Shadows of Athens

by J M Alvey

Four guests fancied themselves as praise singers and eagerly raised their hands. Megakles decided who should perform first and Potainos dutifully handed over his own lyre. I stood behind the other musicians and tried to look as if I was gazing at the room’s fine decor.

  It was worth admiring. The walls behind the diners’ couches were painted with fine scenes of ships at anchor in some distant island’s bays where nymphs frolicked in the surf. Twelve benches were raised up on the broad ledge that ringed the room. Each one comfortably accommodated two men reclining on plenty of cushions. Toss a few of the cushions aside and there would be room for a cuddlesome companion, if this had been an evening when the Arkadian lass would earn her silver by spreading her thighs.

  But there was no such expectation tonight. All of the benches were occupied, with no spaces left by the door to welcome latecomers or unexpected arrivals. None of the guests had brought the courtesans so often welcome at such gatherings. This wasn’t a night to leaven the masculine atmosphere with feminine wit, or to satisfy wealthy men’s tastes for sensual pleasures and sex without the risks of robbery or disease.

  There were no younger men with perfumed curls, clean-shaven chins and no interest in public affairs, so I was glad we hadn’t pursued that notion to get me in here unrecognised. This was an evening for serious discussion among the great and the good.

  Wine circulated and everyone drank a toast to everybody else’s good health. The men who thought this was a normal banquet competed to sing their songs. They were passable performers, making it easy for Megakles and his cronies to flatter them. Finally the winner was agreed: a man who I remembered seeing in the theatre’s marble seats. He wasn’t the only guest I recognised, though I couldn’t put names to them all.

  The ones I could name convinced me we were in the right place. The man the Pargasarenes knew as Archilochos was reclining in the humblest seat, ingratiating himself with smiles to all and sundry on the other couches. A few places further along I saw the man who’d insulted me and the Carians in the agora.

  Megakles waved to Potainos, to indicate that the girls could begin dancing as he mixed another serving of wine. The Arkadian led the others into the middle of the mosaic floor. A gang of craftsman’s apprentices must have spent a month sorting those pebbles to match them so precisely by size and shades of cream and grey. Dolphins chased each other’s tails in a central medallion and octopuses writhed in the corners of the square frame of identically curling waves.

  The girls danced and entertained us with juggling and acrobatics, which gave the banquet guests a good look at their plump breasts and luscious buttocks. I stood behind the other musicians in the space where the doorway interrupted the square of couches. While I faked a tune on my pipes, I listened to the guests’ conversations.

  Pheidestratos was in the seat of honour beside Megakles, with Strato on the next couch along. The playwright had no interest in assessing the musicians for any professional purposes. He was nodding vigorously and obsequiously every time his comedy’s patron spoke to the man between them. Their target’s name was Thrasymachos. I knew him from his speeches before the People’s Assembly, vehemently contesting Pericles’s plans to use Delian League funds to rebuild our ruined city.

  Not that Thrasymachos had argued on behalf of our hard-pressed allies. He was utterly opposed to the notion that ordinary citizens should make such decisions. He believed that the people should abide by the choices made for them by the well-born and wealthy. He was soon ready to agree that these ungrateful Ionians needed showing a firm Athenian hand.

  I edged closer to the nearest couch on the other side of the doorway. Archilochos, so-called, had his back to me, reclining beside another playwright, Leukippos. He was intent on convincing the tragedian about something, though he didn’t seem to be making much progress.

  ‘Enough, Gorgias,’ Leukippos objected. ‘I’m sure the Ionians are as relieved as we are to see peace agreed, and grateful that Athenian triremes sail their waters to guarantee that tranquillity. I cannot believe that any city or island’s assembly will vote against paying the agreed tribute, whatever a few hotheads may say.’

  I stepped backwards, well satisfied. Now I had this fake Archilochos’s real name, we could ask around the agora about a man called Gorgias, with his description to confirm who we meant, who traded poetry scrolls in Ionia. It wouldn’t take us long to learn who his father had been and his voting district. How would his sworn brotherhood react, when they were told he’d been rabble-rousing among our allies, not caring if their sons went to war, so that wealthy men could get richer?

