Scorpions in Corinth

by J M Alvey

  Since I was making such good progress with my list of unpalatable labours, I headed straight up to the Sanctuary and humbly asked the first slave I found for the boon of a private audience with the priestess.

  I expected another lengthy wait. I can only assume curiosity got the better of the goddess’ handmaiden. The slave quickly returned and led me into the little temple’s inner sanctum. The priestess was standing in front of the superb marble statues of Demeter and Persephone. All three looked at me with the penetrating gaze of women who can see right through every foolish stratagem that a man might dream up.

  I told the priestess everything, from Eumelos’ death, through to the doctor’s assessment of Apollonides’ blisters, and all the trials and tribulations besetting Nados. I didn’t insult her by asking for her discretion. If you can’t trust a priestess to keep her mouth shut, who can you rely on?

  Even so, she was less than pleased to be asked to approve the Brotherhood’s return, even merely to serve as our night-time guards. I drew on every performance I’ve ever seen in the theatre, falling to my knees as I begged for this favour, in order that our comedy could be dedicated to Eumelos’ memory.

  I don’t know if that made the difference, or if she simply wanted to shut me up, but she cut me short with a gesture.

  ‘You have my permission, but tell Thettalos he’ll answer to me for any unnecessary violence.’

  I decided against asking what she might consider necessary violence.

  ‘Thank you.’ I retreated from the inner sanctum, bowing low to the priestess and the mother and daughter goddesses alike. ‘Thank you.’

  Outside, as I crossed the paved precinct and looked down the hill, I saw our chorus members were already gathering in our rehearsal courtyard. Hastily checking the sundial on a nearby building, I was relieved to see I wasn’t late. It only felt as though I’d already put in a full day’s work.

  ‘Any disturbances?’ I asked Kadous as my faithful slave came to greet me.

  ‘None.’ He looked nearly as tired as Nados.

  ‘Good.’ I nodded at the costume store. ‘Get some sleep.’

  As I joined the others, I heard Apollonides wryly explaining how a branch had flared up with unexpected sparks when he’d been piling firewood on the courtyard brazier last night.

  ‘A sudden gust caught them and I realised I should have remembered what my father told me about checking the wind before taking a piss.’ His face was far less red and swollen today. The Cycladean doctor’s ointment was doing its job.

  I supposed a faceful of hot embers was as good an explanation for his blisters as any. If I hadn’t ever seen anyone who’d suffered such a bizarre accident, I don’t imagine anyone else here had either.

  We spent another intensely productive day rehearsing our songs and dances. Nados’ potter arrived with the supplies we had asked for while most of the chorus were away finding lunch. None of the rest showed any curiosity about the jars and baskets being carried into the costume store. Whatever Zosime and Telesilla might be doing in there was presumably women’s work and, thus, none of their concern.

  Menekles and Apollonides began running quickly through their speeches, to teach the chorus their cues. While they were doing that, I explained to Lysicrates how I was planning to rewrite that debate scene. I saw him smile for the first time since we’d arrived in Corinth, and he quickly thought of a couple of excellent jokes for me to include.

  As we resumed rehearsals, he still didn’t seem to be talking to Hyanthidas, but I decided I’d take whatever good fortune the Sanctuary’s goddesses saw fit to grant me.

  Two arrivals brought our rehearsing to a timely end. The first was Thettalos and a handful of the Brotherhood coming to stand guard overnight. He had the chastened expression of a man who’d just had a bracing conversation with Demeter’s priestess. That didn’t stop him looking at me with barely veiled loathing.

  The other newcomer was one of the litter-bearers from Eumelos’ household. Diffident for such a large man, he made his way towards me through the departing chorus members. I was surprised to hear him speak in heavily accented Greek from somewhere far to the west.

  ‘My master Nados sends this for you.’ He handed me a note, the papyrus sealed and folded.

  Nados had scrawled a few words and drawn a rough map. I held directions to lead me to Zopyros, a herbalist trading up on the Acrocorinth.

