by J M Alvey
I described the Sons’ murderous pursuit through the Acrocorinth’s alleyways, and the fight before we escaped to the gates. That epic needed no embellishment. I could see the Councillors’ shocked faces. This time I was ready for Perantas’ question.
‘At first, Hermaios thought you were there to buy more of the poison that killed Eumelos?’
‘That’s right.’ I waited for Perantas to ask me where I’d next seen Demeas, and steeled myself to explain how I had maimed the man as he tried to kill me.
Instead the Bacchiad surprised me by walking forward and waving me back to rejoin Wetka by the temple wall. Perantas turned to address the assembled Councillors.
‘I wish I could bring Hermaios before you all, to admit his undoubted guilt, but he was found dead at the foot of the Acrocorinth. We will never know if he threw himself from the citadel’s ramparts, hounded by the Furies for his crimes, or if whoever procured these poisons from him took steps to shut his mouth. As for Demeas . . .’ He paused, shaking his head regretfully.
With the assembled oligarchs’ attention on Perantas, I could take a good look at Alypos without anyone noticing. I felt a hollow in my stomach as if I’d missed a step on a stair in the dark. He wasn’t foolish enough to look smug or defiant, opting instead for a long-suffering air of being unjustly accused. It was the cold composure in his eyes when he looked at Perantas that betrayed him though. A truly innocent man would have shown more anxiety at being so perilously misunderstood.
Perantas cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me. As for Demeas, he can answer for himself.’
Shock flashed across Alypos’ face, followed by a blaze of fury. Inside a breath, he had mastered himself, but the damage was done. Other members of this Council had seen his reaction as Demeas was escorted into the chamber by Thettalos.
I swallowed hard, feeling sick. Demeas’ useless arm was heavily bandaged and strapped across his body. There wasn’t a mark of further violence on him, but his eyes were so darkly hollow with agony that he looked as if he’d been punched. His face was the colour of mud.
Thettalos had firm hold of his other elbow and brought him to stand in front of Apollo. Since I couldn’t see any prospect of the injured man trying to escape, I hoped the bull-necked man was there to catch him if he passed out from pain.
Alypos was on his feet, demanding the Council’s attention. ‘Whatever this man might say, his words cannot be trusted. He has clearly been foully mistreated to compel false testimony.’
I pushed myself away from the wall, ready to explain my responsibility for Demeas’ injuries. Wetka seized my wrist with a grip like an eagle’s talons, and answered my questioning gaze with an emphatic shake of his head.
Alypos was still speaking, convincing in his outrage. ‘I do not know this man. I know nothing of these fanciful plots. My association with the Sons of Heracles is in support of their charitable endeavours, and nothing more. If some devotees were provoked by these Athenians, for whatever reason, that cannot be laid at my door.’
I wondered how Perantas intended to prove the Sons were doing Alypos’ dirty work. Doubtless Demeas was here to testify, and I hated to think what might have been done to his broken arm to ensure that he said what suited the Bacchiad, but it would still be this single, unknown man’s word against one of Corinth’s most powerful citizens.
Perantas snapped his fingers and another man appeared, carrying an amphora. A boy followed with a tray of cups. ‘On your oath in Apollo’s presence, Demeas, was this wine taken from your house?’
‘It was,’ the wiry man said through gritted teeth.
Perantas addressed Thettalos. ‘On your oath in Apollo’s presence, have you been in possession of this amphora since you seized it from Demeas’ house?’
‘I have,’ the bull-necked man said calmly.
Perantas turned to Alypos, his expression enquiring. ‘Will you drink a cup of this wine?’
‘What?’ Taken aback, Alypos rallied swiftly. ‘No, I will not. I have no idea what might be in that amphora, or where it could have come from.’
I knew exactly where it had come from. I could see the bee seal stamped into the earthenware from here. If I could see it, so could Alypos. He knew it held the lethally honeyed wine, strong enough to cause delirium, and even death.
