Still Waters

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘At this hour? You do know it’s past midnight?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Wolves on the prowl never sleep.’

  Jocasta threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘What on earth’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Iliona said levelly, ‘I think I know where the female groom has been buried.’ She paused. ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.’

  Damn right, Jocasta thought, watching her go. She tossed the poppy petals into the water and watched them bob away on the night. No way was she going back to that bloody pyre, but one thing was clear. There was more to this trip than Iliona first told her. All that crap about Sparta’s reputation!

  Now it appeared there were at least two murders to deal with.

  Jocasta was wise not to trust Iliona.

  Twenty-Five

  By mid-morning, the station yard was the usual ant’s nest of porters running back and forth with sacks, packs and baggage. Exhausted runners passed their scrolls to a fresh pair of legs over a meal of warm bread, cold ham and goats’ cheese. Couriers poured libations to the gods at the various shrines while the inspector scrutinized their warrants. Scribes took dictation from visiting merchants, water-bearers topped up the horse troughs, and the balances of the money-changers clanked a merry tune under the awnings.

  Pushing through the crush, the air a curious amalgam of incense, ink, horse sweat and metalworking from the forge, Iliona was surprised to see a froth of dyed ringlets going the other way.

  ‘Not working this morning, Dierdra?’

  ‘No, milady, not today.’

  The ribbons in her hair were brighter and more numerous, the jewellery on overload, and her tunic was covered with so many flowers you felt you were walking through spring Alpine pastures. But it seemed to Iliona that the make-up had been more artfully applied this morning, with none of last night’s tear-streaked rouge on her cheeks or smudges of kohl round her eyes.

  ‘My boy’s feeling very low today.’ The ribbons nodded towards the stables, where an expressionless Cadur was unbridling a stocky grey pony. ‘Thought I might take his mind of it by cooking him a nice hot meal later. Really push the boat out, with good wine this time. None of the rough stuff, you know.’

  Having hooked up the bridle, Cadur began kneading the horse’s tired muscles, starting at the fetlocks and working upwards. ‘I showed him how to do that,’ Dierdra said proudly. ‘Works a treat, that technique. In an hour, I guarantee that pony will be galloping round the paddocks like a yearling.’

  Either side of the great, wide stable doors, two guards from Lynx Squad stood stiller than statues, the red crests of their helmets ruffling in the breeze.

  ‘You do have the most astonishing hands, Dierdra.’

  ‘That’s what all the boys say.’ She laughed. ‘Must fly. Want to pick out a couple of crabs from the nets, before someone else snaffles the best ones. See you later, eh?’

  The groom had moved up to massage the horse’s stifle, the equivalent to the human knee, on its hindquarters.

  Tonight, Cadur! Don’t you understand?

  On the pretext of trying to find a lost treasured bracelet, Iliona had been prodding the manure piles with a pitchfork when she’d heard Yvorna shouting at him. Hidden rock chips were quickly forgotten as she ducked behind one of the stalls to listen.

  You have to act tonight.

  The redhead’s eyes had been blazing with unaccustomed anger, but whatever the cause, it stopped abruptly when Lisyl turned the corner with her arms full of clean linen and Cadur stared at her, then walked off.

  Five hours later, Yvorna was dead…

  ‘You were right,’ a gravel voice murmured in her ear. Iliona jumped. ‘The grave was exactly where you said it would be.’

  The eyes of the Cretan banker locked into hers. Trust no one, they said.

  ‘The heat and ants had taken their toll,’ he said, his voice low so only she could hear. ‘But it appears our female groom was killed with a single stab to the heart.’

  None of the overkill in the abandoned shepherd’s hut, then. This was cold-blooded murder.

  ‘You were also right about her sleeping with Gregos. I asked around, and by all accounts he was quite smitten with her.’

  He watched the amber merchant setting up his stall outside the porter’s lodge, spreading out beads and bangles for everyone to see. Heard the horses snickering, as the grooms rubbed them down. Watched an itinerant acrobat turn somersaults in exchange for a meal.

