by J M Alvey
‘He loved me,’ Arete wailed, her perfumed ribbons bobbing. ‘He did! He—’
She dissolved into incoherent misery as the curtain swept back to reveal the mistress of the house. I don’t suppose she’d been more than a pace away outside in the hall.
I stood up. ‘I brought bad news—’
‘I heard.’ Mistress Eirene stood to one side, holding the curtain. My invitation to leave was unmistakeable.
I drank the wine I’d poured for Arete since I’d paid for it. Then I went dutifully out into the corridor before Eirene called on her burly slave to throw me out.
More whores peered around their own curtains, agog with curiosity and concern. Some were half-dressed, some wholly naked. Several had small children close by, girls and boys, none older than five or six years. Olive-oil-soaked sponges and wine-vinegar rinses can’t always save a woman from the hazards of pregnancy. Certainly not ones who roll those dice four or five times a night.
At their mistress’s nod, two girls hurried to console Arete. I followed Eirene out into the courtyard.
‘Forgive me,’ I began. That seemed safest.
‘Why?’ she asked tartly. ‘Did you kill him?’
If she favoured straight talking, I was happy to oblige. ‘Who would want to stop Eumelos marrying that girl?’
She startled me with a bark of laughter. ‘He had no thought of wedding her, no more than any of the others who’ve mistaken his kindness for affection. She lost her heart to him, little fool, and he knew it, but if she’d breathed a word of such hopes, he’d have dropped her like a hot coal.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Absolutely.’ She was adamant. ‘He does it without a second thought. So, how did he die?’
‘Poison.’ I matched her piercing stare, look for look. ‘Supposedly he took a potion to stiffen – his resolve. Did he get that here?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘When a man brings a limp leek to our table, and I grant you, Eumelos did from time to time, we have plenty of tricks to perk up a client without resorting to herbalists’ concoctions. Who knows what they might be peddling? I won’t have such things in my house.’
‘No?’ I took a step closer, to press her harder.
Hyanthidas set his cup of wine on a table and moved to stand between the two of us and the bruiser by the gate.
Eirene wasn’t remotely intimidated. ‘No, and I think you had better leave.’
‘As you wish.’ I thought about asking for some of my money back but seeing her henchman’s scowl, I decided against it. At least the wine had been excellent. Hyanthidas and I walked out into the lane and headed back towards the citadel gates.
I heaved a sigh. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you up here.’
‘You think it was a waste of time?’ He sounded surprised.
Now I was puzzled. ‘You think she was mistaken? The brothel keeper?’
‘Oh, I’m sure Eumelos had no plans to marry,’ Hyanthidas assured me, ‘but who might have believed the girl, if she told them that he did? Whose inheritance would that threaten?’
I wondered about that all the way back down the mountain. Then we went to find a wine merchant. We still had auditions to hold and a play to rehearse.
Chapter Five
I was wondering about Eumelos marrying when Zosime stirred beside me the next morning. We’d slept long and soundly after making love the night before. I couldn’t imagine a day when the merest touch of her hand wouldn’t send my blood pulsing with desire. Could Eumelos have felt like that about his little whore?
Seeing me staring up at the ceiling, Zosime raised herself up on one elbow. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘This time yesterday, I had no idea who might have killed Eumelos. The notion made no more sense than him killing himself. Now I have three possible motives for murder.’ I eased my arm around her shoulders and cuddled her close. ‘Someone who wants to stop our play. Someone out to make trouble for me and Aristarchos. Someone who wanted to stop him marrying.’
I had no idea where to look for answers. If we were in Athens, I’d have no such problems. Once I knew Eumelos’ voting district, I could approach the local officials, vouched for by the elders of Alopeke who’d known me since I was a child, since my father had presented me to them as an Athenian citizen. Then I could find the dead man’s family.
Once I knew his trade, my brothers and I would ask around until we found someone who knew someone who’d had dealings with him. That would surely offer some scents to follow. Meantime, Aristarchos would be making enquiries in the very different circles where he moved, learning all he could about Eumelos’ patrons and their enemies.
