by J M Alvey
Drinkers scattered as Eumelos forced his way towards me. Stools toppled and crockery smashed as he wrenched tables out of his path. Men and women were surging out of the tavern door, spilling into the street with cries of alarm.
I took a few swift strides towards the door, before I turned and stood my ground. Now Eumelos had his back to Zosime and Telesilla as he came towards me. I only hoped Lysicrates and Hyanthidas could find a rear door and get the women out of the tavern.
Looking past the big man’s shoulder I could see Apollonides and Menekles coming to help. The three of us should be able to subdue the Corinthian, though I had no idea what we’d do next. We didn’t even know where Eumelos lived to carry him home to sleep off whatever he’d drunk.
Eumelos staggered towards me. ‘Where are they? Please, I beg you, for the love of Athena, tell me!’
I was ready to dodge a punch. Instead, he seized my hands. This close to, I realised he was older than I’d first assumed. I’d guessed there were only a few years between us, but I saw he was at least a decade my senior.
His grasp was hot and dry, and his face wasn’t flushed with wine. His cheekbones and brow burned scarlet like a man stricken with a fever. If this was some sudden sickness, could we escape the malady? My blood ran cold at the thought of falling ill so far from home.
His grip on my fingers tightened. ‘Where are they?’
‘I—’ I didn’t know what to say, but as long as he was clinging to me, he couldn’t attack anyone else.
His gaze shifted, looking past me. He gasped. ‘Alkias!’
I twisted to see who he was talking to, but there was nobody there. The only people left in the tavern besides us were the huddle of staff by the door to the back room where wine and water were stored.
I felt violent tremors running through Eumelos as he squinted at me again. ‘What did Alkias say? Where have they gone?’ He was blinking like a man in bright sunlight even though most of the tavern’s oil lamps had been toppled and snuffed in the rush of people leaving.
I did my best to assess the situation. I could see Menekles standing ready, looking for my signal. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to do. Apollonides was by the rear door now, talking urgently to a man who I guessed was the tavern owner. I wondered if he’d sent a slave to fetch some help. If this was Athens, someone would be running to alert the Scythians, the public slaves who keep order, paid for by everyone’s taxes. I had no idea if Corinth’s wealthy Council spared any coin to protect their citizens.
‘But – no, wait – she is blameless!’ Eumelos cried out, anguished.
My fingers were numb. I snatched a glance at Hyanthidas. He and Lysicrates stood shoulder to shoulder, hiding Zosime and Telesilla. Lysicrates’ attention was shifting from me to the street door and back again. I guessed he was calculating their chances of getting the women safely out of the tavern without attracting Eumelos’ attention. I tried to catch his eye with a warning frown. I didn’t like those odds.
Eumelos let go of my hands. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, as boneless as an octopus. He lay as still as death on the floor, with spilled wine pooled around him like blood.
Stunned silence followed the thunderous crash. I looked around to see everyone gaping with astonishment that equalled my own.
Chapter Two
Eumelos stiffened, rigid as a spear shaft from head to toe. Then a convulsion racked him, arching his back like a bow. In the next breath he was twisting and thrashing, his arms flailing wildly. I backed away, my heart racing. But before I took a second step, the frenzy was over.
‘What’s—’
Another spasm seized Eumelos. Breath rasped through his nose as his jaw clenched, his teeth bared. He rolled from side to side, with his arms drawn up and his knees pumping. He looked as if he were fighting some eerie, invisible presence. Fighting and losing. I backed away, sick with dread, and begged Apollo, whose great temple guards Corinth, to watch over us all.
Hyanthidas arrived at my side. ‘The Asklepion—’
Eumelos started whining like a man bereft. We could only watch as convulsion after convulsion tortured him. Every time he lay still, I held my breath, praying this was his release. Time and again, his torment resumed.
I’ve seen men die in battle. I’ve seen friends fade and fail from slow sickness as relentlessly mortal as a spear through the eye. I sat beside my father’s deathbed with my family. I’d never seen anything like this.