  Chapter Eleven

  I beckoned to Menekles. ‘Talk to Thettalos, please. Don’t tell him what’s happened to the masks. Just say we need his men to watch over everything we’re storing here. When Zosime’s ready to go, see her safely back to the house, you and Kadous.’ Hyanthidas would escort Telesilla home.

  ‘Of course.’ The actor glanced at the note in my hand. ‘Where are you going?’

  I explained.

  ‘You’re not going alone.’

  ‘Of course not.’ I beckoned to Lysicrates and Apollonides and showed them the map, relating my conversation with Nados.

  ‘Right.’ Lysicrates cracked his knuckles with a vehemence that made me uneasy.

  I turned to Apollonides. ‘You should wear your hat and cloak.’

  He nodded and headed for the dining suite where Telesilla and Zosime were still diligently hoping to salvage our masks. As Menekles headed over to greet Thettalos, Lysicrates and I were left standing alone.

  ‘This herbalist may know something, he may know nothing. It’s just a place to start looking.’ I kept my tone as light as I could. ‘If we get into a fight, that will only play into our enemies’ hands.’

  Lysicrates’ expression was unforgiving. ‘I don’t have to lay a hand on someone to scare the shit out of them.’

  Apollonides returned and we began the climb to the Acrocorinth. I couldn’t decide if it was better or worse to have those terrifying drops on either side lost in shadow as the light faded.

  The road was much busier now with men eager for an evening’s entertainment. The citadel gates stood open, though the crowd meant there was some delay before we were waved through. As that gave us all a chance to get our breath back, I could hear Apollonides wheezing and that worried me: the sooner we got back to the house the better so he could suck on his medicinal steam.

  While we waited, I looked out over the Corinthian plain, stretching northwards to the gulf. Approaching night drew a veil over the buildings around the agora and the sprawl of smallholdings blurred into invisibility. Lit windows and lamps on gateposts were golden pinpricks of light in constellations that mimicked the stars growing brighter overhead.

  Apollonides cleared his throat and spat into the scrubby grass at the side of the road. ‘Let’s get on.’

  Inside the Acrocorinth’s walls, the taverns and brothels were busy. Unshuttered windows were bright with oil lamps while loud music and laughter spilled out through open doors. The night was fragrant with herb-scented fat spitting on the charcoal braziers offering grilled sausages and skewered morsels to hungry passers-by.

  The atmosphere was taut with anticipation. We passed a vine-covered portico where a group of men sat, each one with a giggling girl on his lap. Each prostitute wore her hair threaded through with trailing ribbons. Wherever they might have come from, a Greek city or some barbarian wilderness, they wore their dresses Spartan-style, with the cloth pinned on one shoulder and falling away to leave their other breast bare. One of the revellers fondled his temporarily beloved’s ripe nipple between his finger and thumb, his wet mouth greedy for her pouting lips. I felt my own interest distinctly aroused.

  Despite himself, Lysicrates grunted. ‘Maybe Corinth does have a few things to offer.’

  High on the summit, the altars in front of Aphrodite’s temple were blazing as the divine portions of sacrifices sent their savour to the heavens on clouds of smoke and steam. Those who had paid for those slaughtered beasts would be dining on the choicest cut
s and enjoying the finest wines in private suites like those at Demeter’s Sanctuary. I wondered if the acrobats and dancers from the famous temple were truly as athletic and as inventively erotic as they were so widely reputed to be.

  Closer at hand, fire-baskets on street corners did away with any shadows where those with less pious motives might be lurking to prey on the unwarily drunk and the happily drained. They offered me light to check Nados’ map to make sure we were on the right route.

  Our path took us into a quieter, less well-frequented district. We passed high walls with high windows, closed shutters and bolted gates. I was glad to have Apollonides and Lysicrates flanking me.

  When we reached a small, irregular square with uneven paving there was no sign of life anywhere. With a sinking feeling, I wondered if this expedition had been a waste of time and effort.

  ‘Can I see that map?’ Lysicrates paused beneath the single lamp offering assistance to whoever was so thoroughly lost. After studying the papyrus for a moment, he knocked briskly on the door. ‘We’re here.’

