Death Comes by Amphora: A Mystery Novel of Ancient Athens

by Roger Hudson

  Sindron was shaken. All he had had to do was tell the truth! And he had expected Lysanias to feel he was blackmailing him. How wrong can you be? "Most generous, master."

  Lysanias detected an element of hesitancy in Sindron’s voice. "But …?"

  "I have been dishonest over your money, master," Sindron confessed, assured from what had happened so far that Lysanias would understand. He hoped.

  "You, Sindron! You couldn't be dishonest without someone like me persuading you! You've just proved it!" Lysanias was almost laughing with disbelief.

  Sindron hung his head. "I did have someone persuading me, master," he muttered.

  "All right, tell it, but hurry, they'll all be waiting for us."

  Sindron explained about the cargo loan and using Lysanias' money for it. "The dealer was very persuasive," he ended. Expecting an admonition, Sindron was surprised when Lysanias laughed.

  "How much? A hundred drachmas! Sindron, if you're right about the size of my inheritance, that's a fleabite!" He roared with laughter, making Sindron feel like a naive child. At his age! "Let's say you made a small investment on my behalf. If it proves profitable, I give you authority, as my personal slave, to make more. Within limits, of course." He was almost serious again. "And you shall have a fifth of any profits earned. You can invest that how you will." Sindron wasn't entirely sure whether to believe him, but this was all beginning to feel intoxicating. Was money really of so little value to the rich? "Must show the world I intend to follow in my uncle's footsteps, eh?"

  "Ah, perhaps not all of them, master," said Sindron, now smiling broadly with relief, his face creasing along all its wrinkles.

  "Now then, Sindron," Lysanias admonished, pulling his face into a serious expression. "This is the day we visit Klereides' tomb. Mustn't joke about death ...”

  ***

  It was the tradition for the whole household, family and slaves, to go to the tomb of the deceased on the third day after burial. It turned into a pleasant, rather mellow family occasion.

  The idea was to share a meal with the spirit of the deceased and also to share memories of him with one another, to demonstrate to the gods that he was remembered and, therefore, deserving of benign treatment in the afterlife. After the initial libations and prayers, seated in a group on the grass beside the tomb, Makaria reminisced about playing with Klereides and his brother, when they were babies and toddlers, for once including Leokhares, Lysanias' father. Lysanias found it difficult to imagine her as a fond mother, so severe did she normally look. Now she cried openly.

  Blushing engagingly, Philia described Klereides' courtship, the poems he had sent her, the wedding ceremony itself, and the journey to Athens seated between Klereides and General Ariston as his best friend, on the cart on which she and Makaria had travelled to the tomb today. She was so animated as she relived it all, her dark eyes sparkling, her pale skin, framed by the black widow’s gown and veil, glowing in the sun, and those red lips never still as she spoke. Lysanias was captivated. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Even comparison with Aspasia didn’t lessen the fascination.

  Then it was his turn. He talked, though, about his father's tales of his older brother Klereides. How Klereides had persuaded Leokhares to climb for a bird's nest and then left him stranded up the tree, until Sindron had appeared and sandaled his bottom. How Klereides had taught his father to swim and to wrestle, and cheered him on and encouraged him in the competitions he had won as a boy and as a youth. It began to sound more like a celebration of his father than of his uncle.

  Hierokles had arrived at the tomb as Lysanias was talking. Without Boiotos, he was glad to see. Sounding pompous, Hierokles talked of military campaigns in which both he and Klereides had served. Somehow Klereides' part in the battles seemed to receive rather scant mention, while Hierokles' role grew in prominence. Lysanias assumed the man meant well.

  While the females were singing a paean to Demeter, for her intervention on Klereides' behalf, interspersed with a slow, stately round dance, Lysanias took the opportunity of the concealment offered by the bushes to relieve himself, and to look more openly at Philia through the leaves. Hierokles joined him. "Ah, m'boy, glad to have the chance for a few words," as the flow tinkled on leaves and sundried grass. "You remember what we talked about. Need for us well-born to stick together, see off these upstarts who think they've taken over power?"