The end caught me unawares. Belatedly, I realised I’d counted a dozen breaths while Eumelos lay limp as a slaughtered lamb.
Zosime’s voice shook as she peered around Lysicrates. ‘Is he dead?’
I summoned up my courage and knelt. Reaching for his throat, I felt for the beat of his heart, but I couldn’t be sure if I was mistaking the trembling in my fingers for his pulsing blood. ‘I can’t tell.’
‘Try this.’ Apollonides offered me a silver platter. Athena only knows where he’d got it.
I held the gleaming metal over Eumelos’ mouth and nose. Snatching it away, I studied it closely. Not trusting myself, I repeated the process. This time I was sure. Faint and swift to fade, shallow breath nevertheless misted the metal.
I got to my feet, brushing away a potsherd I hadn’t even realised I’d knelt on. ‘He’s still alive.’
Hyanthidas stepped forward. ‘Asklepios’ shrine is to the north and west of here, by the city walls.’
Menekles approached. ‘We’ll need a litter to carry him.’
‘Stay back!’ I warded them off with upraised hands. ‘We don’t know what ails him.’
‘Philocles,’ Apollonides protested, ‘we were drinking with the man.’
‘Sharing a cup?’ I challenged. ‘No, so we can hope you’ve escaped any contagion.’
‘So who’s going to carry him to the doctor?’ Menekles demanded. ‘You’re hardly going to sling him over your shoulder.’
That was fair comment. Eumelos was half a head taller than me, and I’m built for running not wrestling.
‘We need a couple of strong slaves and a litter,’ Apollonides insisted.
‘We’ll fetch Kadous.’ Zosime answered. She was still by the table, her face taut with concern.
‘No.’ I could tell I was going to be saying that a lot. If this mysterious ailment struck me down, I needed my faithful slave to stay fit and well, to look after Zosime in this unfamiliar city. He would see her safely back to Athens, and to her father, Menkaure.
‘Go back to our lodgings with Menekles.’ I turned to the actor. ‘Send word to what’s his name, Eumelos’ man, the one who was waiting there to welcome us.’
‘Dardanis.’ Menekles snapped his fingers as he recalled the name of the slave who managed Eumelos’ household.
‘That’s him.’ I nodded gratefully. ‘Tell him to get here as quick as he can with a couple of strong lads.’
If the big Corinthian had some insidious disease, the chances were good that those closest to him had already been put at risk. As for my friends, and the woman I loved, I made a silent vow to Athena and to Dionysos. I would keep them as far from this peril as I possibly could.
I looked at Apollonides and then at Lysicrates. ‘Go on, all of you. Get out of here.’
‘I’ll come with you to the temple,’ Lysicrates said curtly. ‘Any doctor will have a thousand and one questions. You know what they’re like.’
‘You’ll need someone to show you the way. Telesilla—’ Torn, Hyanthidas looked at his beloved.
I saw the fear in his eyes. Whoever Eumelos had mistaken her for, the stricken man had embraced Telesilla as close as any lover.
‘She can come with us,’ said Zosime.
‘No.’ Telesilla spoke just as quickly.
We all waited for her to continue, before realising she was as much at sea as the rest of us.
�
��I can escort you home,’ Apollonides offered.
‘Thank you,’ Telesilla replied, relieved.
She looked at Hyanthidas who nodded his agreement, as well he might. After spending plenty of this past year drinking with him in Athens, Hyanthidas knew the actor could handle any challenge he might meet on Corinth’s streets.
‘Excuse me!’ The tavern keeper bustled up, red-faced with indignation. He snatched the silver platter up off the floor. ‘Who’s going to pay for all this damage?’
At least that was a question I could answer, though I felt I was taking the coward’s way out. ‘Send word to Perantas Bacchiad. This is his trusted man, Eumelos. Give him a fair account of your losses and let him know we’ve taken his man to the doctors at the shrine of Asklepios.’
‘Who might you be, to claim acquaintance with the Bacchiads?’ The tavern keeper wasn’t remotely convinced. He also had burly slaves to back him, currently lurking in the doorway to the back room.
