by JM Alvey
Glykera looked around, still smiling. ‘It’s nice out this way, isn’t it? Perhaps we should look for a house around here. Just somewhere small.’
‘It’s too far from your family as well as mine.’ Chairephanes glowered.
My normally cheerful brother wasn’t only grumpy at the prospect of living out here and facing a long walk to the family workshop and back each day. He had tried to forbid Glykera’s involvement in any part in this scheme, when I had called at our family home last night to ask for help, after I explained what we’d learned about the killer’s murderous grudge.
I’d been hoping to persuade my mother to come with us, reminding her that she’d convinced me how women tell other women things that men will never hear. Glykera had caught me unawares when she had insisted she was far better suited to this task. Before I could find a polite way to demur, Chairephanes had objected so loudly that Nymenios had to warn him not to wake the children sleeping a few rooms away.
On reflection as we’d walked home, I’d thought there might be rather more to it than that. I had seen the meaningful look Melina had given my older brother. That definitely held more than concern over the prospect of a broken night.
The women of my family had evidently discussed the conversation I’d had with Mother the evening before last. They hadn’t heard any whispers that could help us – and after four years that was surely a forlorn hope – but they were still determined to help if they could. When we had arrived at their gate this morning, after I had collected Ikesios and Ambrakis from Aristarchos’ house, Chairephanes had a very chastened expression.
That didn’t stop him insisting on coming too, even though Zosime was there to chaperone his wife, along with Menkaure to protect them both. I could hardly refuse my brother, so we had all set off together. All we needed was Hyanthidas with his pipes, and Telesilla to give us a song, and we could have had our own festival procession. Thankfully the Corinthians had already agreed to spend the day on the Pnyx, to be on hand in case there was any disturbance. Not to get involved, but to stand witness for me to whatever might happen, as well as to watch for anyone taking an undue interest in Soterides or anyone else.
When we reached the main road out of the city, everyone had waited for me and Ambrakis to go on ahead. We’d agreed to meet at a handy tavern. There’s always a tavern. I told myself if the killer was anywhere out here on the road to Ankyle, he would surely never suspect this family gathering was intent on hunting him down. Add to that, having both Glykera and Zosime here gave us options for this next, last and increasingly desperate throw of our dice today.
I reached for my cup and drank sparingly. There was every chance this was going to be a long wait. While Aristarchos had given me enough silver to placate the tavern owner with regular orders, I didn’t want to miss anything vital because I was out the back having a pee.
‘Have you been to any of the panhellenic festivals?’ Glykera asked Menkaure brightly. ‘How do they compare with our celebrations here?’
He smiled back at her. ‘I went to the Isthmian Games once, when I was a young man.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ Zosime was intrigued.
I listened with half an ear as the Egyptian reminisced about the contests and the sights he had seen at the great temple complex dedicated to Poseidon, where the Isthmus offers the only land route into the Peloponnese. Ikesios was intrigued to hear about the women who had competed for the prizes for playing and singing, alongside the men. Chairephanes was eventually drawn out of his sulks when Menkaure described the chariot races. Since the horse was Poseidon’s gift to mankind, those competitions were a major feature of the festival.
The tavern wasn’t particularly busy, and the owner was happy enough to keep us supplied with water, wine and snacks, paid for with Aristarchos’ silver. I kept watch on the gate to Kalliphonos’ house, and I saw Ambrakis was doing the same.
As the sun climbed towards noon, I was starting to think this was a foolish waste of time. I started trying to find a way to raise my doubts with the others, who were still enjoying swapping stories of past festivals and hearing about Menkaure and Zosime’s travels.
Then Ambrakis sat up straight on his stool. So did I. The gate to Kalliphonos’ garden had opened. A trio of women came out. Even at this distance, I could see one of them was wearing the long, pleated gown that’s customary for a citizen woman, the same as Glykera. The other two wore shorter, draped dresses like Zosime. Since we had no reason to think there were any resident foreigners in that household, it was fair to assume they were slaves. They were both carrying tall water jars.
