Justice for Athena

by JM Alvey

  I saw Menekles’ shoulders stiffen. The briefest of hitches slowed his step. So he had heard me. Good. Had he realised my whistle signified the man who was coming towards him? I was already walking towards the slope, forcing myself not to run. The last thing I wanted to do was provoke Damianos into bolting like a startled goat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lysicrates was moving too. He’d been lounging by a wine cart whose owner had set out some stools for serious drinkers.

  I couldn’t spare any attention to see where Ambrakis had got to or how many slaves he was mustering. I needed to keep watch on Damianos, but I mustn’t make that obvious. I sauntered on down the slope. I was just another man heading away from the Pnyx. Not even one needing a piss. I made sure not to look towards the alley where Apollonides had gone. Damianos needed to think he could catch Posideos alone. To my relief, I saw Menekles realised that too. He strolled straight past the path leading to the latrine, and carried on down the hill.

  Damianos didn’t spare the tall actor a second glance as he passed him. Intent, he turned down the alley. As soon as the killer was out of sight, I started running. As soon as he heard my footsteps on the rocky ground, Menekles spun round. He whistled two discordant notes and sprinted towards the latrine path like a man who’d eaten bad mussels.

  That two-note whistle meant Menekles had seen Damianos was carrying a knife. None of us were armed. We’d decided we weren’t about to offer the bastard any excuse to claim he was only defending himself. I ran as fast as I could without risking losing my footing. The rocky ground had been polished smooth by countless sandals.

  I skidded as I reached the alley entrance and nearly fell on my arse. Grabbing the corner of the wall saved me, and I threw myself down the narrow path. Just before the alley took a sharp bend, I saw Apollonides slumped on the ground. He lay unmoving and huddled under that cursed green cloak.

  Menekles was wrestling with Damianos. Each man had a firm hold on the other’s shoulders. Both were trying to get his foe off his feet. They were evenly matched. Damianos was taller and stronger than I had realised.

  I realised something else. If the killer was gripping fistfuls of Menekles’ tunic, he couldn’t be holding a knife. I looked around for the fallen blade, ready to use it to subdue Damianos. There were three of us here, Athenian citizens, who could stand witness to him using the weapon first and with murderous intent. At least, I fervently prayed to the Furies that there were still three of us. Apollonides was lying ominously still.

  I saw the knife. At least it wasn’t hilt-deep in Apollonides’ guts. It was on the ground just beyond him though, and I couldn’t see if there was blood on the blade. Was my friend dead or dying? I judged my moment and dashed past the struggling men as they slammed into a wall.

  Menekles had learned his wrestling as a pentathlete. Damianos fought like a man who preferred the no-holds-barred pankration. Menekles went crashing to the ground. He still managed to take Damianos down with him. In a wrestling match, this would be when each man tried to secure a winning pin or a submission. This was nothing like a fair fight. Damianos kneed Menekles in the balls and scrambled to his feet. He saw me standing over the fallen man in the green cloak. He was a murderer, but he wasn’t a fool. Damianos turned and fled back the way we had come.

  As the killer ran out of the alley, I heard Lysicrates bellow. An urgent shout followed. I guessed that was Ambrakis. A piercing Euboean whistle had to mean the Scythians had joined the pursuit. I could spare a moment to check on Apollonides.

  I knelt and pulled aside the green cloak, dreading the sight of spreading blood. With a sigh of relief that left me light-headed, I saw Apollonides was blinking and gasping like a fish out of water. I helped him sit up and his breath came a little easier.

  ‘Win – winded me.’ He grimaced. ‘Said if – if he killed me, she’d have to come back home.’

  That was something else we had discussed, recalling the killer’s words to Thallos. There was a distinct chance that Damianos had given up asking questions by the time he’d murdered Polymnestos. So Apollonides was wearing a stiffened linen breastplate under his tunic. It’s the lightest kind of armour, worn by the poorest citizens who are still determined to fight for the city as hoplites rather than be relegated to the ranks of trireme rowers. We’d hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable under a loose tunic and a baggy cloak.

