Mark of the Cyclops

by Saviour Pirotta

  I stared at the Cyclops. ‘But why wasn’t the gold simply taken out of the wedding vase in Alcandros’s warehouse?’

  ‘Something must have gone wrong with the operation and the vase left the warehouse before that could happen. Then the thief had no choice but to break into Master Zenon’s house to get it...’

  Without warning we found ourselves in darkness. The lamp had run out of oil.

  ‘We don’t need to light it again,’ said Thrax. ‘Our work here is done.’

  I opened the door to let in some moonlight and he put the wedding vase in the sack, slinging it carefully over his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t forget your glue and brush,’ he warned, checking the floor to make sure we hadn’t left any telltale pieces of pottery.

  Outside, the doves warbled and we spied Ahmose standing at the dovecote with his back to us. He was holding his hands up to the starry sky as if in prayer, a dove cooing on his left shoulder. Thrax pulled me back into the barn and we watched in silence.

  Ahmose called softly and a second dove came fluttering down from the sky. It settled in his hands and he cupped his fingers gently around it, running his thumbs over its glossy feathers. He whispered something to it, which made it coo softly. Then he placed it in the dovecote.

  We waited in the shadows till Ahmose had returned to the house, then hurried in ourselves.

  ‘I wonder what he was up to,’ I said as we got ready for bed. ‘Looking after doves in the middle of the night! Perhaps he was praying to Aphrodite. Doves are her symbol.’

  ‘Ahmose is Egyptian,’ said Thrax, stowing the wedding vase behind the amphorae. ‘He prays to Isis not Aphrodite. But it is odd that he wanders around at night. I wonder if it was him listening in on our conversation.’

  We got into our beds and I pulled my himation over me. It was chilly in the storeroom.

  ‘Will the traces of gold dust be enough to prove that Gaia is innocent?’ I asked. ‘It’s now obvious that the vase was not smashed by accident. It was broken so that the thief could get at the gold.’

  ‘Unfortunately Gaia can still be seen as the potential thief,’ Thrax replied. ‘Master Zenon might convince himself that she was bribed by the thieves to retrieve the gold. I know it’s dreadful to think that a small child would agree to help criminals, but stranger things have happened. Many a desperate slave has been sent to her death for colluding with criminals. If anything, revealing what we know might put Gaia in bigger danger. We have to continue looking for the thief. Only now we are looking for a whole gang.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A Song of Swallows

  The rooster had already crowed by the time I got up the next morning. A delicious smell of pancakes wafted across the yard from the kitchen, making my mouth water. Thrax was coming out of Master Ariston’s room with the breakfast dishes as I crossed the yard with my pens and scrolls.

  ‘Master’s in a very jovial mood this morning,’ he said. ‘He wolfed down three large pancakes for breakfast. Try and keep him happy. I need him to agree to something later on.’

  Master Ariston clicked his fingers at me when I went in. He was indeed in a happy mood. ‘Bring the writing table closer to the window. Apollo has blessed me with some wonderful ideas.’

  The guests at that night’s symposium were all going to be athletes whose careers Master Zenon sponsored. Master Ariston was very keen to impress them, hoping they would book him for award ceremonies in the future. We worked hard at his new songs all morning and well into the afternoon.

  Thrax brought us a late lunch. ‘That’s a wonderful poem, master, if I may venture a slave’s opinion,’ he said, putting grapes and olives on the table. ‘May I suggest an idea that would make your performance even more sublime?’

  Master Ariston reached for the grapes. ‘Go ahead, my boy.’

  ‘Why don’t you wear a mask while you sing, like actors do on stage? I saw a singer in Attica once and he wore a mask to great effect. The audience loved it.’

  ‘That’s a fabulous idea,’ cried Master Ariston. ‘I could wear a dramatic mask. Or perhaps a comic one. It will give me a certain air of mystery... and hide the wrinkles around my eyes. One mustn’t look too old when performing in front of healthy young sportsmen.’

  He handed Thrax his purse. ‘Go to the agora and buy me two masks, one comic and one tragic. Make sure they’re made from linen not cork. Cork brings me out in spots.’

