Justice for Athena

by JM Alvey

  But what Melesias thought might well be completely irrelevant. Soterides wasn’t just impressively dressed. He had the air of a man who expects admiring gazes to linger on him. I’d say he drew plenty of female eyes. I remembered what my mother had said. The woman this killer was hunting could have been desperate for a saviour, for some way to escape a husband capable of the violence we had seen these past few days. That didn’t mean the man she had believed was her hero would necessarily have a character as noble as his appearance.

  ‘What episode did he perform, at the last Great Panathenaia?’

  ‘Hera’s seduction of Zeus.’ Eupraxis snorted. ‘He gives that an airing at every opportunity. His own version for private drinking parties includes details Homer never thought of, and would make a satyr blush, so I hear.’ He broke off and looked at me. ‘He’s certainly one of the poets we see with a different woman on his arm in each town.’

  ‘How successful is he? In terms of earning silver,’ I clarified hastily.

  ‘Oh, he makes a very good living,’ Eupraxis conceded with the barest hint of jealousy. ‘Nothing but the best for him. I suppose he earns it. He really is very skilled. He always draws a large crowd and his private patrons are most generous, by all accounts.’

  So the man was handsome and persuasive. More than persuasive by the sound of it. I’d guess Soterides was as well-practised at seduction in real life as he was at giving a performance. It also seemed he had the funds to support a lover hidden far away out in Trikorynthos, if that’s what he wanted to do.

  That need not stop him sampling other delights as he travelled from festival to festival. It wasn’t as if this girl could go home if she’d discovered her hero was as unworthy as Paris of Troy. She was no Helen, to be welcomed back and forgiven by Menelaus, to be found sitting demurely with her wool basket and spindle when Telemachos turned up in Sparta wondering where his father Odysseus could possibly have got to. She couldn’t go back, either to the husband she’d abandoned or to her father’s home. Her disgrace was as permanent as it was complete.

  I felt a chill as I realised something else. Eupraxis had said Soterides was arrogant. He might be arrogant enough to bring his soiled Helen to Athens for the festival, to ensure he had a compliant bedmate at his beck and call. If he thought no one would still be bothered about his complaints about the last Homeric contest, he might equally assume that her abandoned husband had given up on his loss after four years.

  I looked at Ambrakis. ‘Tell Lydis everything, but tell him to find out what he can about Soterides first. And if I might ask a favour, can a message be sent to—’ I realised there was no point in sending word to my own house in Alopeke, since Kadous wouldn’t be there. ‘Ask Lydis to write a note and take it to Hyanthidas of Corinth’s lodging, to explain what I’m doing.’

  I gave the big bodyguard directions to the house where the Corinthian musicians were staying. As soon as they knew what was going on, hopefully so would Zosime. I spared a moment to envy the great and the good who could afford to have a slave in constant attendance with nothing to do but carry their messages.

  Ambrakis looked at me, dubious. ‘If this Soterides is the man this killer is hunting, you may well cross his path. The master won’t like the idea of you challenging this murderer on your own.’

  I was startled to hear him speak for Aristarchos. I also couldn’t argue with what he said. I wasn’t keen on the idea of facing this killer by myself.

  Ikesios spoke up. ‘I’ll be with Philocles. I owe that much to Hermaios’ memory and to his family.’

  His voice was determined, but I saw the sheen of tears as he blinked.

  ‘Thank you.’ I meant it. I was also glad to think I’d have an Athenian citizen with me, to confirm whatever we discovered.

  ‘Should we warn Soterides?’ Eupraxis wondered aloud.

  ‘He has to have heard what’s going on, surely?’ Ikesios shrugged. ‘That should be all the warning a man with his wits about him would need.’

  ‘Unless he has no reason to think this is anything to do with him,’ I said slowly. ‘What do most of you know about what’s going on? That Daimachos and Hermaios have been killed, at different times and in different places, in very different ways. That the Scythians and I have been asking endless questions, but all we’ve established so far is every other poet is surely innocent of these crimes. Thallos may have been attacked, but he’s insisting that was a street thief after his silver, for the moment at least. As for Polymnestos, no one outside his family and immediate friends will even know that he’s dead yet.’