  "Ummh," Lysanias didn’t want to commit himself till he knew what was coming.

  "Things are coming to a head, m'boy." Hierokles shook himself and let his cloak fall back into place. "Might need your help.”

  "Always willing to help, uncle." What else could he say? "Within the limits of the requirements of mourning, of course."

  Hierokles seemed re-assured that Lysanias was on his side. He bent closer, though there was no danger that anyone was listening.

  "Can't really tell you much detail. Need to keep it a secret as long as possible, you understand. A group of us, large group are meeting up at my townhouse at dusk. You know where that is? Good! Instructions then. And weapons. You get the idea?"

  He looked for Lysanias' assent, and Lysanias looked him in the eyes and nodded. He did indeed understand. "Yes, uncle, of course. If I can."

  "Good man."

  Hierokles excused himself shortly after that, and returned to town, but not before Lysanias had reminded him of his promise to go in to the relevant offices and validate Lysanias' identity for citizenship purposes.

  For the rest of the day, Lysanias went through the motions, did what was expected of him. He was now thoroughly confused. This must be the seizure of power the radicals were expecting, but whose side was he on? It could determine which side controlled the city in future. It could even be the first slip on the downhill slide to the civil war everyone clearly dreaded.

  Despite his enthusiasm for Kimon's achievements, Lysanias didn't trust the people he knew who were Kimon supporters and felt very ill at ease with them.

  Did he trust the radicals either? He had seen blatant disagreement among them. Were these people really capable of running a mighty city, and an even mightier confederacy? Stephanos was a good friend, but...

  It was friendship that swung it. Sindron had to make contact with Phraston or Lydos today. He would send the slave-boy with a message for Sindron to take to Stephanos. Sindron could find Stephanos at Aspasia's and tell him that the take-over was planned for tonight. He was sure he could phrase it so that only Stephanos would understand it. Then let the two sides fight it out and may the best side win. He hoped Sindron wouldn’t feel that was irresponsible but would explain it to his slave later.

  ***

  Sindron took time to visit the slave cemetery but found no markers with his father’s or mother’s name, though there were some in the Etruscan style. By one of these he muttered the bits he could remember of the prayers his mother had taught him as a child. Then he whispered the news that it looked as though he might regain his freedom before he died. They would have welcomed that, never having really come to terms with their slavery he suspected, though he could barely remember them. Then he left the cemetery. A slave cannot afford to be sentimental.

  He located Lydos and Phraston in the market-place and they retired to a quiet spot behind the Painted Colonnade. Sindron mouthed the statement he had prepared, that he wished to accept Phraston's offer to buy his freedom, but it would take some time to persuade his master to sell. In the meantime, he felt proofs of goodwill were required. If Phraston would start the account he had mentioned, Sindron would supply information.

  Phraston chose to interpret this as meaning that he and Lysanias had argued when Sindron had mooted the question of being given his freedom. Let him believe that, if it helps him accept the story, Sindron thought. It appeared to cheer him up, and Lydos seemed to share his pleasure.

  Lydos produced a small scroll, unrolled it and showed Sindron that the name at the top was his and the first entry was a deposit that exactly covered his cargo loan. A nice
touch, thought Sindron, especially when Lydos was responsible for his getting into that mess, and he wondered if that really had been deliberate.

  He kept a straight face, allowing a measure of his happiness at the idea of having back his freedom someday soon to show through. He told them that Lysanias was thoroughly confused at the number of people who seemed to have reasons to hate Klereides, but that he was favouring the thought that it must be the workforce and this Hammer of Hephaistos Fellowship group that must be responsible, but was having great trouble investigating that. He mentioned Hermon as another possible suspect, studying their faces for a reaction, but there was none.