  Thrax left to buy the masks and I continued working, wondering what he was up to. It was nearly dark and Ahmose had come round to light the lamps by the time he returned. He was trembling violently and his eyes were red and watery.

  Master Ariston gawped at him in horror. ‘You foolish boy. I have seen this sickness descend on vain people who venture out in the sun in flimsy clothing. You have sunstroke. Have Cook make you a healing potion with honey and salt and drink it at once. And tell her to rub you down with curdled milk when she has a moment to spare. Stay away from the party tonight. I don’t want a trembling weakling beside me when the rest of the andron is going to be filled with healthy young men.’

  Thrax slunk off to the kitchen, leaving me to dress Master Ariston myself. The athletes arrived for the party wearing crowns of wild celery. I’d expected them to be haughty and full of self-importance but they behaved more like schoolboys, telling rude jokes and drinking too much wine. They were very taken by Master Ariston’s new masks and cheered rowdily every time he took a bow.

  During a break in the performance, one of them took me aside.

  ‘I need to relieve myself.’

  ‘There are chamber pots for the guests in the bathroom, sir,’ I replied.

  ‘I’m too drunk to use one of those,’ giggled the athlete. ‘Show me the back door and I’ll be all right in the weeds.’

  I put down my stylus and scroll. ‘This way, sir.’

  We crossed the courtyard and I opened the back door to let him out in the lane. He started singing as he leaned against the wall.

  ‘Came, came the swallow

  with pleasant seasons

  with the beautiful year.

  Came, came the swallow

  With pleasant twitters

  To soothe away my fear.’

  I thought his voice was tinged with sadness, as if the song reminded him of something precious he’d lost.

  ‘I like swallows,’ said the athlete, smoothing down his chiton when he’d finished. ‘They make me think of Rhodes. A beautiful island, Rhodes.’ He peered around him. ‘Now, where can I wash my hands?’

  ‘There are basins in the bathroom, sir.’

  The athlete spoke in a loud whisper. ‘Hush, we’re being watched. There’s someone hiding in that bush over there. I saw it... quiver.’

  He curled his hands around his mouth. ‘Oi! Come on out, whoever you are. We’ve seen you.’

  A figure in a hooded himation stepped out into the moonlight. It stood frozen for a second, like a statue of Hephaestus surveying his forge, then it threw back its hood. It was Thrax, wearing one of Master Ariston’s old himations.

  ‘Hello, young man,’ said the athlete. ‘Have you been out chasing girls?’

  ‘He’s a friend of mine,’ I blurted. ‘He’s suffering from sunstroke.’

  The athlete hiccupped. ‘The boy looks perfectly healthy to me.’

  I had to admit Thrax did seem to have miraculously recovered from his illness.

  The athlete noticed his muscles. ‘You look as if you could beat me in the ring, young man.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘My name is Pandion. I am a wrestler.’

  Thrax grinned and returned the greeting. ‘I’ve heard of you. You’ve won crowns at the Isthmian games. Very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘You should start training properly at the gym,’ said Pandion, patting Thrax roughly on the back. ‘I’ll be your trainer and make you a champion like me...’ He stopped when he noticed Thrax’s shaved head.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, young man. I wasn’t thinking. I should keep my big mouth
shut when I drink. It’s so unjust that some people are barred from using the gym or going into politics because they are slaves. We should all be equal in the eyes of the gods.’

  He leaned on me and a sad note crept into his voice again. ‘The way your friend smiles reminds me of someone from my childhood, someone who was very dear to me and who was cursed by the cruel gods. Let’s get back to the party. More wine awaits! Although I mustn’t drink myself into complete oblivion. I am going on an important trip to beautiful Rhodes tomorrow. The island of the swallows. Now, sing with me.

  ‘Came, came the swallow...’

  We went back into the house and I helped Pandion to his couch. The athletes insisted on playing a rowdy game of kottabos to end the party and it was very late by the time I returned to the storeroom.

  Thrax was sitting on the edge of his bed.

  ‘I thank the god Asclepius that you seem recovered,’ I said.

