by J M Alvey
As I walked towards Kadous, I couldn’t hide my concern. He raised a discreetly placating hand, so I guessed the worst hadn’t happened. I’d be happier if he was smiling though.
‘Well?’ I demanded, low-voiced, as soon as I reached him.
‘Come with me.’
I glanced over my shoulder to see Menekles and Lysicrates watching us with expressionless faces. I managed a tight grin and gestured to indicate that I’d be leaving for a while.
I followed Kadous between the buildings. ‘Where is he?’
‘In the agora.’
Not what I was expecting, but better than in the Asklepion. We reached the broad steps down to the road where we could walk side by side.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘You need to hear that from him,’ Kadous said carefully.
So it was something he wanted to steer well clear of. As we walked down to the city, I wondered what hidden rocks might be about to wreck my shipload of Achaeans. If Hyanthidas refused to play, our performance could not go on.
Neither of us spoke till we reached the agora and its cheery, noisy bustle. I surveyed the busy market stalls and the crowded colonnades, as well as the devotees and visitors crowded around the fountains and shrines.
‘Up there.’ The Phrygian pointed to the paved precinct around the temple of Apollo.
Our missing musician sat on the lowest ledge of the pedestal that supported the god’s reclining statue. Leaning back, with his ankles crossed and hands interlaced behind his head, Hyanthidas gazed out across the heads of the crowds. His eyes were so distant I don’t think he’d have noticed a centaur strolling past. Kadous fell back, to follow a pace behind me as I walked up the slope.
‘Good to see you’re safe and well.’
Startled out of his preoccupation, Hyanthidas sat up straight. ‘Philocles. I should have sent word—’
‘Never mind,’ I said mildly, taking a seat beside him. ‘Is Telesilla all right?’
He reddened beneath the summer sun’s bronze on his cheekbones. ‘She’s fine. She’s at home. She . . .’
I let the silence between us lengthen, keeping my expression amiable, inviting him to continue.
‘She says I’m making a fuss about nothing.’ The tense undercurrent in his voice told me they’d had a blazing row.
‘What’s the problem?’ I kept my tone light, hiding my concern as best I could.
Another silence opened up amid the tumult on all sides.
‘It’s Lysicrates,’ Hyanthidas burst out. ‘I know he didn’t want to come here, but he insults my home and my countryfolk at every opportunity. I want to shut his mouth with my fists.’
I was shocked. ‘I know he’s said a few things out of turn, in the heat of the moment—’
‘That’s not the half of it,’ Hyanthidas said savagely. ‘I know what he says when I’m not there to hear him. How women performing in public is shameful. How I stand by while Telesilla degrades herself. How he reckons that Nados, Aithon and Simias most likely conspired to poison Eumelos, so they could steal his silver for themselves. That they probably beat Dardanis to death and buried his body in a ditch. What else can you expect from Corinthians? This is a city of whores and liars, after all.’ He glared at me. ‘And the rest of you just sit there and let him spew his slanders, never daring to contradict him.’
Now I was struggling for words. ‘I never heard—’
‘You deny he called us cowards?’ Hyanthidas challenged me. ‘Poisoners as treacherous as Persians? As hard to catch as bilge rats? That must be Medea’s legacy, mustn’t it? She always disappeared when she was cornered. So Lysicrates says.’
‘I do deny it, absolutely,’ I snapped. ‘When’s he supposed to have said all this nonsense?’
‘Last night,’ the piper spat. ‘When you came back from the Acrocorinth empty-handed.’
My rising anger was instantly quenched. ‘Who told you this?’
Hyanthidas shook his breath, stubborn. ‘No. He won’t get a thrashing on my account.’
That meant a slave had been gossiping. That’s why Kadous had insisted I hear this for myself. One slave accusing another won’t end well for either of them. Except this wasn’t gossip. Gossip has at least some passing acquaintance with the truth, however badly that gets mangled as it passes from person to person. This was different. This was a putrid concoction of lies.
