by J M Alvey
He nodded. ‘I’ll send word when I have news.’
Chapter Twenty
I had several good reasons to head for my brothers’ house once I left Aristarchos. The walk home last night had been long and exhausting, even with that spear shaft to lean on. Kadous and I had passed several people who knew one or other of us. They’d all exclaimed with concern over my battered face and dirty clothes. With Rumour so quick on her wings, some busybody or other would have surely decided it was their duty to alarm my mother with lurid exaggeration.
I was right. The slave who opened the gate clapped his hand to his chest. ‘Zeus be thanked! You’re—’
‘Walking, slightly wounded,’ I said wryly. ‘Maybe a couple of cracked ribs. I assume you’d heard far worse?’
He bit his lip. ‘The master is on his way to your house.’
I grimaced. ‘When did he leave?’
‘Not long ago.’ The slave looked expectant.
I nodded. ‘Send someone to run and catch him.’
If he found my gate locked and the house deserted, Nymenios would surely fear the worst. Not that learning I wasn’t laid out and clutching my obols for Charon’s ferry would see me forgiven. Since I wasn’t all but dead, he’d be furious that he’d missed today’s tragedies.
Still, I reminded myself to look on the bright side. At least I didn’t have to go all the way to the theatre and try to persuade him to leave in the interval between two plays.
‘I must speak to my mother.’ I walked through the courtyard, past the empty work benches. Every knife and tool was neatly racked, ready for work, and a silent reminder of my duty here. Now I no longer had my play to occupy me, I had to help save the family business. I headed for the door to the house. The wide porch was swept clean and tidy. Baskets of fleece would soon clutter up the empty space here, needing to be combed and spun before the yarn could be woven into household essentials. These generous gifts come from Mother’s brothers out in Kolonai, and are as much of an annual ritual for our family as the summer festivals are for the city.
Most families have some such ties with the villages out in Attica. Back in my great-grandfather’s day, Cleisthenes wisely decreed that each voting tribe in our new democracy should be a triad of city, country and coastal districts, to make sure that everyone’s interests were represented. As a result, the men of Alopeke, including my father, were honour-bound to help Kolonai’s refugees when Mother and her family fled the Persian advance. Their parents became good friends, and Father was of an age to want a wife while Mother was of an age to be married. The match was made and they were happy together, until our family’s worst sorrows a decade ago.
Going inside, I could hear voices in the upper end room, where Mother and my sisters used to sit and spin with their distaffs and spindles, or weave finer lengths of cloth on smaller looms. I followed the corridor to the corner and went up the stairs.
No one was spinning or weaving today. Mother was clearing out her storage chests while Melina was relaxing on a couch, watching her children as they played amiably on the floor.
‘Uncle Philocles!’ Nymenios’s two little boys came running to the door, their wooden animals abandoned.
Hestaios might only be five but he’s as tall as boys a full year older. Kalliphon is catching up fast, for all the two years between them. Without thinking, I stooped low to sweep them up in my arms, one onto each hip. Staggering, I nearly dropped to my knees as I lowered them hastily back down to the floorboards.
‘You need to spend more time at the gymnasium,’ Melina observed drily.
Mother rushed to embrace me. ‘They said you were beaten senseless and left for dead!’
‘Careful! I may have a cracked rib.’ Though I wouldn’t have admitted that much if I’d had any other way of stopping her hugging me painfully hard.
‘What happened?’ Anxious, she stroked my bruised face with her hard-worn hands.
I glanced at the children. They were staring at me, open-mouthed. Even Amynta’s beloved ragdoll was forgotten.
Melina clapped her hands and one of the household’s girls appeared. ‘Please take the children to their room.’
As I stepped aside to let the slave pass, Hestaios and Kalliphon protested loudly.
‘We want to—’
‘But Uncle Philocles—’
My niece was already on her way to the door, dolly in hand. Melina smiled. ‘Amynta may have a honeycake.’