But we were in Corinth. I didn’t know how this city worked, and knew precious few locals I could trust.
Zosime drummed thoughtful fingers on my bare chest. ‘No one in Eumelos’ household expected that he’d ever wed. Old Abrosyne was breaking her heart over it yesterday. He should have had a wife and daughters to wash his body and lay him out, not just her, me and Telesilla.’
I kissed her hair. ‘Thank you for doing that.’
‘We all have a duty to the unjustly dead,’ she said sombrely. ‘I don’t want the Furies hounding us.’
I pictured the weeping slave woman I’d seen talking to Nados. ‘Abrosyne is his housekeeper? Do you think you could ask her if Eumelos ever mentioned a woman called Kleoboulina? That’s what he called Telesilla in the tavern.’
‘I can ask.’ Zosime was still thinking about this supposed wedding. ‘But who could the whore have told that she expected to be married? She’d hardly tell her other customers.’
‘I can’t see it,’ I agreed. Even in a brothel, men like to kid themselves they’re the one a woman is wishing for while they’re thrusting between her thighs. A whore pining for someone else risked a slap or worse.
‘Who would this Eirene tell?’ Zosime went on. ‘Especially since she didn’t believe a word of it.’
‘Maybe one of the other whores heard Arete boasting?’ I hazarded. ‘Then told a customer?’
Zosime shifted in bed so she could look me in the eye. ‘How much time did you spend gossiping with whores, in your brothel-going days?’
‘None.’ I kissed her.
She kissed me back. ‘So how could someone who’d kill to stop Eumelos marrying hear any rumour of a wedding?’
‘And if everyone says he wasn’t the marrying kind, surely they would wait for proof before risking a step as drastic as murder?’ But I still wanted to know whom such a marriage might have disinherited.
We heard a door slam and voices down in the courtyard. The household was rousing.
Zosime got out of bed. ‘I’m meeting Telesilla at Eumelos’ house, to help Nados with the visitors coming to pay their respects.’
‘See if any of them has any idea where Dardanis might be hiding.’ I watched her see to the morning’s necessities.
Back in Athens, she’d wear a simple draped dress, swiftly created from folded cloth wrapped around her body, pinned with shoulder brooches and secured with a belt. Here she was wearing a long, pleated gown, reaching down to her sandalled ankles. Elegant and decorous, that’s what my mother and sisters wore back home, and Zosime never did. While there are no actual laws forbidding such garb for non-citizen women, there are certainly harsh penalties for resident foreigners like Zosime masquerading as Athenian-born. After all, access to an Athenian citizen’s enviable rights and privileges depends on having two citizen-born parents.
But this was Corinth and, as in most Hellenic cities, a citizen’s rights went to a citizen’s sons and no one cared about their mother’s status. Women didn’t have to watch what they said, where they went, and who with in case their Athenian birth was ever called into question. Women like Telesilla could be musicians, free to perform and to compete in public competitions.
I wonde
red uneasily what opportunities Zosime might notice here, for a vase painter as talented as she was. Could she be tempted to stay in a city where she was every other woman’s equal and her children wouldn’t be dismissed as bastards? I was selfishly glad that her father had stayed in Athens, to guarantee she would go home with me. Though a skilled potter like Menkaure could easily find work here. He was a much-travelled man, and making another fresh start in a new city would hardly daunt him.
Zosime put on her earrings and looked quizzically at me. ‘How long are you staying there?’
‘I’m up.’ I dressed quickly, used the chamber pot, and washed, before following her out. These guest accommodations consisted of an inner room and one that opened onto the staircase leading down to the courtyard. That was where Kadous was sleeping.
Everyone else was already eating barley bread and fruit. I served myself some breakfast.
‘Did you get everything taken up to the Sanctuary?’ I asked Apollonides.
He nodded, chewing, grape juice glistening on his beard.
‘Did you find a wine merchant?’ Lysicrates asked.
