Justice for Athena

by JM Alvey

  ‘We didn’t cause any trouble,’ a slightly built man protested.

  ‘Let’s keep it that way,’ the tavern henchman said with cheerful menace.

  As the poets were ushered out, I saw the three blue-cloaked poets took care not to catch anyone’s eye. The henchman glanced at the tavern owner. His nod said the trio could stay. I watched the last of the Ionians stalk out, wrapping himself in affronted dignity as well as his blood-red cloak.

  Conversation was resuming as everyone dismissed the diversion, turning instead to the entertaining prospects for the days ahead. The city’s annual celebration of Athena’s birth, and yes, our salute to the tyrannicides who set us on our path to democracy, is a more modest affair. Those three days of celebrations are purely for citizens. Every fourth year though, we welcome visitors from every land where Hellenes have settled, and we make the most of it.

  I poured out the last of our aromatic dark wine. ‘Do we want another jugful, or is it time to go?’

  Hyanthidas looked at Telesilla. She nodded with a grin. ‘We’ll have a few late nights before the festival’s over. We may as well sleep while we can.’

  I rose to my feet and offered Zosime my hand. ‘Do you want us to walk to your lodgings with you? Do you want to buy a torch from the doorman?’

  The public slaves who keep order within the city walls would be patrolling, but even the Scythians can’t be everywhere at once. As well as visitors here to honour Athena, there would be others up to no good. A burning pine knot purchased from a tavern can be a weapon as well as a light to see your path.

  Hyanthidas shook his head, unconcerned. ‘It’s not far.’

  If he wasn’t bothered, neither was I. He’d lived in Athens for the best part of a year when I’d hired him as the musician for my first Dionysia play. He knew his way around the city and its hazards.

  ‘Will we see you tomorrow?’ I asked.

  ‘We don’t want to take up your time,’ Telesilla said quickly. ‘You must want to spend at least some of the festival with your families.’

  ‘All my father wants to do at the moment is sleep,’ Zosime assured her. ‘The pottery where he works got one of the contracts for making the Great Panathenaia’s prize amphorae. He’s been working night and day.’

  I grinned. ‘I’m going nowhere near my brothers. Tomorrow’s the last day of business and they’ll be rushing around like blue-arsed flies. If they catch a glimpse of me, they’ll find me a job.’

  I might not have taken up the family leather-working trade, but as far as my older brother Nymenios is concerned, I’m still duty-bound to help out if he needs me.

  ‘Shall we meet at noon?’ Zosime suggested. ‘In the agora, by the altar of the twelve gods?’

  ‘That sounds ideal,’ Hyanthidas agreed.

  I bought a torch from the doorman’s basket as we left. As we walked a short way together, I noticed a few passers-by giving us a second look. Respectable Athenian citizen women wouldn’t be out and about drinking in taverns at this time of night. That risked someone condemning them for behaviour debasing their right to citizenship, with dire consequences for their children. Menkaure is Egyptian though, and Zosime’s mother was from Crete. As a resident foreigner she doesn’t need to watch her step like my sisters. On the other hand, she doesn’t have the legal protections of an Athenian woman, so I am always ready to defend her.

  Thankfully Hyanthidas’ Corinthian accent told the busybodies that they were visitors, while a challenging stare from me told the hopefuls that the beauty on my arm was well and truly spoken for. The tavern where we’d met for dinner was in the Limnai district, so we weren’t far from the Itonian Gate and our road home. We said our goodbyes, and we went on our way. I was really looking forward to the festival.

  Chapter Two

  We had no reason to get up too early. My Phrygian slave Kadous, the other member of our small household, had already been out to fetch water from the closest fountain, and to buy freshly baked barley bread. We ate that with honey and luscious cherries, sitting in the shade of the porch that ran across the front of the three main rooms of our little house.

  Zosime finished eating. ‘If you do get chosen to write a play for the next Dionysia, don’t assume you can ask Hyanthidas to compose your music again. He’d have to stay in the city for months, and Telesilla still doesn’t want to live in Athens, when she can’t perform here to earn her own coin.’

