by JM Alvey
‘I wonder who she is.’
‘The runaway?’ Telesilla frowned, concerned. ‘Do you suppose she’s heard about these murders?’
‘If she has, she must be terrified.’ Zosime looked at me with renewed resolve. ‘Whoever she is, you have to help her.’
As Telesilla echoed my beloved, I felt abruptly ashamed. I had been so focused on the guilt of the seducer, and on the hunt for a man who was so quick to kill to avenge his family’s dishonour, that I hadn’t spared a thought for the woman at the heart of this tragedy.
‘That’s definitely a new scent to follow. Find her, and you find your killer.’ Hyanthidas signalled to a slave who was serving the next table.
He was right, and that should have occurred to me sooner. However, just because something’s simple, that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
I grimaced. ‘This woman’s guardian, whoever he is, clearly doesn’t want his family’s shame made public. I know the courts are closed, and there’s no public business being done in the Council or the Assembly, but he could still take his grievance to the festival commissioners. They could demand the truth from these poets on pain of – something or other.’
I realised I had no idea what sanctions Melesias Philaid could threaten. Wouldn’t he be just as anxious as the poets to avoid a scandal that would cast a shadow over the epic contest?
‘Someone is bound to know,’ Hyanthidas insisted. ‘A household can’t keep something like that quiet for long.’
‘At least among their family and friends,’ I acknowledged. ‘That’s something else I can tell Aristarchos’ man to enquire about.’
Zosime snorted. ‘Lydis won’t learn anything useful. You said it yourself. No citizen will admit their household troubles to a slave, to any slave, and especially not to one owned by one of Athens’ richest men.’
‘That’s true.’ I sighed. ‘That’s why I think we need – why the festival commissioners need – one of the poets to accuse the guilty man. The others must have their suspicions.’ I shook my head, exasperated as well as frustrated.
Hyanthidas understood what I was feeling. ‘When they hear what Thallos has to say, someone will speak up, surely?’
‘Other women will know,’ Zosime said thoughtfully.
Telesilla nodded. ‘And word will be spreading fast.’
I know all sorts of gossip gets shared at the city’s fountains as wives and daughters fetch fresh water each morning, but I still didn’t see how that helped us. Then my blood ran cold. ‘You can’t go asking questions. We wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, if this man even heard a whisper—’
‘Not me.’ Zosime’s glance at her father forestalled Menkaure’s objections. ‘Citizen women won’t talk to a foreigner, not ones who don’t know me anyway, not about something like this.’
I was at a loss. ‘Then who?’
‘Your mother,’ Zosime said, as though it was obvious. ‘Your brothers’ wives.’
Now I really was lost for words. My mother grew up in the countryside out in Attica, and she still assumes dangers for respectable women lurk in every Athenian alleyway. Melina and Glykera know better since they’d been born and raised in the city, but Melina was tending a small baby alongside her other chores just at present. She would hardly leave her children at home so the two of them could go wandering the streets and loitering around fountains to see what they could glean, even if we knew the right district to send them to, which we didn’t. Rather than try to explain any of this, I simply stared at Zosime, incredulous.
She gazed steadily back. ‘Citizen women will be getting together to see their friends all through the festival, especially the ones who are visiting from their homes out in Attica. They’ll be going to see the music and poetry contests together. Then they’ll be gathering to watch the rites and to celebrate as Athena’s statue is re-dressed. One of them is bound to know something, or will get word to a woman who does.’
‘I suppose so.’ I still wasn’t convinced. ‘But the women of the city don’t make the gift of her new dress to the goddess for another five days. We have to catch this killer before then.’ I hated to think how many men would die if we didn’t.
Zosime wasn’t going to be dissuaded. ‘Melina and Glykera will be meeting friends and family as they go out and about with Nymenios and Chairephanes over the next few days, and people will visit the house. They can start asking if anyone knows anything about a woman fleeing her home a few days ago. We can see what answers come back by the time the city’s women gather to honour Athena.’
