Death Comes by Amphora: A Mystery Novel of Ancient Athens

by Roger Hudson

  "Not yet eighteen, then?"

  Lysanias drew himself up. "I was eighteen yesterday, sir."

  "Eighteen, eh, a new citizen! We'll have to get you onto the citizen roll then, so you can vote. I’ll be pleased to vouch for you, should you need someone."

  However, the General’s tone was off-hand, as though he was just being polite, and he didn't pause for Lysanias to thank him.

  "Knew Curly, hah, your uncle well. Fought in the same battles. Tough man, maybe too tough ... but honest, I used to think. His word was his bond. Can't say fairer than that for any man." Platitudes! Lysanias wondered if he said this about everyone who died. No sense here of a friend gone, though he said Klereides had been his friend, knew his nickname. But there was strain in his voice, as though his mind was elsewhere.

  "We were in the same dining club. Golden Trident, hah. Next one's at my place. You must come if your mourning duties allow and perhaps we can talk. Unfinished business, as they say. Sad end this, sad end." Lysanias wondered when the stream of platitudes would end.

  As the General talked, his slave had risen and moved slowly forward to stand beside and slightly behind the General, but with a stance not at all slave-like. The look on his face showed total admiration, almost adoration, for the General, as he moved close to touch just slightly at the upper arm, and the General seemed to draw strength from this gentle contact.

  Lysanias felt uncomfortably aware of the teenage fluff and stubble on his own chin, his unkempt hair, the body smells of travel. Then Sindron appeared, listened and, with a small gesture, indicated that Lysanias should end the interview.

  Again Lysanias surprised himself.

  "I'm very pleased to have met you," he came in, just topping the solemn muted tone the General had adopted. "You'll appreciate that I have many matters to catch up on and many kin and friends to meet with. I appreciate your offer of help to ease me into Athenian society and accept your offer to dine as soon as I am free of my familial obligations."

  He rushed this out, so that the General had no chance to interrupt. Now he knew why Sindron had always insisted he learn to pronounce his Greek clearly and in an Athenian accent – and learn the formal, polite vocabulary. He wished he had given it a little more attention.

  "My thanks and those of the family and tribe for your condolences in this hour of sorrow," Lysanias concluded, immediately wondering why he had spoken so formally and so dismissively. Didn't he trust this man? Immediately he knew the answer was 'no'. It meant he couldn't ask if his uncle had any enemies. But his face retained the fixed expression he had set it in. Behind the General, Sindron looked pleased with him.

  Surprisingly, the General did not respond in kind. His manner changed, he leaned forward and his speech dropped into a softer tone that meant his words were meant only for Lysanias.

  "Young man, I see you have some of your uncle's toughness. I welcome that. It will aid Athens and the cause." The General's blue eyes had narrowed as he assessed Lysanias and his speech. "We really must talk more closely. These are critical times, times of peril and challenge. Must show these radi ...”

  Lysanias fought to stop himself showing surprise at the conspiratorial tone the General had used. He glanced across to the General's slave, whose face displayed some concern as his master seemed to grow redder, about to launch on a new topic. He noticed the slave raise a hand to touch the General's arm. Ariston straightened to full military bearing.

  "Hah. Enough said. Time of sorrow. Offer of friendship. Steward knows where to contact me. Official duties. Must go now. Time of sorrow. A friend's condolences ... May great Athene guard you."

  Still muttering, the General backed through the door and out of the house, though not before Lysanias noticed the General's hand reach as though casually to stroke his slave's shoulder.

  Only then did it hit him. His uncle really had moved in the top circles of power and wealth in Athens. A general! One of the ten generals elected each year for the city. The most powerful men in the place. And a close friend of Kimon's.

  Then another thought struck him. This general had been the first well-wisher. Kimon, his colleague, only just returned, clearly involved in urgent matters from what Lysanias had seen at the harbour, yet he regarded this as important enough to leave that to come here, possibly as soon as he heard. That must say a lot about his uncle.

