by Roger Hudson
“Right. Vengeance it is. You also have the remains of the message-scroll. The handwriting is inconclusive, I gather, but it has sufficient of the seal left to identify it as Hermon’s seal. We can do something with that.
"Unfortunately, we have nothing to connect the accused directly with the actual, ah, killing of the deceased. True, he could have hired someone to do the deed, and the implications of what the night-watchman saw and the distance between the bloodstains on the grass suggest someone of different build from your colleague Hermon. Still, we have no real proof of this nor idea of who that person was."
It felt strange to be discussing murder and retribution in these peaceful surroundings where small birds sang and the scent of scarlet oleanders and azaleas drifted to Lysanias on the slight breeze.
"You need witnesses. Your porter may be admissible as a witness to Klereides having received the message and reacted immediately, but the testimony of slaves is not normally accepted, unless obtained after torture, and I imagine you would not wish to risk the damage to an elderly household slave that could result from torture, unless maybe you feel at his age he retains little resale value." What a strange logic? Lysanias started to feel an alien, here in Athens!
"You have suggested you may be able to persuade the watchman to testify that he saw someone standing over the body. He is a citizen, so his word is acceptable, but my experience is that, where a person's employment is at stake, they become very reluctant." There were no pauses, so evidently no response was expected. The man took large strides, waved his arms at times to emphasize a point. Lysanias had to quicken his own pace to keep up.
"You need something to make a pathetic epilogue to end the speech. The bloodstained cloak, now. We should be able to build something round that to pull a few tears, especially with references to Klereides' patronage and all the statues and so on that he would have given to beautify the city had he lived longer. Yes," Pythodoros was thinking to himself, evidently testing a few ringing phrases he could build around that. "Yes ... there's something there. But, but, but ... " Pythodoros' tone implied that it might not be sufficient.
"You need enough substance to build a story reconstructing the crime. Yes, well, Klereides being dragged from his marital bed by a mysterious message, driven to the shipyard in the middle of the night by an unknown chariot and driver, lured to a dangerous spot and executed in a way that would make it appear like an accident, the murderer slipping away unseen under cover of darkness. Yes, we can make something out of that. But where did this killer go? How did the accused engage him? Or pay him? All we have is Hermon’s absence at the time of the crime, and he will doubtless produce witnesses to his alibi."
Lysanias was floored by all the questions he and Sindron had failed to ask themselves about the murder, and so failed to investigate.
"Most of all you need a motive. Why should a successful foreign resident of several years standing wish to kill his patron and partner? It doesn't make sense. He'll bring character witnesses as well that will show just how implausible it is." Lysanias was growing red now. Sindron grasped his arm briefly in the hope it might assist him to control his anger. "Yes, yes, I know, even if it is true, the other side will make it seem implausible." He paused while Lysanias regained control, then went on.
Pythodoros asserted that the fact that Klereides had enforced a tough financial deal on Hermon in exchange for his patronage would carry little weight with members of the Areopagos many of whom, though they feared the rise of businessmen swamping the traditional landowning classes, now recognised that the city’s prosperity depended on its position as a major trading centre.
“I’m afraid they are likely to value Hermon’s contribution to Athens at the present time more than your possible contribution in the future."
For all his attempt at detached objective language, the sophist had a singular ability to insult his client, thought Sindron, especially when that client was an impulsive young man like Lysanias. In fact, Lysanias was coming to feel that Pythodoros’ attitude to the law and justice seemed based on a disrespect touching on sacrilege for, after all, didn't Apollo and Athene protect and uphold the ancient law and presumably the modern law as well? But Pythodoros pushed on with his argument.
"Murder is still tried before the Areopagos, one of its few surviving powers, even cases against foreign residents. They tend to be old men from the wealthier classes. They can't be swayed by the same sort of argument as the courts of the people. Cases of complicity in murder, which I take it we are talking about, are tried before a subsidiary court consisting of fifty jurors picked from members of the Areopagos.
"Now, if you could bring a case against Hermon for, say, fraud or maligning the gods, it would go before a people's court and they would immediately be against a wealthy foreign resident. We could produce strong arguments against him as an employer who gives work to foreigners instead of to citizens, who by his nature is not loyal to Athens, oh yes, we could sway that very well."
"But he isn't like that," Lysanias blurted out. "I wouldn't want to win a case on that basis. I want to win on the truth!"
"My naive young man!" The sophist's tone made Lysanias bristle, even if, at other times he might have been the first to admit that he was young and naive. "Where did you come up with such an absurd idea? We are talking here about rhetoric, about using language and presenting arguments in such a way that the listeners are influenced to react in the way the speaker wishes them to react. Truth may be an element but only one element. Persuasion can be much more important. Emotion. Prejudice ... Now, my view is that there may be other individuals who may have stood to gain by Klereides' death that you haven't considered. In my opinion ...”
Lysanias was becoming increasingly annoyed. This man's philosophy went against all Lysanias had ever been taught. He couldn't listen to any more of this.
