Justice for Athena

by JM Alvey

  Personally I’d wager the killer was already outside the walls, and heading for some city where he had business ties. If we could narrow those possibilities down, we could see if there were visitors’ advocates here in Athens who could send word to the authorities wherever he might seek refuge. Aristarchos could well get Damianos expelled by letting those rich and powerful men know what he had done and detailing the other accusations against him. If we learned he had definitely been seen in some city or town, well, the families of his victims could consider seeking some private revenge, and that would be between them and the Furies. If word got back to Athens that Damianos had turned up somewhere with his throat cut by some unknown hand, I for one wouldn’t weep.

  Meantime, we were continuing on our way to Koele. When we arrived at Damianos’ house, the gate was as solidly shut as it had been before. Neokles and the other Scythian appeared from an alleyway where they’d been loitering. I guessed they’d observed our approach. I wondered if the killer could have seen them lurking and retreated before they had seen him.

  Neokles spoke to Kallinos. ‘There’s been no one in or out since we got here.’

  Kallinos looked at me. I stepped forward and knocked a simple rat-tat on the painted wood.

  ‘Good day? I would like to speak to Damianos Sethou?’ I spoke loudly enough to be heard inside the courtyard, but I forced myself to sound at ease, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  There was no one else in the street. That meant we heard a whispered conversation on the other side of the gate. I couldn’t make out what was said, but the words were urgent or fearful or both. A few moments passed. We heard a door open and close on the far side of the courtyard.

  After a few more moments I knocked again. ‘Hello? I really do need to speak to Damianos.’ I sounded apologetic as well as more insistent.

  There wasn’t a sound on the other side of the gate.

  I knocked a third time and raised my voice, more forceful. ‘Hello!’

  There was still no answer. I looked at the others. They were as much at a loss as me. If no one opened this gate, there was nothing we could do about it. None of us had the right to force our way into another citizen’s house.

  A rattle of bolts cut through the silence. We turned to see a gate open behind us on the other side of the street. A stooped, grey-haired elder peered out, cautious and curious in equal measure. He gaped when he saw three Scythians as well as four other men. He was about to withdraw like a startled tortoise when Ikesios stepped forward, his hands spread wide.

  ‘Excuse me, please. Do you know where we might find Damianos Sethou today?’ The youth sounded as if we were concerned for the man’s safety.

  The old man frowned, but he didn’t close his gate. ‘No.’

  Lysicrates stepped forward, polite and deferential. ‘Forgive me, do you mean that you don’t know, or are you saying that’s something you cannot share?’

  ‘I’ve no idea where he went,’ the old man said testily. ‘Heading out at cockcrow again.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone to see some friend or relative. A brother perhaps? Or some business partner?’ I was sharing my thoughts with the others as much as asking the old man.

  ‘His brother?’ The greybeard’s chuckle had a sarcastic edge. ‘Hardly.’

  Before any of us could work out what to ask next, a woman appeared in the gateway. She was short, stout and as formidable as any phalanx.

  ‘Father? Who are you talking to?’

  I guessed she was maybe ten years short of my mother’s age, but her accent was pure Athenian, with no remnants of a countryside or coastal girlhood. City born and bred, she looked at us clearly demanding an explanation.

  ‘Forgive us, we didn’t mean to disturb you,’ I apologised. ‘We are trying to find Damianos Sethou.’

  She looked at me warily. ‘Why?’

  Something about her reply convinced me she was no friend of her neighbour. I decided there was nothing to be lost by telling the truth.

  ‘He attacked someone today. A friend of ours.’

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he thought our friend was the man his sister Adrasteia ran off with.’

  The woman stiffened. I thought she was about to ask me what my friend had to do with that scandal. Instead, she half-turned her head and called towards her own house.

  ‘Straton! Chara!’

  A beardless youth a year or so younger than Ikesios appeared, followed by a girl a year or so younger than that. The woman gave them brisk orders.

  ‘Chara, stay here with Grandad. Straton, come with me.’

