by Roger Hudson
"What, that uncouth yob?" exclaimed Sindron, when Lysanias told him his plan, but he had to admit it made sense.
The next morning at dawn, there Lysanias was, approaching the hiring line on the southern slope of Market Hill, dressed in his worker's tunic, his tool bag slung from his shoulder, his ribbon tucked away inside it, breaking the rules again. Well, it depends whether one counts yesterday or today as the fourth day, he thought wryly. It felt strange to be again in the familiar garb, after the last few days playing the role of a wealthy heir. Now here he was pretending to be what he regarded as his real self, and with no Sindron to fall back on for advice. But it had felt good to be part of the early morning bustle and clatter of workers going to work, shopkeepers setting out their wares, laden mules and carts bringing in supplies from farms outside the city, and early shoppers determined to buy the freshest produce.
"Come on, hurry up, if you want work today," urged a burly, bronzed fellow who seemed to be in charge of the craftsmen's section. Lysanias quickened his pace, looking round for Stephanos, but Stephanos spotted him first and the heavy clap on the shoulder came from behind yet again. "Hi there, youngster, never did believe that nonsense about a rich uncle. Come to earn an honest obol, eh?"
Lysanias spun round, a grin on his face, and automatically reached with his right hand to grasp Stephanos at the lower bicep as Stephanos did the same to him.
"So, you were in the Fellowship of Hephaistos in Eion then?"
"No, all craftsmen greeted one another that way," responded Lysanias honestly, and asked what the Fellowship was.
“You really don't know? You know who Hephaistos is, don't you?"
"God of smiths and other crafts."
"Patron god of us workers. The Fellowship, that's just those of us who worship Hephaistos at his shrine in Peiraeos. That's the greeting. This is the salute." He struck his clenched right fist down onto the side of the clenched left in the way Lysanias remembered Glaukon doing on the ship. Yes, he saw it now. Hammer and anvil. Symbols of Hephaistos, the heavenly blacksmith.
Stephanos was still explaining. "Only we've got it more organised now. That man in charge, he's one of our officials, not the city's. My father’s helping him out today. We know what rates everyone's paying, which employers are trying to get it on the cheap by employing foreigners and slaves below full rate. Soon see about that now the Assembly's got the power."
He gestured to the workers standing round, many looking dispirited, bearing the scars and wounds of recent war service. "Been away so long their jobs have been filled by trained slaves and foreigners. The Fellowship's battling to get them back. Our great god Hephaistos is growing in power too. More followers every day. Foreign workers too. That way we have more chance of enforcing a rate for the job. That's his new temple they're building over there. One more thing we've got to thank Ephialtes for."
It was almost like hero-worship, the way he said Ephialtes' name. "Is it a political faction too, then? I've seen the slogans on the walls."
"No, lots of people think that. Ephialtes is one of our leading priests, a people's priest, and the Fellowship supports him and the radical party, but it's not the same thing. There's other groups support the radicals as well."
Lysanias forced the conversation onto his own concerns. He explained that he wanted to get employed by Hermon’s shipyard. As soon as he said “shipyard”, Stephanos reacted.
"You've come to the wrong place, citizen. Hiring line for the shipyards is down in the market place in Peiraeos, and anyway there's a surplus of shipyard workers at the moment. Didn't you know that?”
Lysanias looked dumbfounded. He felt defeated. Stephanos misinterpreted his expression.
"Cheer up. I'll get you a day's work with me. I've got a nice one lined up, fancy marble portico in a smart house but I need a carpenter to rig me a timber framework to support it. Falsework. Ever done that before?"
"Of course." His father had told him about the technique, but there really hadn't been much call for it in Eion.
"There you are then. I’ll tell you where to go later, if you really want shipyard work.”
Then the man in charge called them into line and he found himself standing with the other craftsmen, to be inspected by hirers, asked questions about their previous experience, even have their biceps felt.
