by J M Alvey
‘Did we expect this many?’ Apollonides was counting heads as still more men arrived to join the citizens milling around the pillars. Word had spread like wildfire sweeping through Attica at the height of summer.
‘The more witnesses the better, to deter Alkias from coming after any of us with a knife in some alleyway.’ I sought to reassure myself as much as anyone else. ‘Is he here yet?’
I looked at Lysicrates, who had taken on the task of finding out where Alkias lived, and of learning all he could from the man’s neighbours.
The actor shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen him yet.’
‘Perhaps he won’t come.’ Apollonides looked around. ‘Maybe he’s sent a friend to report back, for fear of betraying himself somehow.’
‘He’ll come.’ Lysicrates had no doubt of that. ‘He never trusts anyone to do something, if he can possibly do it himself. Besides, he has no real friends to speak of, just men who are wary of offending him.’
A well-dressed man approached, with his attendant slave a few paces behind. ‘The Leukonoion Treasurer has arrived, with the other officials. Shall we begin?’ His apprehension was in sharp contrast to his genial goodwill when Aristarchos had introduced us.
‘Of course,’ I said politely, before turning to the actors. ‘I have the honour to present Xenocritos Neleid, who has obliged us by vouching for me here.’
I couldn’t help wondering how Aristarchos had persuaded this nervous nobleman to help, but that was a question for another day.
‘If we could call this meeting to order?’ Xenocritos snapped his fingers at his slave.
The keen-eyed youth hurried over to the Leukonoion officials who nodded, their expressions suitably grave for what they thought they were about to hear. I wondered how appalled they would look when they’d heard everything I had to say.
The slave clapped his hands, and he must have had palms like leather, because the sound echoed around the colonnade like a whip crack. The noise silenced all the quietly curious conversation.
I waited for Xenocritos to speak, but he gestured for me to step forward. I took a breath and tried to convince myself that this was little different to any other stage. That would have been a great deal easier if I’d been wearing a mask. On the other hand, without eyeholes limiting my vision, I saw a slight commotion at the far end of the colonnade. A late arrival.
‘That’s him,’ muttered Lysicrates.
I wished I was close enough to get a good look at Alkias, but that risked alerting him to our particular interest in his affairs. We were here to talk about something quite different, as far as these Leukonoion officials were concerned.
I raised my voice to carry to all comers. ‘Good morning, fellow citizens. I am Philocles Hestaiou of Alopeke. I am here by the gracious permission of your Brotherhood, to inform you of the untimely death of one of your own, Eumares Demetriou.’
I allowed a murmur of consternation to run its course up and down the colonnade. Apollonides had done a good job over these past few days, discovering where Demetrios had lived, and prompting his neighbours to wonder what could have become of his son. Those who remembered the uproar when Kleoboulina and her child had vanished were swift to recall their unease at the time. Such behaviour had seemed so out-of-character, even for a strong-minded woman from Rhodes.
Though Apollonides had learned that no one had suspected foul play, by Alkias or anyone else. Since the new citizenship laws had rendered the little girl illegitimate without an Athenian mother, it was surely reasonable for Kleoboulina to take her child back to her own family, or to some other city where the girl could make a good marriage in the fullness of time. Her prospects in Athens were now non-existent, after all.
Apollonides had also discovered that Eumelos – Eumares – had been well liked, far more so than his father. The best thing that could be said for the recently deceased Demetrios was that he wasn’t Alkias. As for him, Myrrhine hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that the man who threatened her so vilely had no friends. It also appeared he was raising his own sons to follow in his footsteps.
I cleared my throat as the noise faded to an expectant hush. ‘Whatever quarrels caused such a rift between father and son are no business of mine. I only know that Eumares went to live in Corinth, where he established a flourishing business, trading in pickled fish to east and west. Those of you who knew him here will not be surprised to learn that he made many friends across the Corinthia and beyond. He was sincerely respected by all those with whom he had dealings.’