  In his uncle’s sleeping room, as Sindron hacked away handfuls of his hair, Lysanias' glance took in the tapestries and wall-hangings. Great gods, what incredible subjects! Zeus seducing Ariadne, Bacchos disporting with naked bacchantes. And more like them. What sort of man was his uncle?

  Clearly a very wealthy one, thought Sindron, and inclined to indulge his own tastes. No Athenian moderation here. The couches, floor tiles, wall hangings, all of the finest quality, looked as though they came from other lands. Despite the long war and austerity rationing, Klereides had obviously managed to obtain foreign luxuries - or perhaps they’d been captured in war.

  While Sindron took his shorn hair through to the back of the house, Lysanias glanced round Klereides' sleeping chamber, which now would be his room. This revealed more expenditure and equally sensuous tapestries and decorations. One of the tapestries stirred as though caught by a slight breeze. Curious, Lysanias looked behind. A door! With it's own locking device. Why would his uncle need a secret, private door? When he came back, Sindron could suggest no answer.

  Lysanias thought back to his home in Eion where most of the furniture had been made by his father, himself and his younger brother, when they weren't working at their carpenter’s trade or tending the family field. Why did anyone need to be this extravagant when, as he had seen on his way up from the harbour, other people were living in poverty and squalor? Hadn’t the great lawgiver Solon forbidden such ostentation by the wealthy, to avoid offending the poorer classes? He asked Sindron, who explained that was only the outside of houses, aspects open to the public eye, not inside one’s own home where one could do as one wished.

  Then his analytical mind started calculating what this might actually mean in real money terms, plus his uncle's evident frequent entertaining, plus what might be deduced of his social habits – and that's before any patronage of the arts or athletics!

  Lysanias' thoughts were interrupted by the steward. It was a summons to his grandmother. He half remembered old Makaria, when they had said goodbye before emigrating to Eion. She had tousled his three-year-old head and then berated his father for marrying a lower-class girl and resorting to a manual occupation to support them.

  Or did he remember? Was this what his parents had told him? Anyway, the family wisdom was that she had dominated her husband and her sons and been the real power in the household. Would she try to dominate him?

  "Come with me, Sindron," he said, feeling suddenly weak at the knees. So much was happening so fast. Sindron decided to adopt a slave-like stance, the pose of the invisible servant, to avoid betraying their close relationship.

  Makaria sat grave and dignified, all in black, hair cropped, her veil raised, in one of the guest rooms looking out on the courtyard. The room was lit only by the spill of light through the door from the courtyard, where she could see straight out onto the crumpled body of her dead son. The sharp line of her nose, the curve of her cheeks and chin caught the light but her eyes were barely visible. He could read little of her expressions.

  "So you're the new family head. Not a bad-looking boy, but no care for appearances, I see. Just like your father."

  The begrudging tone. Had she always had that or did she really hate him because of his father? She'd mentioned his father, her son, but not a word of sympathy, and she must know about his disappearance.

  Then, clearly with an effort, she reached out a hand to his and drew him closer, and her voice softened.

  "You always were a sharp child, but you're so young. So much responsibility so young."

  Abrupt again. "Steward told you he and I can handle most things for you?"

 
"Yes, grandmother." He found himself dropping into the tone of a young child and was grateful when Sindron gently added.

  "Master is a very willing pupil, madam. He'll soon learn to manage things himself."

  Despite the gentle and subservient tone, she jerked upright. Maybe this wasn't what she wanted to hear, maybe she hadn't realised Sindron was there in the gloom. There was a cool silence.

  Her eyes locked firmly onto Lysanias' as her grip tightened on his hand.

  "That's not all, young man. Your uncle married a young wife a year ago but didn't manage to produce any offspring or even get her pregnant. I imagine that's why he sent for you, to train up an heir just in case. He has looked very worried recently. You have a document from him, you say? Well, you'll have to marry her now. That's what the law says. She's quite attractive. Does her household chores. Too young to manage a household, though, far too young, and inclined to be sulky. You'll need to keep her on a tight rein. You're responsible for the whole household too. I'll do my best to help, but the period of mourning may be difficult. You can go now."