‘I did, thanks to Hyanthidas, and he’s a man who does plenty of business with Perantas so he’ll send the bills straight there.’
I broke off as an urgent knock rattled the gate.
Tromes opened up to reveal Nados, plainly dressed as befitted a mourner, and clutching a sheet of papyrus. He came over to us, fighting tears. ‘I was trying to find Eumelos’ will and came across this. I’m not sure what he meant by it, but—’
‘Let’s see.’ I took the crackling sheet. The single word at the top was plain enough. Auditions. Then I read a list of names, each one with a cryptic symbol drawn beside it.
Menekles peered over my shoulder. ‘What does that signify?’
‘I have no idea,’ I said, mystified. ‘Let’s hope Hyanthidas can shed some light on it.’ I rolled up the papyrus and tucked it through my belt.
‘I had better get back.’ His duty discharged, Nados turned for the gate.
‘Wait a moment.’ Zosime brushed crumbs from her dress. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Her departure spurred the rest of us on. We left Tromes and the other slaves clearing away the breakfast dishes and headed for the city’s great temple and shrines, and the road to the Acrocorinth beyond.
The walk up the lower slopes of the mountain to the Sanctuary of Demeter was much easier in the morning cool. Hyanthidas was already waiting at the side of the road, by the steps leading up to the temple precinct.
He wasn’t alone. A dozen or so men were loitering close by. Half were wearing boxers’ leathers to protect their knuckles in a fight. The rest carried olive wood staffs that they could use on the climb to the summit, or wield as weapons just as easily.
‘Good morning.’ The bull-necked man with the golden Pegasus collar offered me his hand and an ominous smile. ‘We weren’t introduced. I’m Thettalos.’
‘Are you here to audition for our chorus?’
His grin widened to show his teeth, as friendly as a hunting dog. ‘Let’s say that I am.’
‘And your friends?’ From what I could see, his closest companions all had rings or brooches or belt buckles that bore the Pegasus symbol.
Thettalos shrugged. ‘If you like.’
I didn’t like this, not at all, but I couldn’t see how to get rid of him and his associates. I could see several men coming along the road, looking uncertainly in our direction. I didn’t think would-be singers would be keen to run the Brotherhood’s gauntlet. I didn’t imagine the priestess would be too thrilled either, to have this mob cluttering up her steps.
‘Stop hanging around out here. You make the place look untidy.’ I went past Thettalos and headed for the courtyard we had been granted for our rehearsal. The Brotherhood of Bellerophon followed.
Hyanthidas had already fetched the keys and Apollonides unlocked the two dining rooms. ‘We’ve put all the costumes and masks in there.’ He gestured towards the further door, before showing me jugs and cups in the room close at hand. The crockery was stacked on the ledge where cushioned dining couches would usually be set. ‘I suggest we use this for the wine, and when we need a breather or a quiet conversation.’
‘Good idea, and let’s keep the costumes and masks in their baskets for the moment.’ I had no idea who might have travelled from Corinth to Athens for the Dionysia and seen our play back in the spring, but we might as well keep its surprises secret for as long as we could.
I turned to Thettalos, pointing to the tall water jugs. ‘You lot can make yourselves useful and fill those. Leave those walking sticks in here. You won’t need them until you head home.’
He wasn’t smiling now. ‘I don’t—’
‘I assume Perantas Bacchiad sent you to help us?’ I enquired mildly.
He looked at me for a long moment. ‘He did.’
I watched him pick up a jug and hand it to one of his contingent. They exchanged a few curt words. I guessed the noble Brotherhood weren’t keen on doing women’s work. If some of them went off in a huff, I’d be more than happy to see them go.
Lysicrates appeared in the alleyway. ‘Philocles, the wine has arrived.’
By the time we had the amphorae safely stowed, Thettalos’ men had finished fetching the water. Lysicrates and Menekles began mixing jugs of the fragrant wine with a judicious measure of spring water.
The tantalising flourishes of Hyanthidas’ pipes brought us our first handful of would-be chorus singers, and more soon followed. One thing I’d noticed about Corinth was the city’s abundance of sundials, and the citizens were proving punctual.