That goaded the boys into gathering up their toys and begging for the same treat.
‘That depends,’ Melina interrupted their pleading. ‘If you’ve been good, you may all have a cake this evening. But Amynta still gets one now because she did as she was asked without arguing.’
I tried and failed to hide a smile as the disgruntled boys trailed out after their sister. I recalled my own childhood, with both parents teaching me and my brothers and sisters that it was in our best interests to co-operate.
Mother examined the bruises on my arms. ‘I’ll find some salve. Sit down.’
I obediently took a stool and shared a grin with Melina. ‘Where’s Chairephanes?’
Her smile broadened. ‘Gone to the theatre with Pamphilos and his family.’
‘Do you think he and Glykera will make a match of it?’
She nodded. ‘I hope so. She is a very nice girl.’
I looked at her ruefully. ‘I’m so sorry you’re missing the plays. It’s my fault Nymenios had to go to Alopeke.’
Melina shook her head. ‘I wasn’t going to the theatre today.’
An unplanned day at home with her feet up? I wondered if she was pregnant again. It wasn’t easy to tell if her waist was thickening under her pleated gown’s swathes. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise though, Amynta was well past her second birthday. But it wasn’t my place to ask.
Mother returned with a tray of cups and a jug of well-watered wine as well as several pots of pungent paste.
‘Now,’ she commanded. ‘What’s this all about?’
I related a carefully crafted summary of the past few days. I told no lies, though I did hold back too much distressing detail, and I definitely didn’t share this morning’s speculations. I didn’t want a breath of this floating around the local fountains. I also didn’t want Mother knowing how close she’d come to burying another one of her children.
Melina sipped from her cup while Mother pulled up a stool and anointed my bruises and grazes with various concoctions. I tucked up my tunic to allow her to salve the boot print on my thigh. I could tell she wanted me to strip off completely to see what damage had been done to my ribs, but thankfully she wouldn’t ask me to do that with my brother’s wife there.
The glint in Melina’s eye told me she knew it too, so she wasn’t going anywhere. I slipped her a grateful wink as Mother tugged my tunic back down to my knees and swapped the pot of ointment for her own cup of wine.
She sat clutching the black-glazed ceramic, thin-lipped with anxiety. Even though she’s lived in this city for thirty-five years, Mother has never forgotten the tales her own mother and aunts told her, warning of all the dangers lying in wait for innocents in Athens. Still, her countrified ways are no bad thing. She’s as vigilant as a hawk watching over her grandchildren. If Mother lives to see little Amynta married, no one will ever be able to cast doubt on my niece’s citizen-born rights by claiming she’d been seen behaving like some foreigner, ignorant of Athenian decorum.
‘Can Aristarchos Phytalid put an end to this trouble?’ she demanded.
‘I believe so,’ I said firmly, ‘and all the sooner, if we can help.’
‘What can we do?’ Melina sat up straighter.
Like our father before him, Nymenios had looked for a wife who could manage the family business’s accounts and records. Well-born girls might only need to be decorative and to bear handsome children, but a wise man
knows women of our class can contribute a great deal more to a household. So Melina’s father had the sense to teach his daughters to read, write and reckon as skilfully as his sons.
‘That depends on the answers to some questions. As soon as Nymenios gets back, we’ll go and see what we can learn.’
‘You two are not to go off getting into trouble,’ Mother said sharply, as though we were beardless boys heading for a day’s larks at the gymnasium.
‘We won’t,’ I promised, just as sincerely as I’d always promised her. Which is to say, I was mentally adding, ‘Unless someone else starts it.’
As a schoolboy I’d learned the trick of turning a conversation to distract her, and I hadn’t lost that knack either. ‘So, do you think Chairephanes and Glykera will marry?’
‘He’ll be a fool not to ask for her,’ she said crisply.
‘How soon?’ I prompted.
Discussing Pamphilos’s daughter’s merits and pondering the likely timing of the wedding, as well as where the newlyweds might set up home, kept us all happily occupied until I heard the gate opening down below and Nymenios calling for his wife.