A bulbous Phoenician slave waddled up with an affected accent and bangles on each wrist, the dark green and vivid yellow of his cloak clashing in a way no Athenian would have accepted. Glaukon was escorting him and glanced at Stephanos when he recognised Lysanias standing beside him. Somehow he seemed satisfied to see that Lysanias really was a worker. At a surreptitious hand signal from Stephanos, indicating the need for a carpenter, Glaukon changed his patter rapidly, "This here is the team I recommend, Hasdrubal. Ideal for your purposes." And they were hired. Only then did Lysanias realise that the team included a short, older, slightly hunched man with a missing finger on the left hand and crooked elbow, who had been standing the other side of Stephanos. Stephanos introduced him as his assistant, Lampon. “Have to find work for the veterans,” he said in explanation.
As they followed the Phoenician into the wealthy quarter, Stephanos explained in worker's argot that it was a ritual. The slave's owner felt that he would save money by hiring fresh workers every day, but Hasdrubal wasn't so stupid as to dispense with reliable craftsmen once they had started a job, so he had to go through with the hiring routine every day. He accepted their opinion on whether extra skills were needed.
Lysanias tried to explain about his uncle's murder and his new-found wealth, but Stephanos wasn't interested. "Look, citizen, as far as I'm concerned, you're a worker, you stood up for me in the square, you're on the right side, you're a friend. Your personal business, that's nothing to do with me. You don't have to spin me these yarns to get me to help you. I owe you one and that's all there is."
***
While the colourfully-painted green and brown pillars of the eastern end of the Temple of Theseos were beginning to sparkle in the rising sun, the western face, where Sindron had been directed by an angry priest inside, was dark and gloomy. Behind the row of pillars, a small entrance stood open, its iron-barred gate pulled back. Beside it stood two large, muscular temple guards holding tridents with sharp-looking points. Weapons in the guise of religious icons, Sindron thought.
As Sindron approached, the guards crossed their tridents in front of him, barring him from entering. He explained that he was looking for Lydos, and gave his name. One of them called inside. Lydos appeared and ushered him in.
Adjusting to the oil lamps, Sindron saw to one side the temple treasures - gold, silver and bronze vessels for use in religious ceremonies, effigies, relics and ornate vestments for use in processions and festivals. Some of it appeared to be war trophies or booty, presumably donated or stored by Kimon and other generals. Lydos' assistant was bent over a large stone chest, counting coins into leather bags and placing these in a carrying case. The wooden chest of scrolls had already been removed.
Sindron’s anger with his friend had accumulated. "Why didn't you tell me your bank held Klereides' account?" he blurted out, abruptly, without even the customary greeting.
Lydos appeared taken aback, but somehow it seemed put on. "My dear old friend, you are unkind. If you remember, there was hardly time, after you told me who your master was."
"That was your fault, not mine!"
"That may be. If so, I apologise. I take it you would like details. I assume you have brought authority from your master?" The eager enthusiasm of their previous meeting was gone. The banker was businesslike, even with a friend, as Sindron had anticipated, though Lydos turned aside for a moment to send the slaveboy off with a message, as though completing something previously under way.
Sindron had intended challenging why Lydos had reacted the way he had to mention of Klereides, but access to the accounts seemed more important now it was on offer. He showed his authority to act on Lysanias’ behalf and
proof of his master’s citizen status.
When unrolled, the account scrolls were a mass of neatly-written figures and notations, but Lydos guided Sindron to the key points. He had to trust that he wasn't being guided away from anything significant. The account showed most of Klereides' funds committed, significant losses on some investments and a number of debts and an overall low balance, but Lydos then referred to a list of assets. This revealed that Klereides owned not only his house in Athens and the farm in the country but also Hermon’s shipyard, Hermon’s house, a share in a building contractor's company, one hundred slaves leased to the silver mines at Laurion, five cargoes currently at sea, and two merchant ships jointly with their captains – more than enough to cover any losses. It was staggering, and now it was Sindron’s own master who owned all this!
Sindron asked if the bank held the contracts and deeds relating to these, and discovered they had only the contracts for cargoes and those with the mine-owners and ship's captains, not the long-term contracts with businessmen or any title deeds.