  ‘You probably noticed that the gold train arrived last night. I counted the sacks when it came in. There was no shortfall. And I can personally vouch that the saddlebags haven’t been touched since.’

  ‘Could you be wrong about the switch being made here?’

  A feral sound came from the back of his throat. ‘All things are possible,’ he acknowledged. ‘Except, of course, that.’

  A cinnamon-trader rode in on an ass, his hair shaved in a circle above his temples, large golden bands in his ears. The dry sticks that smelled and tasted so good poked out from a basket on the donkey behind. An Argolian silver-worker rode out, accompanied by a Corinthian vase-painter, having both decided there was safety in numbers. They exchanged pleasantries at the gate with a portly Babylonian, complete with red leather slippers and brightly bejewelled turban, and a somewhat effeminate fringe to his tunic.

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Where’s the best place to hide a pebble, Iliona?’

  ‘You must know I set this riddle regularly at the temple. On the beach, is the answer.’

  ‘Exactly. The bolder the act, the less people notice. Your helot set up her treatment table, knowing the kitchen staff would accept her authority without question. Even the head steward didn’t query it.’

  ‘And your point?’

  He smoothed the knot at the nape of his neck and patted the Cretan iris emblazoned on his chest. ‘It means that among such a gaudy cosmopolitan crowd, I have become invisible, even to my own men.’

  Not having taken them into his confidence, she had been wondering what Lynx Squad’s reaction would be, upon seeing the head of the Krypteia at the posting station. Through oracles, divination, omens and riddles, Iliona employed every trick in the book to ensure the eye sees only what it is expected to see. She hadn’t imagined the wolf would also be able to blend into sheep’s clothing and still fool the rest of the flock.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What I do best,’ he said, with a twitch of the lip. ‘Set a trap. You?’

  ‘I, Lysander, am also going to do what I do best.’

  See through the eyes of the blind, then talk through the mouth of the dead.

  *

  ‘You bastard, Morin! ’

  Every head in the yard swung round in unison. They were just in time to see a plump girl with dark hair slap the face of a big, burly groom. Despite the purple hollows round her eyes and pale skin that was stippled with grief, the girl was still pretty. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch.

  ‘I can’t believe you said such a wicked thing!’

  ‘Lisyl.’ Hector stepped between them, before the girl could land a second blow. ‘Lisyl, please.’

  The crowd seemed to multiply out of nowhere. Neither Hector, Morin or the girl seemed to notice.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened, and let me take it from there.’

  ‘It’s nothing, sir. My future wife is naturally upset after the death of her sister—’

  ‘Upset? ’ For a moment, her eyes didn’t focus beyond her fury, then she pursed her lips. ‘I know you two hated each other, but to say, What do you expect of a bloody lowlander, taking the coward’s way out is inexcusable, Morin.’

  ‘Is this true?’ Hector asked the young groom.

  He rubbed the flaming red mark on his cheek. ‘In my view, sir, suicide is for cowards. I’ve always said that, and I don’t believe in changing my opinion now.’

  ‘Nor should you, though I have to s
ay your timing isn’t exactly diplomatic. Yvorna’s ashes are barely cool.’

  The groom shrugged an apology. Hector nodded its acceptance.

  ‘But that part about the lowlanders,’ he said. ‘Was that true?’

  ‘I’m an Enkani, sir. We don’t hang ourselves when the going gets rough. We face things, no matter how unpleasant they are.’

  ‘Good,’ Hector said. ‘I’m pleased to hear it, because you’re obviously well equipped to start a new job somewhere else. Collect your belongings, please, and be gone in an hour.’

  ‘But—but—you can’t do that, it’s not fair. This was just a lover’s tiff. I spoke out of line, I admit it, but my comments weren’t intended for Lisyl’s ears. Lis, I swear. I never meant you to hear that.’

  Hector sucked his breath between his teeth. ‘You don’t understand, do you, Morin? Lisyl didn’t just find Yvorna’s body. She then had to break the news to her other sister.’ His eyes alighted on the ashen creature hovering at the edge of the crowd. ‘Now I dare say, if Lisyl had been a man, she’d have punched you on the nose, everybody would have cheered and we’d all have carried on exactly as before.’