I paused for a moment to let those whose memories hadn’t been jogged by Apollonides in some Leukonoion tavern exchange glances and nods of approval. Then I continued, sombrely.
‘You will be accordingly shocked to learn that Eumares died of poison. I was there when he was struck down, as were three of our fellow Athenians. All of whom can stand witness to his appalling death, if your elders and officials ask.’
We fervently hoped that they wouldn’t. As long as Alkias didn’t know who else could testify to these events, he was surely less likely to try cracking my skull.
‘Eumares was dosed with a thornapple potion, according to the doctors at Corinth’s Asklepion. Perhaps he thought it was an aphrodisiac.’ I shrugged. ‘We can surely understand any man seeking assistance to satisfy Aphrodite’s handmaidens.’
That won me a few half-smiles, though most of the assembled men were already looking uneasy. They looked downright troubled when they heard what I had to say next.
‘As the poison seized him, he was assailed by visions of his family. First, he mistook a Corinthian woman of impeccable reputation for his lost wife, Kleoboulina. Then he saw someone whom he insisted was his cousin Alkias—’
That caused considerably more than a murmur, and for good reason. There might not have been much speculation about Kleoboulina’s disappearance, but Lysicrates had unearthed dark rumours about the death of Alkias’ wife. A few, the most cynical, reckoned that once he had three well-grown sons, he’d had no more use for her. That made her supposed wasting disease extremely convenient, and quite possibly the result of poison.
The majority were prepared to believe that the unfortunate woman had truly been ill. Nevertheless, some thought that Alkias could well have hastened her end with some lethal potion. Opinion was divided as to whether that was to spare himself the inconvenience and cost of a nurse, or to spare the mother of his children undue pain.
Ordinarily I’d ignore such spiteful rumours, but Myrrhine had told us how the woman had confided her suspicions about Kleoboulina’s fate. I was forced to acknowledge that a man who had killed once wouldn’t hesitate to silence his wife if he feared betrayal.
‘Please, please!’ I held up my hands, appealing for silence. ‘Eumares was out of his senses, thanks to some potion he poured into his own cup. The woman he thought was his lost wife was a well-known Corinthian musician. I have no idea who he was addressing, when he thought he saw his cousin.’
Hopefully that would make Alkias less likely to try silencing me, as long as he thought I had nothing more damning to say.
Though I wasn’t about to go on and say that I had no reason to think Alkias had been in Corinth. One of the first things Lysicrates had established was that the man had been nowhere to be seen in Athens from four days before our own departure until two days before we’d returned.
I shook my head, sorrowful. ‘Whatever befell Eumares in Corinth, those of you who were his friends will be relieved to learn that he remained true to his wife, Myrrhine, and mindful of his responsibilities to his young son. He had been sending them regular sums of money,’ I explained, ‘to support her as she cares for her ailing father in Paoinidai.’
Several men standing near me were pleased to hear that. Rather more looked shame-faced as they realised they hadn’t given Myrrhine and her child a second thought since they’d left the city. Out of sight, out of min
d.
‘Eumares made provision for them both, in case of his death.’ I raised my voice as I unrolled the papyrus I was holding. I’d made a careful copy of Myrrhine’s letter before we’d come back to the city.
‘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 read out Eumares’ measured, considered words in a ringing voice that carried to every corner of the colonnade. When I finished, I rolled up the letter and handed it to Xenocritos Neleid.
He held the scroll aloft. ‘This will be held in the District Archive, and our Treasurer will take all necessary steps to secure this legacy for Eumares’ widow and her son. The boy was duly presented as a citizen’s son at the appropriate Anthesteria, as many of you will remember.’
He looked distinctly disapproving, but I hoped this gathering would see that as unspoken criticism of Eumares rather than guessing at his irritation with me, for embroiling him in all this. I was just glad to see enough nodding heads to reassure us that Alkias had no chance of claiming Laches’ citizenship was somehow in question.