  Phraston and Lydos both seemed very pleased that no names from the aristocratic faction were mentioned, but they didn't offer to take him into their confidence. As to why they wanted this information, Phraston volunteered, "Ah, my friend, you know I'm closely involved with Kimon's party?" Sindron nodded. "Young Lysanias, with all he inherits, represents what you might call a rogue element, don't you see? It helps if we can see the way his mind is working. He could unsettle things, if he gets in with the wrong people."

  "I see," Sindron answered. After the surprising way Lysanias had reacted to the news of Sindron’s dishonesty, he felt he no longer knew how the lad’s mind was working himself. Phraston’s explanation made a small degree of sense but he was sure there must be something else.

  "You've been most helpful, old fellow.” Phraston clapped him on the back with a mighty thump, turned and strode swaying back to the market-place.

  Sindron had difficulty refraining from shuddering at the man's touch and such ready acceptance of disloyalty. Lydos leaned close. "Well done, old friend, you're learning what it takes to succeed in Athens, even for a slave." He had the audacity to wink at him. Then Sindron remembered he was supposed now to be one of them and forced himself to wink back.

  Sindron managed to keep his shoulders up and a firmness in his step as he walked away, but, once round the corner, his shoulders slumped. He might have retained his loyalty to his master in a roundabout way, but he could no longer regard Lydos as a friend, his only friend. The loss was real, more real than the loss of his parents, who he had hardly known.

  ***

  Philia had felt Lysanias' eyes on her all day. Even when he was talking to another person, they seemed to keep flicking back to her. She would glance down modestly but be sure to put on her most winning smile, the one that made tiny dimples either side of her mouth. He hardly glanced at Nubis. It really had paid off making the slave-girl wear that long dark gown.

  Maybe when they rode home, Lysanias would come on the cart and sit between her and Makaria and she could lean against him and make sure he smelt her perfume.

  ***

  "It was very awkward, master! That Nubian doorman was most offensive but I'm sure Stephanos understood the message."

  "I'm sure he did, Sindron. I'm sorry to have embarrassed you like that."

  They had waited late at the tomb, until dusk was falling, for the final libations. Lysanias had ridden back, seated between the two black-veiled women, with the slaves walking behind. Makaria had mentioned that she intended taking Philia to the temples for rituals associated with Klereides' death and asked Lysanias' approval of this. One more sign that the family is really accepting me as head of the household, he thought with some satisfaction. He had found Philia's fragrant perfume even more delightful and disturbing than Aspasia's, as he luxuriated in his new knowledge of women. The streets appeared normal. Perhaps nothing will happen, he had told himself.

  Another worry surfaced. “Do you think he could do it, Sindron?”

  “What’s that, master?”

  “Do you think Kimon could march back from Corinth with his hoplites and make himself tyrant?”

  Again the boy amazed him. But Sindron had sensed that many people were aware of that danger. After all, it was only fifty years since the city had rid itself of the tyrants. There were men who still remembered that time.

  “I doubt it, master. I’m sure Kimon is a convinced democrat even if it his opponents are using democracy against him, though that may be what his supporters are hoping.” Lysanias didn’t look fully convinced but didn’t argue, other things on his mind.

  It was dark outside and getting late. Changed out of his black cloak to something more everyday, Lysanias paced the floor as Sindron told him about his encounter with Phraston and Lydos, and they both went into more detail on the happenings of the previous day. Lysanias' feeling that Philebos was covering up for Hermon seemed to support the conclusion Sindron had reached after finding Hermon's seal on the bloody message-scroll, but Lysanias' mind was elsewhere.

  "Do you think I should go, Sindron?" he said, forgetting that he still hadn’t explained the message. It came out more like a demand than a question.

  "Go where, master?"

  "I don't know! To join the take-over crowd. Or to stop them! That's the trouble, I don't know! I'm supposed to meet up with Hierokles at his house and I'm supposed to join Stephanos and the workers on the site of the new Temple to Hephaistos. Both of them expect to arm me and give me a role to play. I can't do both."