‘Last night on the Acrocorinth,’ I said carefully, ‘we found the man who sold the hellebore lotion that was used to poison our masks. By the time we got back to the house, Apollonides was wheezing like an old donkey in the mountains. No one was sitting about chatting, never mind insulting Corinth. We tucked him up in bed and then we all went straight to sleep.’
Hyanthidas wanted to believe me. At least I hoped that’s what I was seeing in his face. But he had no reason to doubt whoever had told him these falsehoods.
‘Tromes.’ I realised who the liar must be. ‘When we got back, when he asked if there was anything we needed, he asked if we’d enjoyed our visit to the Acrocorinth. We said we hadn’t.’
To be strictly accurate, Lysicrates had still been in a filthy mood, and had said the whole fucking evening had been a complete waste of fucking time. Then Menekles told Tromes to boil some water for those herbs the doctor had given Apollonides. But telling Hyanthidas all that would hardly help matters.
‘This morning?’ the piper demanded. ‘Who said what over breakfast?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I slept late. Kadous?’ I looked at the slave, and my nod gave him permission to speak.
He answered steadily, looking Hyanthidas in the eye. ‘They talked about today’s rehearsal and decided that the more rest Apollonides gets, the sooner his lungs will recover from the hellebore’s effects. Then they discussed how to play their scenes differently, to save as much of his strength as possible for when he really needs it.’
I was so relieved to hear this explanation for the changes I’d seen this morning, that I nearly missed what Kadous said next.
‘Besides, Tromes wasn’t even there.’
‘Not at all?’ I wanted to be certain.
Kadous shook his head. ‘He was nowhere in the house, from before first light. He hadn’t come back by the time we left.’
I turned to Hyanthidas. ‘He was with you?’ Telling more lies. But I couldn’t understand why he would do this. Tromes was Perantas Bacchiad’s man.
Now Hyanthidas was looking suspicious. ‘I didn’t see him until we were just about to leave for the Sanctuary. He turned up at my door, all hot and bothered. He’s been coming by to seek my advice ever since you arrived, asking if I think he should tell his master how much you hate Corinth and the Corinthians.’
‘Perantas may own him,’ I said slowly, ‘but I’ll wager the weight of his lying tongue in silver that Tromes is serving a different master.’
A master who’d bought his treachery with a fat purse. Or someone who’d promised him that fat purse, provided our rehearsals collapsed into acrimony. I wondered exactly where Tromes planned to flee as soon as he had the coin he needed to reinvent himself as a free man. Assuming he didn’t drop dead first, poisoned by a cup of wine he was given to celebrate this vile scheme’s success. All of this explained the anxiety I’d seen in his eyes from time to time. The apprehension that I’d mistaken for fear of Perantas’ displeasure.
I looked at Hyanthidas. ‘I swear to you, on my honour, here in Apollo’s presence, that you’ve been deceived. None of us have been slandering Corinth. Ask Zosime if you wish. She’ll tell the truth without fear or favour. She’s no Athenian who’ll stay silent out of loyalty.’
It cost me a pang to say so, but it couldn’t be denied.
Hyanthidas’ cheeks coloured with embarrassment. ‘That’s what Telesilla said.’
‘We are both blessed in the women
who love us,’ I said with the friendliest smile I could manage.
The musician gratefully seized that peace-offering. ‘We should ask their advice about this.’
‘Absolutely.’ I agreed whole-heartedly. ‘Meantime, we should get back to the Sanctuary, and continue our rehearsals.’ I gestured at the agora. The midday crowds in search of food, drink, shade and conversation were beginning to thin.
Hyanthidas got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and fetch my pipes.’
From his self-conscious look, I guessed he’d also be apologising to Telesilla.
‘Take your time.’ I stood up and looked around for someone who could sell me and Kadous some late lunch and a cup of wine.
When Hyanthidas returned, we walked slowly back up to the Sanctuary. On the way I wondered wrathfully who had so nearly succeeded in setting us at each other’s throats.
