by Roger Hudson
It felt so good to be back using his brain and his hands in a common task. His hammer sounded loud and clear, with the creaks and pants as Stephanos and Lampon set up the winch.
Lysanias asked Stephanos, "Whose house do you reckon this is, then?"
To his surprise, Stephanos burst out in a raucous belly laugh. His assistant was laughing too. Lysanias blushed bright crimson.
"What did I say that's so funny?"
Stephanos struggled to regain control. "Didn't you notice the statue of Aphrodite by the front door, goddess of rumpty-tumpty? And the house front? Painted pink?
"Well, yes, but ...”
"It's a whore's house, Lysanias! High class whore! 'Companion' the rich call them. But they’re still whores." Lysanias noticed Stephanos had dropped his voice to avoid being heard by the customer and giving offence. "Never heard of Aspasia from Miletos, the most famous 'companion' in Athens?"
Lysanias hadn't but decided he should look as though he had.
"Her house? Did she buy all this?"
"No, stupid, her 'gentlemen friends' pay. Thank-you gifts for services rendered. This marble portico now, that's a present from General Ariston, Kimon's right-hand man. That was his steward that hired us."
Lysanias was stunned for a moment. "But Ariston detests Ephialtes. How could you work for him?"
"All citizens are equal, citizen! Besides you have to earn a living. Get to being too choosy and you starve. Anyway, you'd be surprised what snippets of information we pick up by keeping our heads down and our ears open." He winked at Lysanias.
"But Ariston knew… He's not likely to come here is he?" Lysanias wasn't sure why he was suddenly so worried. Whether it was the thought of the social disgrace of being found doing a manual job when he was heir to wealth, or of being fully revealed to Stephanos as not really a worker at all.
Stephanos seemed unconcerned. "Not during the day. Too busy playing politics trying to save Kimon. Anyway, no need to worry. These bastards, they don't really see us workers. We all look the same to them!"
Lysanias was relieved. He hammered a brace into position, nailing it firmly. "What's she like then, this 'companion'?"
"Keep your eyes open and you'll probably see her – and she is an eyeful too!" Lysanias had to grin as Stephanos made the gesture with a rising fist that workers in Eion had made when they talked about an attractive woman.
After a spell, while they all worked away in silence, Lysanias started wondering why the other carpenter wasn’t here today.
"Oh, he's on guard duty," said Stephanos matter-of-factly. "Looking after Ephialtes."
He explained that Perikles felt that Ephialtes could be in danger, so workers close to the leaders took it in turns to take a day off and keep Ephialtes company in case of trouble, as they had done in the market place.
"Is that really necessary? In Athens of all places? We vote to exile people we think are a danger, don’t we?"
"Oh, we will. We’ll ostracise Kimon. But he’s only one of them and just because assassination hasn’t happened often in the past, doesn’t mean it’s not possible, even if they are frightened of the pollution that attaches to a murderer. Ephialtes has upset a lot of powerful people.”
It could be disguised not to look like assassination, Lysanias thought. Was that what had happened to his uncle?
“... difficult though,” Stephanos went on. “He refuses to have a bodyguard so we have to fool him. Someone has to walk with him, keep him in conversation, while the others sort of hover in the background, ready to leap in if anyone attacks him. So far, so good. One incident with a runaway chariot but our boys pushed him out of the way, and an unexplained fire at one of the places the leaders meet."
Lysanias hesitated, then decided he had to ask. "Stephanos?" He tried to make it sound casual. "Stephanos, your uh defence squad. Would that ever take action first? Attack anyone? Kill them?"
Stephanos seemed a little surprised at the question but answered without hesitation.
"No, purely defensive. Have to be ready."
"Not even if you thought someone was a threat?"
"No, not our style. Hasn't happened yet anyway. Hey up! That's the doorknocker. You'll see her now."