I reclaimed the crowd’s attention. ‘You may well remember Eumares’ trusted slave, Dardanis. He should have been the one bringing this letter to Athens, but alas, he was found dead on the road between Corinth and Kenchreai. Truly, a tragic end for a loyal slave who had long been the trusted messenger between Eumares and his wife and son.’
I shook my head sorrowfully to allow these assembled men a few moments to recall Dardanis, and to wonder who might have wanted to kill him. Then I continued with a hefty hint for those slower on the uptake.
‘The Furies only know what befell him, since he was found with both his purse and Eumares’ seal ring still in his possession. We can at least trust in the divine providence that saw his body discovered, in the hidden thicket where he crawled to hide after escaping his attacker. Great Zeus be thanked that this letter was retrieved, so that Eumares’ last message to his family could be delivered.’
I paused to allow a suitably pious murmur to rise and fall.
‘There was also a will disposing of the property that he had amassed in Corinth. Neither Myrrhine or her father wish to make any claim on that, on behalf of Eumares’ son,’ I assured the crowd. ‘She wishes to remain living quietly in Attica, raising her child with the support of her family, and grateful for the assistance of your brothers in Paionidai. When Laches comes of age, he will assume the rights and responsibilities of a citizen as he takes possession of the lands and interests that his grandfather Pratinias bequeaths him in Paionidai, as well as the property that he inherits from Demetrios here in Athens.’
With a cheery smile on my face, I flung out my hand towards the far end of the colonnade.
‘In the meantime, as you all know, that property will be safeguarded by Alkias Theocritou. I’m sure you all share Myrrhine’s confidence that he will prove a faithful steward of her son’s inheritance, to honour the memory of his late cousin, and of his late uncle, as befits the new head of such an honoured and respected family.’
Everyone turned to stare at Alkias. Since all I saw was the backs of their heads, I couldn’t tell if these men were looking at him with mistrust, with some guileless promise of support for Eumares’ sake, or with simple curiosity, to find out who he was.
What I did know was there were countless witnesses to everything I said here today. That meant plenty of men would keep an eye on Alkias’ dealings with Demetrios’ property. Whether they did that for Eumares’ sake, or because they disliked Alkias really didn’t matter. More than enough of them were young and sufficiently hale to stand as witnesses on the day twelve years or more from now, when young Laches came to Athens to take his place among them and claim what was rightfully his.
For the first time, I could see Alkias clearly. He was a stocky man, with a belligerent set to his shoulders, and an arrogant tilt to his head. I made sure that I would know him again, if he decided to take issue with anything I said. Though I couldn’t say what he was thinking at the moment. His face was as emotionless as marble.
Xenocritos’ slave clapped his hands once again, and the nobleman wound up the meeting with a few well-chosen words. I barely heard him, silently running through my speech, to be certain that I’d said everything we had intended, to be sure that we’d done all we could.
Now we could only wait and see if Alkias thought he could find a way through the walls we’d built around him. This wouldn’t be over until we knew that he knew it was.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nine days later, Alkias made his move. It had taken him long enough. I’d been out and about in the city without Kadous at my side every day since that meeting at the Academy. I had called regularly on my mother as a good son should. I ran errands for my brothers around our family’s leather workshops. I visited my patron for this year’s Dionysia play, and made the rounds of the city’s most noted choir masters to enquire about likely prospects for my new chorus.
Not that my faithful Phrygian was sitting at home twiddling his thumbs. He’d carried word of our meeting with the assembled men of the Leukonoion District to Myrrhine out in the country. He’d waited to bring back answers from her father’s faithful friends to some crucial questions. We also asked if they’d had any enquiries from their own connections in Athens, asking how her family fared. Kadous returned, able to reassure us that the Paionidai village elders were ready to downplay the extent of Pratinias’ decline, to protect young Laches, in case Alkias sent some allies from Athens to discover how frail the old man really was and to seek support for his plan to send a son to take charge of the household.