I rose to my feet. ‘I’d better—’
‘Yes, go.’ Melina waved me away.
Down in the courtyard, Nymenios looked torn between exasperation at the time he had wasted and shock at the sight of my bruises. ‘I thought playwriting was a safe trade.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ I offered him a sincerely apologetic grimace before I told my tale for the third time that morning, though I still didn’t mention Hipparchos’s involvement.
‘I want to see if I can find out which temple those old theatre masks were stolen from. You want to find out who’s paying over the odds for the hides from the Dionysia sacrifices. How about we go and ask our questions together? Then I can stand as a citizen witness for whatever you find out, and you can stand witness for me.’
Every temple has its loyal families so, with luck, I’d learn if someone with ties to our existing suspects knew where those particular masks were easily accessible. Or maybe I’d hear that someone who didn’t belong had been hanging around just before the masks went missing. Either way, with Athena’s blessing, I’d pick up something that would chime with whatever Aristarchos learned. Something to lead us to solid evidence that would ring true in court.
Nymenios scowled. ‘I told you. None of the priests are saying who they’re selling to.’
I raised a hand. ‘The priests who are profiting and being paid to keep their mouths shut will all be at the theatre. Whoever’s in the doghouse will be tending the altars today. There’s nothing like a little resentment to loosen a man’s tongue.’
Nymenios still looked dubious. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Let’s start with the Temple of Hephaistos. Remember what Dexios said? The first batch of hides to go missing wasn’t bought out from under his nose. That cartload was stolen, so let’s see what we can learn. I’m sure I remember seeing some of the masks I’m looking for there.’
‘I suppose so,’ Nymenios said ungraciously. ‘I might as well make some use of the day. As long as we don’t get ourselves into trouble.’
‘That’s what I promised Mother,’ I assured him.
‘Not unless someone else starts it, you mean,’ Nymenios answered, with a glint in his eye. ‘I’ll let Melina know what we’re doing.’
As he headed inside, I stayed in the courtyard. He could run the gauntlet of Mother’s interrogation. As the eldest, it was only fair he shouldered such obligations along with enjoying his birthright’s privileges. A few moments later, Mother came outside with him, protesting, as I’d known she would.
‘At least wait for your brother. Take some of the slaves with you.’
‘If we turn up mob-handed, there’s bound to be trouble,’ Nymenios countered.
‘The two of us will just be brothers out for a stroll,’ I agreed. ‘Why shouldn’t we pay our respects at a temple and enjoy a little conversation? Where’s the threat in that?’
‘Shall I fetch you a mirror?’ Mother asked acidly. ‘I don’t suppose you were threatening anyone last night!’
‘All the more reason for me to be extra careful today,’ I assured her. ‘I couldn’t wrestle a wooden duck off Hestaios. Believe me, I won’t do anything foolish.’
‘I won’t let him,’ Nymenios said firmly.
Mother glared at the pair of us and stomped off back into the house. Setting out, we exchanged a rueful glance as the slave closed the gate behind us.
‘We had better come back safe and sound,’ Nymenios said, ‘or Mother will find her way down to the Underworld just to box our ears.’
‘So will Zosime, and Melina.’ I glanced sideways at him as we walked. ‘I was surprised to find her at home today. Is she unwell?’
His veiled look told me he knew what I was asking. ‘Not unwell, Demeter willing.’
So they weren’t going to announce their hopes until there was no hiding the news. I wondered if that would make loss easier to bear, if this early promise didn’t bear fruit. I couldn’t imagine it would.
While we were making this tour of the temples, I’d seek every god and goddess’s favour for them. Though there was little reason to fear for Melina, I told myself firmly. She’d already borne three healthy children, as well as the poor mite born between Hestaios and Kalliphon who didn’t see out his first month. I need not dwell on our sister Ianthine’s fate.