It wasn't Aspasia's looks so much as the way she held herself and moved that made Lysanias grab hold of a post to stop himself from falling. She seemed to float without effort across the courtyard. The paleness of her face and arms were set off by the bright but tasteful light blue and green cloak, and the thoughtful features settled into a welcoming softness as she adopted a subtle smile to greet the visitors.
Welcomes were effusive but, though it was difficult to be sure looking down on them from above, these men, in smart, well-draped cloaks, seemed furtive, with glances back towards the doorway, until they were sure it was firmly closed behind them. Aspasia ushered them hurriedly into a room to one side, then came out again and closed the door behind her. One of the men, Lysanias was sure, was General Ariston, though it was the first time he had seen him out of uniform. Another looked as though he could be Hierokles. And that plaited hairstyle was like the one he had seen in the barber's shop.
Lysanias climbed down and whispered to Stephanos. "I must try to hear what they're saying. I think I recognise one of them."
"You and me both! They're all high in Kimon's faction."
"But we can't both stop work, they'll soon notice the hammering has stopped."
"True, citizen. We'll take it in turns. You first, but be careful! I'll try to signal if I hear anyone coming."
Lysanias took a rope measure from his bag, with knots at intervals, and pretended to be measuring the doorway, in case a household slave passed. But the voices inside were low; it was difficult to hear anything. He thought he caught "...only course left ..." and "... surprise, that’s the thing." That in his cousin's voice, it seemed. And "... t-t-take the bull by the h-horns, I say ..." louder, more agitated. Voices he had heard in the barber’s, the stammer, the full rich tones, and another, higher and sharper. Then it happened.
"Hello, who's the pretty spy then?" The voice was mellow and tuneful. He looked into twinkling, laughing, very knowing blue eyes. "I really didn't order any work on that doorway, so it's no use pretending."
Aspasia reached out and took his ear between her thumb and forefinger and twisted. He couldn't believe that anyone who looked so gentle could inflict so much pain.
"Come, now, come with me! That's the way!" She deliberately held his head low and at arm's length, so that he was forced to shuffle and couldn't look up or signal to Stephanos. "Your friends are in on the game, I imagine, but I'll deal with them later."
***
Philia was puzzled. Makaria was resting, so there was no-one that Philia could ask about the ritual complications of her tasks. Maybe if she crept into Makaria's room, the old woman would give her advice on how to polish Apollo's bronze shield and helmet without giving the god the impression the household felt he was tarnished. She tiptoed towards Makaria's door, in the women's quarters upstairs. She had intended to listen for the rhythmic breathing of sleep, in which case she would leave it till later, but the moans and pants and slapping sounds of flesh on flesh were not those of sleep or rest. But who? Then she realised that Otanes hadn't been prowling round in his usual bossy way. She was shocked. So Nubis had been right all along! Philia found herself being coldly calculating. Could this knowledge be a weapon in gaining more say in the running of the household?
Rushing, from the women's section of the house, she was startled to see Sindron watching her through the doorway from the courtyard.
Nubis had told her about her encounter with Sindron. From Nubis' description, the old man sounded a lot less severe than he looked, and Lysanias seemed to trust him. This might be her chance to get rid of that constant fear of Makaria discovering the bloodstained scroll at the bottom of the cypress chest under Philia's best gown. She just hoped there was no pollution attaching to it that might affect her – she had washed her hand
s to purify herself and hoped that was enough.
Philia could hear the kitchen boy chopping onions and sniffing in the kitchen nearby, so she whispered to Sindron as she passed him, "I'm going back to the shrine room. Come there in a few minutes." She didn't glance back, so she didn't see the look of surprise on Sindron’s face.
All was quiet, except for the clack of the looms and the kitchen sounds that filtered through the house. Philia decided she had to risk it. She sped as quietly as she could up to her bedroom, delved deep into the chest for the blood-stained scroll, wrapped it in a shawl, and, looking ahead of her carefully, stepped silently down the stairs. Placing the shawl before her, Philia knelt at the shrine to the ancestors of this family she had married into, asking their forgiveness for treating their shrine in this way, and pleading for their help in finding who had done this to her Curly, their Klereides.
