Scorpions in Corinth

by J M Alvey

  ‘I am coming,’ she insisted, leaving our bedroom and heading for the storeroom.

  Her father, Menkaure, was leaning against the doorpost. ‘I could come too,’ he offered. ‘I haven’t been out to the country since the spring.’

  That didn’t surprise me. Resident foreigners coming to live and work in Athens rarely venture beyond the city walls into Attica.

  ‘There could be bandits on the road, or even wolves.’ He looked at me as we listened to Zosime satisfying herself that everything was in order.

  ‘Those are just tavern tales,’ I assured him. Though it might be a different story in the hungry depths of winter. ‘We still need you watching our door here. The neighbours will have seen us come back and they know we’ve been to Corinth. Someone curious and finding the house empty might be tempted to see what we brought back.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He let the matter drop, to my relief. I didn’t want to arrive mob-handed, getting on the wrong side of this unknown Myrrhine’s father.

  The walk to Paionidai would mean a long day on the road, and we didn’t want to arrive too late when we could not be sure of our welcome. So Zosime and I rose at first light, meeting the others in the agora so early that even the keenest merchants were only just setting up their stalls.

  As we headed north, we passed the turn that could take us to Leukonoion. I caught Lysicrates’ eye and could see he was thinking the same as me.

  ‘I wonder what his father will say, when we bring him the news?’

  Lysicrates shrugged. ‘We’ll find out, once his wife’s had her chance to throw pots at our heads.’

  Leaving the city, we paused around noon at Athena’s temple in Acharnae, to eat and drink, and to seek the goddess’ blessing on our endeavours until the heat of the day had passed. As we set out again, I had to curb my pace. I was consumed with curiosity about Eumelos’ former life and the family he had kept so secret.

  We found Paionidai at the foot of an outcrop thrusting southwards from the high ridge of Mount Parnes. That snow-capped rampart has long been an Athenian defence against Boeotian hostility. The village was like any other out in Attica, with a sprawl of modest houses surrounding a market place. A cluster of olive trees looked to serve as a sacred grove, with an all-purpose altar close by. A handful of women and girls were fetching water from the communal well.

  ‘I’ll get a drink while you talk to the local sages.’ Zosime nodded towards two old men sitting on stools in the evening shade beside the village tavern.

  They were both as wrinkled as raisins. One watched Zosime head for the well with evident appreciation. I could hardly blame him. As soon as we’d returned to Athens, she had swapped her long, pleated gown for a knee-length draped dress that revealed her shapely figure considerably more clearly.

  Menekles led the way, and Apollonides, Lysicrates and I followed a few paces behind. Kadous brought up the rear as a well-trained slave should. I was doing my best to look like someone who’d never laughed at jokes about country bumpkins back in Athens, and certainly had never written such ridiculous characters to amuse a theatre audience.

  Menekles addressed the old men formally. ‘Good afternoon, honoured sirs. Please can you direct us to Pratinias Pharou’s household?’

  The old man sitting closest to the tavern pursed withered lips. ‘What business do you have with him?’

  Menekles ducked his head respectfully. ‘Forgive me, but that is his business, and therefore is not mine to share with you.’

  The old men exchanged an impenetrable look, before the other elder raised his stick in a shaking hand and jabbed it towards a gap between two long, low houses. ‘Follow that road. You want the first farmstead outside the village.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Menekles said with scrupulous politeness.

  We walked back across the market place like a well-rehearsed chorus. A piercing whistle cut through the golden calm. Looking back, I saw the old man with the stick had his fingers in his mouth. He whistled again, and several people appeared in doorways, to witness whatever might occur.

  ‘What is going on?’ Lysicrates wondered, wary.

  ‘They are looking after their own.’ Zosime left the women at the well and rejoined us, her face sombre. ‘Myrrhine’s brother died this past winter. Her father’s health has been failing ever since.’

  Apollonides winced. ‘Now we’ve brought even more bad news.’

  ‘Not all bad,’ Lysicrates observed as we followed the path the old man had indicated. ‘Remember what’s waiting for her son in Isthmia.’