"I imagine Klereides had a private arrangement with another temple for depositing those and other valuables. It's not uncommon." Lydos made it sound very matter of fact, but surely Klereides would have told someone about it.
"This is the cash account. We top that up directly from the percentage payments from Hermon, and Klereides' steward Otanes has direct access to that for withdrawals for household expenses, to pay sponsorship monies, and so on. Again perfectly normal procedure."
If it was all in order, why had Lydos as good as thrown him out the other day? Sindron began to steel himself to ask.
The light coming in through the doorway had increased as the sun rose higher, but now, suddenly, it was blocked out. Almost filling the doorway, was the giant frame of Phraston.
Without a pause, Phraston stepped forward with the smile of greeting as though Sindron were a citizen rather than a slave. Sindron found he liked the sensation.
"Ah, Sindron, isn't it? Lydos has told me about you and mentioned you might be coming in. I wonder if I might have a word."
Phraston drew him toward the far corner of the room, while Sindron observed that Lydos took up a position by the door, presumably to stall anyone wishing to enter. This must at the least have been anticipated if not planned. That message the slaveboy had taken, maybe.
Still surprised, Sindron muttered, "Of course." Then decided to respond in kind. "Lydos told me much about you, sir." Better keep a tone of respect, he thought. "I was sorry to hear about your son." Then, to try to get off the subject of death, "I was around in the old days and remember your wrestling triumphs well."
"Ah, long, long ago, but thank you." The man looked pleased that someone should remember, when so many years, so many champions had intervened. "Now, to business. I gather you will be principal adviser to Klereides' heir, young Lysanias. I'm sure you will have considerable influence over him. Good that he has someone he can trust so completely." Sindron felt like saying that Lysanias was quite capable of making his own decisions – and of ignoring any advice Sindron might give, but clearly that wasn't what Phraston wanted to hear right now and the reference to trust implied he might know about the cargo loan, throwing Sindron a little. He merely inclined his head, in a way that did not contradict Phraston’s statement.
"On the financial front, of course, we would be very pleased, if he were to continue to hold his account with our bank. I would be willing to continue to offer financial advice relating to investments and asset purchases, as I did for Klereides. Perhaps you could let him know that." Something told Sindron this might not be true. After all, significant elements of Klereides' dealings were not here and, surely, a trusted adviser would have been just that, trusted. With everything. For some reason, Klereides had felt safer keeping certain things under his personal control.
Phraston did not wait for a response, perhaps assuming he was stating the obvious. "But, ah, could I offer a few suggestions?” There were beads of sweat on the man's forehead, Sindron observed, yet it was still cool in the treasury. Perhaps Phraston always sweated.
"Death of Klereides. Sad business. But young Lysanias trying to prove it was murder. Going round asking questions. Could cause trouble, you understand? Delicate time politically. Powerful interests at stake. These radicals could find some way of using such a story, allege corruption, you understand? Blacken Klereides' name and his associates. No-one wants that. A man in your position. You could persuade him to accept that it was an accident and stop asking questions, at least until things settle down politically."
His tone had been neutral. Now Phraston’s voice mellowed, became friendly again. "Of course, I'd show my gratitude. We'd create a small account in your name. Regular monthly deposits. Assist you to make wise investments. A little security for the future. Something to cover any little, ah, debts you may have incurred recently. Perhaps, in return, you could keep me informed on your master's thinking. Not disloyalty, you understand, just a sharing of confidences, hmm?"
Sindron was appalled. First, something like a veiled threat about the cargo loan, and now he was being offered a bribe to betray his master. The sense of honour that he had always felt came first in Athens, where had that gone? Yet Phraston, and Lydos behind him, clearly saw this as nothing exceptional and anticipated that Sindron would accept. It said a lot about the moral climate of Athens.
He was even more horrified to realise that he found the offer tempting. He was getting old. His master was erratic enough to sell him off in a fit of pique. It would be nice to have that security, maybe even enough to buy his freedom if necessary. But no, his own upbringing would not allow him to consider this.