  We’d been right to take precautions. Damianos’ thrust had ripped through Apollonides’ clothing and sliced into the top layers of glued linen as the blade’s keen edge had skidded over the actor’s lower ribs. No wonder the blow had knocked the wind out of him.

  ‘That’s evidence of murderous intent.’ I patted his shoulder, breathless with relief.

  Menekles groaned as he lay on the ground with his hands pressed to his groin. ‘Get after the bastard. We’ll bring the knife.’

  Apollonides nodded agreement. I left without another word. I soon caught up with the chase. The road that runs through Melite and onwards down towards the agora is a broad route. It was packed with festival-goers who were scattering like quail as hunted and hunters alike barged through them.

  Not everyone was running. I saw Dados standing off to one side of the road. His bow was raised with an arrow ready to fly. The Scythians don’t carry those things just for show. Anyone close enough to realise what he was doing was already getting out of his way. As I reached him though, he lowered the weapon and relaxed his hold on the bowstring.

  ‘Can’t risk it,’ he hissed.

  I followed his gaze down the slope, and saw the archer was right. The chances were simply too great of someone blundering unawares into his arrow’s path. Aim even a hair’s breadth too high to avoid that danger and the hazard would be skewering some innocent further ahead down the road.

  Still, now I could see Damianos even though he was a fair distance ahead of me. His height made him easier to pick out as he forced a path through the crowd.

  Once the slope levelled out I couldn’t see him as easily, but the disturbance he was causing still rippled along the street. As I went after him as fast as I could, I caught glimpses of the others. Hard on Damianos’ heels, Lysicrates was slipping deftly through the throng. I guessed the protests and indignation on either side of me were prompted by Ambrakis and the slaves being less subtle.

  Kallinos wasn’t far behind Lysicrates. He was correctly assuming that citizens and visitors alike would clear out of his path when they saw his distinctive cuirass. I headed towards the Scythian to take advantage of the wake he was leaving, like a trireme cleaving the waves.

  Now we were keeping pace with Damianos, but as the crowds grew ever more tightly packed, I couldn’t see how we were going to gain on him. We were getting close to the agora and he could go anywhere from there. As I realised we were going to pass the city’s prison, I recognised the piercing whistles from Kallinos or some other Scythian. I had no idea what they meant, but it was a safe guess they were trying to raise the alarm, hoping to summon reinforcements.

  It was no good. The noise from the agora was deafening. I heard brass trumpets and rhythmic cheers off in the distance as well as closer at hand. My heart sank as I realised why Damianos had fled this way when he could have run down far less crowded streets on the other side of the Pnyx. The bastard had remembered the parade of masculine excellence.

  The warrior dance contest takes place in the theatre, but once that competition is over and done with, each voting tribe presents the most admirable citizens it can muster for the day’s festival procession along the Panathenaic Way. These men aren’t merely selected from the tallest and most vigorous of each district. They must be as handsome and as evenly muscled as the finest works of sculpture. They can’t simply be impressive to look at, however enthusiastically the crowds applaud their naked and oiled physiques. Between laying offerings at the statues of Harmodios and Aristogeiton, and going on to the rites to be celebrated at the Acropolis, the men of each contingent pause in the agora to demonstrate their strength and pois
e before the contest judges.

  The winning tribe will feast on an ox, and the victorious contestants are each awarded a finely crafted shield. It’s a great honour to win, and my brothers and I have always felt justly proud when our tribe of Antiochis has triumphed. Not that there’s ever been any question of us taking part. We’ve always had to work for a living, not spend endless days at the Lyceum to hone our bodies for such display.