  Thrax smiled. ‘Sunstroke is one of the easiest sicknesses to fake. The juice of a ripe beet to redden the skin and a slice of fresh onion to make the eyes water. The rest is just play-acting.’

  ‘I take it you needed to be out of the house tonight.’

  Thrax went to the door to make sure no one was listening. ‘I figured if there was one pot with gold in it, there might be more. And the oinoche smashed in the temple could be one of them. Mistress Fotini and I went up to the Acrocorinth during the symposium. We sneaked into the treasury and searched through the broken pieces of the jug.’

  ‘Could you not just have asked the high priestess to let you have them?’ I said. ‘They can’t be worth anything.’

  ‘A smashed vase is still a holy offering to the gods and not the temple’s to give away,’ replied Thrax. ‘The priestesses swept up the pieces and placed them carefully in a little wooden chest, which will be kept forever in the treasure house. They would not have let me touch them if I’d asked.’

  Thrax drew a small piece of pottery from under his belt and held it out on the palm of his hand. ‘The jug had the mark of the Cyclops too, just like the wedding vase.’

  I inspected the piece in the lamplight. A scarred face with only one eye leered back at me. Thrax reached under the bed and pulled out a shiny round object. It was a hollow glass ball with a small hole at the top. He filled it with clear water from the washbasin.

  ‘This is an inspection sphere,’ he said. ‘The latest in scientific apparatus. Mistress Fotini let me borrow it. Bring the lamp closer.’

  He placed the ball carefully on the neck of a small jar on the clothes chest. Then he carefully held the fragment from the pouring jug behind it. Instantly the water in the sphere made the image of the grinning Cyclops look much bigger. It revealed details that we hadn’t noticed before.

  ‘Have a look,’ Thrax said, ‘and tell me what you see.’

  I peered through the watery glass. ‘The Cyclops is very badly painted,’ I said. ‘Looks like it was done in a hurry.’

  ‘What else?’ asked Thrax.

  ‘He is holding his hand close to his face,’ I said. ‘I think he is waving.’

  ‘How many fingers on his hand can you count?’

  I strained to see through the glass. ‘Four, I think. Yes, that’s right. He has only four fingers on his hand.’

  Thrax put down the piece from the oinoche and replaced it with the one from Mistress Pandora’s wedding vase.

  ‘And what can you see now?’

  ‘The Cyclops on this one has four fingers too.’

  ‘I don’t think the Cyclops is waving,’ said Thrax. ‘I think he’s holding up four fingers. A sign to the gang that there were four pots coming from Athens. We couldn’t see it without the inspection sphere.’

  ‘That means the thieves have an inspection sphere too,’ I said, ‘or they wouldn’t see the mark of the Cyclops clearly.’

  ‘We are dealing with a very well organised gang,’ confirmed Thrax, ‘and I don’t think it’s run by uneducated ruffians. There’s someone very powerful at the top.’

  He put the two pieces of broken pottery carefully in his bag and emptied the glass ball.

  ‘If my theory is right, there are two more Athenian vases that the gang will be after. This is just the lead we need. If we can find out who bought them, we could lay a trap for the gang when they try to steal them.’

  ‘Unless they already have,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Chances are that they haven’t,’ said Thrax. ‘I spoke to our friend the stallholder in the agora again yesterday. That part of the market is a hive of gossip but he hadn’t heard of any thefts except for the ones in Master Zenon’s house and the temple.’

  ‘Alcandros must keep details of all his orders,’ I said. ‘Is there a way we can look at his books to find out who bought the other two marked pots?’

  Thrax placed the inspection sphere in the bag with the pieces of pottery. ‘We can’t very well ask Donos to show us his master’s account books. At least not without raising suspicions. But I have a little plan. Now let’s get some sleep. It’s almost sunrise.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Spartan Mice

  Master Ariston burst into the kitchen in a state of high agitation the next morning. ‘I left my favourite himation outside last night,’ he wailed. ‘I don’t know how it happened. I’m always so careful with my clothes. The dew made it shrink. Look, it’s too tight around my waist.’

  ‘What a shame,’ said Thrax, who was chopping figs for breakfast. ‘That himation was old but it fitted you so well.’