"I'm afraid that would be impossible, I ...”
Phraston was prepared for this. "Quite so, quite so. Lydos told me you were always a man of principle. What I like to see. Loyalty in a trusted slave, too. Only what I expect from Lydos." It didn’t stop him pursuing it.
"What if you were no longer in Lysanias' employment? Say I were to offer to buy your freedom. No strings, no strings at all, though I could then offer a good position with the bank."
Lydos took the cue, revealing himself as an active partner in the enterprise. He suggested that they were looking to open a table down by the harbour to expand their business relating to cargoes and would need someone to run it. “Strictly between ourselves at the moment, you understand, don't want to alert the other bankers before we're ready." He smiled, giving the impression Sindron was a trusted colleague already. What was going on?
Sindron tried to maintain his neutral expression. Why had he personally become so important? He had no knowledge of banking. How could he be a useful colleague in a bank? But a senior position, maybe a partnership! Sindron opened his mouth to reply and shut it again, not knowing how to answer.
Lydos read this sign of indecision. "Don't be hasty, old friend. Think about it. After all, you've that cargo loan of yours to think about too. Wouldn’t want that to go nasty on you, would we? Or your master to hear about it? Let us know later. Maybe tomorrow morning."
So these two had discussed the offer together. Lydos must have advised Phraston on how to approach him, read the tinge of envy he had felt the other day at Lydos' good news. Sindron felt a little weak at the knees and grasped his stick more firmly for support.
"Yesss." The word almost slithered out of his mouth, like a snake, betraying him. "The offer, it’s very generous, but it's ... so sudden, so unexpected. I'll have to think. Thank you."
Then he was out in the bright sunlight, his old eyes blinking and watering. He had seen the glint in their eyes, the quick glance at one another. They thought they had bought him! Now he knew why Lydos had tricked him into making that loan – to have a hold over him, a lever. His one-time friend really did think well ahead and even before he knew who Sindron’s master was! Was it possible that, from Lydos’ weird point of view, he thought he was looking after Sindron’s best interests?
No, he would not be a
party to this commercial corruption that seemed to surround him and his master! He would tell his master as soon as he had an opportunity. Lysanias might then increase payments to him to allow him to save to buy his freedom.
He stopped himself. There I go, thinking like them, he thought. All the same, I'd be silly not to see I get something out of all this.
He wondered if Lydos’ reference to Sindron’s loan was a veiled threat that he would tell Lysanias. His security in being a slave was crumbling around him. He was being asked to make decisions for himself about himself. He had to get back to the safety of the house, where he knew who he was.
I'm not worth that to them, Sindron thought. They must think I'm the only thing that could bring Lysanias success in his investigations. Very flattering! That could mean we are getting close to the truth but could it also mean they have some connection with Klereides' murder? That's inconceivable. No, must just be, as they say, a general wish for no-one to stir up trouble. But why so determined? And how did they know about the questioning? Who had told them? Someone from the shipyard? Or the tavern? Or the house?
*
The frontage of the house looked fairly plain, very little different from Klereides' house, though Lysanias didn't fancy the pink colour himself, the colour the flesh of statues was painted. Inside was a different story.
Stephanos explained, in sarcastic tones, that the wealthy of Athens kept to the letter of the laws against ostentation that might create jealousy among the poorer classes on all the visible parts of their houses, but inside, where only their friends could see, they pleased themselves. Here, slabs of marble and quartz covered every surface and the crowning glory was to be the portico with fluted stone pillars that Stephanos was erecting at the entrance from the courtyard to the inner apartments.
"Stop goggling, man! They aren’t paying us to stand around." Stephanos the gossip became Stephanos the busy craftsman. He explained what he wanted Lysanias to do, which was basically to complete the supporting structure started by another carpenter the previous day. Lysanias hadn't actually done falsework before but his father had explained it, so Lysanias didn't feel intimidated. Just so long as it could hold the weight of the stone.