  The herbalist opened up with commendable promptness. He was younger than I expected, a slight man in an expensive tunic with his long hair slicked back with oil. ‘Good evening. Good evening. It’s a pleasure to welcome guests to our beloved city.’

  If he could tell visitors from locals at a glance, we were dealing with no fool. ‘You’re Zopyros?’

  ‘I am.’ His smiled widened.

  ‘A friend recommended you.’ Lysicrates waved the scrap of papyrus before tucking it through his belt.

  ‘I am honoured.’ He stepped back from the threshold, inviting us in. ‘How may I serve you?’

  He was clearly expecting a brisk night’s trade selling nostrums to those who knew where to find him. Small jars, some made of glass, some painted pottery, were tightly packed on the table in the centre of the room. Shelves on all sides held plain glazed jars, similar to those holding medicaments at the Asklepion. Lamps turned glass bottles of coloured oils into glowing jewels. The air was heady with perfume, undercut with the insidious scents of exotic intoxicants.

  I looked for any blue glass vials like the one that had poisoned Eumelos, but none were apparent. Lysicrates strolled around the room, apparently studying the jars on the shelves. As he did so, he put himself between the herbalist and the only other doorway. It made sense for a man like Zopyros to meet his customers alone, especially ones with some embarrassment to confess. It also made sense for him to keep an ally close, in case someone was more interested in taking his silver instead of his medicines.

  ‘Gentlemen?’ he prompted.

  I smiled hopefully. ‘What do you sell to sustain a man’s ardour?’

  He grinned, conspiratorial. ‘Any number of effective compounds. Is the issue—’ he paused delicately ‘—an excess of haste in coming to a conclusion, or undue sloth in rising to the occasion?’

  I tried to look convincingly sheepish. ‘The former.’

  ‘The latter,’ said Lysicrates a breath later.

  The herbalist looked momentarily puzzled before his expression brightened at the prospect of two sales. He glanced hopefully at Apollonides to see if he had a third customer but the actor kept his back turned, studying the bunches of dried flowers hanging by the front door. With any luck, he seemed embarrassed by our inadequacies. Friendship only goes so far.

  Our new friend rubbed his gold-ringed hands together. ‘Let me assist you.’

  I noted he wore no sign of any hero cult affiliation. Presumably he sold his wares to whoever had the coin to pay him. I couldn’t decide if that made him more or less contemptible, if he was indeed the man we sought.

  ‘For you, good sir.’ Zopyros’ darting hand plucked a bottle from the array on the table, swift as a stork plucking a frog from a puddle. ‘This should enable you to satisfy the most demanding of women.’

  Unerring, he picked out a second tightly corked vial and offered it to Lysicrates. ‘This will lend you the necessary vigour to enjoy a most rewarding visit to Corinth.’

  Arms folded, unsmiling, Lysicrates leaned against the back door. He made no move to take the potion. ‘Which one will leave us dead in our beds?’

  The herbalist’s ingratiating grin faded. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘A friend of ours took a dose to invigorate himself and it killed him,’ I said bluntly.

  ‘I’ve had no reports of any such accidents befalling my customers,’ Zopyros said warily, half-turning so he could see us both. ‘I can only offer my sincerest condolences.’

  He seemed genuine but, just as easily, he could be lying through his teeth. I spend my days with men who can convince any audience that they’re kings and heroes from the days when gods walked the earth.

  ‘It’s hard to make a complaint when you’re stuck on the far side of the Styx,’ Lysicrates observed coldly.

  ‘Who said it was an accident?’ I stared at Zopyros. ‘We believe that our friend was murdered.’

  ‘But you have no proof, otherwise you’d have gone to the Council.’ He looked back at me and I saw in his eyes that, at very least, he’d heard about Eumelos’ death. Given the numbers at his funeral, that was not such a surprise.

  ‘An innocent man wouldn’t say that.’ Lysicrates’ voice hardened. ‘An innocent man would say how dreadful, maybe ask for details about how our friend died, perhaps offer to help identify the poison that killed him.’