  Lysanias was too devastated to speak and he backed out of the room, Sindron silent beside him. He again approached the bier and made the ritual gestures, backing away and going to the entertaining room.

  "What does she mean, Sindron? I can't marry! I'm too young! You always told me that, in Athens, men don't get married till they're thirty at least, after their military service, and then they marry young girls of fourteen or so. Tell me I don't have to do this! I don't even know the girl."

  "Don't get agitated, master. Sit down. Perhaps you'd like some wine or a honey cake. You've had a long journey and now all this."

  "Nonsense, Sindron. Stop fussing. I can do without food for a few hours. Besides I'm chief mourner, I'm supposed to fast. Just tell me what's going on and where I stand. You lived in Athens for a long time, you must know what the customs are."

  "Well, do you mind if I have something to eat, master? I’m famished." Sindron felt he needed a little time to think. This was another surprise, but maybe marriage would keep the boy in line, calm him down a little. But all the responsibility! How would the lad deal with that?

  "I'm sorry, Sindron, I'm being inconsiderate. I am hungry, too. I wish I could eat as well."

  Sindron finally persuaded him that the gods would forgive him if he merely made up for the breakfast he had thrown to the seabirds. Lysanias ate little, feeling guilty and disrespectful, but he was shaking from the release after the nervous tension.

  His slave explained that, under Athenian law, if a citizen died without a son, the nearest male relative was obliged to marry the deceased's wife in order to continue the line of inheritance of that family branch.

  "But I don't even know what she's like!" Lysanias cried.

  "Master, mourning will last for thirty days, but you'll have a chance to see her, get to know her, after that if not sooner, and the wedding can't happen till then, anyway."

  ***

  Philia screamed shrilly. "I won't! I won't marry him if I don't like him!" She was going to say "I won't marry anyone else I don't like" but you can't speak ill of the dead, even if she hadn't really liked her fat, bald husband all that much. No, that’s not fair, he was quite nice sometimes.

  "Don't be ridiculous, girl! It's the law! You gave Klereides no children, so you must marry his nearest male relative!" Makaria had just told the girl she would have to marry Lysanias but she hadn't expected this reaction; the girl was usually fairly obedient.

  "I don't have to! I can ask for my dowry back and go home to my father!" Philia was finally throwing a tantrum and she could feel it was working.

  "Well, wait and see what he's like. You'll get a better chance to look him over at the funeral and I'll arrange for you to talk after that."

  Philia screamed again. She was actually quite excited but she wasn't going to show it. She had caught a glimpse of the man as he'd done that terrible thing and exposed poor Klereides' wounds, and he looked quite young. And handsome.

  "I'm ... going ... home ... to ... father!" she said slowly and deliberately through clenched teeth.

  Makaria's tone became even friendlier. Philia had never known her like this.

  "I know I've been hard on you up to now, but you have to learn discipline to keep a household working all year round. From now on we'll see you do more of the ordering of foodstuffs, hm? We'll just ease you in slowly. How's that?"

  Yes, thought Philia, it's really working. She screamed again, but not quite so loud this time.

  ***

  Sindron was looking very serious now as he paused, hesitating to speak.

  "And I have to tell you I feel there is something suspicious about the manner of your uncle's death that may mean you should be looking for a culprit," he said at last.

  "You think he was murdered?"

  "I think it's a possibility"

  Lysanias knew this meant he had an obligation to find the killer and avenge his uncle. He found himself tingling with excitement, which didn’t seem right if something so terrible really had happened. "There are things that seem odd to me too but he was so important. He knew so many important people. Why would anyone do this?"

  "Yes, but consider, master. It looks as though only Klereides knew you were coming back. Maybe someone else thought they would inherit. They thought you and your father were dead, remember."

  A thought flashed into Lysanias' head, something his grandmother had said about his uncle being worried.