  Whatever their relationship was, the youngsters obeyed without question. The boy followed her out of the gate. The girl stood close enough to the old man to lay a firm hand on his forearm when he took a step to follow. He scowled, but didn’t step across the threshold.

  The woman strode across the street. The lad stayed close, as a respectable woman’s escort should. It was hard to say who would come to whose rescue though, if they encountered any trouble.

  If there was any uproar, we wouldn’t be the ones to start it. By unspoken agreement we retreated ten paces as our new ally approached Damianos’ gate.

  ‘Tryphosa! It’s Pherenike! Open up!’ She hammered with a fist, so hard that the hinges rattled. ‘Open up, or I’ll send for Alkimos!’

  As I wondered who he might be, we heard the bolts slide back. The gate opened a crack to show us a terrified, barely bearded face.

  ‘I need to see your mistress.’ Pherenike pushed past the unresisting slave. As the gate swung wider, we could see the vicious bruises on his arms and face.

  As Pherenike went across the courtyard to enter the house, her lad stood in the gateway facing us nervously.

  I grinned at him. Now he looked puzzled, but that was better than apprehensive. The slave was still so scared I could see him trembling from where I stood. I wondered if the poor bastard had seen the Sardinian slave killed. I wondered how the Sardinian had been killed.

  We waited. I looked up and down the street. If Damianos came back now, he would see us as soon as he turned that last corner. He would know who we were, and there would be no way for us to catch him before he fled. Kallinos had his bow, but as soon as Damianos ducked out of sight, the Scythian wouldn’t have a target.

  At last Pherenike emerged, with her arm around another woman’s shoulders. We stepped aside to let them pass. I guessed this must be Tryphosa, Damianos’ wife. Slightly built, she walked hunched over with a shawl draped over her head to hide her face. That didn’t hide her stifled sobs and shaking shoulders.

  Pherenike was soothing her like a baby. She broke off to look at the lad. ‘Fetch Alkimos,’ she said quietly.

  Tryphosa wailed some incoherent objection, but Pherenike ignored her. ‘Go on, boy. Father, invite our guests in.’

  The boy ran off fast enough to compete for a panhellenic garland. The old man’s expression brightened. ‘Please, you are very welcome.’

  Pherenike paused on her own threshold and looked back at Kallinos. ‘If you’re here to keep the peace, you had better stay by that gate. If he comes back and finds her gone, he’ll break down every door on the street until he finds her.’

  Kallinos nodded and glanced at Ambrakis. He and the three Scythians went to flank the gate that was still standing ajar. The slave was hesitating in the gap, snivelling with fear.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ the old man urged impatiently. ‘I am Hermolaos Arastou and you are welcome to my home.’

  He didn’t close the gate, so we could instantly see if Kallinos and Ambrakis needed reinforcements. As the old man offered us seats around a long table in the courtyard, Pherenike and the girl gently ushered the weeping Tryphosa inside the house. By the time we’d introduced ourselves to the old man, a tall slave with rusty Thracian hair had brought out cups, a jug of wine, one of water and a plate of cheese tarts that had probably been destined for the family’s evening meal. We waited poli
tely as the old man mixed us each a refreshing drink with the slow care of someone who knows his grip can’t always be trusted.

  ‘So, your neighbour…?’ I didn’t need to say any more.

  ‘Did you see her face?’ The old man scowled. ‘He thinks we don’t know because he only hits her where her bruises don’t show. He is a brute when no one can see, then he’s all compliments and gifts for her if there’s anyone looking on.’

  ‘Do they have children?’ I asked with misgiving.

  ‘Two sons and a daughter.’ His scowl darkened. ‘At least she’s safe when she’s pregnant and until the baby is weaned.’

  That was a double-edged sword. If the poor woman fled to her father’s house, she would have to leave her children behind. Though it looked as if any defiance had been long since beaten out of her. My determination to see Damianos pay for his crimes strengthened.

  ‘So,’ the old man demanded. ‘Is your friend going to call him before the magistrates for assault?’