  I have no idea which voting tribe’s finest were currently passing through the marketplace. I could barely force my way onwards. People were standing shoulder to shoulder, as tightly packed as salted fish in a barrel. More were crowding onto plinths and monuments to get a better view. There was no hope of tracing Damianos’ path by following a disturbance through the crowd. Everyone was jostling and moving. Those eager to see their sons, friends and neighbours’ moment of glory were elbowing people aside. Those who had already proudly cheered on their tribe’s representatives were obligingly edging backwards.

  I couldn’t see anyone I knew, friend or foe. I swore foully enough to turn shocked faces towards me. Amid this tumult, Damianos had escaped us.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Failing to capture Damianos had always been a possibility. We had prayed to great Athena and to the Furies to avert such a misfortune. The dread goddesses must have decided otherwise for some unknowable reason. That didn’t mean I had to like it. My blood boiled as I stood and swore so foully my father would have thrashed me if he’d heard. If there’d been a jug handy I’d have smashed it and stamped on the shards for good measure.

  As I ran out of breath, my fury faded enough to let me think straight. Standing there cursing our misfortune wouldn’t help anyone. I unclenched my fists and backed out of the crowds. Only a fool goes into any sort of fight without agreeing a rally point to head for if the outcome goes against you. I took a circuitous route to Aristarchos’ house, threading my way through a labyrinth of backstreets. I didn’t need to tell Mus we had failed. He looked as grim as I felt as he opened the gate.

  ‘The Scythian is here with my master. Please, go through.’

  I saw that he meant Kallinos as I went into the inner courtyard. The public slave looked over as my footsteps echoed in the archway. I realised the whole house was quiet. Aristarchos’ family and guests must be at some festival entertainment elsewhere.

  ‘Lysicrates?’ Though it was obvious Kallinos wasn’t holding out much hope that the actor was still on Damianos’ trail.

  ‘I haven’t seen him.’ I looked at Aristarchos. ‘Has Ambrakis sent word?’

  He shook his head as he gestured for me to sit. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  It took me a moment to get my thoughts into order. Lydis was sitting at a small table with papyrus, pen and ink. I made sure to speak slowly and clearly so the slave could take down my full account. That much could go to the Ruling Archon to support the accusations that must surely be made by Hermaios and Polymnestos’ families now that we could swear to the attack on Apollonides.

  I was nearly done when we heard the outer gate open. I recognised Lysicrates’ voice and heard Ambrakis talking to Mus. They came through to join us. The big slave looked distraught.

  ‘You are not at fault,’ Aristarchos said firmly before the man could speak. ‘Simply tell me what happened.’

  Unfortunately, their accounts didn’t add anything we didn’t already know. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to establish that. Better yet, before Ambrakis finished speaking, Apollonides and Menekles arrived with Ikesios. Menekles was walking stiffly with a distinctly pained expression, but Apollonides didn’t seem too much the worse for wear.

  The young poet’s face fell as they arrived in the inner courtyard and he saw our dour expressions. ‘He got away?’

  ‘Into the crowds in the agora.’

  Before I could explain any further, Ikesios looked at Aristarchos.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  His tone came perilously close to lacking the respect that a youth his age should show for a man who was so much his senior in age and status. Aristarchos answered calmly regardless.

  ‘I will send an account of the day’s events, and of our reasons for believing Damianos was involved in earlier attacks on four men, to the secretary of the Koele district brotherhood. I will send the same information to the Hippothontis treasurer. I will ask him to inform the officials who serve every district of that tribe. They’ll all be in the city at present.’

  He was right. Tomorrow would see the Great Panathenaia procession, and there would be more citizen contests between the voting tribes on the day after that. Those officials who’d come in from Attica’s countryside and coast would be staying in the city for two nights at least, even if they weren’t going to get much sleep. Once they headed home, the word would go out to every village and town that owed allegiance to Hippothontis in the countryside and along the coast. Damianos would face awkward questions if he tried to find an ally on the basis of that bond anywhere in Attica.

  ‘Meantime,’ Aristarchos continued with a nod to Apollonides and Menekles, ‘I would like to hear what happened to you two today. The more witnesses speaking against Damianos in the Areopagus Court the better.’

