[Philocles 01] - Shadows of Athens

by J M Alvey

  ‘Now, you must excuse me.’ Aristarchos shook my hand in farewell.

  ‘Of course.’ That was a relief. I could see my family waiting impatiently by Dionysos’s statue, along with Kadous and our other slaves. Menkaure and Zosime stood a few paces away.

  Nymenios and Chairephanes greeted me with loud satisfaction over how well their leatherwork had performed. As I had anticipated, Mother and Melina had been tremendously entertained by Egeria, the lascivious Etruscan. Naturally, they were also scandalised, as was right and proper for respectable citizen women.

  Kadous and the other slaves merely grinned broadly. I could see they were holding their tongues out of respect for my mother and my brother’s wife. There’d be plenty of ribald speculation the next time I visited the workshop, discussing where exactly I’d found inspiration for men exaggerating the length of their cocks.

  ‘I still don’t see why you didn’t win first prize,’ Mother complained.

  Everyone echoed her with loyal and loud indignation.

  ‘As Dionysos is my judge,’ I assured them all, ‘it was a fine and fair result. Maybe I’ll do better next time.’

  I noticed Melina hold out her hand to Nymenios. As he put a supporting arm round her waist, she leaned against him, closing her eyes.

  ‘It has been a very long day,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for waiting to see me but you must be ready to get home and have something to eat.’

  ‘You’re dining with your actors, I take it?’ Nymenios looked mildly envious.

  ‘Dining and drinking,’ Chairephanes chuckled. He’d drunk more than his share of the day’s free wine.

  ‘Come and see us tomorrow.’ Mother embraced me in swathes of rosemary-scented pleated wool.

  ‘I will,’ I promised.

  ‘After the tragedy and the satyr play,’ Melina reminded me. ‘We’ll be coming to watch those.’

  ‘Of course.’ I watched them walk away before turning to Menkaure and Zosime.

  The Egyptian grinned. ‘It was a very good play.’

  Zosime threw her arms around my neck and kissed me long and deep. ‘I told you so,’ she said when she was forced to take a breath. ‘I’m so proud of you, my love.’

  I kissed her back, just as fervently. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’ That was the simple truth.

  She kissed the tip of my nose before taking a pace back and looking at the fat purse I was clutching. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Silver to reward the chorus and actors, to pay for an evening’s revelry at Aristarchos’s expense.’ I looked at Menkaure. ‘Care to join us?’

  He shook his head, amused. ‘I’ll see Zosime to Alopeke.’

  ‘Take Kadous, then he can bring you safely home,’ she said firmly.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ I objected.

  ‘There could be,’ the Phrygian slave said darkly, ‘if you’re going to be spending coin like some sailor fresh off a boat in Piraeus. Someone could follow you down a dark alley to see if you’ve got anything left worth taking.’

  ‘We still don’t know who killed that Carian.’ The fear in Zosime’s eyes stifled my protest.

  ‘Very well,’ I capitulated.

  Besides, if Kadous came with me, he could keep his ears open for anyone stirring up discontent around the taverns. That would put some of Aristarchos’s silver to good use.

  * * *

  Well, that was my intention. I can’t actually remember what anyone discussed that night. My chorus and the actors were intent on honouring Dionysos by drinking all the wine they could lay their hands on. I’ve no idea if I walked home or if Kadous had to carry me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zeus roused me the next morning with a thunderbolt that split my head in two. The thunder came again. And a third time. After that, I was forced to realise that my brains weren’t actually leaking onto my pillow. There was no hope of the Underworld’s shadowy peace. The worst had happened. I was alive, and I was awake. Fuck.

  Next, I discovered I was lying face down, sprawled corner to corner across my bed. My empty bed. I guessed I hadn’t moved since they’d dumped me here to sleep off my folly. I was still wearing yesterday’s tunic. At least someone had taken off my shoes.

  I also found out I’d been drooling because my face was stuck to the pillow. As I licked repellently sticky lips, my mouth tasted as sour as wine dregs left in a jug overnight. Fuck.

