The Anthesteria. The great festival started the day after tomorrow. I’d planned to share the fun with Thrax. Would I find him in time?
‘You enjoy the Anthesteria too,’ I called out after the boy. He turned and made a ghoulish face at me, crossing his eyes.
‘Don’t let the shades get you,’ he laughed.
I closed the door, noticing that Herakles had daubed the usual patch of tar on it to keep the ghosts from entering the house. Back in my room, I sat close to the lamp and carefully unfolded the scrap of papyrus.
To my great astonishment, there was no writing in it, just a fingerprint made with golden-coloured pollen.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A Spot of Tell-Tale Pollen
Gaia and I stared at the scrap of papyrus. I had called an urgent meeting of the Medusa League and, with Thrax missing and Fotini locked up in the temple, Gaia was the only member available. We sat in the secret meeting place, clutching our medallions.
It was late morning. Gaia had finished her chores in the gynaikon and Master Ariston had decided I was still too weak to go back to work. That was fine by me. Even though I was worried about my wages, I wanted to concentrate on finding Thrax.
‘I stared at this fingerprint all night,’ I said, ‘but I can’t for the life of me think what it means. Why didn’t Thrax write a proper note?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t have time, or a pen,’ suggested Gaia. ‘Or he might not have wanted to run the risk of anyone reading it. He sent a message only YOU would understand.’
‘Except that I don’t understand it at all,’ I groaned, scratching my head, then reaching for some dried fruit to help me think.
‘Pollen is found in flowers,’ said Gaia. ‘So perhaps Thrax is telling you to think about flowers. Try to remember. Have they featured in this mystery at all?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Except we shadowed Hilarion the other day and he met up with a man who picks flowers for a living.’
‘Then there’s your connection,’ said Gaia, sounding as decisive as Fotini. ‘Isn’t it obvious? We need to find this man. Chances are he might lead us to Thrax.’
‘But of course!’ The more I thought about it, the more I agreed with Gaia, and the more excited I felt. ‘We could look for the flower-picker at the market,’ I said. ‘We’d have to go tomorrow, early in the morning. That’s when the flower-pickers deliver their goods.’
* * *
It was still dark when Gaia and I met in the yard the next morning. Everyone in the house was still asleep except for Cook, who was making breakfast tiganites in the kitchen. The smell of frying pancakes and toasting pine nuts made me drool, even so soon after my sickness, but I knew we didn’t have time for breakfast. We couldn’t risk missing the flower-picker.
I find markets very exciting places. I love the noise, the smells, the exotic goods imported from so many different countries. But for me the most magical spot in the market is the flower section, especially at dawn when the deliveries arrive. I’ve been to the market at this time of day in various cities and the unfolding scene has never failed to excite me. It’s like theatre.
One moment the stalls are bare, the enormous reed baskets empty and waiting. The stallholders stand about rubbing their hands to keep warm or chewing on bread and cheese for breakfast. Then the delivery men and women arrive in a blast of early-morning cheer, the flower-sellers leap into action and a frenzy of activity ensues. Before you know it, the stalls are a riot of colour and heady perfume.
‘Late snowdrops from the hills. Hyacinths going cheap. Early lilies from the deepest valleys in Attica.’
Even before the flowers are in their baskets, the traders start calling out to early shoppers, mostly slaves with shopping lists made out by their masters. Only the rich can afford to buy flowers from the market. The rest pick their own.
As Gaia and I approached the agora, I could sense a great excitement in the air and, despite my sickness and the fact that Thrax was missing, I couldn’t help getting caught up in the festival atmosphere. Trade is especially brisk at the market during the Anthesteria. The slaves are eager to buy the best produce for the festival. After all, they are to share in the meal at their master’s table, and they are determined to sample the best food and drink possible.
The stallholders had shown their gratitude to Dionysus, the patron god of the festival, by decorating their stalls with flowers. Did I say that the Anthesteria is also a festival of flowers? People decorate their entire houses with them. They wrap miniature garlands round their drinking cups and the heads of children over the age of three.
