by J M Alvey
I found the prospect of investigating them nauseating, and I wasn’t battling the after-effects of too much wine the night before. Still, someone needed to do it, and ideally someone who wasn’t going to add vomit to the mix of odours.
‘Abrosyne?’ I called out to the housekeeper who was still scouring the paving. ‘Please fetch me some meat skewers and your two sharpest knives.’
The old woman looked at Nados. When he nodded, she got to her feet and went into the house.
I saw the three lads looking at me uncertainly. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Do you want to touch any of that?’
They were still shaking their heads when Abrosyne brought what I asked for. She retreated to the courtyard where the other household slaves were gathering. I supposed they had as much of an interest in this as Eumelos’ boys.
First, I used a skewer to shove the stinking purse into the far corner. Then I knelt in front of the leather package and slid one knife under the strap that ran from top to bottom. I slipped the other beneath the strap running across it. Using both hands, and putting equal force behind both blades, I was able to cut the two straps without any need for someone else to hold the package steady. Thankfully Abrosyne kept her knives razor sharp.
‘Neatly done,’ Nados approved.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’ I flipped the cut straps away and used the knife points to unfold the leather. That revealed another square of tanned hide, thinner and with a sheen that I recognised. I braced myself and leaned closer to pick out a familiar scent amid the fading odours of death. This inner layer was oiled skin.
I handed Simias the knives. ‘Let me have those skewers.’
It wasn’t easy but I turned the inner package over. This square of oiled leather had been folded in the same way as the outer layer. Placing it folded-side down on the larger square had ensured that the package’s contents were protected by equal thicknesses of leather on either side.
‘Dardanis wanted this kept safe.’ I carefully unfolded the oiled hide with the knife blades.
‘Or Eumelos did,’ Aithon said.
‘He wouldn’t do anything that Eumelos hadn’t told him to do.’ Simias was sure of that.
I flipped aside the last flap of leather to reveal an inner layer of linen, thankfully free of ominous stains. Belatedly, I realised it was the characteristic length and width of a sheet of papyrus. I looked up. ‘Nados?’
He bent down to pick it up.
‘Abrosyne, get the brazier lit and burn all this.’ Nados kicked the discarded leather aside and returned to the table with the linen-wrapped documents.
I saw desperate hope on all their faces as we took our seats once again. ‘Is it the missing will?’
Nados didn’t answer, handing several sheets to Aithon, and studying the papyrus that remained in his hand intently. With nothing to read, Simias could only tap a frustrated foot on the tiles. I sympathised.
‘It is the will,’ Nados said slowly as he turned to the second sheet. ‘We inherit equal shares in the business, and he divides up his property between us. I inherit this house.’ He looked around, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune, before nodding at Aithon and then at Simias. ‘You get the Lechaion house, and you get Kenchreai.’
He read through both closely written sheets a second time and shook his head mystified. ‘There’s no mention of the silver reserve, or where to find any strongbox.’
Simias was dumbfounded. ‘Where’s the money gone?’
‘To Isthmia.’ Aithon had been so absorbed in what he was reading that I don’t think he had registered he was now a man of property. ‘Listen to this.
‘From Eumares Demetriou of Leukonoion to Myrrhine, daughter of Pratinias Pharou of Paionidai. My honoured wife—’
‘He was married?’
‘He was Athenian?’
Nados and I exclaimed, half a breath ahead of Simias.
‘What name did you say?’
Aithon ignored us all, picking up where he’d been interrupted.
‘My honoured wife, if you are reading this letter, then the man who brings it has come to tell you that I am dead. I am sorry to burden you with such news and all that inevitably follows. I had hoped that you would receive these tidings after we had lived a long and happy life apart, as we never could together. I had hoped that our son would be a grown man we could both be proud of, married according to the law, and you would be delighting in your grandchildren.
‘Since the Fates have decreed otherwise, please ask your father and your brother to take this letter and my messenger to my father so that they can inform him our son is now his heir according to the laws of Athens, and to see that this is recognised by the courts. The quarrel between myself and my family must not deprive our child of his rightful inheritance.
‘For my own part, I bequeath our son the strongbox safeguarded in my name by the priests of Poseidon at Isthmia. I have no doubt that you have raised him to be a thoughtful, respectful boy, and that you and your family will use this silver to see him educated to become a dutiful citizen of Athens, equipped as befits a soldier sworn to fight for our democracy.
‘I hope that this will win me some measure of forgiveness from the gods above and below for my undoubted failings as a husband, and my delinquency as an Athenian.
‘Written and sealed by my own hand . . .’
Aithon looked up. ‘It’s dated at the start of this year, and this is his handwriting, I swear to Hermes.’
He showed us all the papyrus and Nados held the will beside it, clearly stating Eumelos’ name, or rather the name he’d been known by here in Corinth. There could be no doubt that the same man had written both documents.
‘He always updated his will at the new year,’ Simias said faintly.
‘Now we know where the silver went.’ Nados looked less bothered about the money and more distressed to learn that Eumelos had kept something so significant as a wife and child a secret.