  I shook my head as something else occurred to me. ‘Besides, if Soterides is the man at the centre of this labyrinth, if we warn him, if he thinks he’s being watched, he’ll take care not to go anywhere or do anything that might lead us to the truth and his disgrace.’

  If the woman was in the city, he might even abandon her completely, if what these two poets said of his character was any guide. Her word might be worthless as far as the courts were concerned, but her family would still know who to blame if she told her story. If Soterides stayed away from wherever he’d lodged her, we had no hope of finding her. The man she’d fled might not find her either, but with no silver to pay her way, she’d soon be thrown out onto the streets where she’d face the choice of starving or whoring. I wouldn’t want to have to explain that to my mother or Zosime.

  Unless she went home, of course. I uneasily recalled what the murderer had said to Thallos. If he killed the man she had fled with, she would be forced to go back to the house she had escaped. If he killed any man who might be protecting her, he was bound to succeed eventually. Was that his plan now? Was that why he had cracked Polymnestos’ skull?

  ‘So Soterides is a goat who doesn’t know he’s being allowed to roam on a long leash to lure a jackal.’ Eupraxis didn’t sound overly concerned.

  I wished he hadn’t put it quite like that. I looked at Ikesios. ‘We had better be wakeful watchdogs.’ I turned to Ambrakis again. ‘If Aristarchos thinks Soterides should be warned, come and tell us at once. There’ll be at least one of us here on the Pnyx.’

  The big slave nodded, grunted, and finally went on his way. I looked around and picked out several Scythians, but couldn’t see any of the ones I knew.

  ‘He’s moving,’ Ikesios said suddenly.

  He was right. With everyone else’s attention on the platform, Soterides was edging unobtrusively backwards through the crowd. When the men he’d been standing with realised he’d left, no one would be able to say when or where he had gone.

  Eupraxis bit his lip. ‘Three of us following him will be better than two.’

  I could see he was reluctant, but he was ready to do his part. Fortunately, I had already decided it would be better for him to stay where he was, not just in case Ambrakis came back with urgent news, and not only because he deserved to have the best chance possible in the Iliad contest.

  ‘Does Soterides know you?’ As Eupraxis nodded, I looked at Ikesios. ‘What about you?’

  The youth shook his head, disdainful. ‘He couldn’t pick me out in an empty tavern. He only pays attention to men who might be his rivals. He won’t know my face until he sees me perform.’

  ‘Then he’ll remember your name because he will definitely have something to worry about,’ Eupraxis prophesied.

  Ikesios was surprised into a smile. Before he could ask exactly what the older poet meant, I interrupted, addressing Eupraxis.

  ‘If he recognises you following him, he’ll be instantly suspicious. He must know you have no business being anywhere but on the Pnyx today and tomorrow. You can still help us though,’ I assured him. ‘You heard what I said to Ambrakis. We need someone to stay here in case Aristarchos insists the poets are told about Polymnestos, or if he wants something else done. This will be where Lydis sends word of whatever he finds out, and there’s more you can do while you’re waiting.’

  I nodded at the cluster of poets who were still so rapt in the performa
nce that they hadn’t noticed their friend had left them. ‘See what you can find out about whatever Soterides has been up to for the past few days. Find out where he’s lodging, if you can. We’ll see you back here when… When we can.’

  Thankfully, Eupraxis nodded, because I had no more time to spare to persuade him. Soterides would soon be out of sight. I nodded at Ikesios. ‘Come on.’

  I didn’t wait to see if the youth followed me. I had to keep my eyes fixed on our quarry if we weren’t going to lose him in the crowd. He took the path that led down from the Pnyx towards the Piraeus Gate. That made me suspicious for a start. Just about everyone else whose interest in the Iliad was waning was taking the road to the Acropolis or the agora, where so many other festival events were happening.

