, the foot that was between us, was still solidly planted. The back of Demeas’ elbow struck my thigh as we both went down and I bent my leg. With his wrist still held firm on the inner side of my thigh, all the weight of his falling body dragged his upper arm down on the other side. An elbow is only supposed to bend one way and this wasn’t it. The joint tore apart with a sickening crack and he screamed like a slaughtered pig.
The knife fell from his nerveless fingers as I threw down his arm, stood up and stepped back. I’d practised that move before, but never had occasion to use it. I wondered if the veteran hoplite who’d taught it to me was still alive, and if he’d be impressed to know it saved my life. He’d insisted new conscripts needed to know how to survive in a knife fight, as well as how to use spear and shield in a phalanx.
Demeas sobbed in agony, writhing from head to toe apart from that arm lying motionless on the gravel, bent at an angle nature never intended. Thettalos looked down and planted a merciless foot on the injured man’s chest, forcing him flat on his back.
He stooped to hook a finger in the plaited leather to pull the angled brass key free. ‘I’ll take that now, thanks.’
I don’t think Demeas heard him, now whimpering breathlessly. His eyes were glazed with unimaginable pain.
As Thettalos stood up, he glanced at me and for the first time, I saw a measure of respect. All I had to do to win his approval was maim a man for life. A man who’d tried to kill me twice today, I forcefully reminded myself.
Thettalos tossed the key to the lad who’d stood watch. The gate was soon open and the Brotherhood surged inside. Thettalos and I watched and waited. It wasn’t long before his men dragged a handful of amphorae outside, all identical and stamped with a seal depicting a bee.
‘Open it.’ Thettalos nodded at the closest one. ‘Hold it up.’
A Brother used his dagger point to lever out the stopper and offered up the amphora. Thettalos took a cautious sniff. He dipped a finger into the broad neck of the vessel and licked it, before instantly spitting on the ground.
‘I reckon that’s that,’ he said with satisfaction, before taking hold of the amphora and ramming its stopper back in. ‘Is this all of them? Go and search again.’
As the brothers went back inside the gate, I gave thanks to Dionysos. Of all the plots we’d faced in Corinth, this was surely the most subtle. No one would have remarked on these few amphorae turning up at the theatre alongside all the wine Perantas was providing for free. No one would have known what was happening as the audience succumbed to the effects of innocent cupfuls dosed with a slosh of sweet madness.
‘Have you any idea who was supposed to mix this into the refreshments during our play?’ I asked Thettalos.
‘I have a few ideas.’ His grim expression promised no good for whomever he suspected. ‘All right, boys,’ he went on as his Brothers reappeared. ‘Smash them.’
I turned away as the gleeful men shattered
the earthenware against the house wall, and let the poisoned wine soak into the gravel. The heady, sickly scent nearly made me vomit. I was already feeling nauseous as the sound of Demeas’ arm breaking echoed inside my head.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak. ‘Hermaios may have more Colchis honey.’
‘If he has, he won’t be selling it to anyone else.’ Thettalos’ good humour vanished like early snows on Mount Olympos. ‘His body was found at the foot of the Acrocorinth’s cliffs this afternoon.’
I guessed that his scowl meant the Brotherhood weren’t responsible. I wondered if this was another death Demeas would answer for in Hades. Well, until he faced divine judgement, he should find it harder to kill anyone else with only one working arm. That was some consolation to balance my revulsion at what I had done.
‘I need to get back,’ I said resolutely, ‘and Perantas won’t want me walking these streets on my own. The Sons of Heracles aren’t the only ones out to wreck our play.’
‘The rest of them will think again once word of this gets around.’ Thettalos used the amphora he was still holding to gesture at the smashed pottery and wine stains disfiguring the threshold. ‘But we won’t take any risks. Kyros!’
He told the skinny lad to take me home. By the time we arrived, my nausea had receded and I was focusing on the hope that we would be able to stage The Builders without any more fear of disruption.
Kadous opened the gate to my knock, his face anxious. ‘All’s well?’
‘Very well,’ I said emphatically. I looked past the Phrygian to see the others, Hyanthidas and Telesilla included, sitting around the table with the remains of a meal between them. ‘The poisoned wine’s been destroyed.’
‘Excellent news!’ Menekles poured a splash of wine onto the ground. ‘Thanks to Dionysos.’
As everyone else made their own libations, I decided not to spoil the triumphant mood with the brutal details of what I’d done to Demeas. As I pulled a stool up to the table, I made my own libation to Athena and silently prayed that she’d honour Thettalos’ devotion to Bellerophon by making sure his confidence that the plot was foiled wasn’t misplaced.