‘See?’ Glykera broke off to grin at Chairephanes. ‘I said they’d need to visit the fountain sooner or later.’
She stood up, and so did Zosime. I opened my mouth and closed it again, but I was too late. She had seen I was about to object.
‘You don’t expect Glykera to do this alone?’
As a matter of fact, we hadn’t discussed it. When I’d been hoping to persuade my mother, I’d assumed I’d be at her side, as the dutiful son carrying a heavy ewer. When we’d agreed that Glykera and Zosime would both come, we’d agreed that Glykera could approach any daughters of the house, while Zosime would be the better choice for talking to slaves. We hadn’t got any further than that, and now it was too late.
Chairephanes, Menkaure and I stayed in the shade outside the tavern, watching the two women walk away. Zosime was carrying the wine jug she’d taken from the table. Ambrakis shifted on his stool. I could see letting the women do this rubbed the bodyguard’s fur the wrong way, even more than the rest of us.
My brother was glowering at me. I decided it was best to say nothing. Evidently so did everyone else. We sat in silence, intent, as Zosime and Glykera arrived at the spring. I saw a few moments’ uncertainty as the other women saw them approach. As they stood by the fountain’s basin and gestured, I could easily write that exchange in my head.
‘You were here first. We can wait.’
‘No, you only have a jug to fill. Please, go on.’
I only wished the rest of the conversation was as easy to divine, but no one around this table was an oracle who could help out with that. We watched Glykera and Kalliphonos’ daughter sit on the ledge that the thoughtful mason had added to the wide basin for buckets and buttocks to rest on. Zosime helped the two slave girls rinse out and refill their sturdy water jars. When they were done, the three of them retreated to the shady edge of the olive grove.
The two citizen women were still deep in conversation. Menkaure watched them, as still as a heron waiting for some signal to take wing. Chairephanes was fidgeting like a boy who’d fallen into a patch of nettles.
At least the conversation wasn’t a long one. I heaved a sigh of relief as the two of them stood up and brushed any dust off their skirts. They offered each other a farewell embrace, which surprised me since they had only just met. Zosime was helping the slave girls shoulder their heavy water jars. My beloved and Glykera stood for a moment watching as the others headed back down the road towards Kalliphonos’ house. Then Zosime picked up the tavern’s water jug from the ledge by the fountain and they strolled back to join us.
As they drew closer I could see the triumph on their faces. I could barely hold myself back, but if I moved so would Chairephanes, and I still didn’t want to draw undue attention our way.
The women arrived, and Glykera kissed her husband. ‘See how easy that was?’
He looked sheepish and kissed her back.
Zosime filled our cups with the water she was carrying. I took a drink and was surprised to realise how dry my mouth had been.
‘Well?’
‘That was Posideos’ sister,’ Glykera said, triumphant. ‘She knew he was running away four years ago, though she has no idea where he went. The girl he had fallen in love with was nobody’s wife, but she had a tyrant of a brother who was ready to marry her off to a man she loathed. Her name was Adrasteia,’ she said before any of us could ask, ‘a
nd her brother was – is – Damianos Sethou. They lived in Koele, though she wasn’t sure if that’s the family’s ancestral home.’
‘That doesn’t matter. That’s enough to find him.’ I felt giddy with relief.
Zosime came around the table and drew up a stool to sit beside me. She took my hand and leaned her head on my shoulder as Glykera continued sharing what she had learned.
‘Adrasteia knew she would be pursued. If anyone even suspected she planned to run away, she would never have been let out of the house. So she went out with only the clothes she was wearing, taking nothing else. Posideos begged his sister for a cloak, a hairbrush, a few essentials. He swore her to secrecy, and she’s kept her oath. It’s not as if she had anything to tell, really, and he convinced her there could only be trouble if Damianos knew their family had anything to do with his sister’s disappearance.’