Sindron appeared in the doorway. "What's this, mistress?" he began, dignified but friendly, a smile on his face, but he grew serious, when she raised a finger to her lips.
"Look," she whispered, and, indicating the shawl in front of her, unwrapped it to reveal the crumpled, bloodstained, fire-scorched scroll.
"The message! It still exists!" Sindron had adopted a low tone to match her own, but he was clearly excited. He glanced over his shoulder, aware that they could be interrupted at any moment.
"Take it, hide it, give it to Lysanias, please!" She was urgent, desperate to get rid of the responsibility.
"Yes, of course." Sindron seemed a little dazed. "Can I take the shawl? I'll give it back."
Philia nodded. He re-folded and picked up the slim package delicately, afraid the parchment might crumble. It was small enough to slip inside the front of his cloak.
"What was going on back there?" he asked.
Philia realised it could be useful to her if Lysanias knew.
"Makaria and Otanes, in bed together," she blurted out, blushing and looking down, realising what she was talking about, and to a man! Even if he was a slave. Sindron looked as though he was going to say something. His mouth opened but all that came out was "Oh!" He left, clutching the front of his cloak where the message-scroll was concealed.
Thinking of what Philia had told him, Sindron shuddered at the thought of having an affair with Makaria but everyone to his taste. Amazing what some slaves will do to ensure their status. Lysanias’ mother now – he had always admired her and now she was free. But that’s a disloyal thought, he told himself, and dismissed it.
Philia busied herself, red-faced with guilt, at the shrines, her hands shaking.
Then Sindron was back. He knelt beside her, apparently joining in the ritual. Then he whispered. "Mistress Philia, Lysanias will be very pleased, but maybe you can do more. We need to know what Otanes is hiding from us." He gave her a quick impression of the missing areas in their knowledge. "Just if you get a chance to find out anything. They may be less suspicious of you."
Philia felt very pleased. Someone treating her as an adult, taking her into their confidence, and Lysanias' adviser at that. She listened carefully.
Then Philia heard the pat-pat of Nubis' feet as Glykera sent her out to check on the sundial in the outer courtyard. "They'll be stopping work soon," she interrupted Sindron. He paused listening. The sound of the looms stopped, and voices started to chatter.
"Anything you can find out,” whispered Sindron. "Leave it behind the Hestia here."
"I can't ... That would be sacrilege ... " Philia started to say, but Sindron had gone through to the kitchen and the outer courtyard to show his presence. Perhaps he also hoped that someone might take the opportunity to give him some information about the night of Klereides' death.
***
Down a corridor and into a room but all Lysanias found himself looking at was the mosaics on the floors. Then Aspasia released his ear. He slowly raised his head and stared. It was beautiful! The room glowed.
Lighted oil lamps at carefully selected points shone through the gauze and lace draperies round the bed, in delicate shades of white and blue and green, clearly Aspasia's personal colour range.
As she moved round in front of him, the brightness of the colours she wore stood out against their pale relations in a way that made her seem the centre of the universe, like Aphrodite amidst the waves, the subject of the painting on the far wall.
Lysanias realised his eyes were staring and his mouth was hanging open. "It's lovely," he said, almost to himself.
"My, we do have a country innocent here! Never been in a lady's bedchamber before? That's not an Athenian accent is it?"
Lysanias hadn't realised his accent stood out so readily. "No, I've lived in Eion . . . For years."
Should he have told her that? He knew he should take the initiative somehow, but nothing would come into his head. He was dazed.
"A Kimon man then. So why would you want to eavesdrop on Kimon's supporters? It's only a political meeting, you know. One of the few places a faction can meet in reasonable secrecy is Aspasia's place and you set out to ruin my reputation for discretion. Who do you think you are, young man? You've got worker's hands ..." and she took his hands in hers and felt the rough skin from constant handling of hammers and saws ... "and worker's shoulders ..." and her hand moved to his exposed right shoulder, gently stroking the bronzed skin. The softness and gentleness of her touch sent a thrill through his body and Lysanias pulled away sharply and stepped back.