I was angry with myself for not seeing this trouble brewing. I was also cross with Hyanthidas for being so ready to believe these lies, after all the time we’d spent together in Athens. That didn’t make Lysicrates blameless. He’d been inclined to think the worst here in Corinth and far too ready to say so.
No wonder some enemy had decided to try the trick that had worked so well for Cadmus of Thebes. When he sowed the dragon’s teeth and found armed warriors springing from the ground, one carefully thrown stone had seen them all turn on each other.
By the time we arrived at the courtyard, I was thinking about a different stratagem. I remembered my dream of being lost in the Minotaur’s labyrinth. Theseus was Athens’ own hero and he had found his way through that lethal place by following Ariadne’s thread. Maybe finding out who was paying this treacherous bastard Tromes would give us some answers about who was out to wreck our play. The man who had started by murdering Eumelos.
Chapter Thirteen
I forced myself to concentrate on the afternoon’s rehearsals, and thankfully we made good progress. As the sunlight softened and the shadows lengthened, I called everyone together. ‘Let’s decide where we need to do most work.’
The Corinthian singers were eager to put their hands up, to acknowledge the passages in the play where they were dissatisfied with themselves thus far. I could see their growing determination to make this an exceptional performance.
Once we had a plan for tomorrow’s rehearsals, Hyanthidas packed his pipes away.
‘Everything all right?’ Menekles asked him, pausing as he took a cup of water to Zosime.
‘Family matter,’ Hyanthidas said briefly. ‘Sorted out now.’
Lysicrates was passing behind them. He clapped a hand on Hyanthidas’ shoulder. ‘If there’s anything we can do, say the word.’
That casual gesture probably did as much to convince the musician that he had been lied to as anything I had said.
As the chorus was leaving, Thettalos and his henchmen arrived to stand watch through the night.
‘This is a waste of my time,’ he announced to no one in particular. ‘There are ten or twenty families and local societies dining here tonight. No one will try anything stupid with so many potential witnesses.’
Zosime heard him as she came out of the costume store. ‘Or they’ll think it’s an ideal time to sneak in, with so many people to lose themselves among if they’re caught making mischief.’ She closed the door and pulled the leather thong to draw the hidden bolt across.
Apollonides emerged from the wine store with an amphora. He shook it with a hollow slosh and handed it to Thettalos. ‘There’s enough here to quench your thirsts overnight without sending you to sleep.’
‘As long as you remember to add enough water.’ As he secured our second storeroom, Lysicrates’ smile didn’t quite draw the sting from his words.
Seeing Thettalos’ belligerent scowl, I winced. Lysicrates looked surprised. ‘What did I say?’
I shook my head. ‘It can wait.’
Menekles rattled the keys. ‘I’ll take these to the priestess.’
‘We’ll wait for you down by the road.’ I slipped my arm around Zosime’s shoulders.
When we reached the broad steps, she twisted free of my embrace and searched my face. ‘What is going on?’
Apollonides and Lysicrates were equally curious. Hyanthidas wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze and Kadous’ expression was studiously blank.
‘I’ll explain when Menekles gets back.’
‘Let’s stop blocking the path.’ Hyanthidas started walking down to the road.
He had a point. A steady stream of people were heading up to the temple precinct, carrying their offerings for the priestess’ deft knife. Those who’d arrived earlier were returning with the meat left after the goddesses and their handmaidens had taken their cuts. Demeter and Persephone must have a particular fondness for suckling pig, judging from the savoury scents rising from cooking braziers. More people arrived carrying covered dishes and wine amphorae. Pipe trills and lyres being tuned prompted snatches of song and laughter.
This everyday activity reminded me that Corinth wasn’t so very different from home. We are all Hellenes, sharing one language and worshipping the same gods. These good citizens enjoying their celebrations had nothing to do with the hero cults that were so obsessed with their rivalries and ambitions. These ordinary Corinthians were the people we’d come to entertain.
‘How did you get on today?’ I asked hopefully as we followed the piper. There was still enough daylight to see that Zosime’s arms remained smooth and unblemished.
