by J M Alvey
‘Oh.’ I realised that I’d simply assumed that a man of the merchant’s age and good standing would be married.
The lad grimaced, distraught. ‘He – he – he always said a man would be a fool to tie himself to one woman, in Corinth of all places.’
That seemed an odd thing to say, but people say the strangest things in the first shock of bereavement.
It also made a sort of sense. There are supposedly a thousand sacred prostitutes dedicated to serving the Temple of Aphrodite, up on the Acrocorinth. Never having a chance to visit them is a byword for bad luck in life, among men at Athenian drinking parties anyway.
It was one of Zosime’s reasons for coming with me on this trip. She said she didn’t want me getting lonely while I was here, and bringing back some unwanted souvenir.
Menekles and I waited as the boy fought to hold back his emotions. After a few moments, Nados took a deep, shuddering breath, and scrubbed the tears from his cheeks with the heel of one hand.
‘He was planning to visit his favourite brothel last night, after he’d seen you settled. That’s why we weren’t expecting him back here before dawn.’
Menekles looked thoughtful. ‘That might explain why he needed a pick-me-up.’
‘Perhaps.’ It still didn’t explain where he’d got the dose from, or why it had killed him. Someone needed to be asking those questions. ‘Can you take me to Perantas Bacchiad’s house? We need to tell him what’s happened, and someone must take charge of the funeral arrangements.’
‘Let me get my cloak.’ Nados drew another shaky breath and squared bony shoulders. He was a few fingers taller than me, and old enough to have done his hoplite training, but it would be a few years before he filled out.
He went into the house and I looked around the courtyard while we waited. The paving was smooth and a terracotta-tiled porch was furnished with elegant tables and stools. The wall was painted with skilfully executed acanthus fronds and I knew from Zosime that such tasteful artistry didn’t come cheap. Eumelos’ house might be small but he didn’t stint on home comforts.
Nados reappeared, and paused on the threshold, talking to a grey-haired woman who was trying to stifle her sobs. A girl in a plain dress stood close, ineffectually patting her shoulder. If they were both household slaves, along with Dardanis and those mute litter bearers, that was more evidence of Eumelos’ prosperity, and this was only one of his three properties.
The more I thought about the puzzle of his death as we waited, the more uneasy I was becoming. The obvious answers to the riddle made no sense. Granted, there could well be explanations I was unaware of. Even wealthy men have heartbreaking sorrows. A man can look enviably rich while he is drowning in debt. Still, I was going to need hard proof before I’d believe that Eumelos had killed himself.
Nados crossed the paving to join us, his eyes red-rimmed with grief. ‘Let’s go,’ he said hoarsely.
We had a longer walk to Perantas Bacchiad’s house, and our path took us through the heart of the city. We passed through the bustling agora where the Council’s decrees were displayed on all sides, engraved on gleaming bronze tablets. The market stalls selling fresh vegetables, fruit and fish were as well-stocked as any in Athens and equally busy with household slaves buying the day’s provisions.
We passed the sacred fountain house at the Peirene Spring, where Bellerophon had first bridled Pegasus, with divine Athena’s help, and water had sprung from the ground where the irritated beast stamped his hoof. I admired the grandeur of Apollo’s temple elevated on a shallow rise in the land. The god, and the Corinthian Council who met there, watched over colonnades on all sides where countless deals were being done. I heard voices with every Hellenic accent as well as dialects from much further afield. I recalled Eumelos telling me, as we walked side by side from Kenchreai, how Corinth’s merchants trade as far as the Phoenician settlements out on the wild coasts beyond the Pillars of Heracles.
There were monuments and statues on all sides, dedicated to any number of heroes. I hadn’t realised just how many shrines this city boasted. I would have liked to stop to learn more, but this was hardly the time.
At the far end of the agora, Nados took the lesser road heading northwards beyond the temple’s hill, and we passed another of Corinth’s famous shrines; the spring sacred to Glauke, though she had been a mortal woman rather than a goddess.
Her ghastly fate was another famous poisoning in Corinth, I recalled uneasily. The poor girl had been rivals with Medea for Jason’s love. The vengeful sorceress sent her a dress saturated with burning venom. Maddened with pain, Glauke threw herself into the waters in the vain hope of quenching her agonies.