  I’d wondered what they were talking about, as they had sat with their heads close together. I shrugged. ‘There’s no way to know if I’ll even be asked.’

  She got up from her stool and kissed me. ‘I have a few things to do before we go out.’

  I licked a trace of sweetness from my lips as she went into the end room where we keep our household’s stores. I looked across the yard. Our chickens were scratching around by the sturdy gate, busy before the heat started building. Kadous’ quarters were to the left, with his straw-stuffed mattress draped over the windowsill to air after a sweaty night. He’d better close that open door before the hens went looking for somewhere out of the sun.

  The dining room stood on the other side of the gate. At the moment, the walls inside were unpainted and there was beaten earth for a floor. It had been that way ever since I’d moved here, and nothing had changed when Zosime moved in. I used the space to store wine and some spare furniture as well as my papyrus, ink and pens, to keep my work from cluttering up our living room on the other side of our bedroom to the stores.

  Now though, I had money to spare. I could hire someone to plaster the walls, and find a painter to decorate them. I considered the merits of some artful representation of an orchard, or perhaps a view across a plain to some mighty mountain. I could have the floor paved, or maybe pay for a mosaic of coloured pebbles painstakingly placed in precise designs. Well-stuffed, cushioned couches would complete the refurbishment. Then a cultured man like myself could invite like-minded citizens to share a meal, to swap poems and songs at a drinking party, without any need to intrude on a wife’s domain.

  Except I didn’t have a wife, and as long as Zosime still loves me, I won’t be looking for one. I don’t need to, thankfully. Nymenios has done his duty by our family name by fathering two fine sons and two citizen daughters. Chairephanes has married a neighbour’s girl and he’s eager to add to Athens’ next generation of soldiers and their loving wives as soon as Demeter blesses them. So my mother has grandchildren to dote on, and the promise of more to come. If anything, my family would be relieved if Zosime and I stayed childless, rather than have to explain to the other children some day that their cousins were bastards without citizens’ rights.

  So as long as I was living out here beyond the city walls, no one would care if I invited musicians and actors to dinner, and my beloved companion joined us. Or if someone like Mikos, who lived across the lane, decided to disapprove, I couldn’t see him hauling his lazy arse all the way to Nymenios’ gate to demand my brother do something about it. Though these days Mikos is too besotted with his new son and heir to pay much attention to anything beyond his own household and business.

  I looked thoughtfully at the dining room. Zosime is a skilled artist, working in the same pottery as her father. She doesn’t paint dramatic scenes with heroes in bright red glaze striding across black burnished vases, though. The pale funerary vases and jugs that she decorates are subtle masterpieces that become prized possessions. Since they’re used to pour libations on a grave, they are decorated with some scene of the deceased doing something they enjoyed in life. Zosime has a rare talent for drawing a convincing likeness of the lost loved one from the memories of the bereaved.

  I wondered if Zosime would like to try her hand at a larger picture. No one outside our little household need ever know that the murals were her work. What goes on behind an Athenian household’s closed doors stays behind those doors. A man is the absolute ruler inside his own home, and his word is final.

  A hesitant knock at the gate broke into my musin
g. Kadous came out of his room. He looked at me, brows raised in query. I looked back and shrugged. Perhaps we’d imagined it.

  Whoever it was knocked again, harder. The Phrygian unbolted the gate and opened it just enough to see who was there.

  ‘Good morning. Please excuse me, but may I speak to Philocles Hestaiou?’

  Surprised, I recognised the voice of Hyanthidas and Telesilla’s slave. ‘Arion? What brings you out here?’

  Kadous was already letting the Peloponnesian in.

  ‘You did well to find us,’ I remarked. Hyanthidas had been to my house a few times, but this trip was Arion’s first journey outside Corinthia as far as I was aware.

  A young man, leanly muscled from his daily labours, Arion tried to smile. The strain in his eyes cut that short. ‘I was given good directions. My master’s compliments, and can you please come to the city?’

