by J M Alvey
Zosime saw the sense in that. As I took her place, I saw Kadous and Arion were standing ready with both women’s clothes. They disappeared into the milling throng of singers. I had to leave them to it. Apollonides’ face was ominously pale and his lips were a sickly hue.
Menekles knelt opposite me. ‘Do we carry him to the Asklepion, or send someone to fetch Chresimos?’
‘Neither,’ Apollonides said, more forcefully than I expected. ‘Give me a moment, and give me that.’
He took the cup of wine and though he spilled some, he drank plenty, and I was reassured to see his colour improve. His chest was still heaving but I could barely hear him wheezing.
Menekles was equally relieved. ‘We’ll get you back to the house and boil some water for your herb pot.’
‘After we’ve eaten.’ Apollonides was adamant. ‘I’ve earned a decent feed at Perantas’ expense.’
‘We all have.’ Lysicrates appeared, out of his costume and dragging a comb through his curls.‘Are you getting changed, or are you going like that?’
Looking around, I saw Zosime was respectably dressed once again. She and Telesilla were tidying each other’s hair while Kadous and Arion were putting all the costumes and masks back in the baskets. Our chorus were greeting friends and proud family members who had come around to the back of the stage to congratulate them on their superb performance.
We had our own visitors. I saw Nados, Simias and Aithon making their way through the swelling crowd. All three young men looked happier than I had seen them since our first unfortunate introduction.
‘That was hilarious.’ Aithon grinned.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. I hope you’ve been invited to dine in the North Colonnade with us all?’ If they hadn’t, I’d be having words with Wetka. It was little enough recompense for all that they had suffered these past ten days.
‘We have,’ Nados assured me.
‘Oh, and that pickled fish you were asking about,’ Simias said, guileless. ‘We shipped it to Zakynthos yesterday morning, with a captain we can trust absolutely.’
The glint in his eye told me he was talking about Tromes. ‘Good to know.’ I meant it. There had been enough pain and suffering caused by Perantas’ rivals attempting to wreck our play.
Now we could put all that behind us and pursue whoever had bought the poison that had killed Eumelos. Though I would tell Nados and the others about that tomorrow, I decided, rather than cast a blight over this evening’s celebrations.
We entrusted Kadous, Arion and the baskets to a contingent of the Brotherhood who would escort them back to our lodging, and made our way to the agora and the paved precinct in front of the Temple of Apollo.
Priests with deft knives and muscular slaves to assist them had begun sacrificing bullocks grown fat on summer grazing. The crowd of Corinthians ready to praise the god by claiming a share in this bounty was growing ever larger.
When we reached the North Colonnade, Wetka was in charge of approving who was, and who was not to be admitted to the sumptuous feast that Perantas’ silver was paying for. We were escorted to one of a series of spacious dining rooms, where I admired the fine mosaic floor of interlaced vines and the painted orchard adorning the walls.
It still struck me as strange to be dining in this semi-public fashion, with men and women sharing the cushioned couches, but Zosime and Telesilla looked entirely at ease, so I did my best to emulate them, turning my attention to the excellent food and even better wine being served.
By the time the soft-footed slaves were removing the last tables strewn with the remnants of our dessert course, I was unable to stop myself yawning. At my side, Zosime was looking equally heavy-eyed.
She leaned over to kiss my cheek. ‘Do you think we can leave without causing any offence to our host?’
‘I imagine so.’ We’d barely seen Perantas. He’d paused to thank us and then gone to a different salon, doubtless to dine and share his triumph with his allies among the city’s great and good.
He was welcome to his celebration. I looked around for my friends. Hyanthidas and Telesilla were deep in conversation with some people I didn’t recognise while Apollonides and Simias were chatting on the couch they were sharing and looking at each other in a way that hinted they’d be sharing a bed later on.
Lysicrates and Menekles were playing a drinking game with Aithon and Nados, and there was no way I was going to get dragged into that. Back at the Dionysia, I’d learned the folly of matching actors cup for cup the hard way, especially when they were celebrating a successful performance.