Personally, I wouldn’t have wanted to drink from such a spring, but the Corinthians filling water jars from the basins didn’t seem bothered.
As we approached the city’s theatre, Menekles had other things on his mind.
‘Nados, do you know where Eumelos intended to hold our chorus auditions? Where we are supposed to rehearse?’
The lad was startled out of his melancholy thoughts. ‘Yes, of course. He made all the necessary arrangements at the Shrine to Demeter and Persephone, and spread word for singers to attend at the third hour of the day tomorrow. I can take you up there and make introductions.’
‘Thank you.’ Relieved, Menekles slid me a grin.
My answering smile was fleeting. I’d wait and see what Perantas Bacchiad had to say, before assuming our play would go ahead.
‘Here we are.’ Nados wiped sweating hands on his tunic, blinking hard to ward off fresh tears.
Perantas enjoyed a spacious terracotta-tiled house not far beyond the theatre. Look one way from the upper windows and he would have a fine view of the Temple of Apollo and the Acrocorinth beyond. Look the other way and this wealthy man would see all the way to Lechaion and the sparkling waters of the Gulf of Corinth.
We wouldn’t be admiring such vistas unless we could get through the closed gate. A handful of burly men leaned against the wall in the shade. Three were holding sturdy vine staves and they all stared at us, unsmiling.
‘Good day to you. I’m Nados—’ The lad’s voice cracked under the twin burdens of nervousness and grief.
I looked for the gang’s leader. My guess was the sleepy-eyed man with muscular arms folded across his broad chest and a collar of gold plaques around his bull neck. I raised my hand to show him the Pegasus ring.
‘I’m Philocles Hestaiou of Athens. We’re in Corinth at Perantas Bacchiad’s invitation, come to stage a comedy in your theatre. Perantas sent his man Eumelos to see to our needs but he has been struck down—’
‘I know who you are.’ The bull-necked man jabbed a thick finger at me, scowling. ‘And you don’t wear that ring unless you’re ready to swear allegiance to the Brotherhood of Bellerophon.’
I had no idea what he meant by that, but I could see the gold rectangles of his collar were stamped with the image of the fabled hero’s winged horse. ‘I’m here to return this to Perantas.’
The bull-necked man gestured and one of the others knocked on the gate. ‘Make sure that you do.’
As the gate opened, a bright-eyed Nubian in a finely woven linen tunic welcomed us in. Slave or servant, it was impossible to tell, but I recognised the type. Rich men prize their personal scribes, if they’re wise.
‘This way, if you please.’ He bowed and didn’t bother looking back as he led us into the inner courtyard. Not a slave, I decided, not with that much self-confidence, and the gold rings that shone against skin even darker than Zosime’s father’s.
We followed him, for lack of any other option.
Perantas was an unremarkable man in an expensive, deep-dyed red tunic. He was neither handsome nor ugly, of average height and build, but I knew from our single meeting in Athens that he could command attention in a gathering with a few well-chosen words. He sat in a pillared po
rch’s shade amid painted olive trees, dealing with the correspondence that mounts up like autumn leaves around the great and the good of every city.
He laid a crisp sheet of papyrus aside. ‘Good day.’
I slipped the Pegasus ring off my finger and laid it on the table. ‘I sincerely regret to inform you that Eumelos is dead.’
‘So I have heard. Please, sit.’ Perantas paused as the Nubian brought stools for the three of us. ‘Tell me everything,’ he ordered.
Menekles related the evening’s events in the tavern without theatrics. The story was dramatic enough. I took up the tale when we departed for the Asklepion.
When I fell silent, Perantas looked at Nados. ‘Where is Dardanis?’
The lad stared at him, bemused. ‘Isn’t he here?’
If he wasn’t, I wondered who had told the Bacchiad the news. Perhaps someone at the Asklepion wore one of those Pegasus rings. I guessed a man like Perantas had informants across this city. Either that, or Tromes had sent word while I was eating breakfast. He was Perantas’ slave after all, so that’s where his loyalties would lie.