He wasn’t wrong about that. ‘Did you tell her—’
‘She heard her father telling her mother about your visit. That’s why she volunteered to help fetch the water. She had to get out of the house in case she gave something away.’ Glykera looked at me, wholly serious. ‘She thought meeting me was a gift from the gods when I told her three men had been killed by a man hunting the girl her brother ran away with. Now she understands why Posideos warned her, and she swears she’ll still keep her oath.’
‘That’s good to know.’ I nodded, relieved.
Now we knew who we were looking for. Now the hunter had become the prey. The last thing we needed was well-meaning interference from Kalliphonos or his other sons.
I stood up. ‘Let’s get back to the city and see what Aristarchos can find out about this bastard.’
Chapter Seventeen
Chairephanes and Glykera headed for home to relate her triumph to Mother and Melina. We agreed Menkaure and Zosime would go to the Pnyx to find Hyanthidas and Telesilla. They would share what we had learned with the Corinthians and see if they had any news.
Ambrakis, Ikesios and I made our way to Aristarchos’ house as fast as the crowds would allow us. Mus welcomed us in and as we walked across the outer courtyard Lydis summarised the morning’s reports that Kallinos had gathered from the Scythians.
‘The only fights they broke up last night were the usual festival melees. They patrolled the streets between the agora, the Pnyx and the Acropolis around dawn, and didn’t trip over any dead bodies. Melesias Philaid sent runners to every poet on our list first thing this morning. By noon he’d heard from them all. No one had any encounters to concern them.’
That was a relief. I also wondered how many slaves Melesias owned as Lydis went on.
‘Almost all the performers are up at the Pnyx for the Iliad’s final day. They’re looking for safety in numbers, as they freely admit.’
I didn’t blame the poets in the least. Thrilling an audience with stories of bloodshed and violence was one thing. Facing a proven killer was something else entirely, especially if you were on your own and armed with a performer’s staff not a hoplite’s spear.
Aristarchos was reading his correspondence in the shade of the colonnade by his private dining room door. I wondered if he ever enjoyed a day free of letters bringing him news or demanding decisions about his interests in Athens or out in Attica, maybe asking him to use his wealth and influence to deliver some favour. For the moment though, I blessed Athena for his extensive connections and the widespread respect he commanded.
He looked up and set the document aside. ‘Can I offer you something to drink? Something to eat?’
‘No, thank you.’ I was still full of tavern snacks and wine. ‘We know who we’re looking for. Now we just have to find him.’
‘Please.’ He gestured to a stool.
I told him what we’d learned as quickly as I could. Ikesios sat silent by my side, eager as a well-trained pup. Ambrakis stood in the shade, as impassive as ever. Lydis stood beside his master’s chair, dark eyes fixed on my face as he committed every detail to memory. When I relayed the crucial information that Glykera had discovered, Aristarchos reached for a sheet of unsullied papyrus, pen and ink.
‘Damianos Sethou, and he’s a resident of Koele, though that may not be the family’s voting district?’ He glanced at me to confirm he had those details correct.
‘That’s right.’ I waited for him to finish his letter. ‘As soon as we know where he lives…’
I realised I wasn’t sure what our next steps might be.
Ikesios couldn’t restrain himself any longer. ‘We confront him.’
‘With what?’ Aristarchos looked at Lydis and handed him the tightly rolled letter. ‘Take this to the Hippothontis treasurer, with my compliments, and my request that he give it his immediate attention.’
As the lithe slave departed, I nodded my understanding. The Koele district is affiliated to the voting tribe named to honour Hippothoon, the ancient king of Eleusis. The tribe’s treasurer would definitely know where Damianos owed his allegiance and his taxes and, most likely, where to find him to collect any money due, whoever it might be owed to. If he didn’t, he would certainly know which district brotherhood official to ask. Now we had to hope that Lydis could track down whoever it was. That wasn’t necessarily going to be easy with the festival suspending routine business.
Aristarchos returned his attention to Ikesios. ‘We need some proof that he committed these crimes.’