I kissed Zosime. ‘I don’t think anyone will miss us, but we should say our goodbyes.’ We also had to be paid before heading home. ‘Let’s go and make our farewells to Wetka.’
The Nubian was outside in the colonnade, accepting thanks from departing guests. I approached him with a polite smile, but he spoke first.
‘I take it you’re ready to say good night? Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.’
I nodded, trying to stifle another yawn. ‘We must discuss arranging a ship back to Athens.’
Wetka looked at me. ‘After you’ve given your evidence to the Council. Alypos Temenid has been called to answer for his crimes at noon tomorrow.’
Suddenly I was extremely relieved that I hadn’t been tempted into the actors’ drinking games.
Chapter Twenty-Four
At least I got a good long lie-in the following morning, and that was welcome after so many long days and late nights. When I finally woke, I heard Kadous moving around in the next room, presumably making preparations for the trip home. I stayed where I was, taking some time to savour the recollections of yesterday’s success, achieved despite all the foes arrayed against us. When I felt Zosime stir beside me, I rolled over to kiss her.
She put a stop to my caresses with a firm hand. ‘If you’re giving evidence to Corinth’s Council at noon, you need to visit a barber and a bath house.’
She was right. This would be as much of a performance as my role yesterday, and appearances would matter, as they always did on the stage. More than that, this was my chance to see someone held to account for Eumelos’ death. If Alypos Temenid hadn’t directly ordered his murder, he’d instigated the campaign against our play that had caused it.
I found yesterday’s tunic and went to tell Kadous we were ready for breakfast. Down in the courtyard, there was no sign of the others, but the Phrygian assured me they had all arrived safely back in the early hours of the morning, accompanied by Simias.
‘I assume it’s a good thing none of them are called before the Council?’
‘They’ll be hard pressed to remember what city they’re in when they wake up,’ Kadous confirmed.
I glanced at the sun, and realised that I didn’t have time to waste. Fortunately it wasn’t far to a decent bath house, with a charming mosaic of a donkey on its pebbled floor. Kadous kept watch over my clothes while a slave rubbed me down with olive oil. As I lay on his massage table, to be scraped clean with brisk strokes of a strigil, I wondered what to tell the Council about recent events.
Like pretty much every poet and playwright, I put bread on the table between festivals with funeral elegies, celebratory odes and routine business agreements. I’ve written plenty of speeches for other people to deliver in Athens’ courts, but at such short notice, there was no time to craft and hone such eloquence, let alone practise the rhetorical gestures that my brothers and I had learned as boys at the Lyceum. All I could do was tell the truth as straightforwardly as I saw it, and trust that divine justice would follow.
This establishment wasn’t large enough to have a bathing pool but the stone-built tubs were more than adequate for a satisfying wash in warm water. Getting out, I tipped a final cold bucketful over my head and briskly rubbed myself dry. A barber that Hyanthidas recommended was close by, and I emerged with my hair and be
ard neatly trimmed. Wearing one of my best tunics, belted with a piece of my family business’ finest leatherwork, I felt ready to represent Athens before Corinth’s oligarchs.
‘Good day to you, Philocles.’ Wetka hurried up to us, with one of the Brotherhood a few paces behind him. ‘Your delightful companion told me where to find you,’ he explained smoothly. ‘We’re here to escort you to the Council.’
‘Thank you.’ I could hardly object. ‘My slave—’
‘Will not be required,’ Wetka said firmly. ‘The fewer opportunities our opponents have to make mischief the better, don’t you agree?’
‘Then we walk to the agora by way of our lodging, to see him safely back,’ I said with equal determination.
Once we had delivered Kadous, we made our way to the Temple of Apollo. As we reached the paved precinct, I headed for the magnificent statue of the god seated with his lyre.
Wetka scurried after me, caught unawares. ‘The Council—’
‘One moment.’ I took a knee and thanked the god for our successful performance. I vowed to tell the truth before these oligarchs, so that Apollo could see justice done.