Perantas turned his attention to Menekles. ‘When did you last see Dardanis?’
‘He was following on behind me and the slaves with the litter when we left Eumelos’ house last night. He must have headed off somewhere else before we reached the tavern.’
The man could hardly have got lost in that short distance. I could see the actor shared my concern for the absent slave.
‘You say poison killed Eumelos.’ Perantas looked at me. ‘Presumably given to him by someone he trusted.’
‘Not by Dardanis.’ Nados was shocked into a vehement protest. ‘They’ve been together since Eumelos was trading from a shack by the Kenchreai docks ten years and more ago.’
‘Then where has the slave gone?’ Perantas demanded.
None of us had an answer for him.
Perantas drummed contemplative fingers on a stack of documents. ‘There are factions in Corinth who wouldn’t be sorry to see this play abandoned. Some of my rivals have made no secret of that. They believe we should be strengthening our alliances across the Peloponnese instead of making common cause with Athens over some new colony in Sicily.’
‘You think one of them is responsible for Eumelos’ death.’ That was an alarming idea.
Perantas paused for an instant too long before replying. ‘Not now that Dardanis is missing. Surely the slave must have poisoned his master and run away. It’s the obvious explanation.’
‘I cannot believe he would do that,’ Nados stuttered.
‘It’s surely as likely as Eumelos killing himself.’ Perantas looked at Nados, dark eyes intent.
‘I don’t . . .’ The boy subsided into an incoherent mumble.
Perantas turned to me. ‘If we don’t seize the initiative, this calamity will hand my opponents a stick to beat me with. They won’t accuse me outright, but there will be whispers around the agora before sunset today that accuse Eumelos of shady dealings on my behalf, to lay that guilt for his death at my door.’
I didn’t like where this conversation was heading. I hadn’t expected Perantas’ priorities would be so far from my own. Aristarchos, my Athenian patron, would have set justice for the dead man far above his own concerns.
I tried again. ‘That’s all the more reason to drag the truth into the daylight, to kill such rumours.’
‘How long will it take to establish what happened? How would we set about such a task? I don’t wish to sound callous, but who would uncertainty in the meantime serve?’ Perantas and I could have been the only two people in the courtyard. ‘It’s not as if he had a family who are clamouring for answers.’
‘We have a duty to the gods, above and below, to establish the truth.’ I wasn’t going to face the Furies’ displeasure on Perantas’ say-so.
‘And that duty is best served by doing nothing,’ Perantas said quickly, ‘at least for the moment. If Eumelos has been murdered, let’s keep whoever might be responsible waiting and wondering. If word spreads that I believe this missing slave is guilty, that might lure the real poisoner into some misstep. If such a poisoner even exists. Meantime, you need not get entangled in Corinth’s politics. You can continue with your auditions and rehearsals. Let Wetka know if there’s anything you need.’ He nodded at the Nubian who was waiting patiently a few paces away.
Menekles shifted on his stool. ‘So we are going to stage the play?’
‘Of course.’ Perantas was adamant. ‘If someone truly killed Eumelos to put a stop to your performance, I’ll see them cursed by all the heroes before I let them succeed. As for Eumelos’ funeral, you can make the arrangements, Nados, and see to his business affairs. There’s no need for me to be involved.’
He shuffled some papyrus into a neat stack and reached for his pen. It was clear we were dismissed. Menekles and I stood up. Nados was slower on the uptake, shocked by his new responsibilities.
‘Come on.’ I tapped his shoulder.
The lad was silent as we walked back to the gate, clearly overwhelmed. I knew how he felt. I contemplated the Acrocorinth looming ahead of us. Without Perantas backing us, without his contacts and influence in this city, solving the mystery of Eumelos’ death would be a challenge equal to pushing a boulder up that faint path winding up to the summit. I remembered that Sisyphus had been a Corinthian king in the age of heroes, and I wondered if he rolled his burden for all eternity up a ghostly echo of that great mountain in the Underworld.
I’d be a fool to take it on. I had all my duties as chorus master as we prepared to perform the play, and we’d already lost valuable rehearsal time.