‘I am Philocles Hestaiou Alopekethen of Athens.’ I did my best to mimic Menekles in the role of the hero Meriones, the central character in our play. Menekles plays the part with utmost dignity and seriousness, which makes the comedy unfolding around him all the funnier. Though there was nothing to laugh at here tonight.
‘We have come to stage a play in your theatre, as Perantas Bacchiad’s gift to the people of Corinth.’ I indicated everyone else with a suitably sweeping gesture.
I saw the tavern keeper was torn between his desire to have us empty our purses, and wariness over offending one of this city’s richest and most powerful men.
He settled on a scowl. ‘Get him out of here. My people need to clean up this mess!’
‘Of course.’ Hyanthidas stepped forward to thrust his hands under Eumelos’ armpits.
I understood what he was thinking. If the woman he loved had been so close to the stricken man, there was no point in him keeping his distance. I picked up Eumelos’ ankles, and we carried the unconscious man outside.
The seating outside the tavern had been shoved aside by fleeing customers but nothing was knocked over or broken. We laid Eumelos carefully on a long table and pulled up a couple of stools.
‘You’ll need this.’ Zosime handed me my cloak. I’d forgotten it completely, left behind on our bench inside. She was right though. These nights on the cusp of summer and autumn soon grow chilly.
She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, drawing up a fold of finely woven wool to cover her hair. She looked as modest and respectable as any Athenian citizen’s wife, the legitimate mother of his heirs, and no one here in Corinth would care that she was none of those things. I also noticed that she had my rolled sheets of papyrus safely tucked through the woven belt securing her pleated rose gown. Yet another reason for me to love her.
‘I’ll be back with Dardanis as quick as I can,’ Menekles assured me as they set off.
‘Let’s get you home.’ Apollonides bowed to Telesilla and offered her his arm.
As everyone else headed in different directions, Lysicrates took a seat on the far side of the table. Eumelos lay still as death between us. I held my palm over his face just long enough for the faint warmth of his breath to reassure me that he still lived.
The street was deserted, with just a few lamps burning here and there to help latecomers find their own doors. A feral dog paused to stare at us, brindled ears pricked. It loped off before anyone could throw something, doubtless in pursuit of a fat rat for its supper.
We heard the irate tavern keeper berating his slaves. His insults were punctuated by thuds as furniture was set back upright, and the slithering clatter of broken crockery being swept up and dumped in buckets. Despite the noise, my eyelids drooped.
‘Here we are.’ Menekles’ voice roused me with a start.
Yawning, I scrubbed the sleep from my eyes and saw the actor was being followed by two thick-set slaves. One carried a bundle of sailcloth and the other had two rough-hewn poles sloped over one shoulder.
Lysicrates stood up. ‘Where’s Dardanis?’
‘He’s—’ Menekles turned and did a double take that would make any audience roar with laughter. ‘He was right behind us. Where’s he gone?’
He looked at the two slaves who exchanged a vacant glance. Whatever duties they’d been bought for, quick wits clearly wasn’t a requirement.
‘He was right behind us,’ Menekles protested again. ‘I went back to the house, and Tromes, you know, Perantas’ slave, he said he’d take me to Eumelos’ house. It’s not far, and when we got there, Dardanis got these two out of bed. He told me to lead the way, to show this pair of plough oxen where to go.’
He spread his hands, beard jutting as he demanded a response from them. The two slaves just stared back, as dumb as doorposts.
‘He must have gone to tell Perantas,’ I guessed.
So when I faced our Corinthian patron, he’d already have heard at least two versions of what had happened here tonight. So much for hoping that someone would let me off that particular hook. I remembered what the oracles always say. Be careful what you wish for. You may just get it.
Regardless, it would be my responsibility to tell the Bacchiad if Eumelos lived or died. ‘Let’s get him to the Asklepion. Menekles, please go back to the house and stay with Zosime.’
‘All right,’ he said, still irritated. ‘You’d think Dardanis would’ve had the courtesy to tell me what he was doing.’
As the actor departed, muttering under his breath, Hyanthidas and I manhandled Eumelos onto the litter. The slaves picked up the poles and started walking. Neither said a word. I was starting to wonder if they were even Hellenes.