  He drew a deep breath.

  ‘Morin, I’m not sacking you for what you said about Yvorna committing suicide, or even the insensitivity of the remark. But I am the station master, and my job isn’t merely to recognize the problems that arise when tribal differences become inflamed. It’s to prevent them from getting out of hand.’

  He turned to address the gathering.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, everyone at this station is Greek, nothing more, nothing less, since the city states are now all united under a single banner. If any of you hold a different opinion, that’s fine by me. Everyone is entitled to his or her own viewpoint. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I’ve made it clear on several occasions that I will not have prejudices voiced within my domain.’

  ‘He started it,’ Morin said, pointing.

  Cadur stopped massaging the horse’s withers to hold his hands up, palms out. ‘I told you, I didn’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Calling me a loudmouth is your idea of not wanting trouble?’

  ‘Did you?’ Hector asked. ‘Did you call this young man a loudmouth?’

  ‘No.’ Cadur glanced at Morin, then at Lisyl. ‘I called him a pathetic, gutless, work-shy loudmouth, and Yvorna would have hated it that he, of all people, should find her hanging and vulnerable.’

  ‘That is an extremely inflammatory statement,’ Hector said. ‘Especially when Morin had to cut down the victim, and the bereaved are distraught.’

  ‘You’re not really going to fire them?’ Lisyl wailed. ‘If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. I’m the one who lashed out.’

  ‘You reacted under extreme provocation, you’re a woman, you’re also in mourning. I don’t hold you to account, but most importantly, this is not your fault, Lisyl.’ Hector looked Cadur straight in the eye. ‘I do not tolerate disorder at my posting station. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do.’ There was a beat of three before Cadur turned to Lisyl. ‘Sorry, Lisyl, but if I’m going to be sacked, I may as well enjoy it.’

  Swinging his fist, he laid Morin out flat.

  *

  There was still no change in the hot weather, and the serenity of this impossibly blue, impossibly clear lake was even more pronounced at the top of the cliff. Up here, the air was sweet with the smell of overripe apples, loud with the drone of wasps made woozy from the intoxicating juice. Iliona drowned the sound by flicking one of the painted pottery doves that hung from the portal, and making it rattle.

  Wooden dolls hanging in the trees. Substitutes for sacrificed virgins.

  Doves hanging over the entrance, chiming for the souls of the dead.

  Yvorna hanging from the rafters—

  The scent of herbs permeated the softness. Rosemary, hyssop and thyme.

  Why here? she wondered. Why lug a rope all the way up here, when it was so much easier to hurl the poor girl off a cliff? Of course, if Yvorna had gone over the side, the body might not have been found. Gentle as it looked, the continual pressure of underground springs, combined with the thrust of the rivers that fed into the lake, caused a constant momentum. Three days might pass before she bobbed up again, if at all. Was timing a factor, or simply that the killer needed the body to be found? Why was it important that her death was made to look like a suicide?

  Few of the motives put forward held water. That Yvorna had been harbouring a secret crush on Morin and was unable to live with the realization that he was serious about marriage with Lisyl was risible. Was she just jealous of her sister’s committed relationship, and wanted to spoil Lisyl’s big moment? No one could take such theories seriously. Yvorna truly despised Morin, and there were easier ways to sabotage Lisyl’s transition to womanhood than the taking of her own life! The rich, married lover who rode off and abandoned her might have held true, had Yvorna not been so resilient.

  A prank gone wrong, Dierdra suggested. Possible. She was known for her practical jokes, though surely that would be taking things to extremes? Which, really, narrowed the field down to just one motive. That Yvorna took the honourable way out, rather than being publicly exposed as a thief.

  There was no denying the small silver owl Lysander had found pinned to her breast. Or the selection of rings, cloak pins, ear rings and brooches under her pillow. If you’re interested, the pouch is made out of crane skin…

  ‘The Blue Goddess welcomes you to her lofty abode.’ Sandor bowed. ‘She presumes you come to say prayers for the deceased?’

