by J M Alvey
Nymenios was having none of it. ‘I want the hides we’ve paid for or I want our silver back. Otherwise we’ll see you in court.’
He included me in that threat with a gesture. I did my best to look like a man who could write a thundering denunciation instead of someone quite likely to be sick on his shoes.
‘No, wait, you have to listen!’ Dexios abandoned his attempts at charm, fat jowls wobbling like a cock’s wattles.
‘We have to do nothing of the kind,’ snapped Nymenios.
I laid a hand on his forearm and glared at Dexios. ‘Make it quick. How have you fallen foul of the temples?’
‘I’ve done nothing!’ Dexios protested. ‘Ten days ago I paid up for my usual consignment from the Temple of Hephaistos. We shook hands on the deal but the skins never arrived. When I went to ask where they were, they said a cart from my yard had already collected them.’
‘Really? Did you send word to the Archons? I will check,’ Nymenios warned.
‘That very same day!’ Dexios’s grievance was loud enough to turn heads. ‘The temple slaves swear they acted in good faith and the chief priest backs them up. He says they can’t be held responsible if I’ve been robbed by such deception. The magistrates say there’s nothing they can do until I find out who collected the hides from the temple.’
The tanner clenched his fists and turned to me. ‘Will you help me, when I drag these bastards into court? Write me a speech that’ll scald the jury’s ears? I’ll pay whatever you ask.’
That convinced me he was telling the truth. Dexios always haggles Nymenios down to the last sixteenth of an obol. Now he was inviting me to help myself to his silver. ‘Have you any idea who did it?’
‘Not yet.’ He scowled at the avid onlookers as if he suspected them all. ‘Not the priest at least. He was appalled to realise how easily he’d been duped.’
Nymenios surprised me by giving Dexios a curt nod. ‘You can have until the end of the month. Supply the leather you promised us or return our silver.’ He scanned the avid onlookers’ faces and snapped his fingers as he saw someone he recognised. ‘Kephalos, will you stand witness for me?’
The man nodded, along with several others who looked familiar from local brotherhood meetings, or the Alopeke district council, or somewhere I’d probably remember if I’d drunk less wine the night before.
‘The yard will be back in business within days regardless.’ Now Dexios was smiling, visibly relieved. ‘With all these sacrifices for the Dionysia, we’ll have as many hides as we can handle.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Nymenios turned to stride away before the tanner could say anything else.
I hurried after my brother. ‘At least that’s settled. If Dexios can get us the skins, all well and good. If he can’t, we’ll just do business with Pataikos.’
Nymenios shook his head, looking grim. ‘I saw him earlier. He says everyone’s bidding against him for those hides from the temple at Acharnai. He says every temple he deals with in the city has had someone pay coin, up front, for all this festival’s hides. If Dexios wasn’t so busy guzzling free wine, he’d know that for himself.’
I stared at him, astonished. ‘Who has that much silver?’
‘Nobody knows. The temples aren’t telling, presumably to keep the coin coming.’ My brother’s face hardened. ‘As soon as the festival’s over, we need to talk to everyone in the leather trades, and the other tanners. We need to find out what’s going on before we’re all beggared.’
‘Then why did you give Dexios until the end of the month?’ Now that really confused me, with or without my headache.
‘To give him every incentive to find out what the fuck’s going on.’ Nymenios let slip a hint of desperation. Then he turned on me. Ever since we were kids, if something’s bothering him, he finds a way to give someone else grief. ‘When are you coming to see Mother? She wants to talk about your play.’
She wasn’t at the theatre today. She’d lost her taste for tragedies after burying her husband and losing one of her daughters with a stillborn grandchild, all the while mourning her lost son.
‘Soon.’ I hesitated. ‘I hope so, anyway. You’re not the only ones with troubles. Someone’s spreading lies about me.’
I explained, swift and succinct, about the paint on my wall. I didn’t particularly want to tell my brother, or have to listen to his advice, but Nymenios was the head of the family. I decided I wanted him forewarned before someone stirring up shit brought home a rumour that I was a Persian sympathiser.