  I wondered if I could lift up my head without my skull shattering like a cracked pot put on a hot hearth. Before I could decide, that fucking thunder rolled across the heavens again. Though an unbiased observer would probably say someone was knocking gently on the bedroom door. ‘Yes,’ I croaked.

  The door opened. Daylight struck, blinding as a lightning bolt. I buried my face in the blanket with a groan. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Zosime said crisply.

  ‘Where’d you sleep?’ I mumbled, guilt-stricken.

  ‘In the spare bed. Kadous made up a pallet on the floor for my father.’

  ‘Fuck.’ So Menkaure had seen me as drunk as a hedgehog gorging on fallen, fermented grapes. Roaring drunk? Soppy drunk?

  ‘Is he still here?’ I rolled onto my side and squinted up at her. The sun was still dazzling, even with the pillared porch shading the doorway.

  ‘No, he’s already gone to the theatre.’ She shrugged with apparent unconcern.

  Even wine-sick as I was, I could see that she was less than pleased about something. Belatedly I realised why. ‘How late is it?’

  ‘Late enough that you need to get up now,’ she said meaningfully, ‘if we’re to see today’s plays.’ Sitting on the edge of the bed, she offered me a cup.

  I hadn’t thought I could feel any worse. Now I realised I could. I’d promised Zosime we’d see all the tragedies in this year’s competition. I knew she was really looking forward to seeing some drama that would be completely new to her. She knew every line of my comedy by heart, after all. If she missed her chance to see today’s trilogy, that promise was dead and gone. Unless some rural theatre hired those particular actors for their country festival. Would I be able to find that out? Maybe we could travel…

  Such desperately scrambling thoughts were no match for my thumping headache. I shifted and reached for the cup. ‘Just give me a moment. I’ll get up, I promise.’

  ‘Yes, you will,’ she agreed. ‘And then you can read the letter that’s just arrived from Aristarchos.’

  ‘A letter? Let me have it.’ I tried to sit up. That was a serious mistake. The room rocked like a ship’s deck in a storm. I slumped back onto the blanket with my eyes tight shut and waited until it stopped. ‘Fuck.’

  Zosime’s hands closed around mine, to save me from spilling the cup and soaking the mattress. ‘You need to drink this.’

  I wanted to tell her there was no chance of that, but I didn’t think I could open my mouth without spewing bile all over the bed. It took a few long, uncertain moments before I felt the odds shifting in my favour. I sat up again, very, very slowly. After some deep, deliberate breaths, and still painfully cautious, I took a sip from the cup. The well-watered amber wine had already been sweetly aromatic before Zosime added honey and a few choice herbs. I could definitely taste fennel, but the rest was anyone’s guess.

  Whatever was in it did help. I opened one eye to offer Zosime a crooked smile.

  ‘Eat this.’ She handed me a heel of plain barley bread.

  That was a much greater challenge. I managed a couple of bites before the thought of chewing and swallowing any more made my stomach lurch. Once again, it was a few moments before I thought I could talk without heaving what little I’d eaten back up.

  I held out my hand. ‘Please may I have my letter now?’

  Zosime had it tucked into her belt. She handed it over and took the empty cup in exchange. ‘What does he say?’

  I snapped the seals and winced as I unfolded the aggressively crackling papyrus. The next challenge was forcing my bleary eyes to read
the damn thing. As before, Aristarchos came straight to the point.

  What light could Lysicrates shed on those performers in the agora?

  ‘Fuck.’ That had completely slipped my mind. I hadn’t asked any of the actors who they thought could impersonate Ionians well enough to fool an Athenian crowd.

  ‘For a man who makes his living with words, you’re getting tediously repetitive.’ Zosime stood up. ‘Come on, get out of your sty and turn yourself back into a man fit for decent company.’

  ‘Yes, Circe,’ I muttered as she went out through the door.

  She wasn’t wrong though. I smelled as bad as any drunken swine, reeking of stale wine sweat. I eased my legs over the side of the bed. So far, so good. Then I realised my tunic was pungent with fatty smoke from a tavern’s griddle cooking sausages and skewered gobbets of fowl.

  I managed to wrench it over my head before the stink made me vomit. Throwing the garment into a far corner, I swallowed hard, barely managing to quell my nausea. Then I tried calling out through the open door. ‘Kadous? I need hot water for washing.’