Wetka shifted from foot to foot. Since a sundial indicated we had time in hand before noon, I wondered at his agitation. Then I saw some Sons of Heracles escorting an expensively cloaked man towards the temple entrance. He was of middling height and build but carried himself like an athlete. There was barely a touch of grey in his close-cropped hair and beard, and his legs were leanly muscled. ‘Is that Alypos Temenid?’
The Nubian nodded, his face taut. He led the way to the temple, and I was relieved to see Alypos leave his escort at the bottom of the steps. Though I could also see other knots of men around the precinct scowling at them and I recognised one group from the Brotherhood of Bellerophon. I hoped those burly temple slaves who’d been wrestling yesterday’s sacrificial bulls were ready to intervene if one hero cult’s belligerent glares provoked violent retaliation from another.
As Wetka and I went through the temple colonnade to the inner chamber, I saw that Perantas Bacchiad was already here. I glanced at the man I now knew as our foe. Alypos couldn’t hide his scowl when he saw Perantas was speaking to Philolaos Kypselid, with his paunch and fussily combed hair.
I laid a hand on Wetka’s arm. ‘Why is Perantas only calling for Alypos to answer before the Council? Philolaos tried just as hard to wreck our play.’
I felt the Nubian stiffen, and an instant’s hesitation betrayed him. ‘None of his schemes came close to succeeding, thanks to your quick wits. It is hard to accuse a man over something that never happened, so let’s not raise distractions that Alypos can hide behind.’
That was undoubtedly true, but looking at Perantas’ confident smile, I concluded it wasn’t the whole truth. There were potential witnesses to both those conspiracies, including Corinthian citizens. Even if a prosecution didn’t succeed, Rumour rushing around with all the juicy details would do neither man’s reputation any good.
Philolaos looked as happy as a man with a cock hair caught under his foreskin and no opportunity to do anything about it. I wondered what concessions Perantas had extorted from him as the price of his forbearance.
That left a sour taste in my mouth when I thought how close we had come to disaster, thanks to these rich men and their selfish rivalries. On the other hand, Wetka had a point. The wise archer takes aim at a particular duck rather than loosing his arrow at a whole flock. The Heirs of Hephaistos’ schemes had been disruptive and damaging but not potentially lethal. It was the Sons of Heracles who had opted to use poison.
Glancing at Alypos, I saw his expression had grown even more grim. I’d say he was assuming Philolaos was abandoning their prior alliance to save himself from accusation and humiliation.
I’d be glad to get back to Athens where justice is done in the open air, in full view of gods and men, not in back-room deals by secretive cliques. But home was two days sail away, and I was here in Corinth, facing the Corinthian Council with all the complications that entailed. How many allies could Perantas call on, and how many men would support Alypos, regardless of the evidence? A substantial number clustered around the lean man.
There must be twice as many Councillors present as there had been when Philolaos had tried to get our play stopped to secure public order. Each was sumptuously dressed as befitted his wealth and consequence. More were arriving, and conversation grew steadily louder. Mighty Apollo gazed over their heads, aloof.
The bald, leather-faced Councillor who’d shown himself to be a man of influence out on the Sikyon road, silenced the hubbub with a single clap. Corinth’s rulers took their places on those elegant stools, arranged like a theatre’s seats. I stayed standing with Wetka by the wall, along with a host of others. I had no idea if they were rich men’s cloak carriers or potential witnesses. I had no idea how these oligarchs would handle proceedings. I only knew I must tread very carefully.
Perantas was sitting on one side of the half-circle while Alypos faced him from the opposite ranks. Many of the councillors between them were looking from one to the other, their expressions variously thoughtful, irritated, or studiously impassive.
If there was some signal, I didn’t see it, but Perantas got to his feet and strode forward to stand beneath Apollo’s outstretched, cloak-draped arm.
‘Good day, fellow Council members.’ He wasn’t smiling now. He wasn’t making some pretence of outraged sorrow either, or any other emotional display that advocates in the Athenian courts use to divert attention from some significant flaw in their argument. Perantas’ poise spoke of absolute certainty.