  It was clear that this gathering of noble citizens was drooling at the prospect of profits. On the couch beyond Gorgias and Leukippos, the man who’d insulted me and the Carians in the agora was all but promising fat contracts to a man called Metrobios who shared his couch. Metrobios had interests in timber, thanks to his family’s contacts in Thessally, and he owned joinery workshops in Athens.

  ‘Hoplite shields, triremes, oars.’ The speech maker threw out his lures. ‘All needed quickly and in quantity.’

  ‘You think the Council will open the Treasury’s strongboxes, Parmenides?’ Metrobios countered robustly. ‘No, some poor fools will find themselves beggared when they’re nominated to supply and outfit a trireme as their service to the city. I don’t want to draw the magistrates’ gaze when they’re looking for wealthy men to shoulder that burden.’

  ‘You can’t be asked to provide a trireme if you’re already sponsoring a play for next year’s Dionysia.’ Parmenides gestured at the playwrights in the room. ‘We have excellent connections when it comes to the theatre. You don’t imagine it’s a coincidence that one of our allies wrote a comedy this year, while another served as his patron?’

  Metrobios still wasn’t impressed. ‘Putting on a play hardly comes cheap.’

  ‘But then you need not undertake any public service, even if the magistrates pick you,’ Parmenides assured him. ‘We’ll help you make a case to nominate someone else to take on that obligation. Won’t we, Glaukias?’

  The man he appealed to was someone else I recognised, and I was sorry to see him here. Glaukias is one of the most sought-after speech writers in the agora. I had no doubt that he could get Metrobios excused such a civic duty, or anything else he asked.

  ‘Is there someone you’d like to do that particular disservice?’ the speech writer asked archly. ‘I can make anyone you care to nominate look as rich as Croesus while convincing everyone else that you live modestly within your means.’

  ‘Look to the future,’ Parmenides urged. ‘Once we see the Ionians condemned as Persian sympathisers, their lands will be ripe for confiscation.’

  ‘And every field and pasture will be given to the poor from Athens’ slums,’ Metrobios objected.

  ‘Not all.’ Parmenides shook his head. ‘There will be plenty left for us and our friends, to earn us rents in silver and goods.’

  ‘Not that the magistrates here will have any idea what those rents may be worth,’ Glaukias said quickly. ‘You need not fear that they’ll add it to what they know of your wealth.’

  ‘Far from it,’ Parmenides agreed. ‘Indeed, your new foreign holdings will offer a refuge for your income from Attica and any property you hold in Athens. Or you can ship your silver to one of our banks in Crete, in the care of someone you trust. No one will be able to point to your strongboxes lodged here in Athens.’

  ‘If anyone asks where your money has gone, you can say you are investing in Ionia, for the sake of future peace,’ Glaukias said, mock-piously.

  Metrobios still dug in his heels. ‘All my money could be lost if the Persians get wind of this unrest and take it seriously. What if they seize their chance to invade Hellenic lands?’

  ‘That won’t happen,’ Parmenides promised him. ‘We have agreements with satraps all along the coast. They’ll convince Artaxerxes that this is a passing storm
and he’d be most unwise to try riding its currents.’

  It’s a good thing I wasn’t playing a tune. Hearing such rank treason openly admitted took my breath away.

  ‘When you have holdings of your own in Ionia you’ll be well placed to profit from Persian trade,’ Glaukias observed slyly.

  ‘You’re sure the Medes aren’t really our enemy?’ Metrobios seemed to be weakening. ‘Because my sons will be called up as hoplites if you tip us into a war. We’re not all cavalrymen.’

  He looked enviously at the well-born around the room. As well as Megakles I recognised men from the Thaulonid and Eteoboutid lineages. Though if I was right, they were both public debtors, named and shamed by the People’s Assembly. They would remain stripped of citizen privileges and denied any chance of high office until they paid what they owed to the city. No wonder they were interested in this.

  ‘You need not worry about that.’

  Parmenides spoke at the same time as Glaukias.