  Chairephanes swears by a Spartan steam bath after too much wine, but even if I’d had the time, I couldn’t have faced the Lyceum today. The gymnasium would be full of hearty athletes who had no taste for tragedy. They would be spending their Dionysia roaring at each other as they raced to a sprint’s finish line or cheering on each other’s long jumps and discus throws. Such uproar would rival any torment Odysseus had seen in the Underworld, as far as I was concerned.

  The Phrygian appeared with a grin. ‘A pot’s already steaming.’

  I managed a rueful smile. ‘I assume I can thank Zosime for that?’

  He came into the room. ‘You should make sure she knows you’re properly grateful.’

  I considered asking Kadous about last night’s debauchery. No, I decided, there was nothing to be gained by hearing how badly I’d embarrassed myself. Besides, I was pretty sure Lysicrates would tell me every last hideous detail the next time we met.

  ‘Is she very cross with me?’ I asked, apprehensive.

  ‘Cross enough,’ he said drily. ‘Better not keep her waiting. I’ll find you some oil.’

  As he left, I rose slowly to my feet. I trod on my belt buckle. ‘Fuck.’

  Looking down, I saw a leather pouch on the floor. The purse Aristarchos had given me. Empty. Discarding the notion of bending over to reach for anything, I settled for kicking the purse out of sight, under the bed.

  Outside, the sunshine was still painfully bright. I barely opened my eyes while I rubbed myself down with olive oil and scraped every last trace of grime and stink off my skin. After sluicing myself from head to toe with warm water, I took a long drink from the jug Kadous brought fresh from the fountain, and another one after that.

  That felt better. I was still very far from recovered but I should at least be able to take Zosime to the theatre. If I did that, as well as remembering to ask Lysicrates about actors who were good at playing Ionians, the day wouldn’t be a total loss.

  I was about to head back to our bedroom and find some clean clothes when Zosime surprised me, appearing from the not-yet dining room. She held out a papyrus sheet.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the men Onesime saw painting that filth on our wall. Maybe you could find someone who saw Xandyberis with some strangers. If you knew where and when he met them, perhaps that would help you learn who they are. Maybe seeing this will jog a few memories.’ She handed me a portrait of the dead man. Her artistic skills brought him vividly back to life with deft strokes of a pen.

  The ink was still glistening. I waved it in the hot sun to dry. ‘You’re a marvel. I don’t deserve you.’

  ‘Just as long as you remember that.’

  Even though she smiled at me, I felt a chill in the warm sun.

  Every coin has two sides. As no more than my lover and as a resident foreigner besides, Zosime has none of an Athenian citizen’s rights. That also means she has none of the ties that bind women like Melina to their hearths and homes: love for their children, and with Aphrodite’s blessing, for their husbands as well.

  My mother, my sisters, my brother’s wife, they spend their whole lives within sight of the Acropolis, under watchful Athena’s grey gaze. They share every passing year’s joys and sorrows with family, friends and neighbours. Leaving their homes and friendships would be like cutting off a limb.

  Menkaure and Zosime could take a ship from Piraeus tomorrow and not look back. They’d already lived for years in three different places. Another new start would hardly be a great challenge. With their skills as potter and painter, they could make a good living in any Hellenic city.

  Zosime must have seen something in my face. ‘Stop moping,’ she chided. ‘You earned that headache.’

  ‘True enough.’ I hid my apprehensive thoughts with a repentant smile. ‘Give me a moment to get dressed and we’ll get to the theatre.’

  I threw a silent prayer to Dionysos that we’d still be able to get decent seats.

  ‘We’ll see today’s plays then find somewhere to eat in the city,’ I suggested. ‘If we have an early night, we can be up and at the theatre tomorrow first thing.’

  ‘You said you’d see your mother today,’ Zosime reminded me.

  ‘Okay, but that’ll just be a quick detour.’ I scrubbed a hand through my wet curls to try and quell the thumping in my head. ‘Let me get dressed.’

  I found a plain brown tunic in my clothes chest. That would do. I carefully rolled up the portrait Zosime had drawn and tucked it through my belt for safekeeping.