  ‘Who can she trust to collect it?’ countered Zosime.

  I reached for her hand as we walked on. That old man’s eyesight must be failing if he thought this was a road. I’d have called it a sheep track. Thankfully the farmstead was only a short walk away.

  Menekles was looking at the groves and pastures. ‘For a household beset by misfortune, they’re keeping their land in good order.’

  He was right. Several labourers paused to watch us approach. An itch between my shoulder blades made me want to look back and see if we were being followed.

  The farmstead’s entrance was firmly closed, and the solid wall was high enough to hide all but the roofs of the buildings within. Not that ill-wishers could sneak up. A watchman looked down at us from a vantage point by the gate.

  ‘Good day.’ He was thickset and weather-beaten, and his expression suggested we’d be ill advised to think that he hadn’t seen most of what life had to offer.

  ‘Hello.’ Menekles tried for a friendly tone, shading his eyes with one hand as he looked up. ‘We bring news for Pratinias Pharou and his daughter Myrrhine.’

  ‘From Athens?’ The watchman’s face hardened, his voice distinctly unfriendly.

  I stepped forward, suspecting the reason for this cool reception. ‘We have come from Athens, but we have had nothing to do with Demetrios—’ I abruptly realised I had no idea what Emelos’ grandfather had been called, in order to give his father his formal patronymic ‘—of Leukonoion. We are not here on his behalf.’

  The watchman’s derisive snort puzzled me, but at least he looked more curious than hostile. ‘Who do you speak for?’

  I didn’t want to shout about our connection with Eumelos, or Eumares as these people had known him. I reached into the neck of my tunic, drew out the seal ring on its leather thong and let it dangle. ‘I have brought this for Pratinias’ grandson.’

  As I’d hoped, that prompted a stir on the far side of the wall. The watchman looked down and we heard a rasp as the bar securing the gate was withdrawn. A younger man slipped through the gap before the gate was quickly pushed closed behind him.

  He reached us and held out a hand. I let the ring hang over his open palm but twitched it away as he closed his fingers. ‘There is more. We have a letter, but we’re only handing that over to Pratinias or Myrrhine.’

  Zosime spoke up unexpectedly. ‘I can do that, if Myrrhine doesn’t wish to talk to these men.’

  I wanted to say there was no way I was letting her go unaccompanied into a strange household, but muttering and shuffling on the other side of the gate interrupted me. A woman in a household matron’s pleated gown emerged. She was a handful of years younger than me. Her long hair was simply braided, and her expression told of a hard life.

  ‘I am Myrrhine,’ she said briefly. ‘Let me see that ring.’

  I let the youth take it to her. As she studied it, I saw her mouth quiver.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Her voice was hoarse with some tangle of emotions I did not understand.

  ‘A man called Dardanis was supposed to bring it, with a letter that I have now,’ I said cautiously. ‘Things turned out – differently.’

  I saw desperation as well as confusion in her eyes.

  ‘My name is Philocles Hestaiou of Alopeke,’ I said formally. ‘I can return to A
thens with someone you trust, so that our district’s officials can confirm my identity, and witnesses can attest to my good character.’

  Menekles, Apollonides and Lysicrates introduced themselves with similar assurances, though I hoped Myrrhine didn’t take us up on this offer, because that amount of back and forth would take up days.

  Then I realised she was looking at Zosime, thoughtful as well as curious.

  Zosime smiled. ‘I only met him briefly, but he was a charmer.’

  Myrrhine bit her lip, and then turned abruptly to address whoever was standing behind the half-open gate. ‘They can come in.’

  Whoever it was made some inaudible objection. Myrrhine overruled him with the firmness of a woman used to being obeyed. ‘Do as I say.’

  I glanced at Menekles as the gate opened wide. Apollonides and Lysicrates exchanged a shrug. Zosime looked at us all, amused, and walked forward. We hurriedly went with her.

  The farmstead was a square of substantial buildings around a central courtyard. Over to one side, pillars supported a shallow roof over an altar and Myrrhine walked past that to an open door.