Alkias finally confronted me as I was walking down the road to Alopeke, out beyond the Itonian Gate and on my way home. He must have been waiting out here in the shade of that olive tree for quite some while, now that he’d been goaded into action by the gossip that was swirling around him.
‘You need to shut your mouth, Philocles.’ Words to start a tavern brawl, but Alkias was as sober as a statue on the Acropolis, and just as stony-faced.
I hooked my thumbs in my belt and challenged him with a thrust of my jaw. ‘I notice you don’t accuse me of lying.’
Alkias scowled, and I saw outrage kindle in his eyes. Lysicrates had learned from the man’s neighbours that he wasn’t used to being defied. As his sons had grown up, their bruises made that plain for all to see.
I cocked my head with the grin that always infuriated my older brothers. ‘If you claim you’re being defamed, call me before the courts to answer for slander.’
He took a step forward, and I retreated a pace. I wasn’t surprised that he’d chosen to try browbeating me outside Athens’ walls. The few passers-by weren’t inclined to stop and stare as they would be inside the city. Indeed, the tall man who strode past, followed by an equally tall attendant, studiously avoided making eye-contact with either of us. There were no windows or doors close at hand for nosy people to gawk from, and if any concerned citizen sent word to the Scythian public slaves tasked with keeping civic order, they would doubtless be reminded that their writ ran as far as the city gates and no further.
In my favour, it was still mid-afternoon, and even if there weren’t many people about, the ones that were would notice attempted murder in broad daylight. Now we were standing face to face, I could see the pale arc of a long-faded, ring-sized scar beneath his eye. I could be certain that Alkias was the killer that we sought, and I was very glad that he hadn’t waited to corner me somewhere late at night.
‘Go on,’ I prompted. ‘What are you going to do to shut me up?’
We’d made our calculations when we’d decided who was going to stand before the Leukonoion officials and tell our carefully crafted version of events in Corinth. I could call on the protection of my association with a man as influential as Aristarchos. My brothers’ business was well established, and they
had no dealings with anyone whom Alkias could bully. We had no unmarried sisters whose reputations could be smeared.
Alkias smiled nastily. ‘You want to see what happens, the next time a play of yours is staged? You want your chorus pelted with muck? You want your musician’s legs broken? You want your masks stolen and thrown down a well?’
Before we’d been to Corinth, these would have been threats to make me quail. After everything that we’d survived there, such menace seemed positively lightweight.
I smiled sunnily back. ‘You want to see how many men stand by you, once I start going around the Leukonoion taverns and asking all the questions that I didn’t bring up at the Academy? Let’s start with your recent trip to see Myrrhine, when you threatened to adopt her son—’
‘You think any jury will hesitate to hand the boy into my care,’ Alkias scoffed, ‘when they hear how her father’s wits have gone begging?’
‘They might,’ I retorted, ‘when someone asks exactly when you found that out. No one in Paionidai has seen you for years, not until your recent visit. We can bring witnesses to the city to swear to that.’
Kadous had brought back written testimony, with every detail and date of Alkias’ visit precisely recorded.
‘Why didn’t you go out there to see her as soon as Demetrios died? Surely you had a duty to discover if she knew where Eumares might be, so you could get the sad news to him, and inform him of his inheritance?’
Now I saw uncertainty in Alkias’ eyes. I followed up my advantage.
‘Why did you wait until you could tell Myrrhine that Eumares was dead as well? Come to that, how did you even know that he was dead? Because you took her the news before we got back to Athens. Please, do tell me,’ I invited, ‘who sent you word from Corinth? Who do you know there, who knew he was your cousin?’
‘Let’s see how many questions you can ask with a broken jaw.’ Alkias clenched his fists, his face ugly.
Intent on giving me a thrashing, he was about to take a long stride forward. Fortunately for me, Menekles’ long arm slipped around his neck and pulled him up short.