We had a small table and a handful of stools, and Apollonides helped me carry them outside. I armed myself with papyrus, pen and ink from the writing supplies I found stowed with the costume baskets. I guessed we had Nados to thank for all that. If Eumelos had been killed to stop our play’s rehearsals, the murderer should have remembered that few men are truly irreplaceable.
‘Who’s first?’ I smiled at the waiting Corinthians.
One stepped forward, bolder than the rest. ‘Timoleon, son of Timophanes of Lechaion.’
I made a note of his name as he looked at Hyanthidas sitting in the shade.
‘Do you know Arion’s Hymn to Helios?’
‘I do.’ The piper obliged with the first line of the tune.
At his nod, Timoleon began singing. His voice was clear, strong and true. Sitting beside me, Apollonides leaned close to speak quietly behind a raised hand.
‘If they’re all as good as this, we’ll be done by noon.’
‘As long as he hasn’t got two left feet.’ I marked Timoleon down as a definite prospect, and beckoned the next hopeful forward.
Apollonides should have known better than to tempt the gods. Divine Apollo had a good laugh at our expense. This eager singer had brought his own lyre, and sang one of his own compositions. It was hard to decide what was more excruciating; the banal lyrics twisted to fit the rhythm, the lyre that was out of tune, or the singer’s thin and nasal voice. I didn’t even bother noting his name.
‘Thank you. Please, have a drink while we continue.’ I smiled blandly as the man stood there, obviously expecting a leading role in our chorus.
Thanks to all the gods, the next singer was a marked improvement. Not as good as Timoleon but most choruses are made up of those who perform better alongside others than they do as soloists. We listened to twenty or so more men who similarly ranged from definites through possibles to no-hopers. I allowed myself to hope we’d have a choice of strong performers rather than having to take a few weaker ones to make up our number.
Then, as the next contender stepped forward, I saw Thettalos heading towards me.
The singer scowled at the bull-necked man before addressing me and Apollonides. ‘Ameinocles of Vayia. I play as well as sing.’
He wasn’t carrying a lyre, but there was a bone flute thrust through his belt.
Thettalos arrived, planting his hands on our table and leaning forwards to loom over me. ‘You don’t want him.’
I leaned backwards against the wall, lacing my fingers over my midriff. ‘As chorus master, that’s for me to decide.’
I stretched my feet under the table, ready to kick Thettalos’ ankles out from under him if he tried anything stupid, but the bull-necked man retreated to join his allies in a corner.
I had already noted that none of the Brotherhood had auditioned and three still carried their olive wood staffs. Now I saw several glowering at some new arrivals who were standing together.
A trill from Hyanthidas launched Ameinocles on a familiar hymn of praise to Dionysos. The man had a serviceable voice. I also saw his eyes were fixed on Thettalos.
When Ameinocles finished singing, I thanked him and turned to Apollonides. ‘Get the first dozen possibles together and try them with a few dance steps. Get Lysicrates to clap out a beat. I need to talk to Hyanthidas.’
As the actor took our list and began calling out names, I beckoned to the piper. With everyone’s attention on Apollonides as he paced out steps for the chorus hopefuls to follow, I drew Hyanthidas into the doorway of our costume store and showed him the list Nados had brought to us. I had remembered right. Ameinocles of Vayia was on it.
‘What does this mean?’ I tapped the looping squiggle of ink beside the man’s name.
Hyanthidas frowned as Lysicrates’ clapping hands struck echoes from the enclosing walls. ‘I have no idea.’
A sudden shout interrupted us.
‘Watch where you’re going!’ A wiry man who’d shown no interest in auditioning threw his hands up as the dancers circled close. He shoved the nearest hopeful, sending him staggering into the man beside him. ‘Mind my fucking feet!’
‘I was nowhere near—’
More men than I expected coalesced around Ameinocles as quickly as the rest of Thettalos’ Brotherhood emerged from the alleyway. Everyone else stepped back, to press against the walls.