  ‘There are always ways to make sure that the right men are excused from the muster, when any order to summon the draft goes out to the district brotherhoods.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Metrobios raised his cup to summon the slave who was circulating with a jug of wine dipped from the mixing bowl.

  It was a good thing I was effectively gagged by the pipe halter and twin reeds in my mouth. Otherwise I could have told this trio what I thought of their treachery. As it was I swallowed my ire and retreated behind the other musicians.

  Megakles was preparing a fourth serving of wine. I consoled myself with that well-known saying about drinking at banquets. The first cupful promotes health while the second warms the flesh for pleasure, though none of these men looked interested in fondling the dancers. A third cup promises easy sleep and the wise all agree that’s as much as a man should drink.

  A fourth serving? That’s a sign of hubris, according to popular wisdom. Arrogance. Vainglorious display. Contempt for the gods and humanity alike. Yes, that’s what this was. I fervently hoped I would be a witness when Athena punished these men, as they so richly deserved. I spared a moment of silent prayer to humbly offer the goddess my own hands as her tools.

  Meantime, I wondered what inducements Aristarchos was being offered, over on the far side of the room. He was sharing a couch with a man of a similar age and confident bearing. Aristarchos already knew him, judging by their easy conversation, readily resumed after they broke off to politely applaud the dancers.

  We couldn’t talk tonight without arousing suspicion. I’d have to call on him first thing tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following day, I walked Zosime to the pottery workshop and cut back across the agora to Aristarchos’s house. I discovered my noble patron and Lydis were already hard at work. They sat at opposite ends of a long table set up in the inner courtyard. Papyrus covered the polished wood, in single sheets and scrolls. More scroll baskets were lined up on the paving.

  Lydis was busy writing, his fingers stained with ink. A sheaf of drying letters awaited the imprint of Aristarchos’s seal ring.

  ‘Good morning.’ Aristarchos spared me a smile, sorting through a handful of documents. ‘What did you learn last night?’

  As I related what I’d overheard, Lydis set the half-written letter aside and made notes on a fresh sheet of papyrus. Once I’d finished, I waited for Aristarchos to tell me about his evening but he looked at his slave instead. ‘Make the same enquiries about Metrobios and Thrasymachos.’

  ‘What are you asking about?’ I was curious.

  ‘This and that.’ Aristarchos’s grim expression promised no good at all to the men who’d gathered in that dining room. ‘Marshalling facts.’

  This sounded promising. ‘What can I do to help?’

  He raised a forefinger to tally his requests. ‘Call on your brothers and ask them to make enquiries of other craftsmen, to see who’s stockpiling wood or wool, linen or metals, just as Nikandros has been amassing hides and leather. Discreetly, and only approaching men whom they trust.’

  ‘Of course.’ I didn’t need that warning.

  Aristarchos raised a second finger. ‘Go to the agora. Take your usual seat in the Painted Colonnade so passers-by can offer you writing commissions. Keep an eye on Glaukias. Take note of anyone who comes to talk to him. If they’re strangers, ask around. See if you can learn their names.’

  ‘By all means.’ I’d brought my bag of writing materials with me. If Aristarchos hadn’t needed me after this conversation, I’d planned on heading for the agora to get back to work like everyone else.

  Lydis glanced up, a question in his eyes. Aristarchos acknowledged his slave with a placating gesture.

  ‘You can also save Lydis some walking. Call on your actors. We want to know who Strato and Leukippos have dealings with in the next few days. Ask Hyanthidas to find out if any of our friends from last night are hosting their own banquets, especially Thrasymachos or Metrobios.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Though that would keep me pretty busy.

  Aristarchos looked even grimmer, if such a thing were possible. ‘Think of a way to find proof that these men deliberately set out to stir up unrest in Ionia, with malicious intent. At the moment, we can only prove that they’re gluttons keen to gorge on the consequences.’

  ‘Megakles didn’t let slip anything useful?’ I was disappointed.

  ‘Megakles doesn’t know anything much at all, as far as I could tell. He was saying that he’s handed over much of the day-to-day running of his business to Nikandros.’ Aristarchos’s scorn showed what he thought of that. ‘Megakles is devoting his leisure time to the arts and to drinking.’