"But not a worker's voice or way of talking. You've been educated. You'd better talk, my young virgin! You are a virgin, aren't you? Or I'll have to tell the General and he won't be at all pleased." The young woman’s self-assurance was threatening.
Lysanias realised the truth was unbelievable but couldn't think of a convincing lie. At least it was a story he knew and, if he could keep her talking, perhaps Stephanos would have a chance to overhear what was really going on in that room.
"It's nothing to do with politics," he blurted out. "I think my uncle, Klereides the shipbuilder, was murdered, and the General was his friend, and I have to suspect everyone, so I thought I might learn something if I could listen in. I must find who did it and avenge my uncle before the gods." He knew, as he said it, that he sounded very naive and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but maybe that was the best way to appear.
"Klereides! Then you're Lysanias, son of Leokhares! That fantastic funeral feast that everyone's talking about! With the drunken brawl and the sacrilegious carving! You really are the talk of the town, young man, and, at a time like this, that's really something."
"You … you've heard of me?"
"Yes, of course, everyone's heard of you. People laugh but they see that you know how to handle yourself. They'll respect you."
Embarrassed at first, at the thought that all Athens was laughing about him, he looked at her and she smiled in a way that showed acceptance into her charmed circle. Lysanias had to smile back.
"We've got a secret now, haven't we? No-one else knows you're also a skilled carpenter. How delightful, one of the very wealthy of Athens, with aristocrats and well-born fawning all over you, and you work as a day-labourer for little Aspasia. What a grand joke!" He didn't know whether to look pleased or humiliated. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's our secret," she said.
"Do you know anything?" His voice was urgent.
"I know all that there is to know, young man." Her voice purred with invitation and innuendo. The hair bristled on the back of his neck but was she making fun of him? She reached out and stroked his cheek. "You are a pretty boy, and young and strong and a virgin. I really must do something about your education very soon."
Aspasia's voice suddenly changed and became businesslike. "You are right to trust no-one in this city. I don't know anything about your uncle's death but I do know a lot about the underhand dealings these people are into that could have got your uncle into trouble. I'm not sure why I should help you, but things are changing, new people are taking power, maybe they'll clean things up.
Now listen..."
"Mistress, the gentlemen have finished." The Nubian doorkeeper had appeared at the door.
Still businesslike, Aspasia dismissed him. "I'll have to offer them refreshments. Can you come back tomorrow evening? And stay dressed like that...so as not to arouse suspicion," she added. "Now go!"
The slave led the way and Lysanias had enough composure to walk out confidently, though he could feel himself shaking inwardly with the excitement and sexual titillation of the encounter. But no-one was looking.
The door to the room where the Kimon men had met was open and he could hear joking and laughter that sounded just a little strained. Stephanos and his assistant were hauling at the rope to raise a marble slab for the portico. Lysanias stepped forward to help them.
"Thank the gods you're back," Stephanos welcomed him. "Hold this while I go up and steady the slab into position."
As though nothing had happened! Then Stephanos winked at him and pressed a finger to his lips.
"Right! All hands to the winch it is."
It wasn’t till they broke off for a snack and rest in the heat of the day in Aspasia’s ornamental garden that they had a chance to talk. Lysanias was surprised to find how hungry he was.
Stephanos nudged him. "How'd you get on then? Did she give you a free one?" Lysanias wasn't sure he could match the vulgarity.
"No such luck. Not for the likes of us, is she? She thought I was spying but I talked my way out of it." Better not tell Stephanos what really happened; he'd never believe it. "Did you find out anything?"
“After you were led off, we had to pretend that, whatever you were up to, we didn't know anything about it,” recounted Stephanos. “She put that black slave on the door to watch us, so all we could do was walk past close to him occasionally. An aggressive young aristo arrived late, hammering on the door, demanding to join in. Nearly knocked Lampon off his ladder as be barged through.