‘We meet to address the decision of Alypos Temenid to instruct the Sons of Heracles to prevent yesterday’s performance in our theatre. The successive attempts he approved of included an initial attack that saw significant injury inflicted on innocent Corinthians. When that failed, he resorted to a vile deceit that could have seen any number of our citizens struck down in the theatre. This much, I can prove.’ Perantas paused and glanced up at the god. ‘As for my further suspicions, I am content to lay those before Apollo, and trust in his divine justice.’
This was the Perantas I had seen in Athens; a calm and confident orator, selflessly dedicated to public service. A worthy business partner for my patron, Aristarchos, and doubtless an equally virtuous man. I would have believed it, if I hadn’t seen the man behind the mask, behind his own closed doors here in Corinth, as he constantly and ruthlessly calculated where his own best interests lay. Perantas was nothing like Aristarchos, but he could certainly play the role convincingly.
I had no time to work out what he was aiming for in today’s performance, because he gestured towards me. Every Councillor and his cloak carrier stared, and I tried not to betray how unnerving that was.
‘In attacking our honoured guests from Athens, Alypos foully besmirched our city’s reputation. What tale will these actors take back home? What will they tell the great and good of their own city?’ Perantas asked with a fine rhetorical flourish. ‘Philocles Hestaiou, tell us what happened when you held auditions for your chorus.’
I didn’t need Wetka’s sharp elbow in my ribs to propel me forward. As Perantas returned to his stool, I walked out to stand in Apollo’s shadow and drew a steadying breath. Looking at the Councillors in front of me, I decided to address the weather-beaten man with the shrewd eyes who’d called this meeting to order.
As unemotionally as I could, I detailed the brawl at Demeter’s Sanctuary. I didn’t downplay the Brotherhood’s part in the violence. If Perantas didn’t like it, that was not my concern. These Councillors weren’t going to discount my evidence because they thought I was a Bacchiad mouthpiece. On the other hand, I didn’t mention Eumelos’ list warning us against various hero cults. Wetka had a point. It would do no good to muddy these waters.
As I concluded, I saw the Councillors facing me were looking at Alypos, cle
arly disapproving.
Perantas’ stool scraped on the tiles. He stood up, sombre-faced. ‘If I might clarify, you say insults were thrown on both sides, but the first punch was thrown by this man you know as Demeas?’
‘That’s correct.’ I wasn’t sure why I needed to repeat that.
‘The arrangements for these auditions were made before you arrived in Corinth, by Eumelos, the pickled fish trader?’
‘They were.’
I wondered if he wanted me to talk about Eumelos’ list, but he’d moved on.
‘Where did you next encounter Demeas?’
I hesitated. Strictly speaking, I’d seen the wiry man talking to Philolaos Kypselid’s woolly-headed underling outside this very temple, but I guessed Perantas wouldn’t want me mentioning that. I could also see Philolaos staring at me with an intensity that warned me not to make him my enemy. I looked for the best way to avoid sinking into this quicksand.
‘I saw him in the gateway of a brothel called the Halcyon, up on the Acrocorinth.’
‘What took you to the citadel?’
Now I was on surer ground. ‘We were looking for a herbalist called Hermaios Hygestratou. He supplied the Sons of Heracles with Colchis honey. They intended to mix it into the wine to be offered to our audience at the theatre, in hopes of causing some sort of uproar, with so many people intoxicated.’
The assembled Councillors stirred with audible consternation.
‘Please, explain,’ Perantas invited,
‘We were summoned to the Asklepion by a doctor, Chresimos,’ I began.
‘Excuse me,’ Perantas interrupted. ‘Is this the doctor who saw Eumelos when he was stricken by poison?’
‘He is,’ I confirmed.
Seeing Perantas had nothing more to say, I went on to tell the Council about the stricken boy, babbling about a plot to taint the wine for our play’s audience. After explaining what Chresimos had told us about the dangers of sweet madness, I related our conversation with Hermaios, though I didn’t mention how Zopyros had told us where to find him. I didn’t mention the poor little whore Arete, either. They’d both been no more than tools used in these rich men’s rivalries. If Perantas was going to pick and choose which people he would protect, I was entitled to do the same.