‘I’m trying to get to the bottom of it, but that could take me the rest of the festival.’
Nymenios nodded with reluctant understanding. ‘So we’ll see you if we see you.’
‘Say sorry to Mother for me.’ Someone else I owed amends.
I barely reached my seat with the cups of wine that I’d promised Zosime and Menkaure before the second play started.
Wracking my brains over who could be wrecking my brothers’ business, as well as wondering why someone was stirring up trouble among Athens’ allies, was an unwelcome distraction as the drama got underway. Theseus was on board ship, sailing for Crete with a chorus of youths and maidens, all to be sacrificed to the Minotaur. In a nice touch, these were the sons and daughters of the citizens’ chorus from the previous play.
Poseidon offered to save him, in return for Theseus installing him as patron god of Athens. To no avail. Theseus stayed loyal to Athena. Poseidon revealed himself as the hero’s true father but, once again, Theseus wouldn’t be swayed from his duty to King Aegeus and the city.
Duty was the thread running through this play. When Theseus returned in triumph, to relieve the fears the chorus had been sharing with the audience, he brought Ariadne with him. He explained how her help and her ball of yarn meant he’d been able to slay the Minotaur and escape the Labyrinth. But he still left her on the island of Naxos, as the chorus performed a very fine rendition of the Crane Dance. As Theseus heroically explained, yielding to his love for her would fatally split his loyalties. Athens had his allegiance, first and always.
I was out of my seat as soon as the chorus left the dancing floor. I’d caught a glimpse of Lysicrates over by the rehearsal ground.
‘I won’t be long,’ I promised Zosime.
‘Make sure you’re not or all the cheese will be eaten.’ Menkaure was unpacking a lunch basket.
I had to go the long way round, circling the back of the stage building. When I arrived, I searched in vain for Lysicrates. I did see Oloros and he glowered at me. Was he anxious about the tragedy competition or was he part of this conspiracy to turn Athenian hostility eastwards? If he was working with the city’s enemies, why would he do such a thing? My head ached. All these questions could drive a man mad.
A moment later, Lysicrates appeared at my side, disgustingly bright-eyed. ‘Enjoying the plays?’
‘Of course.’ I waved that away. ‘Well? What have you heard?’
He jerked his head sideways and we walked away from the bustle. ‘You want to find out what Leptines has been doing lately.’
I frowned. ‘Do I know him?’
‘Played a Phoenician for Phrynichos the year before last. A Spartan for Critias a couple of years ago, and a Macedonian for Oloros before that.’ Lysicrates nodded at the tragedian who was still dithering a few paces from the theatre entrance. ‘But he hasn’t been hired for a play for the last two years and he can’t even get a place in a chorus. That’s very bad news for a man with his expensive tastes.’
This sounded promising. ‘Why isn’t he being hired?’
‘He’s offended too many people, swaggering about, boasting how they couldn’t possibly win without him. He’s good, but no one’s that good.’ Lysicrates wrinkled his nose. ‘We all know what happens to tall poppies.’
‘Anything else make you think he’s our man?’
‘For a man who’s not perfo
rming at this festival, and who’s had a lean time of it lately, he’s got silver in his pockets all of a sudden. He’s also spent a lot of time with Strato.’ Lysicrates held up a cautionary hand. ‘There may be nothing in that. People have been wondering if Leptines is giving up the stage to write.’
He folded his arms. ‘The thing is, though, if that’s the case, what’s he doing with Strato? I can’t see Leptines turning to comedy after a lifetime playing tragedy. I can’t see him writing anything, to be honest. He isn’t one of those actors you always know will take up a pen. He’s good with someone else’s words, but on his own? A beardless boy could out-argue him.’
‘That sounds worth looking into,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you.’
‘Watch your step.’ Lysicrates looked at me, serious. ‘Strato came around here earlier. He was very keen to make sure everyone knew you were accused of being a Mede sympathiser in the agora a day or so ago. He knew an awful lot about what had happened for someone who wasn’t even there. I saw him here in the theatre myself, all that afternoon.’