On the other hand, I wanted to know the truth, and not just out of duty to the gods. If Perantas Bacchiad had enemies so determined to stop our performance that they were prepared to murder Eumelos, I hated to imagine what else they might contemplate. We needed to know if our own lives were in danger. It’s not as if we had friends in Corinth to watch our backs.
Outside in the street. I picked up the pace. ‘Come on. We’ve got things to do.’
Chapter Four
Hyanthidas and Telesilla were sitting on the bench in the courtyard talking to Zosime when we got back. Good. I had questions I hoped the musicians could answer.
So did Menekles. ‘Where is the Sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone? That’s our rehearsal space,’ he explained as Apollonides and Lysicrates appeared in the doorway to the storeroom.
Lysicrates looked at me. ‘We’re going ahead with the play?’
‘We are,’ I said grimly, ‘and we’re keeping our eyes open for anyone out to make trouble. Perantas Bacchiad says rival factions in Corinth would like to see us fail.’
‘What did he say about Eumelos’ death?’ Apollonides demanded.
‘Perantas prefers to believe that this missing slave is somehow responsible.’ I raised a hand as everyone protested. ‘I know, I don’t believe it either. There must be some other explanation. What was Eumelos saying to you in the tavern? Was there any hint of trouble in his personal life? In his business dealings?’
Lysicrates shook his head. ‘We were talking about Athens and Pericles’ building plans.’
‘He hadn’t visited our city for years,’ added Menekles, ‘so he was interested to know what had changed.’
There was nothing remarkable in that. I sighed. ‘Let’s hope Dardanis turns up soon, and that he knows something of use. Meantime, we may as well get on. Everyone, pull up a stool.’
Zosime made room for me on the bench. I took a breath; first things first. ‘Nados, where is the Sanctuary?’
He was more than ready to let me take charge. ‘On the road up to the Acrocorinth.’
‘And the priestess is expecting us? Good,’ I continued as he nodded. ‘When did Eumelos say we would hold our chorus auditions?’
‘Tomorrow mornin
g.’ The lad looked distressed. ‘But I have to be at home. That’s where he will be laid out—’
As soon as word got around that Eumelos had been carried there from the Asklepion, the lad would have his hands full with visitors.
‘We can go to the Sanctuary and introduce ourselves,’ I assured him. ‘We’ll hold auditions as planned tomorrow. You need only concern yourself with the funeral. Go and reclaim your master’s body.’
‘We’ll come with you.’ Telesilla stood up and so did Zosime. The women exchanged a glance that told me they’d agreed on that earlier.
‘Thank you.’ Nados was pitiably grateful.
‘One more thing,’ I said quickly. ‘Do you know which brothel Eumelos intended to visit last night?’
‘The House of Pearls.’ Nados glanced towards the Acrocorinth. ‘Close to the Temple of Aphrodite.’
Hyanthidas nodded. ‘I know it.’
‘Let’s see what the women there can tell us. They may know something that might shed light on all this.’ I stood up to kiss Zosime farewell.
She murmured as her lips brushed my cheek. ‘I’ll see what Eumelos’ people can tell me about Dardanis.’
As the trio departed and Kadous closed the gate behind them, the actors closed up our circle. I turned to Hyanthidas. ‘Tell me about the Brotherhood of Bellerophon.’
‘It’s one of the city’s hero cults. We have a lot more of them here than you do, though most of them are much the same as religious associations in Athens. Devotees commemorate their chosen hero with rites at his shrine, followed by feasting and drinking. Members often have trades or commercial interests in common. They support each other’s businesses, help out those who fall on hard times, and defend the interests of widows and orphans.’
So far, so familiar, but the musician clearly had more to say. ‘And?’ I prompted.
Hyanthidas ran a hand through his curls. ‘Some become politically active.’ There was a distinct edge to his voice. ‘They ally themselves with powerful men on the Council, and those men use their support to pursue their political aims, repaying the favour with preferential contracts and loans. The Brotherhood of Bellerophon are all in favour of strengthening Corinth’s ties to Athens. After all, Athena advised Bellerophon to lay in wait for Pegasus by the Peirene Spring. She gave him the golden bridle that tamed the winged steed. They say that binds our cities together.’