"I'm grateful to you for having given me your time, Pythodoros. If I feel I can use your services, I will return and consult you again. Until then I must bid you good-day."
He turned on his heel and marched away briskly, leaving Pythodoros with his mouth half open, ready to continue his oration. Sindron ran to catch up with the rapidly receding Lysanias. Why couldn't the boy control his emotions? Especially after they had paid such a large consultation fee!
***
As Philia sat on the cart, dressed in black and fully-veiled, she revelled inwardly to be out in the open in the centre of the city and to be able to see the houses and the people, so many people. Going to the temple to make an offering in atonement was no punishment if this went with it.
She felt sure that her one visit with Klereides, shortly after their marriage, to a tragic play during the Festival of Dionysos had been for him to show off his young bride. From the way pregnant wives greatly outnumbered non-pregnant ones like herself, she had guessed that her husband wouldn't take her again until his friends could see that an heir was on the way. They had gone as a family group to one religious procession but how she would have liked to be in one of the groups of girls and women dancing and singing to the glory of the gods. Klereides or Makaria obviously didn't want her to see the city or make friends.
The groom had rigged the framework that on her wedding day had carried garlands and ribbons so that it now supported mourning drapes. They could see out but not be seen. Glykera walked behind as an added support for the ladies.
Then just as they got to the market-place where Philia wanted to see the market stalls and activity, Makaria insisted on talking.
"This atonement business, Philia. Forget about that. The gods aren't going to worry over one little slip." It sounded like a mild sacrilege, but she was more shocked when Makaria went on. "We women have to be strong, take control of our households and our husbands. They've chosen to pen us up in their houses but that doesn't mean we can't still wield power over them. That's what today's about, my girl, the priestesses will teach you a thing or two."
"I'm sure the men don't mean anything bad to us
, Makaria," answered Philia, desperately trying to see all that was going on outside. The smells of fish and cooked meats wafted in intriguingly and she longed to be out there looking at it all but doubted if she was ever likely to. But the women’s market, surely she should be able to visit that even if the men did the main shopping.
"They may not mean it, my girl, but they achieve it, if we let them. You asked about property. Well, we can’t own it but there are ways of enjoying its benefits, though one needs to be cunning." Makaria gave up there. The sights and sounds and smells – they were just passing the herbs and spices section of the market – were too much to compete with for Philia’s attention.
***
Lysanias sat down on a bench in the wrestling courts, still shaking with anger, his fists clenched and white. He stared straight at the sun baked ground before his feet. Sindron eased himself down beside the lad. He hadn't liked the man's attitude himself, but clearly his knowledge of the law and how the courts actually operated was profound.
"Master, I understand your reactions, but you need someone of the calibre of Pythodoros!"
"Sindron, didn't you hear what he said? Hermon hasn't got an adequate motive. We may be barking up the wrong tree." So the boy had been thinking as well as reacting.
"What if Klereides was trying to increase his share of the profits?" Sindron clung onto his view that Hermon must be guilty. The grunts and cries of naked youths and men, knotted together in wrestling holds, as they tried to throw one another, their oiled bodies gleaming, punctuated their conversation.
"Not enough! With Klereides dead, he is out of business."
"There are other citizens who could become his patron, master."
"Not if Klereides' death frightened them off. I imagine anyone would think twice, if that was the fate of his predecessor. Without a citizen patron, Hermon would have to sell out and move to another city."
"Unless he already had an agreement sewn up with someone, an accomplice. He did mention General Ariston." Sindron was aware his arguments were sounding a little desperate.
"We've heard absolutely nothing to suggest that, Sindron. We have to look at who else might have done it.”
"But all the evidence, master!"
"Someone wants us to believe Hermon is guilty. They've laid a false trail."
Lysanias wasn't really sure if that was plausible, but it was a possibility. His attention was taken by a wrestler who seemed to have lost his temper and was breaking the rules. Great gods, he could break his opponent’s neck with a hold like that. Lysanias started up, but the wrestling instructor was dealing with it, threatening the offender with being banned from the training ground. That calmed things. When the anger left his face, the tall, strong wrestler looked familiar somehow. That long pointy nose. Now where…? Sindron pulled him back to their argument.
"He may still have a reason, master. We just don't know what it is yet."
"Ah. Yes, he could, but, you think, there are other people we do know would gain from Klereides' being out of the way. My fine country cousins thought they were going to inherit the estate and we know Hierokles was in financial trouble after that fine. And it says something about their relationship that Klereides didn’t help him pay his fine. They really can’t have liked one another."
"Yes, but they live out in the country, master. They couldn't have done it." Even as he said it, Sindron realised it was unsound.
"They could have hired someone to do it for them, as we thought Hermon must have." Lysanias was insistent.
"But their own blood relation. You might as well accuse his mother."
They both paused as they registered what Sindron had just said.
A shadow fell across the path in front of them. The wrestling instructor was standing there, feet braced. "Gentlemen, if you don't wish either to take part or to observe and encourage, I must ask you to find somewhere else to converse. You are distracting the wrestlers."