  Master Ariston looked him up and down. ‘You seem much better today. I’m glad the potions I recommended worked so effectively.’

  ‘They worked like magic,’ said Thrax with a straight face. ‘And don’t worry about your himation, master. I’ve heard of an old seamstress in the agora who can take it out for you at very little cost. It will be much cheaper than buying a new one.’

  Master Ariston smiled from ear to ear. ‘That’s a brilliant idea, Thrax. But make sure she uses good Spartan wool. And make sure you wear my old chlamys when you go out. I don’t want you getting ill again. Nico, you go with him and make sure no one takes advantage of him. He was charged double for the masks yesterday.’

  Master Ariston settled down to breakfast in a good mood. Thrax was given lots of jobs to do and it was nearly midday before we were free to leave the house.

  ‘It was you who left the himation outside, wasn’t it?’ I said as we made our way into town. ‘You borrowed it to go to the temple of Aphrodite. You knew the dew would make it shrink.’

  Thrax laughed cheekily. ‘I just wanted to make sure we had the opportunity to continue our investigation today.’

  The sun was so hot, a shimmering haze was rising from the dusty road. The streets were deserted except for a lone figure trudging up the hill with a large basket under one arm. Thrax, sweltering in his chlamys, pulled me behind a clump of almond trees.

  ‘Why are we hiding?’

  ‘That man coming up to the house is Donos,’ he said. ‘I don’t want him to see us.’

  ‘Is he visiting Master Zenon?’

  ‘I asked Mistress Fotini to send for him,’ said Thrax. ‘She’s buying some Egyptian perfume bottles. We want to make sure he’s safely out of the way for a while.’

  We waited until Donos passed the almond trees, cursing in the heat. Then we tore down the street and reached the agora in time to leave the shrunken himation with the old seamstress before she packed up for the afternoon.

  When we’d been to the potters’ district earlier in the month, the streets had been busy, the workshops ringing with the sound of industry. But now, well past lunchtime, the workshops were shut and all was quiet. The only noise was the shrill song of the cicadas hidden between the stones of the city walls.

  We stopped outside Alcandros’s warehouse and looked around to make sure no one was watching. Thrax unhooked the pin from his chlamys and deftly picked the lock on the door. Cerberus barked as we stepped into the dark wareh
ouse but Thrax quieted him down with a pat on the head.

  ‘Good boy, Cerberus. So nice to see you again. Down, boy!’

  He pulled a large bone out of his bag and thrust it under the dog’s nose. Cerberus dragged it behind some shelves, his tail wagging happily.

  ‘Close the door and keep an eye out in case anyone comes,’ hissed Thrax. He vaulted over the counter and disappeared into the shadows.

  ‘Here are some scrolls,’ he whispered at last. There was the rustle of papyrus as he moved closer to a small window high up in the wall.

  ‘Do you want me to read it for you?’ I said.

  ‘I was taught to read by another slave,’ replied Thrax. ‘And I write too. Although I don’t tell many people about it. It’s good to have a secret weapon.’

  I heard the scratching of pen on papyrus. ‘Don’t take too long,’ I said. ‘Cerberus will have finished that bone by now.’

  ‘I think you’ll find Cerberus is having an afternoon nap. I dipped the bone in a sleeping potion.’

  I heard the scratch of stylus on papyrus as Thrax copied snippets of information from the account books. Then a loud banging at the door made me jump.

  ‘Oi, we know you’re in there. Come on out or we’ll fetch the law.’

  I felt panic rising in my throat. ‘Thrax, we’ve been caught.’

  ‘Leave this to me,’ he said, jumping back over the counter. ‘Have you got your wax tablet with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Open it, and take out your stylus.’

  He opened the door and pushed aside the linen curtain. A group of men had gathered on the pavement, most of them plastered from head to toe in dry clay or sawdust.

  ‘Thieves,’ one of them shouted. ‘We saw you break in.’

  Thrax looked around the dishevelled group calmly. ‘My colleague and I are scribes from the archon’s office. We have a special warrant to search this establishment, signed by the archon himself.’ He nodded at me. ‘Show them.’