Justice for Athena

by JM Alvey

  Either Soterides didn’t hear that, or he chose to ignore it. ‘Your strongbox must be full to overflowing. You can surely spare me a small loan? On family terms, obviously. As soon as I’m next in Athens, I’ll repay every obol of course.’

  I had to admire Soterides’ easy confidence. I admired the merchant’s uncompromising reply even more.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I only need a small sum to cover my expenses until the Epidauria.’ The poet sounded as if that was a matter of days, not a couple of months. Such a loan wouldn’t be a small sum, not as far as my family are concerned, and none of us have Soterides’ expensive tastes.

  ‘No.’

  Now Soterides sounded mortally wounded. ‘My success reflects on us all. Surely you can see this is an investment?’

  That was clearly a rhetorical question, but the merchant answered with one of his own.

  ‘Is that what you said to Theophilos when you borrowed money off him? On family terms, of course. How about Kriton? What did you say to him, when you persuaded him to give you a loan as well, on family terms obviously?’ The man’s mockery was brutal.

  Now Ikesios was pressing a hand to his mouth to curb an unguarded laugh. His eyes were wide as he looked at me.

  ‘Well?’ This merchant wasn’t playing speechwriters’ games. He clearly expected an answer to his questions.

  I didn’t blame him. A loan on family terms is a matter of honour, to earn goodwill that you can expect to see repaid in favours rather than earning you any interest on your silver. Honourable behaviour has to go both ways, whether that loan is arranged between those related by blood, marriage or by long-standing friendship. First and foremost, that means repaying the money in the amounts and on the dates agreed.

  Soterides cleared his throat. Strain tightened his voice as he tried to ask a casual question. ‘Have they come to Athens to celebrate the Great Panathenaia?’

  ‘No. They probably can’t afford the trip.’ The merchant’s tone was cutting.

  Ikesios winced, though his eyes were still laughing. I grinned back.

  ‘Well?’ the merchant said again. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

  I heard sounds of movement in the courtyard. I guessed Soterides was about to leave. I pointed at the alleyway behind Ikesios. He nodded his understanding. There was no way we could get back to the high road in time to go unnoticed. If Soterides saw us, we might very well find ourselves in a fight. He would be furious to think there were witnesses to his humiliation, and that merchant was right about the damage a fistful of rings could do.

  The poet managed to sound remarkably dignified for a man who’d just been so soundly rebuffed. ‘Thank you for the wine. I will bid you farewell, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your festival.’

  The merchant wasn’t finished with him yet. ‘Don’t think you can go to anyone else in the family. No one will lend you a quarter obol until you’ve repaid Theophilos and Kriton in full, and even then I wouldn’t give much for your chances. Don’t try trading on my name with the money lenders either, in Piraeus or anywhere else. Everyone who knows me knows you’re a vine that’s all leaves and no grapes.’

  I nearly choked as I swallowed a laugh. The last time I heard that old saying in the theatre, the actor’s gesture made it very clear he was referring to a lack of fruit dangling below his enemy’s exaggerated comedy cock.

  Thankfully Ikesios had his wits about him, and dragged me into the shelter of the alley. We crouched there just in time as Soterides came stalking out of the gate.

  The merchant hurled a last barbed shout. ‘Sell that fancy tunic and those rings, and you can settle your debts. I know a goldsmith who’ll pay a fair price.’

  I saw Soterides flinch, as if that shot had physically struck him. I had no sympathy as we watched him walk towards the road. My brothers and I work hard for the silver that will see my nephews educated and armed to fight for Athens, and their sisters securely and contentedly married. From time to time, we band together and each put up a share of a loan to help out those in temporary difficulties among our wider circle of family and friends. We never make more than one such loan at a time though. None of us can afford to see our generosity abused.

  By now Soterides had reached the end of the entry. He paused and looked both ways before stepping out to take the high road back towards the city.

  Ikesios let out a disappointed breath as we started walking after him. ‘So much for that.’

  I wasn’t so ready to give up. ‘What if the costs of keeping this woman are the burden that’s sinking him in debt?’