Even though the sun had barely risen, Gaia and I had to fight our way through tight crowds of shoppers. By the time we got to the flower market, we were both out of breath and sweaty. Stallholders kept calling to Gaia and holding out small posies. ‘Have this on me, little one. Get your mistress in the mood for the Anthesteria.’
Gaia had just accepted a posy of scented rosebuds when I spotted the flower-picker pushing his way through the throng. I recognised him instantly because of his unusually light brown hair and beard. He passed quite close to us and I was surprised to learn why his hair had such an unfamiliar colour. It was covered in pollen.
We followed, assured that he couldn’t see us behind the enormous wicker basket on his back, which was full to the brim with scented narcissi. He stopped at a stall close to a fountain with a statue of a winged Cupid at the top.
‘Good morning, Zeus,’ the stallholder greeted him.
‘Good morning,’ replied Zeus. He unstrapped the large basket and set it gently on the ground. ‘It was freezing out in the hills today but I got enough narcissi to last you through the three days of the Anthesteria.’
‘Good man,’ said the stallholder. ‘Put them over here in a heap. I’ll sort them out as soon as I have a spare moment.’ He took some coins out of a large purse and paid Zeus. The flower-picker thrust them under his belt and set off, his now-empty basket jiggling on his back.
Gaia and I followed him, pushing our way through the crowds. He stopped at a food stall for his breakfast, which he ate with the empty flower basket still strapped to his back. Once finished, he left the agora, walking past a small temple with an altar dedicated to the twelve gods. Outside the market, the streets were quiet and empty. The only sound was the birdsong in the trees and the splashing of fountains. Gaia and I hurried along, taking care to leave a discreet distance between us and the flower-picker.
Once we nearly got splashed when a woman emptied her chamber pot out of an upstairs window. A dog barked ferociously as we passed a door painted all over with nymphs. Zeus didn’t even look back. He hurried on, leading us away from the centre of Athens to a district in the south-west called Koele. The streets here were narrower than the ones in our part of the city, the houses smaller and shabbier. Children were already playing in the dust and women sang as they cooked. No hiding in a gynaikon for these busy mothers with children to look after and mouths to feed. Lacking space for a kitchen inside, they cooked outside their front doors. Zeus stopped at a house with a green door, removed the flower basket from his back and went in.
‘I’m home,’ we heard him call out before the door closed behind him.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Gaia.
‘We’ll come back tonight,’ I said. ‘If he’s to lead us to Thrax I’m sure it’ll be at night. The streets will be full of people celebrating the Anthesteria and that’ll make shadowing him easier. Come on, let’s get home. You’ll be in trouble if Master Lykos’s wife finds out you’ve been out of the house without permission.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the Graveyard
Pithogia, the first night of the Anthesteria
The sun had set and Master Lykos’s house echoed with the sound of music, laughter and feasting. Tonight was the first night of the Anthesteria and we all sat in the courtyard, masters next to slaves, men besides women, friends of the family mingling with relatives who had travelled to Athens espec
ially for the festival. Only Master Ariston did not seem to be in a jolly mood. He sat in a corner, his face glum, and I knew he was missing Thrax. It was a side of my employer I had never seen before and I have to say it endeared him to me.
Herakles, assisted by two other male slaves, carried in a large pithoi and set it down carefully in front of Master Lykos.
‘Behold, the new wine,’ called out Master Lykos, getting to his feet. ‘We thank the great Dionysus for his generosity and beg him to be kind to us in the coming months, when the sun will warm the grapes and the rain water the land.
‘All hail Dionysus,’ roared everyone, Gaia and I among them.
Master Lykos broke the seal on the pithoi and the first drops of wine were poured into his kylix, his drinking cup. Later he would offer some of that wine to the god at one of the household altars but now it was time for the feast. Cook, helped by some girls hired especially for the banquet, hurried out of the kitchen with dishes of stewed meat and roasted lily bulbs. Herakles and his helpers poured wine for the other guests.