‘Everything seems safe to wear.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Your herbalist must have told the truth.’
‘That’s good news.’ Though I realised that also meant the corrupt bastard was probably telling the truth when he said he had no idea who had poisoned Eumelos.
‘This smell of food is making me ravenous,’ Menekles said cheerfully as he caught up with us. ‘Where are we eating dinner?’
Still several paces ahead of us, Hyanthidas stopped and turned. ‘At my house.’
‘Are you sure?’ Apollonides asked.
I could see why he was uncertain. Someone offering his home’s hospitality didn’t usually look quite so tense. Hyanthidas looked like a man facing a thrashing.
‘Is Telesilla expecting us?’ Zosime wanted to know.
Hyanthidas nodded. ‘Though I will go on ahead and see what I can do to help.’ He looked at me. ‘Explain what’s been going on, and why we need to talk well away from treacherous ears.’
‘What do you mean?’ Menekles was alarmed, but Hyanthidas was already hurrying away.
I sympathised with the musician. I’d be embarrassed to hear someone was telling this tale about me. I was also irritated that he’d left me holding this particular boiling pot.
‘Philocles?’ Zosime slipped her arm through mine.
I started walking. ‘We should have been on our guard for treachery closer at hand.’
The others drew closer, trying to hear what I was saying without treading on each other’s heels. By the time we reached the agora, I had told them the whole sorry story.
‘Kadous can bear witness to today’s events,’ I concluded. As the others assured him that wasn’t necessary, I turned to the slave. ‘So where is Hyanthidas’ house?’
‘Follow me.’ He led the way.
As we followed, the three actors and Zosime fell silent, preoccupied. I left them to their thoughts. I’d had my say.
Hyanthidas’ house was a good distance from the agora, tucked away in a district of narrow streets and modest houses. This made me unexpectedly cheerful. It felt considerably more like home.
A young man standing by an open gate waved when he recognised Kadous. I remembered him from our first evening here, when he’d escorted Telesilla to the tavern. Inside the small courtyard, we found a single-storey building that ran across the far side of the paving and turned a corner to continue t
owards the gate.
‘Good evening,’ the slave said politely. ‘May I take your cloaks?’
As we were unpinning and handing over our wraps, Hyanthidas appeared from the furthest door of the house carrying a table top long enough to be awkward even for a man of his height.
Lysicrates hurried forward. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘It seems I owe you an apology.’
‘It seems there are plenty of those to go around.’ Hyanthidas was equally self-conscious.
‘Not until we’ve eaten.’ Telesilla was sitting on a stool beside a cooking brazier, stirring a bubbling pot. Whatever she was cooking smelled delicious.
‘What can I do to help?’ asked Zosime.
‘As soon as they’ve got the table set up, could you fetch the other dishes? Arion will show you where everything is.’ Telesilla nodded at the slave.
Menekles, Apollonides and I hurried to fetch the furniture while Zosime followed Arion into the house.
With us working together, dinner was soon ready. A broad shallow dish held what I guessed was a layered salad, judging by the bowl of spiced raisin dressing beside it. A fat nut omelette was waiting to be sliced. There were anchovies fried in wine, shredded cabbage in a pepper and thyme sauce, and fine wheat bread. Our musicians were going to entertain us in fine style.
‘Mix the wine,’ Telesilla told Hyanthidas as she deftly cracked eggs into a bowl. Beating them briskly, she stirred the golden liquid swiftly into her cooking pot.
The piper poured amber wine and fresh water into a tall jug. He looked at us with a strained smile. ‘Who shall we offer our libations to this evening?’
‘Apollo,’ Menekles said promptly. ‘Asking his aid to heal any rift between us, and to help us confound those who contrived this misunderstanding.’
Hyanthidas handed the actor a cup. ‘Let’s invite Athena’s blessings as well, and seek the gift of her wisdom.’
We offered the first sips of wine to the divine guardians of both our cities, murmuring contrition for past follies, and resolving to do better. With the air cleared, we sat around the table.