Hyanthidas led the way. Lysicrates and I followed the litter. We weren’t far from the Lechaion Road, which cuts straight as an arrow northwards from Corinth’s main marketplace toward the long gulf that separates the Peloponnese from Boeotia, Phocis and Aetolia. Passers-by looked at us, incurious, and most courteously stepped out of our path. The two slaves navigated around the ones who insisted they had right of way.
When Hyanthidas turned down a side street, we cut between quiet houses, their gates safely barred for the night. The sky was clear and there was enough moonlight to show us our way without difficulty. Sooner than I expected, the city walls loomed up ahead of us and I saw the sanctuary that surrounded the temple dedicated to Asklepios.
A long, shallow ramp ran along one side of the tall wall that faced us. We followed it up to the entrance. As we went in, we saw the temple enclosure on our right-hand side, and the doctors’ hall to our left. During the day, the colonnades surrounding the pillared temple in the right-hand courtyard would be thronged with people praying for a cure or giving thanks for divine healing. At the moment, all we heard were the faint snores of travellers who’d sought overnight shelter here.
Hyanthidas knocked on the door to the doctors’ hall. A man opened it and, seeing the litter, he wasted no time.
‘Come in. Quietly.’ His air of calm competence was wonderfully reassuring, just in those three words.
Inside the broad hall, oil lamps in high niches cast soft, golden light. The floor was packed with pallets and the air was stuffy. The patients slept on, some stirring restlessly beneath their blankets, while others sprawled, oblivious in slumber. I wondered which ones would wake recovered, or be granted a sacred vision by Apollo’s healer son.
‘Our friend . . .’ I looked at him helplessly. ‘He began raving, and then fell into convulsions.’ I kept my voice low, but my words couldn’t help disturbing the closest sleepers.
‘Follow me.’
The doctor turned right and led us towards the northern wall. His head barely topped my shoulder and he was almost as broad as he was tall. He picked up a lamp from a table by a door and led us through it to a stairwell.
The steps turned left as we descended, slowly and carefully. Fortunately th
e stairs were wide enough for Hyanthidas and I to flank the litter and make sure Eumelos didn’t slide off. As we went out through another door into the clean, cool night, I heard the soft trickle of a spring or a fountain somewhere in the darkness.
As my night vision returned, I saw we were in another courtyard. The temple’s architects had dealt with the sloping ground hereabouts by building this second sanctuary on a lower level. To our left, three dining suites for private celebrations at the temple had been built directly underneath the doctors’ hall. The rest of the courtyard was surrounded by colonnades where wooden partitions separated long tables.
‘Put him in there.’ The doctor was a Cycladean by his accent, maybe from Naxos. He nodded at the closest cubicle.
The slaves did as they were told, still without a word, before retreating to sit, apparently unperturbed on the steps leading down to the open courtyard. I waited beside the table with Lysicrates and Hyanthidas.
Several of the sanctuary’s sacred snakes slithered away into the shadows as the doctor lit two lamps waiting ready among the jars and vials on some shelves. A smaller table held an array of medical instruments and plain-glazed pots. ‘Who is he?’
‘Eumelos—’ I broke off, appalled.
That was as much as I knew about the man. If this was Athens, even if we’d barely passed the time of day, I’d know his father’s name and his voting tribe. It would be easy to find the district brotherhood where his father had proclaimed his son’s citizen rights, and those brotherhood officials would tell us where to find his family. Here in Corinth, I had no idea how to learn anything useful about the stranger.
‘He works for Perantas Bacchiad,’ Hyanthidas offered. ‘His signet ring is token of that.’
The doctor looked at the agate carved with a splendid portrayal of Perseus riding Bellerophon and sniffed, unimpressed. Then he looked closely at Eumelos’ face. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘We were in a tavern, sharing a jug of wine.’ Lysicrates rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It went to his head awfully fast. Then he started seeing things. He mistook a woman he didn’t know for someone else entirely. He was talking to people who weren’t even there.’