‘I wonder if Pheidestratos is part of this conspiracy.’ This sounded even more promising. ‘Did he tell Strato to write his play around the notion of sending citizens to settle confiscated lands?’
‘Lands confiscated from Ionians as a penalty for not paying their tribute?’ Lysicrates speculated.
‘You’ve heard talk about that?’ I looked at him.
He nodded. ‘There’s all manner of wild rumour flying around. No one knows why our allies expected a reassessment this year, but now word’s spreading that it won’t happen and our honoured guests are far from happy. Some of them swear if that’s so, there won’t be a single silver owl offered up next Dionysia. Not unless they get a fair hearing, and they want that well before the scheduled reassessment at the next Great Panathenaia. Apparently some men from the Troad are planning to stay in Athens, to air their grievances as soon as the Assembly is back in session. They say they’ll make sure that everyone in Attica, from Sounion to Rhamnous to Eleusis, understands their demands for relief are just.’
‘That’s what they’re saying, specifically?’ That sounded suspiciously like professional rhetoric to me.
‘Word for word,’ Lysicrates confirmed.
So we could look forward to more fistfights in the agora.
‘Have you any idea where I could find Leptines?’ I definitely wanted to see if he had been that man playing an Ionian to whip up a hostile crowd.
‘Sorry, I’ve no clue,’ Lysicrates said regretfully. ‘But I’ll keep on asking. Someone is bound to know where he’ll be drinking tonight, especially if they think he’ll be paying.’
‘Thanks.’ I nodded. ‘I’ll find you after the satyr play.’
Once again, I had to hurry to get back to my seat before the last play started. This time Zosime rebuked me with a frown.
Now King Theseus was a grey-bearded old man. This chorus was the men and women he’d saved from the Minotaur in Crete, grown old alongside him. He was taking a stand against Creon, Prince of Thebes, after Polyneices, son of Oedipus, failed to unseat his usurping brother, Eteocles. King Theseus and the Athenians were horrified when weeping Antigone brought the news that Creon had decreed his own nephew, his sister Jocasta’s son, must lie unburied on the plain outside the city, to be devoured by dogs and crows.
No matter what the quarrels of mortals may be, so King Theseus proclaimed, all men must do their duty to the dead and to the gods. He would not let such dishonourable conduct stand. He would march with the Argive army to bury the fallen or die in the attempt. The chorus tried to dissuade him. Surely Athens had suffered enough loss?
King Theseus would not be swayed. Whatever the cost, those who died fighting for what was right must be honoured for their valour. If he fell before the gates of Thebes, he laid the duty of avenging him on the chorus and their sons.
Fortunately for all concerned, after the chorus lamented the tribulations of war and its enduring legacy, King Theseus returned victorious. More than that, he brought blind King Oedipus back with him. Athens would always be a refuge for those who had suffered through no fault of their own, so Theseus prophesied, as long as his bones rested in this citadel.
The chorus reluctantly agreed, ending the play on a muted note as they prayed to divine Athena that the costs of upholding honourable principles wouldn’t prove too high for their descendants.
‘I wonder why he chose that ending,’ mused Menkaure.
The family behind us were far more forthright. Oloros had just lost the competition as far as they were concerned. Tomorrow’s play would surely win the prize unless the third trilogy offered something truly ground breaking.
Zosime squeezed my hand. ‘I thought that was very good.’
‘Philocles.’ Menkaure nudged me. ‘Is he looking for you? That man you were talking to earlier.’
I saw the Egyptian meant Sarkuk. The Pargasarene was climbing the hillside with long, hasty strides. I realised he was trying to attract my attention with furtive gestures.
I made my way along the benches to meet him on the dusty path worn into the grass by countless feet. ‘What is it?’
‘Archilochos,’ he said, succinct.
‘The scroll seller? The man who convinced Xandyberis the tribute would be reassessed?’ I looked down the slope. ‘Where?’
Sarkuk nodded. ‘There, in the dark blue tunic with the green cloak.’
I studied the knot of men in the theatre’s western entrance. ‘Going bald, next to the greybeard in the brown cloak with the stick?’