  ‘Maybe ask why we suspect foul play,’ I agreed. ‘Maybe ask how he could help find out who was responsible. The dose that killed our friend came in a blue glass vial. Will we find more of those if we tear this place apart?’

  ‘Not here,’ retorted Zopyros, ‘but you’ll probably find them if you ransack more apothecaries’ shops. Let us suppose that a man in my trade was fool enough to sell risky doses to rich fools. He wouldn’t want to get them mixed up with honest aphrodisiacs and cures for cock rot. He’d keep them in distinctive bottles, and he’d keep them well out of sight.’

  I had no answer to that.

  ‘Besides, what would finding a stock of blue glass prove?’ Zopyros was rallying, as the shock of our arrival faded. ‘You can’t prove that I mixed whatever dose your friend took, or even that it passed through my hands, can you?’ he challenged us, before answering his own question. ‘Of course not. Nobody could. So fuck off!’

  As he raised his voice, we heard movement behind that rear door. The handle rattled, but since the door opened into the shop, Lysicrates simply leaned against it, bracing his feet and smiling unpleasantly at Zopyros. For an actor who specialises in female roles, he conveyed unspoken menace unsettlingly well.

  I snapped my fingers to reclaim the herbalist’s attention. ‘If you didn’t sell the dose that killed Eumelos, who did?’

  I took a step forward, only to halt. I didn’t see where he had got it, but the herbalist was holding a knife. He jabbed the stained blade towards me, the gesture as forceful as his voice. ‘I told you to fuck off!’

  There was a thud against the door as someone attempted to charge the obstinate planks with a shoulder. Lysicrates held firm.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked Apollonides.

  Right on cue, he turned around, pulling back his cloak and hat. ‘I think I want to know who did this.’

  Timing is everything, in daily life, as it is in the theatre. Zopyros couldn’t hide his reaction to the actor’s blistered face. His lips parted on an infinitesimal indrawn breath. The barest hint of satisfaction proved beyond any doubt that he knew he was looking at his own handiwork.

  That distracted him just long enough for me to knock that knife out of his hand. It’s a trick my dead brother Lysanias taught me and the gods only know who taught him. I smacked the back of Zopyros’ knife hand in the same instant that my other hand slapped the inside of his wrist.

  The trick only works when you catch someone u
nawares. When it does work, it works spectacularly well. The blade flew across the room to scatter the bottles on the table. A handful toppled to the floor. One cracked and the aniseed scent of an indigestion cure filled the air.

  Zopyros stared at me in utter disbelief. Then whoever was in the back room launched another assault on the planks. Lysicrates stepped aside so quickly that the door flew open to slam back against the shelves.

  Zopyros’ would-be saviour hurtled into the room, unable to stop himself crashing into the table. Every bottle and jar went flying. As the man tried to recover his balance, Lysicrates was on him. He forced the man to the floor, his knees pinning the back of his victim’s thighs. The actor wrapped his arms around the man’s neck in a wrestling hold. The hapless man’s spine arched with a cracking sound. He slapped the floor in a desperate attempt at submission. Lysicrates loosened the stranglehold, but not enough to offer him any chance of escape.

  I snatched up Zopyros’ knife and levelled the blade at the herbalist. To my utter astonishment, he burst out laughing.

  ‘All right, all right.’ He raised his hands in surrender. ‘Please, stop before you cost me any more breakages. I’ll guarantee my brother’s good behaviour.’

  The man gurgled what sounded like agreement. Lysicrates looked at me, brows raised.

  ‘As long as he stays on the floor.’ I still had the knife, and any more fighting would be three against two. Unless that careless assumption got us all killed. ‘Is there anyone else back there?’

  His hands still raised, Zopyros shook his head. ‘Just the two of us.’

  ‘You expect me to trust a Corinthian?’ Lysicrates released his victim and stood up. He walked to the door, to satisfy himself the room beyond was empty.

  I considered shutting the herbalist’s brother in there before deciding against it. The last thing we needed was him slipping out through some unsuspected exit to summon reinforcements. He could stay where he was, flat on the floor, forehead resting on his crossed forearms.