The will was endorsed with the Brotherhood of Bellerophon ring that Eumelos had worn. There was no mistaking the image of Pegasus taking flight on that seal. The letter bore some other symbol that I couldn’t make out. ‘May I see that?’
Aithon handed over the papyrus. I examined the image pressed into the oval of wax. Close to, it was clear enough; a lyre within an olive wreath. A suitable insignia for a man born into the voting tribe of Leontis, named for the hero Leos, son of Orpheus.
‘Presumably his family will recognise this. Of course, it would be best to have the ring as well . . .’
I looked at the noisome lump of Dardanis’ purse squatting like a toad in the corner of the portico. ‘I’d dump that in a bowl of vinegar and let it soak for a good long while before you untie it. Coin won’t come to any harm, or that seal ring, if it’s in there.’
Nados shook off the thoughts taunting him, like a horse shaking off troublesome flies. ‘But we still don’t know who killed Dardanis.’
‘The same man who murdered Eumelos?’ Simias hazarded. ‘Eumares, I mean.’
‘Someone who didn’t want him taking this letter to Athens,’ Aithon said slowly.
‘Maybe he had Eumelos’ will with him, because he was going to give it to you in Kenchreai, before finding a ship.’ Nados looked at Simias. ‘But is it still valid, if that wasn’t really his name?’
‘It was the name he was known by in this city.’ Aithon looked at us all uncertainly. ‘Surely that will weigh in our favour with any court?’
‘I suggest you continue to call him Eumelos,’ I advised, ‘and not just to avoid confusion over his will. He kept his former life secret for a reason, and until we can discover why, secrecy is our best protection. Someone murdered the only two men who knew the truth.’
‘How did this killer know that Dardanis would be taking such a vital message back to Athens?’ Aithon wondered aloud.
> Nados had other concerns. ‘What will happen to the child, if this woman never learns that her husband is dead?’
‘They’ll be a good deal poorer for one thing,’ Simias observed.
‘That depends on how old this boy is, and whether or not these two families can come to an agreement over who now serves as his guardian. Whatever this quarrel was, it must have been serious for Eumelos to cut all ties with his family and make a new life in Corinth.’
I couldn’t imagine what could make a man abandon his duty as a father, as a husband and as a citizen of Athens. I offered the letter back to Nados, but he wouldn’t take it.
‘Someone needs to tell these families what’s happened,’ I pointed out.
‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ he protested. ‘I’ve been to Piraeus twice and walked up to see the Acropolis once. That’s all I know of Attica.’
‘That’s more than me,’ said Aithon.
‘It’ll be simple enough to find them.’ I gestured with the letter. ‘This gives us Eumelos’ true name along with his father’s and the city district where he must have been enrolled as a voter. Find the district officials and they’ll tell you where to find his family. Paionidai is some way outside the city, so that’ll be more of a journey, but the local officials will be able to introduce you to this Myrrhine’s father.’
‘Three Corinthians they’ve never met before, claiming to bring news of a man they haven’t seen for, what, ten years?’ Nados challenged me.
‘Bringing news of a strongbox filled with silver?’ Simias shook his head. ‘They’ll expect us to demand a share.’
‘We don’t want a clipped obol,’ Aithon said quickly, ‘but that conversation could still turn ugly.’
‘What if they accuse us of having a hand in Eumelos’ death?’ Nados’ voice cracked with emotion. ‘To get this silver? You said it yourself. Someone he trusted gave him the poison that killed him.’
I realised he had a good point. Such suspicion was unfortunately a very real possibility. Lysicrates wasn’t the only Athenian whose first instinct was to mistrust Corinthians. Out in rural Attica, reactions could well be even more hostile. I remembered youthful summers helping my mother’s brothers, raising sheep out by Mount Pentelikos. They would whistle up their dogs if they found they were dealing with someone from more than a day’s walk away, wary of any man whom no one they knew could vouch for.
Then I saw all three youths were looking at me with the same eager expectation as my uncles’ dogs when we sat down to eat our midday bread and cheese.
‘You’re an Athenian citizen,’ Aithon pointed out, ‘well known and respected. Any number of people can attest to your honourable reputation.’
‘You have no personal interest in this,’ added Simias. ‘You won’t profit in any way. No one can accuse you of doing anything underhand.’
‘We have a duty to Eumelos, to see this family matter resolved.’ Nados was sorely troubled. ‘But we also have a duty to tend to his business affairs here. These past ten days have been a real challenge as it is, with no one knowing who would inherit his property, and unsure about entering into contracts with us. Now that we have his will, we can take it to the Council and those we trade with can be confident in our future dealings, but what will they think if we disappear to Athens for however long it could take to find his son?’
‘It wouldn’t take all three of you.’ Though as I spoke I imagined the scepticism that would greet a solitary, youthful Corinthian arriving with this unlikely tale, certainly until someone could be found to verify Eumelos’ seal ring. Who knew how long that could take, if he’d left the city a decade ago?
‘What if his family decide to challenge our right to his property here?’ Aithon wondered uneasily. ‘Could we be called before an Athenian court?’
I had no answer to that. I could think of men who would gladly give these three a share in whatever silver was held in trust at Isthmia as a reward for them bringing this news of a lost husband, father and son. Equally, I knew a few who would seize such an opportunity to try claiming everything Eumelos had owned in Corinth, down to the last amphora of pickled fish.