‘That’s him,’ Sarkuk confirmed.
That group of men weren’t waiting for the satyr play to restore Dionysian jollity to the day. I felt sure they were about to leave. Would we ever find them again if they did?
I made a quick decision and beckoned to Menkaure. When the Egyptian reached us, I nodded to Sarkuk. ‘Introduce yourselves, then find Kadous. Send him after me. Tell Aristarchos what’s happened. Tell Zosime I love her and I’m sorry.’
The two men didn’t waste time on questions. I headed towards the theatre’s exit, my eyes fixed on the balding man in blue.
Chapter Eighteen
The group headed southeast through the city, into the Limnai district. There were four of them, all told. Archilochos was in blue, wearing a green cloak, and even at this distance, I could tell those were expensive, deep-dyed fabrics. He might be losing his hair but what he had left was as precisely trimmed as his beard, so some barber saw his coin on a regular basis. I found it hard to believe selling scrolls in Ionia was profitable enough to pay for all that.
The greybeard in brown beside him was slightly lame and leaning on his walking staff. A younger man who carried himself like a wrestler strode ahead of them. He wore a dun tunic without a cloak, all the better to display his massive shoulders. A slightly built man brought up the rear, swathed in a voluminous cloak that would have made me suspect he was a sneak thief if I’d seen him in the agora.
I hung back as far as I dared, not wanting them to see me following. I might not know who they were, but I had no idea if any of these four would recognise me. Thankfully, they were only walking as fast as the old man with the stick could limp. It didn’t seem to occur to them that they might be pursued.
Snatching glances over my shoulder whenever possible, I looked urgently for Kadous. Had Menkaure been able to find him? I hoped I hadn’t already been out of sight before the Phrygian had left the theatre. I didn’t dare delay in hopes of the slave catching up. Dawdling would guarantee I’d lose track of my quarry.
The men were following the road that would take them out of the city towards the Panathenaic Stadium. I was wondering if that was their goal, though I couldn’t imagine why. To my relief, they turned into a side street, but that meant I had a new problem. All the city’s lesser thoroughfares were much quieter than usual, thanks to the festi
val. If I got too close, I would be far too noticeable. On the other hand, if I hung back, I could lose them altogether.
I couldn’t risk losing them. I broke into a run to reach the Hermes pillar on the corner where they had turned. My stomach was churning with apprehension. If they went through some gate before I caught sight of them, I’d have no clue which house they were visiting.
Crouching behind the stone pillar, I offered Hermes a fervent breath of thanks. The four men were still walking down this quiet side street. I saw them turn into a narrow lane on the left.
I sprinted after them a second time. My feet were horribly noisy on the gravel between the silent walls, so I slowed to a walk just before the corner. Peering around a wall with agonised care, I was ready to duck back out of sight in an instant. My head ached as I found that my luck had run out. There was no one there.
I counted a handful of houses on either side of the beaten earth. The four men could have gone into any of them. I could hardly start knocking on doors and asking for Archilochos. Our only hope of gaining some advantage was our foes staying unaware that we were tracking them down.
Besides, I’d bet any door slave would have strict orders to deny all knowledge of him. I also reckoned there was every chance that the balding man wasn’t even called Archilochos in Athens. If I were rabble-rousing, I’d hardly use my own name.
Tense, I walked down the lane, poised to run if a gate so much as creaked. To my relief, this wasn’t a dead end. An alley ran crossways beyond the last houses, behind the blank rear walls of the buildings along the next side street. This wasn’t a district of fine, spacious homes like Aristarchos’s, nor yet of close-packed dwellings combined with workshops like my brothers’. It was more akin to the lane where I lived, though these houses were markedly bigger than my own.
I studied the ground. There were scuffs here and there and curling gouges where gates hung loose on their hinges, but I couldn’t tell how old such marks might be. Without any recent rain, there were no puddles to leave helpful trails of footprints. No voices could be heard detailing some nefarious plan for a passer-by to overhear. The conveniences a comic playwright relies on never seem to happen in real life.