  Ikesios wasn’t convinced. ‘Then where is she?’

  ‘Let’s follow him and hope we find out.’ But as we reached the high road ourselves, I grabbed his arm.

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There!’

  I pointed. I had just seen a man emerge from an alley on the other side of the road. His gaze was fixed on Soterides. He was following the poet with a purpose that was obvious even at this distance. He was tall, muscular, and I was glad I had Ikesios with me. It would take the two of us to tackle him.

  ‘He was waiting for a chance to get him on his own.’ I guessed the killer had already known the woman he sought wasn’t in that house.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Ikesios was intent on our enemy as we started walking.

  I could see a burning desire for revenge in the young man’s eyes. ‘We have to catch him in the act if we’re to bring him before the Areopagus Court. We have to take him alive if he’s to answer for Hermaios’ murder and for killing Polymnestos. We owe it to their families.’

  Ikesios looked mutinous. ‘Of course,’ he said a few paces later.

  I wasn’t convinced. I would have to hold the youth back without letting our quarry get away. At least the murderous stranger had no expectation of being followed himself. His attention was fixed on Soterides. The poet glanced over his shoulder from time to time, but this pursuer meant nothing to him. I guessed he was more concerned about being cornered by the people whose trust he’d abused, and he would know their faces. That meant the man who was following him could edge ever closer without Soterides noticing.

  ‘He’s going to attack him before he reaches the city gate.’ I spoke that realisation aloud. ‘Far enough away for the guards not to see.’

  Ikesios nodded and we both walked faster. We closed the gap between us and the killer. Soterides was slowing now. I guessed he was reluctant to return to the Pnyx. He’d have to put on a performance there, and not just the show of confidence that fooled so many. Everyone was convinced he was rich, and that meant generosity. He’d be expected to be open-handed with his silver, paying for jugs of wine and tasty treats from the food vendors’ braziers.

  The man hunting him seized his chance when Soterides passed a gap between two rows of houses. He suddenly broke into a run. Before Soterides had any idea what was happening, the attacker wrapped his arms around him.

  Soterides’ elbows were pinned to his sides. More than that, he was all but knocked off his feet. Stumbling, he lost a sandal as he was half-shoved, half-dragged into what passed for seclusion so the killer could do his worst. A man passing by on the far side of the road stopped, startled. If he had been inclined to intervene, he changed his mind when he saw Ikesios sprint into the fray.

  I raced after the youth. We saw the killer had Soterides pressed up against a wall with a broad hand clamped on the back of his neck. The rough stone was already bloody where the poet’s cheek had scraped along it. The killer’s other hand had firm hold of his wrist. He was twisting Soterides’ arm up behind his back so viciously that the poet could have scratched an itch between his own shoulder blades. That left him with a free hand, but all he could do was feebly slap at the wall. He had no chance of bracing himself to throw the heavier man off his back.

  ‘You swore her an oath. You have let her down. She will not forgive or forget.’ The attacker eased up just a little, shook Soterid
es by the neck like a dog with a rat, and slammed him into the wall again. The poet wailed in wordless protest.

  Ikesios had seen enough. He took a long stride with his fists raised to fight. ‘Hey!’

  ‘No!’ I grabbed his arm. I’d seen enough to realise that something was wrong. That we were wrong somehow.

  It took me a moment to understand why. For a start, everything we knew so far told us this killer had help. There was no sign here of a slave coerced into doing murder. Besides, Thallos had said an Athenian attacked him. I couldn’t say where this man called home, but that accent came from somewhere out in Attica.

  Soterides’ attacker turned his head to glower at us without losing his hold. ‘This is none of your concern.’

  Now I had a better idea of where he was from. That was a coastal accent, far to the north and east of Athens.

  ‘We’re looking for a missing woman. We think he has her hidden away.’ Ikesios jerked his head at Soterides before he challenged the Attican. ‘You seem to know about that, from what you’ve just said.’

  The man looked blankly at the youth. From what I could see of Soterides’ expression, he was equally bewildered. The poet was quicker to recover though.