  ‘I should stay here today,’ Kadous said glumly as I went back into the courtyard. ‘Better not leave the house unguarded again.’ He managed a wry grin. ‘If I see anyone creeping up with a paint pot, I promise the fucker will end up drinking it.’

  I considered that for a long moment, looking around our little house. I assessed what someone might find, breaking in here to smash and steal. The chickens. Zosime’s jewellery. My precious library of scrolls. Whatever treasures Kadous might have stowed under his bed.

  All were things we’d grieve to lose. There was nothing that couldn’t be replaced though, given time, money and effort. Nothing was as valuable as Kadous’s life. The men who’d dumped Xandyberis’s body had already come back here to try and intimidate me a second time with their painted slanders. I wouldn’t bet against these bastards cutting my slave’s throat if they found him here alone, to make sure I got their message for the third time of telling. Whatever their message might be.

  It was humiliating to admit I didn’t feel safe in my own city, in my own home. I didn’t like the idea of yielding to an enemy either, but I’d learned the difference between a rout and prudent retreat in Boeotia.

  ‘You’re not staying here on your own,’ I said firmly. ‘Until we know who our enemies are, we watch each other’s back.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Kadous didn’t protest too much. Either he’d thought this through like me, or he really wanted to see today’s tragedies.

  Setting out, I wasn’t sure if the walk to the city would kill me or cure me. Thankfully a fresh breeze was blowing. By the time we were approaching the Itonian Gate, my headache had subsided and my stomach no longer felt as if I’d swallowed something dredged from the River Styx.

  Just before we reached the gate I was surprised to see Mus striding down the road. He saw me and waved a broad hand, clearly relieved. ‘The master sent me to make sure that all was well with you.’

  ‘Is Aristarchos at the theatre?’

  Mus nodded. ‘With the Pargasarenes.’

  ‘Let’s not keep them waiting,’ Zosime suggested.

  ‘Of course.’ Mus turned around and set a punishing pace back into the city. I was hard-pressed to keep up with him. For all that I’m more of a runner than a wrestler as the sculptors classify a man’s physique, I was evidently still suffering the after-effects of that fight in the agora, as well as last night’s drinking. Just to rub sa
lt in my wounds, Zosime had no trouble keeping up with the big slave, lithe and limber as always.

  When we arrived at the theatre, I saw Aristarchos on the edge of the dancing floor, chatting to Azamis and Sarkuk. It wasn’t Lydis standing with him today but the broad-shouldered slave who’d carried a torch on the eve of the festival. Anyone menacing Aristarchos would have to go through that bruiser, so I wouldn’t bet a mouldy olive on their chances.

  ‘Go on.’ Zosime had seen me looking. ‘It’s all right, I can see my father.’ She pointed and Menkaure waved at us both. Thank all the gods he’d got here early enough to claim a well-placed bench.

  I kissed her quickly. ‘I won’t he long.’

  ‘I’ll see you later.’ Kadous looked further up the slope to the slave seats.

  I hesitated. I’d much rather he sat with us. It wasn’t as if anyone who didn’t know us could tell he was a slave. The city is full of all manner of accents, even more so at festival time. But we knew that someone was out to make trouble for me, for all of us. Someone who knew where I lived, and I guessed they knew my household. If Kadous sat with us, someone could accuse me of encouraging my slave to claim a citizen’s rights. They couldn’t make a case that would hold up before the courts, not out of one transgression in the theatre, but they could make a lot of noise around the agora. Like thrown mud, some slander always sticks.

  I nodded. ‘But we don’t leave the theatre without each other.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kadous looked grim.

  I made my way towards the Pargasarenes. Sarkuk waved as he saw me coming.

  Aristarchos turned to greet me. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good day to you all.’ I looked at the Carians. ‘Tur has no taste for tragedy?’

  Though I wasn’t sorry not to see the boy. His appalling bruises must be an even more shocking sight today. Add to that, I still didn’t trust him to control his temper if some unknown enemy sidled up to taunt him.

  ‘The doctor set the bone in his nose straight, first thing this morning.’ Sarkuk grimaced. ‘He has no interest in going anywhere today.’