  Zosime appeared from the storeroom. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘There’s a Scythian at our door. He says my master must stay there until his commander comes to question him.’ So Arion meant this Scythian was one of the city’s public slaves, rather than some random visitor from those fabled lands far to the east.

  ‘Question him about what?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Arion’s voice tightened with anxiety. ‘But he said my master couldn’t leave the house.’

  ‘But you could?’

  Arion nodded. ‘My master asked if he might have an Athenian citizen to stand witness to whatever was going on. The Scythian agreed that would be wise, so I was sent to find you.’

  How serious was this? Something that might end up in court? Only an Athenian citizen or a sworn ally of the city could give evidence before an Athenian jury. Any foreigner would need help if such a jury was going to believe in his innocence, especially over an accusation brought by one of the city’s own.

  ‘Let’s go.’ I was already looking for my sandals under the bench in the porch.

  ‘Where’s Telesilla?’ Zosime wanted to know.

  ‘Sitting with my master.’ Arion looked blankly at her. Where else would his mistress be?

  ‘I’m coming with you.’ Zosime went to fetch a wrap from our bedroom.

  I knew better than to argue with my beloved, and in any case, I wasn’t about to object. Zosime could find out what Telesilla knew, while Hyanthidas and I dealt with the Scythian’s commander. I wondered uneasily what was going on. There are always unfortunate incidents during a big festival, and it’s too easy to assume visitors are to blame.

  I looked up from lacing my sandal. ‘Have you any idea what this could be about?’

  Arion shook his head. ‘No. None. I’m sorry.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s all right. We’ll know soon enough.’

  Zosime appeared wearing a light shawl over her knee-length draped dress. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I am.’ I stood up and nodded to Kadous, who opened the gate.

  Outside in the lane, I saw a couple of gates were ajar, with curious neighbours or their slaves looking out. I waved and smiled to indicate there was no cause for concern. Satisfied, the gates closed.

  Zosime and I walked along the lane to join the main road leading towards the city. Arion followed a few paces behind us. As the day went on, this route would get busier and busier. Farmers and their families would be coming in from Attica and visitors from further afield would be reaching the end of their journeys, ready to enjoy the Great Panathenaia’s entertainments.

  I brushed a hand across the carved stone curls of the Hermes pillar that marks the junction and prayed earnestly for the god of travellers’ guidance help in unravelling whatever Hyanthidas was tangled up in.

  I picked up the pace, and neither of the other two objected. We had to wait to pass through the Itonian Gate, where a trio of lads in shiny new leather and linen armour were taking their guard duties very seriously. Fortunately my Athenian accent meant I was spared any curious questions when we reached the head of the line. Once we were inside the city, Arion took the lead.

  I was pleased to find Hyanthidas had arranged for better lodgings than the room he’d shared when he’d lived in Athens. I couldn’t see Telesilla wanting to stay somewhere with drunk musicians snoring on the floor between playing at dinner parties, weddings and funerals.

  This was a small house in the Limnai district, but it had its own gate and the paved yard inside was swept clean. I could see that because the gate was half-open, and a Scythian in his distinctive cuirass was leaning against the wall outside. He had his bow and quiver ready in case Hyanthidas was fool enough to run.

  The musician wouldn’t be so stupid. He knew the Scythians were deadly archers. Besides, he had no reason to run. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. From the way Zosime’s grip on my hand was tightening, so was she.

  Tense, Arion addressed the Scythian. ‘This is Philocles Hestaiou of Alopeke—’

  ‘Go on in.’ The archer waved a casual hand.

  Arion pushed at the gate, and Zosime and I followed him. There was a door to a two-storey house straight ahead, beneath a porch where a man was standing, watchful. Another door to the left indicated a separate two-room, shallow-roofed building intended for slaves or stores, or perhaps a workshop. Clearly, the householder was renting those spare rooms out to visitors for the Great Panathenaia.