  ‘At very least.’ I saw the other two looking at me. Evidently I’d been elected as spokesman. I decided to share what we knew, short of an outright accusation of murder. The more doors closed to Damianos the better. The more people in Athens or anywhere else who would send word to Hermaios and Polymnestos’ families if they saw him, the sooner he would be caught.

  By the time I’d told my tale, the old man was gaping in astonishment. He might be old, but he wasn’t stupid. He could hear what I wasn’t saying, when I said Damianos had questions to answer about three dead men and attacks on two more.

  ‘I can tell you whether or not he was home when these killings happened,’ he said with a glint in his eye.

  ‘Thank you.’ I guessed he had little enough to do in his dotage other than keep track of comings and goings along the street, and as an Athenian citizen, he could give evidence in court.

  ‘He’s been brooding over this insult to his honour ever since Adrasteia ran away.’ Pherenike came out from the shadows of the porch and mixed herself a cup of wine. I wasn’t sure how much she had heard, but it must have been enough.

  ‘Tryphosa says he swore he would have his revenge when this Great Panathenaia arrived. That’s why there are none of the usual visitors. He’s been obsessed, getting worse and worse the closer we got to the festival. He said he would drag Adrasteia home by her hair when he found her. Tryphosa’s been dreading what he would do to his sister’s lover, though she knew better than to say so. That didn’t save her after he lost his temper and beat his favourite slave to death. She thought he was going to kill her too.’

  Lysicrates frowned. ‘If he doesn’t come back, or if he’s accused and condemned, what will happen to her and the children?’

  ‘Alkimos Sethou will become head of the family. He and Damianos had a falling-out over business matters after their father died, and they’ve barely spoken since Adrasteia ran away. Damianos blamed Alkimos for that, though I don’t know why. His wife and I have stayed in touch. He’s a fair man, and they will take care of Tryphosa and her children.’

  If she was prepared to trust Alkimos, that was good enough for me.

  ‘Is his brother still in the same business? Selling perfume?’ If so, he might be able to tell us where Damianos could turn for help.

  The old man answered. ‘They’ve stayed in business together. Alkimos had no choice. Damianos would have made it his mission to ruin him if he ever set up on his own, in the same trade or any other. He’d do it too, however long it took. He’s quick-witted as well as vengeful. More than one man who got the better of some deal with that swine lived to regret his victory.’

  ‘I see.’ That was good news as far as I was concerned. Resentment loosens tongues.

  Now I was confident we’d have a whole lot more testimony to condemn Damianos before a jury, as well as scents to follow as we hunted him down. Add to that, I would be able to tell my mother and Zosime that his mistreated wife and her children were finally in good hands.

  Though if we were going to bring the bastard to the Areopagus to answer for his crimes, we still had to catch him. I saw that possibility receding with every drip from a water clock’s spout. Damianos might be vicious, but he wasn’t a fool. He had to know he’d be accused of today’s attack on Apollonides. I wondered which road he was taking out of the city, and where he was heading.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I kept an eye on the yellowing sun as the old man talked. He had plenty to say and he was inclined to repeat himself. Thankful as I was for this information about Damianos, I wanted to get back to tell Aristarchos what we had learned, and dusk wasn’t so very far off.

  The last of the day’s competitions between the city’s voting tribes would start at sunset. The torch race starts at the altar of Eros that stands at the entrance to the groves of the Academy, where Prometheus and Hephaistos are worshipped alongside Athena. The runners carry the sacred fire from there along the Panathenaic Way to the god of love’s rock-cut shrine at the foot of the Acropolis. Every voting tribe puts forward a team of forty who run a relay, passing a blazing torch from hand to hand every sixty strides or so. The first torch to arrive will kindle the sacred flame that burns on Athena’s altar high on the Acropolis itself, as the rituals and celebrations go on through the night. The next morning, the great festival procession will arrive to find that fire still alight. Our grateful city offers copious sacrifices and burns the goddess’s portion, and Athena’s ancient statue is given her new gown as tangible proof of our devotion.