Despite the merry atmosphere, none of us could forget that this was also a festival of the dead. The first two days were especially dangerous, with ghosts believed to be looking for relatives who were still living. One touch of a ghost’s spectral finger and you were doomed to wander the banks of the Styx forever. The children, especially, kept glancing behind their backs, keeping a lookout for the dead. Some kept running to the front door, to touch the patch of sticky tar for good luck.
Gaia and I managed to slip out of the house halfway through the celebrations. We hurried across a city busy with people to Koele.
None of the cramped houses on Zeus’s street had rooms or courtyards big enough to host festivities, so the people had come together on the street to celebrate. They’d set up tables heaving with fried food and wine jars, and the air echoed with the sound of laughter and merrymaking. l felt we were in no danger of being noticed in the crowd as we kept an eye out for Zeus.
We didn’t have to wait long for him. We spotted him coming out of his door, touching the dab of black pitch for protection. He didn’t have the wicker flower basket strapped to his back. Instead he carried a sack over one shoulder.
Gaia and I followed him all the way to the Dipylon Gate on the west side of the city, which had also been daubed with tar. He stopped to talk to the guards and I heard the clink of coins as money changed hands in a bribe. The gate swung open. Suddenly Gaia pulled me forward and we ran through before the guards had time to close it again.
‘You’re becoming very resourceful,’ I said to Gaia. ‘Slipping past city guards like that.’ The praise made her beam.
‘I don’t think they even noticed us, to be honest.’ She giggled. ‘They were celebrating the Anthesteria too. Did you see the wine jars and the bowls of food?’
The Dipylon Gate opens on to a vast cemetery. The road that cuts through it is lined with graves. Some are marked with pottery vases half buried in the soil. Others have a proper gravestone or stele carved with statues of the people buried underneath. Further away from the road, the graves are grander. They look like miniature temples with columns and sloping roofs. That night, even the graveyard had a festive, if gruesome, aspect to it. Many of the graves were decorated with bunches of flowers. Food and wine had been left as a sacrifice to the dead.
Ahead of us, Zeus had been walking along the main path, but soon he left it and started picking his way through the graves. The cemetery here was unkempt, the old gravestones half sunk into the earth or even smashed.
Zeus kept on walking till he came to a tomb built into a cliff. It was a huge family tomb with Doric columns on either side of a thick door. Zeus produced a large key from under his belt and the door creaked open. He disappeared inside, leaving the door ajar. Gaia and I heard muffled voices and the sounds of what I took to be a scuffle. Then Zeus came out again and slammed the door shut behind him. The key grated in the lock.
His bag now hung empty from his hand. He’d obviously left its contents inside. Had he brought food to the people whose muffled voices we’d heard? Gaia and I crouched behind a gravestone as Zeus smoothed his himation. He turned to the grave and mumbled a short prayer. He was a tough man, perhaps a ruthless criminal, but he wasn’t taking any chances that the ghosts of the dead whose final resting place he’d violated might follow him. His prayer said, he hurried away without looking back.
When Gaia and I were sure he’d gone, we stepped up to the vault. I was certain the people in the tomb were being held prisoner.
‘Hello,’ I called. ‘Can you hear us? We’re friends.’
There was a sort of muffled reply on the other side of the door.
I turned to Gaia. ‘How do we get in?’
‘Allow me!’ To my astonishment, Gaia removed the pin from her himation and proceeded to pick the lock.
‘Who taught you to do that?’ I said, unable to believe my eyes.
‘It’s a skill I learned from the priestesses at the temple in Aegina,’ replied Gaia as she jiggled the pin in the lock. ‘The followers of Athena must not only be sound in mind and spirit. They must also be prepared for every eventuality.’
I heard a loud squeak as the lock turned. Gaia pulled open the door and I peered in to see three people huddled at the bottom of a short flight of stairs. They had their hands and feet tied and gags across their mouths.
One of them was Thrax.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Centaur Alpha
I had to keep myself from bursting into tears when I saw Thrax safe and sound, and I offered a quick thank you to the gods. Gaia had reached into my bag and was now busy hacking away at his gag with my stylus sharpener.