Meanwhile I would have both my brothers on my doorstep demanding to know what by Zeus’ thunder I was playing at. How dare I involve their wives in such an unsavoury business! I tried to work out a way of presenting their husbands’ objections to Zosime, but why should she agree with them when I wouldn’t? Not when we were talking about finding a killer. I was also pretty sure Glykera and Melina would have something to say about it, discreetly behind their closed bedroom doors. Though I wasn’t necessarily convinced that we would learn anything useful. Not that I was going to say so and risk starting another argument.
‘All right, I’ll ask them if they think they can help.’ My doubts must have shown in my face all the same.
Telesilla laughed. ‘How do you suppose your mother and sisters always know whose nephew or cousin is looking for a wife? Who needs a helping hand as their mother or father grows feeble-minded or unsteady on their feet? Whose son needs reining in, or whose daughter needs someone to confide in who isn’t her sister or aunt? Do you think we only talk about where to buy the best glazed pottery or the freshest fish?’
Zosime looked more serious. ‘It’s how girls learn which boys to avoid, however charming they might seem. Mothers learn which families not to let their daughters marry into, if they don’t want to see them trying to hide bruises. Sons don’t only learn a trade from their fathers.’
I was about to object to that, then I remembered something my mother’s sheep-herding brothers had told me. They always insisted on seeing the dam and sire of any dog they were thinking about breeding with one of their bitches. Blood will out, as so many tragedies on stage at the Dionysia remind us.
Telesilla nodded. ‘I think your husband’s wives will be more than ready to help you find this woman before the man who’s pursuing her does. He’s proved he’s willing to kill when he loses his temper. Don’t you think she must have had good reason to run away?’
‘You’ve been talking about her as if she had no more choice in this than Helen did, when Aphrodite whisked her away to Troy to be Paris’ prize.’ Zosime’s rebuke was directed at me, Menkaure and Hyanthidas. ‘Athenian law may not punish her, but she’s got a whole lot more to worry about than being cold-shouldered as a whore by the neighbours if this brute drags her back home. If she wasn’t already in fear for her life, she must be now. Don’t you think there’s every chance he’ll kill her too, as well as her protector, if he finds them before you do?’
I had no answer for any of this. The law lays all the guilt on the man who seduces someone else’s wife. I hadn’t really considered consequences for this unknown woman.
To my profound relief, the tavern slave who Hyanthidas had waved at earlier finally came over. He took our order for wine, and told us that the dish on offer tonight was rabbit stewed with fennel, raisins and dates. We agreed that sounded very fine. When the food arrived we weren’t disappointed.
I even managed to look interested as Menkaure told Hyanthidas and Telesilla everything they hadn’t realised there was to know about the special Panathenaic amphorae. The artists have to be skilled in the old-fashioned techniques of depicting mythic figures and athletes in black and cream against a red background. There’s far more skill to that, apparently, than simply swapping over the pots and brushes they use every day to show dramatic scenes with red figures at work, play or war on elegantly shaped black pots.
We didn’t linger over our meal. We could see passers-by kept slowing in hopes o
f finding empty seats, as well as the tavern owner’s regret when he saw their disappointment. Besides, Hyanthidas was looking weary now that the elation of his performance was fading, and Zosime and I had both risen early.
I poured out the last of the wine, and didn’t ask if we should get another jug. ‘Where shall we meet tomorrow? And when?’
Hyanthidas stirred himself. ‘I’d like to see the sprints and the other foot races.’
That suited me. After everything I’d witnessed over the past few days, the bloodshed of boxing and wrestling didn’t appeal. ‘Then let’s meet in the agora, by the altar to Aphrodite.’ I would ask for her help. Of all the goddesses, she should be most sympathetic to this unfortunate adulteress.
‘Some time around the fourth hour,’ Telesilla said firmly. ‘We’ve no need to make an early start.’
Zosime looked at me. ‘That will give you time to call on Aristarchos, and tell Lydis what we’ve discussed.’