‘We have Thallos.’ Ikesios couldn’t see an issue.
‘Who can swear this man attacked him, but that’s no proof that he killed Daimachos, Hermaios or Polymnestos.’ Aristarchos looked steadily at the youth. ‘We must tie him to those murders with something we can take to Hermaios’ and Polymnestos’ families. Once they decide who’s going to declare their intent to prosecute Damianos, they must have enough evidence or an argument that will satisfy the Ruling Archon there’s a case for him to answer. We will work with them to lay everything that we know and suspect before the Areopagus Court, but the more we can put in our side of the scales, the better.’
Ikesios looked at him aghast. ‘That will take months.’
For the first time that day, grief for his lover filled the youth’s eyes with tears. I sympathised, but Aristarchos was right. To be certain that true justice is delivered, we Athenians prefer not to rush things.
Once the prosecution had been proclaimed with a notice displayed in the agora, the Ruling Archon would hold three successive hearings, each one a month apart, to review what evidence the accused and the aggrieved intended to present on the day of the trial. Once the magistrate was convinced this was a valid prosecution, not some personal attack, a day would be fixed for a jury to be rounded up to hear each side’s arguments. With the best will in the world, it would be winter before Damianos answered for these killings with his own life. Assuming he didn’t flee the city first. That was a distinct possibility, and the thought of this murderer evading justice revolted me.
Aristarchos smiled briefly. ‘The days are long gone when avenging a murder was a matter of riding out in your chariot to challenge your enemy to a duel.’
I had other concerns. ‘How many of the poets will be here for the trial, do you suppose?’
By the time a date for the court to sit was fixed, the rural winter festivals could well have begun. Those celebrations would draw those performers who were Athenian citizens out into Attica. They would be heading to towns and villages ready to pay for some thrilling entertainment to warm up the cold days. The epic poets from further afield could be travelling to any one of countless Hellenic cities, looking forward to being wined and dined in return for performing the favourite local tales of high heroics.
‘Thallos will be here. He’s an Athenian. He will do what’s right.’ But a tremor betrayed Ikesios’ uncertainty.
‘He might be our only witness,’ Aristarchos observed.
I saw his point. If we didn’t have an array of compelling testimonies as successive performers convinced the jury of the fear that had stalked them
, the trial would essentially come down to Thallos’ word against the killer’s.
I remembered the battered poet’s concern for his reputation. How would he react if Damianos told the presiding magistrate that he had some grievance against him? What if Damianos accused Thallos of seducing his sister? Without Posideos to say different, there was no way to prove he was innocent of that crime.
I couldn’t see any hope of us finding the runaways, even with Aristarchos’ resources to call on. After four years, the pair could be in any Hellenic city from the distant ocean shore beyond the Pillars of Hercules to the towns that ringed the Euxine Sea. There was no reason to suppose news of Adrasteia’s brother’s trial in Athens would reach them. If, by some divine intervention, they did hear what was going on, and in time to reach Athens for the trial, would they risk returning? That meant exposing themselves to Damianos’ murderous fury, with no guarantee that he’d be convicted and executed. I very much doubted that, after hearing they had fled his anger with little more than the clothes on their backs.
‘We need more evidence. More witnesses who can tie him to these crimes.’ I looked at Aristarchos and thought I saw a hint that he shared at least some of my reservations about seeing justice done.
He nodded. ‘We must see what we can learn from his neighbours, discreetly, once we know where he lives.’
Ikesios rose and bowed politely to Aristarchos. ‘If you will excuse me, I would like to go to the Pnyx to see the Iliad’s performance concluded.’
Aristarchos smiled. ‘By all means. You hardly need my permission.’
‘Good day to you both.’ Ikesios departed. If he didn’t leave as fast as Lydis, there was just as much purpose in his stride.
Aristarchos waited until we heard Mus open the gate to the street. He looked at me. ‘Please go and make sure he doesn’t do something stupid. I understand his frustration, but the law is the law.’