  The yard was just about large enough for people to walk around a long table and some stools. Hyanthidas and Telesilla were seated there with another Scythian. Everybody looked fairly relaxed, so I nodded politely to the man in the doorway under the porch. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good day to you.’ He had a Corinthian accent, so I guessed Hyanthidas or Telesilla knew him from somewhere. He nodded at Hyanthidas and retreated, closing his door. I didn’t blame him. A resident foreigner in Athens is wisest to steer clear of trouble.

  The Scythian with his elbows on the table looked up at me and grinned. ‘I thought I recognised your name, when our friend here asked for your help.’

  It took me a moment to place the slave. ‘Kallinos! How are you?’

  ‘Glad of an excuse not to be wrestling drunks who’ll throw up on my feet for the fun of it,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I see you’ve been doing well for yourself since our paths last crossed.’

  Kallinos had led the detachment of Scythians who’d been sent to collect a dead body dumped at my door the Dionysia before last. Athenian magistrates may change every year, but the slaves who serve them can become permanent fixtures once they’ve proved their merit.

  I was glad to find myself dealing with a man I knew to be fair, but that unwelcome discovery outside our gate had led me into a dangerous labyrinth without any Ariadne to give me a useful ball of thread. I hoped Hyanthidas wasn’t facing anything like that.

  ‘So what’s my friend accused of?’ I asked as casually as I could.

  Kallinos’ grin widened. ‘Not a thing. I’m hoping he might help us out. You too, since you were in the same tavern last night.’

  ‘We all were,’ Zosime pointed out.

  ‘I’ll take whatever information you’ve got for me,’ Kallinos assured her before calling out to his underling guarding the gate. ‘Neokles! Fetch a couple of jugs of wine.’

  So he expected to be here for a while. I took a seat and so did Zosime. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You were in the same tavern as a gaggle of the poets here to perform the Iliad. What can you tell me about them?’

  It was clear Kallinos wasn’t going to tell us what was happening until he’d learned whatever we knew. I shrugged, and related what I could remember of the poets’ disagreements. The others chipped in when I hesitated, and Kallinos asked swift questions if he felt anything was unclear.

  ‘Then we left and headed for home.’ I looked at the others and they nodded.

  ‘I don’t understand what brings you to this door.’ Hyanthidas still looked wary.

  ‘I asked the tavern keeper who he remembered being there, who might have seen somethin
g useful.’ Kallinos drained his cup. ‘It’s a lot easier to find a tall Corinthian, even at festival time, than any one of twenty Athenians who everyone says look much the same.’ He glanced at me. ‘It’s an unlooked-for gift from the gods that you were there as well.’

  I had no idea what he meant by that, but before I could ask, the Scythian stood up. ‘Will you come with me, please?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Why?’

  Hyanthidas and I spoke at the same time. Kallinos shrugged again.

  ‘There’s a man wearing a red cloak been found dead. Some poor bastard of a slave sent out to buy charcoal tripped over him just after dawn. I know you two have these lovely ladies as witnesses to prove you were snoring in bed, but the tavern you were in last night was where most of the epic poets were drinking. I need to find someone who might recognise him.’

  ‘How—?’ I broke off as I realised there must be some foul play here. Someone who’d simply settled down to sleep and never woken up would be carried off the streets with the other refuse by the public slaves.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Kallinos prompted.

  His face told me he wasn’t going to share the details of whatever had happened. Not here, anyway, and there was no possibility of the women coming too. Not that Zosime or Telesilla looked like they wanted to.

  The Scythian couldn’t force us to help him, but that wasn’t the point as far as I was concerned. We didn’t want any hint of suspicion hanging around Hyanthidas, and helping the public slaves would show everyone he had nothing to hide. Add to that, Kallinos had helped me get justice for that dead man dumped at my gate. I owed him a debt.

  Hyanthidas stood up. ‘All right, but I can’t see how we can be any use.’

  ‘We’ll be back as soon as we can,’ I promised Zosime.

  Kallinos was already knocking on the house door under the porch. He apologised to the owner and handed over the second jug of wine. ‘I’m sorry for bringing this inconvenience to your home. No one here has had any part in any wrongdoing. Enjoy your festival.’