  ‘Help me—’

  ‘Shut up.’ The man from the coast slammed his prisoner’s face into the wall again. He didn’t relax his grip as he looked at me and Ikesios. ‘I know nothing about any woman. I serve Nemesis and this filth has gravely offended her.’

  He gave Soterides another shake in case we were in any doubt who he meant.

  ‘Oh.’ I drew a breath as I saw what was going on. ‘You’re from Rhamnous, from the goddess’s temple there.’

  Trikorynthos, where Soterides came from, was a district within easy reach of that town. They were both part of the same voting tribe, named to honour Aias, the great hero of the Trojan war.

  ‘What?’ Ikesios was still in the dark.

  Of course, the youth was an Athenian, born and bred, and I guessed neither his own father nor Hermaios had ever been forced into borrowing money at whatever rate of interest a coterie of priests deemed appropriate.

  ‘You know there’s a great temple to Nemesis in Rhamnous?’ That was a bit of an exaggeration. Like so many of Athens’ temples, that new sanctuary is still being built. But the divine daughter of night who ensures that men get exactly what they deserve had earned a fine new shrine. She had seen the Persians’ hubris as they advanced to join battle with the Athenians and the Plataeans at Marathon. One of their ships had even carried a pristine block of Parian marble, ready to be carved into a monument to celebrate their great victory. Meantime, the citizens of Rhamnous had prayed for their patron goddess’s aid as they prepared to fight and die to defend Attica.

  They say it’s thanks to her help that the Persians were defeated, and the great King Darius paid such a high price for his arrogance. I’m certainly not going to argue, and the Athenians hadn’t baulked when the people of Rhamnous claimed that block of marble as the spoils of war. I’m sure it will come in handy as their new temple progresses. The goddess’s priests are also raising funds for building materials in other ways.

  ‘Do you know that the temple makes loans?’ I asked Ikesios.

  He stared at Soterides, open-mouthed. ‘Of all the goddesses to offend by breaking faith with her servants, you chose Nemesis?’

  The poet screwed his eyes closed. If he could have turned his face away to hide his shame, he would have, but the priest still held his head pressed hard against the wall.

  ‘Let me guess, the loan and the interest came due at the start of the year?’ That explained why Soterides had been trying to borrow money off that merchant, and on family terms.

  The priest nodded. ‘But this fool was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately for my mistress, his face is well known and it was easy enough to guess where he’d be. He wasn’t hard to find.’

  I raised my hands. ‘We have no wish to interfere with you claiming what is owed to the goddess.’

  The priest looked down at Soterides’ hand, still twisted painfully behind his back. ‘We’ll start with those rings. All of them.’

  He released his hold and stepped back. The poet fell to his knees, leaning the top of his head against the wall as he rubbed his abused shoulder.

  Then I saw him turn his face towards me and Ikesios, just far enough to look at us. His eyes were calculating when they should have been penitent. He planted the foot that had lost its sandal solidly on the beaten earth, ready to stand. He was ready to run, I could see it. His arm might be badly wrenched, but there was nothing wrong with his legs.

  ‘Don’t,’ I advised him. ‘We won’t offend the goddess by letting you get past us.’

  Quite apart from the sheer stupidity of offending her, Nemesis is well known to be generous to those who do right by the laws of gods and men. I had already sought Aphrodite’s aid, but I’d take all the divine help that might be on offer.

  ‘Your rings,’ the priest repeated, menacing. ‘You can give them to me or I can take them.’

  Soterides might be a fool with money, but he wasn’t that stupid. He could see as well as I did that he’d be lucky to escape with only a couple of his fingers pulled out of joint if he resisted. Scowling, he stripped off the rings.

  The priest held out his hand. For an instant we saw Soterides consider tossing the gold on the ground. Then he thought better of it, and handed over what I guessed was the last of his wealth. The priest wasn’t finished. His smile was as chilling as a midwinter wind. ‘And the tunic.’

  The poet looked at him, aghast. He looked at us with appeal on his face.

  I shook my head. ‘Forget it.’