  ‘So Nikandros is at the centre of all this?’ I looked at Aristarchos, dubious.

  ‘Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?’ he agreed.

  I had no answer to that. In the silence, we heard the gate open and the low rumble of Mus’s voice.

  The Pargasarenes entered the courtyard, and I was relieved to see that Tur’s face was less swollen today. He could open both his eyes, though his bruises were now nauseating shades of purple.

  Sarkuk looked preoccupied. ‘Shall we call back later?’

  ‘No, no,’ Aristarchos assured him. ‘Philocles and I have discussed all we need to.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, indeed.’

  Aristarchos clapped his hands. ‘Seats, please, Mus. So, what have you learned from your fellow Ionians?’

  As I helped Mus fetch stools from the opposite side of the courtyard, I heard the Carians detailing the taverns and meeting places where they’d sought out their countrymen while I was busy with wigs and musicians yesterday.

  I should ask Menkaure and Kadous to see what they could find out as well, I decided as I waved farewell to Mus. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Heading for my family’s workshop, I was relieved to find Nymenios, Chairephanes and the slaves all busy cutting, decorating and sewing leather. ‘You have found some supplies.’

  ‘Not enough to keep us in business for long.’ Nymenios looked at me, anxious.

  ‘Aristarchos is doing all he can,’ I assured him. ‘And you can help.’

  As I explained, Chairephanes laid down his tools. ‘I’ll go and see Pamphilos. He and Kalliphon will know if the city’s carpenters are seeing anyone disrupting their business.’

  ‘Tell them to be discreet,’ I insisted. ‘Only talk to men they trust.’

  Chairephanes and I walked out of the gate and along the street together. When he stopped to knock on Pamphilos’s doorpost, I headed for Soterides’s tavern, down by the Itonian Gate. My luck was in. Apollonides and Lysicrates were sharing a late breakfast of cheese, olives and bread, along with a jug of well-watered amber wine.

  ‘Join us!’ Lysicrates beckoned.

  ‘Thanks.’ I took a stool at their table. The tavern keeper brought me a c
up and I leaned in, elbows on the table. ‘How would you two like to do Aristarchos a valuable favour?’

  ‘Do tell,’ Apollonides invited.

  I outlined our suspicions. I emphasised Parmenides’ claims that these plotters could influence the magistrates’ decisions over who would be awarded choruses for next year’s festivals, or who would be chosen as patrons for the plays. As I anticipated, both actors were outraged.

  ‘We want to know who Strato is friendly with,’ I explained, ‘and we’re interested in anyone sidling up to Leukippos.’

  ‘And if anyone else is sharpening words to slash at passing Ionians?’ Lysicrates’s eyes were bright.

  ‘Don’t risk getting knifed yourself.’ I showed my bandaged arm and told them what had so nearly happened to me. Their smiles faded. Satisfied, I got up from my stool. ‘Come and tell me what you hear, or leave word at Aristarchos’s house. But be careful,’ I warned a second time.

  ‘We will, we will.’ Apollonides waved me on my way.

  It wasn’t far to Hyanthidas’s lodging. He rented one room of a house shared by an ever-changing array of musicians. He came into the courtyard looking so creased I guessed he’d slept in his tunic. He yawned as he offered to tear me a lump off the barley loaf he was eating.

  ‘No, thanks. I just wanted to let you know that everything went well last night. When do you need that pipe halter back?’

  ‘No hurry.’ He shrugged. ‘What did you find out?’

  I told him and explained that Aristarchos wanted word of any symposium where the plotters might be gathering again.

  Hyanthidas nodded. ‘I’ll keep my ears open.’

  ‘I know this isn’t really any concern of Corinth’s—’ I began.

  He silenced me with an upraised hand. ‘There are greedy fools there as well. They’ll imagine they can pursue their local ambitions if Athens is distracted overseas.’

  He wasn’t wrong. I remembered the long history of Athens and Corinth competing for influence over Apollo’s sanctuary at Delphi, as well as the more recent skirmishing in Aegina and Megara. These fool plotters could start a much wider war and see bloodshed far closer to home than the safely distant killing they intended to provoke.