  "Then don't do either, master," Sindron responded reasonably. He was suddenly worried. That was what the strange message had meant that he had carried to Stephanos. But this could lead to civil war! Best keep the lad out of it. "As you say, it's a mourning day."

  "That's only an excuse, Sindron! The day runs from sunset to sunset. It won't hold. What do I say to either of them when I next meet them? They'll think I'm a coward."

  Then suddenly it was too late. The quiet outside was shattered by the sounds of gongs and whistles spreading outwards from the centre of the city, taken up by dogs barking, and donkeys braying, as it got louder and nearer. That's it, thought Lysanias, and he was on his feet and out of the door and running down the road towards the market-place as fast as he could. He had to be there, or be cursed as a coward forevermore. Sindron made no attempt to stop him or to follow him. In a strange way, he was proud that the boy had gone but found himself praying to Athene that nothing serious would happen to him.

  ***

  The market-place was almost deserted, but then, the streets had been empty too. The noise had tailed off shortly after he left, even the dogs had barked themselves out now. His running footsteps had echoed back from the walls until, noticing one or two doors and window-shutters opening slightly and rapidly closing, he decided barefoot he would make less noise and attract less attention so took off his sandals. The impetus of his running had carried him well into the square before he stopped. He looked round warily, realising how exposed he was. He slipped on his sandals to keep both hands free.

  The moonlight was sufficient to reveal Scythian guards standing stiffly in their positions. Torches in holders on important buildings outlined others, but they made no move and stood stiffly with their spears erect, like the statues in the square. Otherwise it seemed deserted, though no telling what the shadows beside buildings and under the plane trees might conceal.

  Lysanias felt his hair rise on the back of his neck. It was eerily quiet for this big city.

  He decided to walk down the side of the square towards the city offices and the council chamber. Those must have been on the list for seizure. Perhaps Kimon's men had succeeded and really had taken over but wouldn't reveal the fact till daylight. But why, then, were there no signs of fighting?

  Suddenly a voice hissed from the shadows. "Lysanias! Over here!" Stephanos stepped out. "Better late than never, eh? But you've missed it. It's all over." He gave the hammer and anvil salute and added "Praise to Hephaistos!" Lysanias responded appropriately and muttered, "I had to see the women safely home. What happened?"

  "Come in here and I'll tell you. Oh, and thanks for the message." Stephanos pulled him into the shadow between two buildings and now he could see there were ten or more burly workers, armed with hammers and cutting blades, chisels and scythes. A few had spears, swords and shield
s.

  "Groups like this all round the square," said Stephanos proudly, grinning. "And at every important building in the city and in Peiraeos. Here take this. Bit stupid wandering around without a weapon." And Stephanos gave him a short-handled, fist-size hammer from a small pile of tools and weapons beside him. He explained that Perikles had persuaded the magistrate in charge of the Scythian archers to instruct them to stay aloof, unless things got out of hand.

  "What happened? Has there been fighting?"

  Stephanos laughed. "You won't believe this! They were so confident they actually marched down into the square and formed up in ranks. You know their best men are stuck in Corinth? Well, this is what was left over, old men, teenagers, war-wounded, a number of serving officers and men. Then their officers told them off into squads and gave each squad a building to take over. They marched towards the buildings and then we all stepped out, waving our weapons, like Myronides and Perikles had worked out, shouting and whooping, and banging gongs, enough noise to wake the dead.

  "And they just turned tail and ran, falling over one another as they went." Those around them in the shadows burst out laughing, but Stephanos hushed them quickly. "Never know when they might come back, brothers!"

  "Is that it?"

  "Looks like it. That must have happened everywhere else as well. We haven't heard any sounds of fighting from anywhere."

  Lysanias decided he should stay and show solidarity. It felt good to be with the gang of joking, sweaty men, young and some not so young, but clearly all in it together.

  A low whistle interrupted them. Stephanos whistled back. Myronides and Perikles approached from the side away from the square, both in general's uniform, checking that all was well. They reported that the attempted takeover appeared to have been defeated everywhere.