  Menekles looked warily at the men and women standing, stony-faced, in the doorways to storerooms and other quarters. ‘Are we invited in, do you suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’ The watchman looked down from his lofty post.

  We entered a large room where day-to-day pots and cups were neatly stacked on shelves, and the lady of the house’s distaff was propped in a wool basket in a corner alongside a heap of carved wooden animals. Sturdy chests against the walls doubtless held other household goods.

  Against the far wall, an old man lay on a high-backed couch softened with sheepskins. Though the weather was mild, he clutched at his brightly coloured blanket as though we were in the depths of midwinter. His eyes were blurred with cataracts and his expression was vague. Myrrhine sat on a stool by his head. Her gaze was as sharp as a razor.

  ‘My letter?’ She held out a hand.

  I pulled the scroll case from the centre of the blanket I was carrying, rolled and secured with a strap. Handing it to her, I retreated to stand with the others. Shadows passed by the door. Help would arrive before Myrrhine finished calling for it.

  We stood in silence as she read the letter. As she finished, she sighed and rolled it up. We waited for her to ask some question, but she sat still, her eyes distant and her expression grim. She certainly didn’t look like a woman who’d just learned that a handsome bequest awaited her son. The old man said nothing. I wasn’t even sure that he knew we were there.

  ‘Eumares had a thriving business in Corinth,’ I ventured. ‘His business partners have every reason to believe his silver reserve was substantial.’

  Myrrhine looked at me, diverted from whatever dark thoughts beset her. ‘He was in Corinth?’ She shook her head. ‘Dardanis never said.’

  ‘You knew Dardanis?’ I prompted.

  ‘Knew him?’ Dread shadowed her eyes. ‘He’s dead as well?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, he is.’ I hesitated, trying to find the words to explain the dreadful circumstances that had brought us here instead of her husband’s trusted messenger.

  Myrrhine forestalled me, clapping her hands and calling out, ‘Bring refreshments for our guests!’

  An older woman appeared with jugs of wine and water with such swiftness, she must have been waiting outside the door. The watchman and his young underling brought stools and a small table.

  Once we were settled, a spark of curiosity was lightening Myrrhine’s dour expression. ‘You had better begin at the beginning.’

  Menekles took up the challenge, his words as clear and concise as the prologue for a play. ‘We are actors, and we were invited to perform a comedy in Corinth.’

  We took up the tale, turn by turn, as fluently as if we’d rehearsed it. Myrrhine’s eyes widened as she listened, and I heard exclamations stifled outside the door. Finally, I explained how the gods had apparently chosen us to fulfil Eumares’ final wishes.

  ‘I see that your father is too infirm to travel to Athens, and I understand that your brother has died. We are truly sorry for your troubles. If we can help in any way, to carry a letter to Eumares’ father, we will gladly do so.’

  As the others echoed my condolences and assurances, Myrrhine surprised us with a mirthless laugh. ‘If you want to speak to Demetrios, you will need to follow Odysseus down to the Underworld. He died on the first of the month.’

  ‘Who . . .’ I wanted to know who had told her. I wanted to know who the dead man’s heir might be, now that Eumares was dead. Asking any of these things would be hideously bad manners, though.

  Myrrhine tapped the rolled-up letter against her cupped palm. ‘I suppose it’s my turn to begin at the beginning.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Myrrhine sat straight-backed on her stool, with her ankles demurely crossed and her hands in her lap. ‘This sorry tale begins before I ever met Eumares. His family live in Athens, although they own substantial property not far from here, and live well on the proceeds of selling the harvests from their olive groves and vines. He was the eldest son, the only child who lived to adulthood, and his mother died when he was barely twenty years old. I believe it was grief for their losses that first soured relations between him and his father. That may explain why Eumares married young, to a woman from Rhodes. Her name was Kleoboulina. They had a child, a daughter, and I’ve every reason to believe they were happy. He certainly adored them both.’