Though that was easier said than done as we walked towards the agora. Thermopylae aside, there’s precious little to admire about Spartans, but that’s one thing they do right. Their women who die in childbirth are honoured as the equals of soldiers who’ve died in battle.
As we approached the market place, I tensed, alert for any hint of trouble. To my relief, there were no rabble-rousing orators whipping up spite against Ionians like foam on a stormy sea. A scattering of visitors admired the monuments. Knots of men who’d found some excuse to escape a house full of visitors sat exchanging commiserations and sipping wine. They were already looking forward to getting back to work.
I took the proper path to the Hephaistion today, instead of scrambling up through the bushes on the hillside. A few men and women were paying their respects to the god, their voices echoing softly around the pillars of the colonnade that surrounds the walls of the inner sanctuary. Then we heard the sharp sound of hammering from the far end. We found a young priest fixing nails to the walls of the porch that shelters the sanctuary door.
There was a stack of lead tablets on the floor. I picked one up and read the words roughly scratched into the soft metal.
I, Nikochoros, alert Hephaistos to the villain who took my cloak in the Grove of Kolonos. If he steals it away, may the fires of the god’s forge sear him with fever. If it was taken in error and is returned to me, I will make an offering in thanks.
I wondered if the unknown Nikochoros had indeed been robbed, or was just careless. Either way, I hoped he got his cloak back without paying too much for the privilege. Some of the agora’s idlers make a nice profit at the big festivals ‘accidentally’ gathering up other people’s property before taking the spoils to a temple in hopes of getting a finder’s fee.
‘Thank you,’ the young priest prompted me, his hand outstretched. He’d finished hammering in his nails and was ready to hang the curse tablets up for visitors to the sanctuary to read.
Nymenios was scanning the ones already fixed there. He reached up to tap a broad square of lead placed where everyone would see it first. ‘Excuse me, what do you know about this?’
I read the summons for divine vengeance.
I, Emphanes, humble servant of mighty Hephaistos, declare the hides taken by deceit from this temple are property of the god, now stolen. Let those who have so vilely betrayed my trust and misused the god’s bounty pay with blood and boundless suffering. B
ut let those who may have handled these hides in ignorance of this theft be spared by Hephaistos’s grace. May they be blessed and rewarded if they reveal those guilty of this impiety.
Dexios was right. Emphanes, the priest who’d been tricked, was absolutely furious.
‘No one’s come forward as yet?’ It wasn’t just cloak thieves who regularly checked these tablets. The agora idlers who kept their eyes and ears open could earn useful money by supplying information that helped to solve a crime.
Today, the young priest shook his head. ‘Maybe after the festival.’
‘What a bizarre thing to happen. Forgive my interest,’ Nymenios explained as he introduced himself. ‘Dexios, the tanner who was cheated, he supplies my business with leather. This sacrilege is causing us all serious trouble.’
‘You may rest assured we’ll show Hephaistos our gratitude,’ I added quickly, ‘as soon as he smites the thieves.’
Nymenios shot me a glare but he played along. ‘If someone brings you evidence good enough to drag the guilty men into court, we’ll split the damages we’re paid with the god.’
I saw the young priest hesitate, swapping his hammer from one hand to the other and chewing on a wisp of his straggly beard. The lad knew his duty to encourage offerings to the temple. I could tell he’d also seen things he was eager to share. On the other side of that hypothetical drachma, he knew he wasn’t supposed to gossip.
‘Dexios is livid,’ I prompted, to weight the scales. ‘They must have heard him bellowing up on the Acropolis.’
That tipped the balance. ‘I know. I was there. I thought he was going to hit Emphanes,’ the lad confided.
‘Surely not!’ I leaned forward like a comedy slave, avid to hear more.
The young priest stepped closer as I’d hoped he would, and so did Nymenios. Unfortunately, the lad only repeated what we’d already learned from Dexios. It seemed Emphanes couldn’t have looked more of a fool if he’d been up on stage with a red leather cock in his hand.