  He had no doubt that was where this case would end up. Though I noted he was being scrupulously careful not to accuse Damianos of murder before a prosecution was formally announced. When the killer was brought to answer for his crimes, he wouldn’t be able to muddy the waters with any counter-accusation of slander against Aristarchos.

  Apollonides smiled without much humour. ‘I’ve got the linen armour I was wearing as well as the knife that’s left a gouge in it, if anyone wants to see some proof that this bastard was out to kill me.’

  Aristarchos approved. ‘That should encourage Hermaios and Polymnestos’ families to agree on who will declare their intent to prosecute.’

  Legal business wouldn’t resume for another two days. Damianos could get a long way from Athens by then. There was no point in me stating the obvious. Everyone here knew that as well as I did.

  ‘As for you…’ Ikesios had been fidgeting on his stool. He blushed with embarrassment as Aristarchos surprised him with a grin. ‘Why don’t you, Kallinos and Philocles go and see if Damianos has been fool enough to go home? See what else you can learn if his neighbours are willing to talk. Take Ambrakis with you.’

  ‘We will. Thank you.’ The youth was on his feet before Aristarchos had finished speaking.

  Lysicrates sprang up from his stool. ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘By all means.’ I’d take all the allies I could muster in the unlikely event that we found our quarry where he must surely suspect we would look for him. How could we have laid our trap, if we didn’t know who he was?

  Granted, it was unlikely, but not impossible. Kallinos had sent Neokles and an even more recent Scythian recruit to keep watch on Damianos’ house. Not that they had any right to stop a citizen crossing his own threshold and bolting his gate. We would have to wait for him to come out again, if we wanted to seize him and demand that he answer for his attack on Apollonides.

  The killer would regret it if he did. Ambrakis’ expression said he was ready to take Damianos on single-handed, and I’d bet a generous handful of silver on him to win. The big slave wasn’t going to pass up any opportunity to redeem himself after letting his master down.

  I stood up and nodded to Aristarchos. ‘We’ll let you know what we find.’

  The three of us followed Kallinos through the city while Ambrakis brought up the rear. The Scythian took the most direct route through the agora. The streets and the marketplace were still crowded, but the procession was over so the worst of the crush had abated. Add to that, Kallinos’ linen and leather armour prompted people to get out of his way as effectively as it had done earlier.

  I realised why he’d taken this particular path when we stopped outside the city prison.

  ‘Wait here, please.’

  That was far closer to an orde
r than a request, but none of us was going to stand on our dignity as free citizens and object to his tone. ‘Do you suppose the other Scythians could have caught him?’ Ikesios was torn between hoping the city slaves had, and being one of the men who finally ran Damianos to ground.

  ‘It would save us a walk,’ I said lightly.

  I didn’t think they had the bastard in a cell. One of the prison’s slaves would have sent a message to Kallinos. He must have told someone where he could be found. But there was always the possibility that Neokles had sent his junior here with some message, while he stayed on watch in Koele.

  Lysicrates was thinking ahead. ‘Do you think we should have brought that knife with us, to see if any of his neighbours can identify it as belonging to Damianos?’

  So he didn’t expect to find the killer at home any more than I did.

  ‘It didn’t look that distinctive to me. Anyway, there’ll be plenty of time for questions like that. I reckon it’ll do more good to see what we can learn about where he might have gone.’

  Before I could say anything else, Kallinos reappeared. His expression told us no one had caught Damianos, and there’d been no word from Koele.

  ‘I’ve sent word to each of the city gates.’ He shrugged.

  The Scythian didn’t need to explain how long a shot that was. Athens’ gates are manned by youths doing their military service, but they would have no idea what Damianos looked like amid the crowds constantly surging in and out of the gates for the next few days. They might be keen enough to question a man who matched the description they had been given, if he looked shifty or ill at ease, but Damianos only had to lie about his name and brazen it out. The gate guards would have no right to detain him.