The man was clearly controlling his anger. Lysanias apologised profusely. Neither of them had realised how animated their discussion had become. Stupid, when they didn't want too many people to know about their investigations. They got up and found a quiet corner near the changing rooms.
It was Sindron who put it into words. "No, she couldn't. Not her own son!" Yet was he sure? Sindron knew that traditional values were breaking down in other areas in Athens, why not within families as well? After all, she had made sure that her younger son went into exile in Eion.
"She gives the impression she agrees with Hierokles that Klereides let the family reputation down by going into business and she seems to see Hierokles as what a wealthy Athenian should be like." Lysanias was horrified with himself that he could find these arguments. Was it listening to Pythodoros that had made him think this way?
"But women don't have money of their own, master. How would she be able to pay a killer, even if she had a way of finding someone?"
"She has control of the household monies with Otanes," returned Lysanias. “You told me yourself there were dubious aspects to those records. Perhaps they're in it together. I think we really must confront them soon over the household accounts and that lease for the foundry."
"Yes, and they haven't told us where Philia’s dowry money is yet." Sindron thought for a moment, while Lysanias looked at him, anxious that they end up with someone to blame for his uncle's death. "But Otanes, master. I find it difficult to believe. Even if he doesn’t seem to have taken seriously Klereides’ promises of freedom, he did seem to regard Klereides as his security as a Persian in a Greek city. Otanes wouldn't want to risk that, surely!"
"Not unless there was something more pressing."
"Look, master, these aren't motives. They're only suspicions."
"Well, what about other businessmen? That rival firm, now. They'd expect to get more government contracts with Klereides gone." Lysanias told Sindron Aspasia’s view of how ruthless Athenian businessmen had become. Sindron found it difficult to believe that prostitute, even a high-class one, could be that knowledgeable but what she had said made so much sense that he had to admit to himself that he might have misjudged the boy’s motives. He would apologise to him later. But he wasn’t convinced businessmen would have gone that far.
"Politicians now,” he put in. I never did trust that Ariston."
"Yes. Always a bit too full of praise for my uncle. No-one can be that marvellous! Especially considering the tales we’ve heard that say he was devious, to say the least."
"Don’t talk ill of the dead, master."
"Precisely. It’s one thing not speaking ill of him but they didn’t need to praise him so much. What if Ariston had found out Klereides was talking with the radicals? He would regard it as treachery to their class, their party. So would Hierokles."
"But master, where do we stop, if all these people have a motive. We've got no evidence on any of them, and we've no way of investigating most of them."
"You're being stupid now, Sindron."
Sindron bristled. "I think not, master. Like the philosophers say, we must apply strict logic. We must assume everyone with a possible motive could be guilty. Then we eliminate those who couldn't have been involved."
"A conspiracy! Now you think there was a conspiracy!"
"I didn't say that, master ...” Sindron meant that. Where had the boy come up with that idea from? But was it a possibility?
"This is all getting too confusing." Lysanias looked downcast.
"On the other hand, it could have been more than one of them..."
"But how do we find out?" Lysanias cried, plaintively.
Sindron was silent for a second. Then, "I really don't know, master. I'm sure we'll think of something." They sat dejected.
Lysanias was staring at one of the statues of a wrestler, erected by the proud winner of the wrestling event in one of the major games, when it came to him. "That carving Hierokles and Boiotos gave for Klereides' tomb - Klereides at Plataea. If they ordered that before he died, that would
show they knew he was going to be killed."
"Yes. We know who the stonemason is. It ought to be possible to check on that."
"They did arrive very soon after his death, given the time it must take for a messenger to reach Dekelia and for them to get ready and travel here. Could you work that out?"
"I could try, master, but you're the one who is good at measurements, like your father. There is something else I could check."
"What's that?"
"You remember when we were trying to get your citizenship and dispensation sorted out? I'm sure at least one of those officials said that Klereides' death had already been reported with someone else's name given as heir."
"Did they? I don't recall that. Who on earth ...?”
"Now, it may not mean anything, especially if the family really thought you'd been killed in Eion, but it would tell us who had most to gain from Klereides' death."
"Sindron, you're a genius."
Then Sindron threw in his latest discovery. "Also I think we have to include Phraston and Lydos as suspects."
"Why? Just because they tried to bribe you?"
"No, not just that. Though with a bribe like freedom, they must have something serious to hide. No, when they were showing you the accounts, I noticed the main scroll had been re-written and recently."
"So you think they've created false accounts to hide the something underhand they were doing on the real one!"
"Precisely, I think they may have been misusing funds in your uncle's accounts without his knowledge. In view of my bribe, it could be quite a large amount. Enough for them to be seriously worried."
"Enough to kill for? Surely they wouldn't kill someone because of that? They seem so respectable! "
"Yes, master, but remember what your blue and green courtesan told you about how vicious business can become in Athens. Maybe bankers are as bad as businessmen."