  You mean hanged?

  I do mean hanged.

  Iliona looked at his shadow, long and thin like himself, before eventually lifting her eyes. ‘Actually, Sandor, I came here to see you.’

  Like herself, his duties varied from presiding over rituals and sacrifices to preparing and participating in festivals. The difference was, the Shrine of Eurotas was busy night and day, every day.

  He’s been acting odd lately, Dierdra had said. First he comes on to me, and when that wouldn’t wash, he made a play for Yvorna. Telling her it was her duty to go to the shrine. Purify the altar with her love…

  ‘But now you mention it, I wouldn’t have any objection to offering a prayer for Yvorna, or pouring a libation in memory of her irrepressible spirit.’

  ‘Then let us make sacrifice to Nemesis the Inescapable,’ he intoned, brushing the altar with herbs. ‘For Nemesis avenges wrong, punishes arrogance and redresses the balance of excess.’ He lifted the phial of sacred water high with both hands. ‘Even happiness, madam. For nothing must upset the balance of life.’

  Yes, god forbid one was ever too happy.

  While he consecrated the altar with apples and figs, laying his ornate bronze crown of roses, almond flowers and holly on top as a mark of devotion, Iliona let her mind wander.

  What made Morin choose this particular site? Yes, it was romantic, and at night there would be no one about. There were no treasuries to maintain here. No records to keep, no eternal fires to watch over, no sacred cats to take care of, or burning of incense that demanded constant attention. Just this tiny round shrine built out of wood, with its little thatched roof and tiny stone altar, requiring the ministrations of a part-time priest, nothing more.

  Zabrina of the Translucent Wave. A beautiful name for a beautiful place. But benign or not, Zabrina was an underworld goddess.

  Even the moon had a dark side.

  ‘And now for the libation,’ he said.

  ‘We found the girl’s grave.’

  The phial fell from his hands, holy water splashing over his robes as it bounced off the altar and on to the floor. ‘G–grave? What girl?’

  Iliona picked up the phial and refilled it from the lustral basin. Three times she passed it over the stone, tipped it out and refilled it, before drenching the apples and figs.

  ‘You know damn well what girl. The female groom. Now let’s not play any more ga
mes.’

  White-faced and shaking, he slumped to the ground. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘The gods see everything, Sandor, and in my trances they talk to me. Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘But if you already know—’

  ‘Alathea, virgin goddess of truth and daughter of Zeus, stood in white beside the Gate of Dreams and commanded it. Will you insult the Olympians by refusing her request?’

  He buried his face in his skeletal hands. ‘Zabrina is a virgin goddess. It is only fitting that I collect holy water from the Spring of the Virgins. I make the trek every day.’

  ‘You were hardly collecting holy water when Jocasta found you.’

  ‘No.’ He swallowed. ‘But that day—the day of which you speak—I went down with my krater, and as I approached, I saw the woman from the stables standing beside the pond. It was obvious she was waiting to meet someone. A tryst, no doubt. She had a reputation for fornication, just like this one.’ A bony finger pointed to the rafters above their heads. ‘She must have heard me, because she called out, Is that you? For obvious reasons, I did not wish to intrude on their privacy. It is enough that these people defile the sanctity of the site with their vile lust and their—’

  ‘Let’s just stick to the story, Sandor. What happened next?’

  ‘I returned a couple of hours later, but this time I took a different route, that I might be able to look down over the pool. If they were still sporting, I would try later, but no. The spring was deserted. Only the birds in the trees.’

  ‘Except it was not deserted, was it?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course it was.’ He seemed irritated by the question, swatting it away with his hand like a fly. ‘You already know that. But as I approach from this different direction, I see a long mound of freshly turned earth.’ He made the sign of the horns to avert the evil eye. ‘I know a grave when I see one,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘But what should I do? My hand shakes as I uncover the soil, and suddenly, to my horror, the eyes of this poor girl are staring up at me.’ He shuddered. ‘I close her eyes, I open her mouth that her soul may escape, then I place a coin on her tongue for the Ferryman.’