  Still, with fewer people between us, it was easier to see Soterides. On the other hand, he could see who else was heading the same way, and I quickly realised he was checking to see if he was being followed. That strengthened my conviction that this well-groomed bastard was up to no good. I also started wondering if he knew who might be pursuing him. Did that mean that the killer could be walking this path with us?

  As Soterides glanced over his shoulder yet again, I had to fight an urge to do the same, to see if I recognised a face from the crowd on the Pnyx, or even from that first night in the tavern where Daimachos of Leuktra had made such an ass of himself.

  But if I did see someone I knew, that would be proof of nothing. Any Athenian had a right to walk these paths. All I risked was betraying our own interest in whoever might be pursuing Soterides. If the killer realised that and veered away, we’d have no way to know. If he abandoned his murderous plans altogether, we would never find out who was guilty.

  Ikesios was getting nervous. ‘What if Eupraxis was mistaken? Perhaps he does know who we are. What do we say, if he challenges us?’

  Thankfully, recalling the last time I’d approached this gate out of the city inspired me. ‘We say we’re going to call on Hermaios’ family, to pay our respects after today’s funeral.’

  A moment too late, I realised that wasn’t very tactful. Ikesios drew a sharp breath. I looked at him, ready to apologise. Instead I saw him staring at Soterides with grim determination.

  ‘That’s fitting. There’s no greater service I can do for his memory than see this killer condemned.’

  Something in his voice made me uneasy. ‘Condemned by the Areopagus Court, for all Athenians to see. Don’t be tempted to seek vengeance yourself and risk being hauled before the judges by Soterides’ family.’

  ‘Like Achilles killing Hector to avenge Patroclos? Don’t worry.’ Ikesios managed a shaky laugh. ‘Hermaios always said that, for a great and glorious hero, Achilles offers an excellent example of what not to do.’

  That was reassuring. ‘He wasn’t wrong.’

  Ahead of us, Soterides passed through the Piraeus Gate and out of sight. I walked faster, my breath harsh with fear that we might lose him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As we emerged from the gate’s shadow, for one heart-stopping moment I couldn’t see Soterides anywhere. Then Ikesios pointed. ‘There!’

  ‘I see him.’ I thanked Athena for the poet’s showy red tunic.

  Soterides was walking quickly along the high road, past the houses and shops crowded together outside the gate. The route from the coast to the city wasn’t busy, but there were people coming and going so we didn’t look unduly conspicuous.

  Not that Soterides would have seen us. He wasn’t glancing over his shoulder now, clearly intent on where he was heading.

  I glanced at Ikesios. ‘I hope he’s not going all the way to Piraeus.’

  The youth grimaced as he matched my pace. ‘There’s not a lot we can do about it if he is.’

  We passed the turning that would have taken us to Hermaios’ home. That was a relief. I would look an almighty fool if Soterides was going to pay his respects. On the other hand, I was now seriously concerned that we were heading for the port. Once we reached the point where the Long Walls drew closer to the road, to safeguard Athens’ access to our harbours, it was hard to imagine the poet wouldn’t realise we were following him.

  Soterides walked on and we walked after him. Finally the poet halted by a turning and took a final look around. Satisfied he was unobserved, he headed down a broad path between two high-walled houses. As soon as Soterides was out of sight, Ikesios broke into a run. I hurried after the youth.

  We both stopped a few paces short of the entry. Ikesios looked at me. I looked at him. We both took a step forward, about to look round the corner. We both halted to let the other go first. Our timing couldn’t have been better if we’d rehearsed it. Up on stage in the Theatre of Dionysos, we’d have got a roar of laughter.

  Right here, right now, this wasn’t in the least amusing. I tried not to glare at Ikesios as I raised a hand to tell him to stay put. As he nodded and stood motionless, I edged towards the corner. I snatched a look down the path. I was just in time to see Soterides go through a gate that had opened to admit him. Some unseen hand immediately closed it.

  ‘Come on.’ I headed down the path. Thankfully the gates on either side were firmly closed as well. Like Hermaios’ family home, these were bigger dwellings than most ordinary homes inside the city, though none were anywhere close to the size of Aristarchos’ property. Still, if this was where Soterides was keeping an illicit companion, he must be earning a handsome income as a performer.