‘I knew you’d come, Nico,’ he said, when the filthy piece of cloth had fallen away from his mouth. I took the stylus sharpener from Gaia and started cutting through the rope around his hands.
‘The fingerprint clue had me stumped for a while,’ I said. ‘But Gaia helped me work out what it meant.’
‘Clever Gaia,’ laughed Thrax. ‘We might make her leader of the Medusa League one day. I’m sorry it wasn’t easy to decipher, Nico, but I couldn’t run the risk of anyone finding out that I was trying to contact you. I left the note with one of my friends in the market, with strict instructions to deliver it to you should he hear something had happened to me.’
‘One of your friends discovered you were in trouble,’ I said. ‘He found your himation caught in a bush. It had been ripped to shreds and he assumed you’d been attacked by a lion. Everyone thought you were dead. Master Ariston is inconsolable.’
‘Ha,’ said Thrax. ‘The old goat does have feelings after all. But that was just a stupid stunt pulled by my abductors. They wanted to make sure no one would come looking for me.’
‘Who really attacked you?’ asked Gaia.
‘The flower-picker,’ replied Thrax. ‘I was shadowing him and he must have suspected he was being followed because suddenly he turned round and leaped on me. I was taken completely by surprise. Good job I’d made that cryptic note.’
‘I wish I’d been there to defend you,’ growled Gaia fiercely, which made Thrax laugh.
With only the one stylus sharpener between us, it took Gaia and me quite a while to free Thrax and the two other prisoners. But at last we all stumbled out into the moonlight.
It was obvious from their grubby uniforms that the men were guards.
‘I’m Theodorus,’ said the younger one. ‘And this is Simos.’
‘We keep watch at the Acharnian Gate,’ said Simos, rubbing his wrists where the tight rope had cut into the skin. ‘We were out hunting for hares just over a week ago. Trying to catch some meat for the Anthesteria. A group of masked hoodlums attacked us and locked us up in that tomb.’
‘Oh,’ cried Gaia. ‘My mistress said that two guards had been mauled to death by a lion. Their bodies were never found but their cloaks were discovered outside the Acharnian Gate. The kindnappers pulled the same stunt for you too.’
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‘We were well fed every night,’ growled Simos. ‘Which makes me think we were destined for a slave market in some distant country.’ He held out his hand to me when we came to the main path. ‘That was a narrow escape. We’re indebted to you and your friends, young man. When the Anthesteria is over, we mean to talk to our superiors. We won’t rest till the kidnappers are caught. Meanwhile, if ever you need anything, you can find us at the Acharnian Gate.’
We watched the guards disappear towards the city. ‘I wasn’t kidnapped just to be sold,’ said Thrax. ‘The flower picker wanted me out of the way.’
‘We shadowed him ourselves and he led us to you,’ I said. ‘His name is Zeus, by the way.’
‘I noticed he didn’t turn back towards the city when he came to the main path,’ said Gaia. ‘He took another route, away from Athens.’
‘That path leads to a sacred grove dedicated to Athena,’ said Thrax. ‘It is also held in high regard by… the Spartans. His hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp. ‘Why didn’t I make the connection before? Hurry up, we must get there as soon as possible.’
We trotted along the path and before long we saw the gnarled trees of the sacred grove looming up before us. They were truly ancient, their twisted branches reaching towards the sky.
‘Let’s be careful,’ said Thrax. ‘I don’t want to get caught again.’
I could see flickering lights among the trees. Was someone celebrating the Anthesteria here too? If so, there was no sound of laughter or merrymaking. I could hear voices but they were raised in a mournful chant, carried on the wind.
Thrax crouched down in the long grass and crawled forward on his hands and knees. Gaia and I followed him. Among the olive trees, a group of men was sitting on stools that formed a large circle on the grass. Every one of them had the end of his himation pulled up over his head and every single cape bore the same letter in golden thread that glowed in the moonlight.
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