Simias broke into my thoughts. ‘You’ll be going back to Athens in any case, and soon. Is it asking so much for you to deliver this letter?’
That was also unfortunately true.
‘I will consider it,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I will need to talk to the others.’
‘Of course.’ Simias was already smiling. ‘And as Athenians, they can stand witness to everything you say.’
I got to my feet. ‘Find a scroll case and keep that letter safe. I’ll let you know what we decide once Wetka’s made our travel arrangements.’
That was another consideration. Perantas Bacchiad, not to mention Thettalos, would expect me to do what I could to help settle Eumelos’ affairs. Come to that, I didn’t relish the thought of going home and telling Aristarchos that I had neglected such an obvious duty to a fellow Athenian citizen, even one who’d absented himself for so long. I liked the idea of answering to Athena for such dereliction even less.
Then there was my duty to the Furies, the avengers of the unjustly dead. If I learned why Eumelos had left his old life behind, perhaps that would tell me who had murdered him, and we could see justice done for both these dead men.
I pointed to the noxious purse in the corner of the portico. ‘You lot deal with opening that before I get back, and see if the seal ring is in there.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
When I got back to our lodging, Hyanthidas and Telesilla had stopped by to relax with the actors and Zosime. Everyone was sitting in the courtyard as Kadous served dishes of olives and other dainties.
‘How did it go?’ Menekles asked.
‘They found Dardanis’ body on the Kenchreai road yesterday.’ I took a seat and reached for a hunk of bread.
‘We know,’ Apollonides interrupted. ‘Aithon told us when he came looking for Simias.’
‘What happened with the Council of Oligarchs?’ Zosime demanded.
‘Oh.’ My head was so full of Athenian concerns that Perantas taking his revenge on Alypos seemed irrelevant. I looked around but there was no sign of any Bacchiad slaves, not that it mattered if they overheard me. I quickly related the events in the Temple of Apollo in between mouthfuls of bread and salad leaves.
Lysicrates glowered. ‘So he won’t answer for his crimes.’
‘And Philolaos won’t even have to leave the city.’ Apollonides wasn’t about to forgive him any time soon. ‘Did anyone mention that his henchman paid off Parmenon and Eupraxis? To leave our chorus two short on the day of the play itself. Hyanthidas was just telling us.’
The piper nodded. ‘Offered them the choice of enough silver to settle their debts, or a lifetime of living on soup after getting their teeth kicked in.’
I hoped the two singers thought the bargain they’d made was worth it, once Thettalos and the Brotherhood turned up to collect whatever vengeance they reckoned was owed.
‘Oligarchs.’ Zosime was still scowling about the Council. ‘They always look after their own.’
Menekles’ thoughts were elsewhere. He had been paying close attention as I repeated the evidence set before the Council. An actor always looks for hidden meanings. ‘Perantas never accused Alypos outright of killing Eumelos.’
‘With Hermaios dead, there’s no way to prove it, one way or the other.’ Hyanthidas shrugged. ‘People will draw their own conclusions.’
‘Assuming that if he was willing to use poisons twice, he surely used them three times?’ I shook my head. ‘People thinking that may very well be wrong.’
I explained what we had found in the leather-wrapped package that Dardanis had been carrying. I kept my voice low, alert for any Bacchiad slaves unexpectedly appearing. ‘Until we know what lies behind this, I suggest we keep it to ourselves. We
don’t want to cast unnecessary doubt on his bequests to Nados, Aithon and Simias.’
Telesilla looked at Zosime. ‘That explains why he never married.’
My beloved was shaking her head. ‘Poor woman.’
‘It obviously wasn’t a happy marriage,’ Apollonides pointed out. ‘Perhaps she asked him to leave.’
‘Why didn’t he simply divorce her?’ countered Zosime. ‘Setting her free to find happiness with someone else?’
I kept quiet. Someone else could point out an Athenian wife’s right to petition for divorce, difficult though that might be in practice, if they wanted to risk Zosime’s ire.
‘At least he was determined to see his son’s rights protected.’ Lysicrates looked disapproving all the same.
‘No one could think of a Corinthian with a reason to kill him,’ Menekles said slowly, ‘but surely this means he could have had Athenian enemies.’
I agreed. I’d examined this puzzle from every angle as I walked back from Eumelos’ house, or rather Nados’ house. ‘You remember what Hermaios said to us?’
Menekles nodded. ‘He thought we wanted the same poison that had killed Eumelos, on the recommendation of a friend.’
‘He could tell we were Athenians,’ I explained to the others. ‘I assumed that meant Athenians were working with whoever was out to stop our play. We know there are would-be oligarchs back home who oppose Aristarchos’ support for the Thurii colony.’
In the light of this morning’s revelations, that conversation now suggested very different possibilities.
‘If an Athenian killed Eumelos, it makes sense to kill Dardanis, to stop that news reaching Athens,’ Menekles agreed.
Lysicrates was puzzled. ‘If whoever did this intends to profit by Eumelos’ death, surely he would want that known?’
None of us had an answer for that.