  "Do you think he felt threatened? That's why he wanted me here?" The idea startled him. It carried implications about life in Athens that he didn't want to believe.

  "Remember your uncle's message," said Sindron. " 'Need someone close I can trust.' That implies he didn't trust anyone around him."

  "Yes. And 'perils', remember? 'Political developments bring perils and possibilities.' That's what he said, isn't it?" But then Lysanias remembered that Sindron had disputed the word 'perils', feeling that Homer had used the same word to mean 'challenge' and the poet Simonides something similar for 'struggle against overwhelming odds.'

  In fact, in Eion, they had debated the message for ages, not least the fact that a man who could afford parchment and a scribe had chosen to scratch the message on wax tablets with his thumb-nail, like a schoolboy, and then packed the tablets so hurriedly that the wax had smudged the lettering, making it difficult to read. Also the ship’s captain who brought it had confirmed that it had been given to him by Klereides himself, not a slave or messenger.

  "Yes, but none of that means he thought someone was out to kill him." Lysanias didn't want to believe where this was leading.

  "No, but it's possible." Sindron sounded like the voice of reason itself in the midst of a world that suddenly seemed devoid of all logic. "I can’t think why either. Politics, business rivalry, personal enemies. We just don't know what your uncle was involved in. The General used some of those words too, or something very close, you notice."

  "What can we do?"

  "First, we must find out what the law is now – there have been so many changes lately – and keep our eyes and ears open to become familiar with how things are done in Athens, so we don’t upset people."

  "Sindron, this is all very sudden. I'm not sure I can handle it."

  Lysanias slumped on his couch, feeling tired and alone – except for Sindron, of course – thank the gods for Sindron – and he'd never expected to think that! He was going to need all Sindron’s knowledge and rational thinking and more.

  "We can't rest yet, master. The law lays down thirty days of mourning when the close relatives don't leave the house, except for the funeral and visits to the tomb."

  "So I don't need to go out then."

  "Yes you do. If you can't go out, you can't register your citizenship and you can't start taking charge of your uncle's affairs and you can't look into his death, so you can't avenge him. In thirty days time, your uncle's killer will have covered his traces. Where will you
be then?"

  Lysanias was thrown. He opened his mouth to reply and shut it again. He was stuck. Then a glimmer, maybe...

  "You're not a relative, Sindron. You could go out and see people." He realised the flaw in that, even before Sindron replied.

  "I'm a slave, master," Sindron said patiently. "Even with my knowledge of Athens, I can't go where a citizen can. People won't answer my questions."

  "What can we do, then?"

  "I never thought I'd have to say this, master, but we may have to break a few rules." Sindron looked so crestfallen that Lysanias started to grin. Sindron, who was always drumming into him the importance of obeying the rules, sticking by the laws, now telling him to break them. He burst out laughing. Sindron smiled wryly, and went on to explain.

  "The law says that the body of the deceased must be displayed for a full day before the morning of the funeral. As nearly half of today had gone before the body was back here and ready, the real display day is tomorrow, so there won't be many more well-wishers today. Hardly anyone in Athens knows you, so, if you were to slip out now in ordinary clothes, no-one would be surprised you aren't dressed in mourning. It’ll give us a chance to check on the rumour about Eion, but it can’t be true. We’ve only just come from there and there was no trouble then.

  "We can tell the household you're resting and not to be disturbed. You could slip out, using that private door in your uncle's room. I'll join you outside. You can have a bath and a shave in the city, while I find out about the law and what officials you need to see to sort out your citizenship and try to obtain a dispensation from mourning of some sort. We’ll get back as soon as we can."

  To Lysanias, it sounded horrific. Flouting the laws of Athens, offending the gods, neglecting his duties to the dead – he shuddered as he imagined the possible consequences. He knew, though, that he could never live with himself if he did nothing and let his uncle's killer escape, while his uncle's soul wandered in torment for ever. And that could draw down the wrath of the goddess Nemesis on him.