  The gate he had gone through was at the end of the path. I was relieved to see a narrow alley cutting between this property’s enclosing wall and the neighbour’s. I pointed at it and whispered to Ikesios, barely more than mouthing the words.

  ‘We go down there if we need to hide.’

  He nodded and I walked up to the gate, taking care to tread silently on the dry, dusty ground. I took another look around. The other gates were still closed. I stood as close as I could to the entrance and listened intently.

  Ikesios stood on the other side of the gate and pressed his ear to the crack between the wooden planks and the post. He wiped sweat from his forehead, and gave me a rueful glance. I tried to give him an encouraging smile. At least the heat of the day meant that few birds were twittering to obscure the voices within. Better yet, the wall gave us some welcome shade as we waited to learn what we could.

  Writing comedy, I try to avoid those scenes that an audience has already seen, time and time again. High on that list is somebody discovering something vital for the play’s plot by listening at a door. It’s been done too often. On the other hand, the best jokes are rooted in reality. People persist in thinking that if you can’t see them, you can’t hear them either.

  Soterides certainly felt secure in his privacy. We could hear him as clearly as if he were speaking before the People’s Assembly.

  ‘I told you I would come and visit you. You must have got my letter.’ The poet’s words were smooth and reassuring, without any hint of rebuke. ‘I have simply been so busy. So many of my admirers have come to the Great Panathenaia. They beg a moment of my time and I have to oblige, and so those moments mount up. Even a performer of my eminence must keep his audience happy. You must understand that.’ His tone took on a wheedling note.

  ‘You always expect everyone to make allowances, don’t you?’

  I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle an exclamation. Whoever had just answered the poet wasn’t some forlorn and languishing lover. Or at least, this wasn’t a woman. That voice was a man’s. Not a boy, or a youth, but someone who sounded like the self-assured head of this household. A man in his prime. A very irritated man.

  ‘Well then,’ he barked. ‘You’re here now. What do you want?’

  I looked across at Ikesios and saw his eyes were wide with confusion. I shrugged to convey I was at just as much of a loss.

  On the other side of the gate, the poet sounded hurt, while manfully trying to rise above this shameful lack of welcome. ‘Since I have walked so far to see you, so
mething to drink would be appreciated.’

  I wished he hadn’t said that. Now I was thirsty. Ikesios’ grimace told me so was he.

  ‘Drosis!’ the irritated man snapped.

  He must have summoned a slave. We waited and listened, but it was hard to make out what was happening. I guessed some refreshment was coming.

  Ikesios looked at me, eyebrows raised in query. He gestured back towards the main road. It was easy to see what he was asking. Was it time for us to go?

  I was tempted, but there was something going on, even if the woman we sought wasn’t hidden here. I wanted to hear more in hopes of some hint that might still lead us to her. Since I couldn’t work out how to possibly convey all that to the youth, I settled for a brief shake of my head.

  We heard the clunk of something being set down on a table.

  ‘That is a very fine vintage.’ Soterides approved. ‘Your business is clearly prospering.’

  He sounded happy for his friend. The man’s answer was far less amiable.

  ‘I could say the same. You’re carrying enough gold on your knuckles to break a man’s teeth, and that tunic can’t have come cheap.’

  Soterides sighed. ‘Appearances are important in my profession. You surely understand that? But the Muses’ favour can be a fickle thing. We cannot rely on returns as predictable as the winds that carry your cargoes from Egypt.’

  Ah, so that was why we were on the road to Piraeus. This man he’d come to see was a merchant of some sort. If he imported goods from Egypt, those would have most likely arrived a month or so ago. The sailing season had started in the spring, and no one does much business over there in the summer. By all accounts, half the land that’s not sand ends up under water when their great river floods.

  The unknown merchant grunted. ‘What of it?’

  Ikesios looked at me, with his eyes narrowed. I pursed my lips and nodded agreement. We had both heard an ominous note in the man’s voice.