I nodded. I knew my beloved was always determined once she’d made up her mind about something. So I wasn’t surprised, when she stopped walking, not long after we’d left the tavern and once we’d said goodbye to our friends.
‘Dad can walk me home. You can go and call on your mother. It’s still early. You can ask her to do what she can, to help us find this woman.’
I glanced at Menkaure and saw his resignation. He’d known his daughter far longer than I had after all. He saw me looking, and smiled briefly. I was reassured by that. Now that Zosime had forgiven me, he would do the same.
I kissed Zosime’s cheek. ‘I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.’
As they took the road that would lead them to the Itonian Gate, I headed towards the Hill of the Nymphs, to the district where my family have lived since my grandfather sold up and moved into the city from Alopeke. The Fates had blessed his decision. That property had been devastated by the Persian invasion, and many of my father’s childhood friends still living outside the city walls had been killed.
Then peace had come, and Athens grew crowded, and I had decided to buy my little house, and live in our family’s ancestral district where our voting allegiance had been recorded in Cleisthenes’ day. A playwright can work anywhere, pretty much. Selling belts, sandals, purses and other leather goods is most profitable when you’re closer to your customers.
The gate to the workshop yard was closed, as I expected. A lamp was burning though, up high on the post. So someone was out and about, expected back late after the dusk faded to darkness. I hoped it was Nymenios. I really wasn’t in the mood for dealing with my elder brother.
I knocked gently. Sekis, my family’s oldest slave, opened up. He beckoned me in. ‘Quick, we’re getting the hens settled for the night.’
I slipped through the gate so he could close it behind me, and saw my mother ushering the last recalcitrant chicken inside the coop. She looked up, saw me, and smiled.
‘How did your Corinthian friend get on in the contest?’
‘Well enough, I think. He played magnificently, so we can only leave the decision to the gods and the judges.’
Mother snapped her fingers at Sekis, who’d started sweeping up the barley husks and other remnants of the hens’ evening feed. ‘Leave that, and fetch us some wine, please.’
She turned to me. ‘Shall we sit out here? Melina and the baby are asleep, and I don’t want to disturb them.’
‘Of course.’ I followed her to the broad porch where her loom was set up, with a length of expertly patterned cloth hanging down from the raised beam half-woven, with the weighted warp threads dangling below. As soon as that was done, she would begin another. Like Penelope, her loom is never empty, but my mother finishes her work instead of unpicking it every night. That has been the way of it, for as long as I can remember.
As soon as we sat down, two of the household’s ferrets dropped down from the rafters of the open-fronted workshop and came scampering across to join us. Between them and the eagle-eyed chickens, mice have no chance of feasting on the valuable hides stored across the courtyard.
One of the ferrets climbed into my mother’s lap and wound itself around her wrist as she tickled its belly. The other one looked at me, decided the chickens’ leavings were probably more interesting and lolloped off to see.
‘Is she well?’ I didn’t need to explain that I meant the baby. Hera and Demeter be thanked, Melina had recovered swiftly from the trials of childbirth. My newest niece had been thriving when I last saw her, but infants are always vulnerable, especially in the high summer’s heat. The fact that our children would be bastards without any legal rights isn’t the only reason Zosime and I take care not to let my seed take root in her furrow. We all still mourned the baby Nymenios and Melina had lost.
Thankfully my mother was smiling. ‘She is strong and healthy.’
Sekis came out of the house with a jug and two cups. I heard the sound of children’s muted protests filtering through the wooden shutters overhead.
Mother glanced up, and then looked at the slave. ‘See if Nymenios needs anything as he puts the little ones to bed.’
So it was Chairephanes and Glykera who were out enjoying life as newly-weds without children. As Mother took the jug and poured me a cup of what was going to be very well-watered wine, I shifted on my stool. I wanted to be out of here before Nymenios came downstairs. There was no reason for him to have heard about the murdered poets. He wouldn’t be visiting the barber to get the latest gossip along with a trim for his hair and beard until the festival was over. There wouldn’t be customers bringing such agora news to the yard either. That wouldn’t stop him interrogating me about whatever he thought he needed to know about my life. I’d be here till midnight and that wouldn’t please Zosime in the least.