  Ikesios spoke to the priest. ‘Do you want some help?’

  Soterides sneered at the youth, but he unbuckled his belt all the same. A purse fell to the ground. It didn’t make much of a thud, so I guessed it didn’t hold anything to speak of. The priest made no move to pick up the leather pouch as Soterides dragged the tunic off over his head and handed it over.

  He was left standing there naked, tousled and flushed with humiliation, as the priest folded the bold red tunic and then nodded at the purse. He didn’t need to speak. Soterides stooped, scooped up the pouch and handed that over as well.

  The priest dropped it down the neck of his own plain brown tunic. ‘We’ll expect to see you before the end of the month. We’ll let you know how much you still owe.’

  He walked towards us and Ikesios and I stepped apart to let him pass. Then we moved to stand shoulder to shoulder once again. The youth was just following my lead, but I had just realised how Aphrodite had answered my prayers.

  Soterides glared at us, truculent. ‘Shouldn’t you be on your way?’

  I had to admire him a little for such defiance, as he stood there with his cock shrivelled with embarrassment now that his pretence of wealth had been so literally stripped away.

  ‘We have business of our own with you—’ I broke off as the sandal Soterides had lost came flying past us. Apparently the priest had decided Nemesis had no use for that.

  ‘What business? Something about a woman? Do you think I can afford to keep a concubine?’ he demanded bitterly.

  ‘No,’ I acknowledged, ‘but you may know more than you think. If you can help us, that’ll be worth my young friend here going to get you a tunic.’

  ‘You can go fuck your young friend in a doorway.’

  I went on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘If you tell us what we really need to know, that’ll be worth us keeping our mouths shut about this little comedy when we go back to the Pnyx.’

  ‘Oh, must we?’ If Ikesios was only pretending, he was very convincing. ‘Eupraxis and the others would love to hear about this.’

  I saw realisation dawn on Soterides’ face. He still didn’t know who we were, but he could see we could make his predicament far, far worse.

  His shoulders sagged, defeated. ‘Well?’

  ‘You know Daimachos of Leuktra and Hermaios
Metrobiou have been killed? Polymnestos Anytou was murdered this morning, and we believe the same man killed them all.’

  That got Soterides’ attention. ‘What? How—?’

  ‘He’s looking for a woman who fled her home and her family. We think she ran away during the last Great Panathenaia, with a performance poet, a man who was taking part in the Iliad competition. Can you recall anything you saw or heard back then, anything at all, that might tell us who she was, or who he was, so we can track this killer down? Can you remember any of your friends or rivals getting swept up in some romance?’

  Soterides frowned. I could see he was searching his memories. We waited for a long moment.

  ‘Posideos Kalliphonou,’ he finally said slowly. ‘He fell in love back then. The poor fool started writing poems that would make Eros weep. But I’ve no idea who the girl was. He would never say.’

  That wasn’t surprising, if she was married. The besotted lover wouldn’t want to face a charge of seduction – or a fatal beating in a back alley if he already had this killer’s measure. Still, I might not have an epic performer’s powers of recollection, but I recognised that name. Posideos was one of the poets who was still unaccounted for.

  ‘Where is he now? Where did you last see him?’

  Soterides looked at me, his expression curious. ‘Do you know, I have no idea. I haven’t seen him anywhere, not at any festival, not since then. He wasn’t even there when the prizes were awarded on the final day. I remember that, now you mention it. He was a serious contender.’

  Eupraxis had told us Soterides kept a close eye on his rivals. So I’d say it was a safe bet that Posideos Kalliphonou had foregone any chance of a prize in favour of making good his escape with his beloved.

  The poet shrugged. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘That’s worth a tunic and our silence,’ I assured him.

  ‘Thank you for that.’ Soterides looked pitiably relieved.

  I looked at Ikesios. ‘Can you borrow something for him from somewhere? I need to get back and tell the festival commissioner we finally know which poet we’re looking for.’ I forestalled any protest from Soterides. ‘I won’t tell anyone how we found out, I give you my oath on that.’