  I wasn’t sure if Aristarchos and his family would have duties to fulfil as part of the procession, but since they were undoubtedly among the city’s great and good, there was every chance they’d be involved. The Great Panathenaia procession sets off at sunrise from the Dipylon Gate. Honoured aged citizens carry olive branches while prominent resident foreigners wear purple robes and carry silver trays with offerings of cakes and honeycombs to tempt the sacrificial animals selected to take part. They’re all escorted by musicians playing twin pipes and lyres.

  After them, Athens’ allies and our own fighting men march or ride in chariots and on horseback, demonstrating our power and unity and whatever else the festival commissioners have decided to celebrate, alongside whoever they’ve chosen to invite, even barbarians on occasion. Last of all, the women of Athens walk in the place of honour, bringing the newly woven gown that will adorn Athena’s most ancient statue. Renewed every year and glorious in saffron and hyacinth hues, the intricate weaving depicts our glorious goddess’s victory over the Titans.

  Since the whole immense cavalcade has to be mustered and marshalled well before dawn, I didn’t imagine late visitors would be welcome this evening if Aristarchos and his family were trying to get some rest beforehand.

  The rest of the populace has no such responsibilities, so it’s quite common for Athenians and visitors alike to stay up all night sharing in the revelry until the sun rises again. I realised that must be why Adrasteia and Posideos had chosen this particular day to run away at the last Great Panathenaia. If Damianos had been out with his business partners for the whole day of the tribal contests and the night that followed, the fugitives could get a good distance from the city before they were missed. They’d get further with luck, if Damianos came home and went straight to sleep without checking to see his sister was where he’d left her like a miser’s hoarded wealth.

  A stir in the road outside interrupted the old man. The lad who’d been sent off earlier reappeared, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘Alkimos is here.’

  As the Thracian slave went to fetch Pherenike, I saw an unknown man who nevertheless resembled Damianos talking to the snivelling slave in the entrance across the street.

  I seized my opportunity and stood up. ‘Ikesios, tell the brother what’s happened today, as well as everything else we think Damianos has done. I need to tell Aristarchos the bastard’s nowhere to be found around here.’

  I wanted to let him know what we had learned from these
helpful neighbours. I wanted him to tell the bereaved families how many witnesses would be able to testify to Damianos’ vile character. I wanted those wealthy Athenians who served as visitors’ advocates for other Hellenic cities to know what sort of man might come seeking shelter, so they would tell their allies to reject him. But if I didn’t catch Aristarchos today, I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to talk to him before the Great Panathenaia ended.

  The day after the great procession sees the boat races down at Piraeus where those citizens too poor to arm themselves as hoplites display their prowess with their oars. Meantime up in the city, the hoplite and chariot race would show everyone that Athenians rich enough to own horses nevertheless saw themselves as the equals of everyone else, and were prepared to risk their necks to prove it.

  The day after that was the final day of the festival, when the panhellenic contest prizes were awarded. Afterwards, we would join my mother, my brothers, their wives and the children to relax and eat together before everyone got back to work. Aristarchos and his family and guests would be doing the same, so I had to see him today and soon. ‘Where will I find you?’ Ikesios betrayed a hint of anxiety that he was going to end up stuck out here in Koele, and miss the festival night’s fun. ‘When I’ve heard what this brother of his has to say?’

  ‘By the altar to the twelve gods in the agora?’ Lysicrates suggested. ‘That’s where I’m meeting Menekles and Apollonides before we go up to the Acropolis for the night’s festivities.’

  I nodded ready agreement. ‘That’s as good a place as any.’

  ‘We won’t go up to the celebrations without you,’ Lysicrates assured the young poet.

  He grinned. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I shared my gratitude between the old man and Pherenike, who had come out into the house’s porch. ‘We’ll keep you informed of whatever transpires.’

  Lysicrates and I left before we could get caught up in any more conversation. Outside in the street, the Scythians and Ambrakis were watching as Alkimos went into Damianos’ house.