  As Myrrhine paused, I saw sadness in her eyes, though it was the old, cold ashes of disappointment rather than recent, still-smouldering pain. Abruptly brisk, she resumed her story.

  ‘Then Pericles introduced his citizenship law and Demetrios realised he would not have a legitimate grandson to inherit his wealth as long as his son lacked an Athenian citizen wife. He said Eumares must divorce Kleoboulina, in order to marry again to secure their family property through citizen sons. When Eumares refused, Demetrios made their lives a misery. One day, Eumares returned to Athens from a trip to their property near here, to find his house deserted. Kleoboulina and the child were gone. It seemed she had confided her unhappiness to his cousin’s wife and had decided to return to Rhodes.’

  That would have been eight years ago, I swiftly calculated, around the time I was finishing my hoplite training. Eumares would have been a couple of years older than I was now. Myrrhine would have been half his age, a country girl trained to run a household by her mother and ripe for marriage by her fifteenth year.

  She shook her head. ‘He couldn’t find any trace of her in Rhodes or anywhere in between. When he returned to Athens, Demetrios resumed his demands for a legitimate grandson. Eumares was ready to defy his father until he realised that his cousin Alkias was counting on him having no heir. Then all the family property would go to Alkias and his sons. More than that, he learned that while Alkias had been swearing he supported his marriage to Kleoboulina, encouraging him to stand up to his father, he’d been just as earnestly urging Demetrios to insist that his son did his citizen duty, as well as doing all he could to convince Kleoboulina to leave Athens while her husband was away. So Eumares decided that he would marry again, and start a family, purely to spite his cousin.’

  She reached out to stroke her oblivious father’s grey head. ‘He never knew. He thought he was arranging a fine marriage for me, with a respectable, well-connected family. I knew none of this, not until later. Truth be told, we were happy enough, Eumares and I, at least at first. I was quickly pregnant, and we were blessed with a healthy son.’

  Her face softened with love for her child, and I caught a glimpse of the sweetly biddable girl she had been, coming to the altar as a bride with such high hopes soon to be so cruelly disappointed.

  ‘He thrived?’ Apollonides asked hesitantly. ‘The boy?’

  ‘He did, and he does,’ Myrrhine assured us, ‘
but Eumares refused to honour his father by naming his grandson for him. He’s called Laches.’

  I couldn’t imagine how much Eumares must have hated his father to insult him so viciously.

  Myrrhine looked at us, her expression wry. ‘As you might imagine, Demetrios was furious. I don’t know all the details, as their final argument erupted only a few days after Laches was born. Demetrios did let slip that he had paid Kleoboulina to leave and to take their daughter. He said that proved she had only ever been a greedy whore. He and Eumares had to be pulled apart before they beat each other senseless.’

  She shook her head. ‘That was the last time Eumares spoke to his father. We left Athens and came here to live but, within the month, Eumares couldn’t stand the torment of reflecting on all he had lost. He left me and our son in my father and my brother’s care. He said he’d return to Attica when his father was dead and not before. I never knew where he had gone. Dardanis visited from time to time, to bring us money, and to make sure we wanted for nothing.’ She gestured at the comfortably furnished room.

  ‘Laches hasn’t seen his father since he was born?’ Zosime clapped her hand to her mouth, mortified. Clearly, she hadn’t intended to utter that thought aloud.

  Myrrhine managed a shaky smile, though tears were trickling down her cheeks.

  ‘Once, when he was three years old. No one expected to see him but Eumares arrived at our gate one spring day. We travelled to Athens so that Laches could be presented to the Leukonoion District Assembly as Eumares’ legitimate son and heir.’

  ‘Good to know,’ I said fervently, and the others echoed my relief. Upholding a citizen’s rights in the courts, especially for a child, meant having witnesses to his participation in such civic rites. Eumares had been determined to do his duty as an Athenian by his son, however much he hated his family.

  I still found it impossible to imagine such a vile family quarrel. Judging by everyone else’s expressions, so did Menekles, Apollonides and Lysicrates. Sitting next to me, Zosime reached for my hand and held tight.