Sekis handed my mother the second cup and headed into the house. Mother poured herself a drink, set the jug down by her feet, and looked at me with a knowing eye. ‘So what brings you here this evening? I didn’t think we’d see you until the last day of the festival.’
‘I wondered—’ I hesitated, scuffing my sandals in the dust. ‘Zosime thought you might be able to help see justice done.’
I told the whole sorry tale as quickly as I could, and without any dramatic descriptions of the dead men. I had no wish to distress her. My mother had known enough grief in her life. As I explained how Zosime and Telesilla had thought the citizen women might be able to help, I saw her face grow thoughtful. Thoughtful, and dubious. I wondered how I was going to explain to Zosime that she’d been wrong, without ending up with us having another row.
Then my mother surprised me. ‘You’ve got a clever girl there. I’m sure we can find out something, though it may well take some time. But I want to know what you will do, before I tell you whatever we might learn.’
‘Excuse me?’
She looked at me, unblinking. ‘Will you send this woman back to whatever misery she has fled? In her husband’s house, or her father’s? What manner of man must he be, to have wedded his child to a brute who’s capable of this?’
‘The law—’ I sipped some watery wine and thought about Onesime, who lived across the lane in Alopeke. Her life with Mikos must be better than any alternative, for her to be so desperate to stay.
Mother bent down to pick up the jug and refilled her cup. ‘The law will condemn this poet as a seducer, but she may see him as her saviour. Who’s to say how the goddesses of justice will judge him.’
‘Then we had better pray to divine Themis and her daughters for guidance,’ I conceded. ‘But the most important thing is to save his life – to save both their lives. We can decide what to do next once the killer is caught.’
Mother nodded as she scratched the sleepy-eyed ferret behind its ears. ‘I will see what we can find out.’
She didn’t need to say she would decide how much to tell me after that. My guess was she’d tell me the woman’s name and family, so we could find the killer but not necessarily where the woman was hiding, at least not until
we knew more about the men involved. Well, I trusted my mother’s judgement.
Inside the house, someone was coming downstairs. That was my cue to leave. I stood up, stooped down, and kissed Mother’s cheek.
‘Will we see you both for dinner at the end of the holiday?’ she asked. ‘If Zosime’s father would like to join us, he’ll be very welcome.’
‘I’ll invite him. He may have other plans.’ I wondered who would last longest in a contest between Nymenios talking about leatherwork and Menkaure talking about pots.
‘Of course.’ Mother reached up to cup her hand around the back of my head, and kissed my cheek as I bent down.
Now I heard footsteps coming to the door of the house, so I hurried to the gate. As I drew it closed, I saw Sekis come out into the yard. I went on my way confident he would secure the bolts as he waited up for Chairephanes and Glykera.
I made my way home as fast as I could, but Menkaure and Zosime had still arrived well before me. They had shed their sandals and washed their feet. I did the same, and relished the soothing water between my tired toes. We shared a last cup of much less watered wine and I enjoyed the cool of the evening as my beloved and her father told me about the singing and lyre competitions.
Zosime had barely stopped speaking when Menkaure gave the least convincing yawn I’d ever seen. He might be a talented potter, but he was no actor. ‘I’m for my bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’
I wondered what he and Zosime had talked about on their way home, as he headed towards the storeroom. I hoped Kadous had aired the mattress and found a fresh blanket for the bed.
The Phrygian paused as he tidied away the wine jug and cups. He cleared his throat to get my attention.
I looked up. ‘Yes?’
‘Sosistratos’ man Tyren wants to see the horse racing. He says he’ll watch our gate tomorrow and the day after, if I return the favour after that. Sosistratos is agreeable.’