Perantas gestured at Thettalos and Demeas. ‘These men have told you where it is from, on their oath before the god. Are you calling them liars in Apollo’s presence?’
‘That man is your creature.’ Venomous, Alypos jabbed a finger at Thettalos. ‘The gods alone know what he might do or say at your bidding.’
Such naked animosity didn’t go down well. Nor did accusing the two men of lying in Apollo’s own temple, judging by the disapproving rustle among the Councillors.
Perantas raised a conceding hand. ‘It is true, Thettalos is a loyal member of the Brotherhood of Bellerophon, as am I. As Apollo is my witness, I do not deny my allegiances.’
The implication was obvious, since my evidence had already tied Demeas to the Sons of Heracles and Alypos’ association with the hero cult was well known. I saw the first flicker of unease in Alypos’ eyes.
‘But you say you do not know this other man,’ Perantas continued in mild and reasonable tones. ‘So what reason could you have to call him a liar? Why should you imagine that any possible harm could come to you from drinking wine taken from his house?’
He looked at Demeas. ‘We can see that your arm is broken, and I am sorry for it. Were you injured by any Brother of Bellerophon? At the hands of any Corinthian? On your oath to Apollo.’
‘No,’ the wiry man said, staring at the floor.
I wondered what the god was making of these answers that might not be lies, but certainly had the potential to mislead, even in overall service of the truth.
‘So why won’t you drink this wine?’ Perantas challenged Alypos.
‘Because I choose not to indulge your theatrics in this holy place, before this honoured Council,’ Alypos said coldly. ‘Besides, the ridiculous play you sponsored went ahead without any incident. How can I be accused of attempting some outrage that never even happened?’
Perantas stared back at him. ‘Every bone in Hermaios’ body was shattered by his fall from the Acrocorinth. Eumelos was poisoned.’
Alypos shrugged. ‘Their blood is not on my hands.’
‘Then let us share a cup of this wine,’ Perantas invited, ‘and pour a libation to Apollo as you testify to your innocence, and I will beg your pardon.’
I could see a good many Councillors looking expectantly at Alypos. If he had nothing to fear from the wine, or from perjuring himself in the god’s presence, why would he refuse? Others were increasingly irritated, while a few looked apprehensive. I guessed their association with Alypos wasn’t going to be so mutually beneficial now. Mud doesn’t only stick. It gets smeared around.
The silence lengthened until Demeas broke it.
‘I will drink the wine.’
The shock on Alypos’ face was mirrored on Thettalos’, and Perantas’ too. Evidently Demeas wasn’t following the script they’d prepared.
‘It’s the last amphora left of the wine we stirred the Colchis honey into, to take it to the theatre. He knows that as well as I do, because he supplied it,’ Demeas said tightly. ‘I know it will strike me down with sweet madness, and if that will give me some relief from my pain, I will welcome it. Whether I live or die?’ He shrugged. ‘I leave that in Apollo’s hands. He can condemn me for my crimes or pardon me, for the sake of my loyalty to you.’
The hatred in his eyes as he looked at Alypos was greater proof of the Temenid’s guilt than anything said so far. That’s the thing about loyalty. When a man has truly sworn his allegiance only to find his commitment isn’t returned, he will often repay such treachery with equally single-minded fervour.
Demeas turned to Thettalos. ‘Open t
he wine.’
‘No.’ The weather-beaten Councillor stood up and looked at Demeas without much sympathy. ‘We may yet have further questions for you, and this city has the right to see you answer for your crimes. We commend you to this temple’s care for the present.’
He looked around and a priest I hadn’t even noticed strode forward, backed by a couple of burly slaves. They escorted Demeas out and he went willingly enough. He was hardly in any condition to resist.
The weather-beaten Councillor turned to his fellow oligarchs. ‘We must decide if there is a case to answer.’
Voices erupted around the half-circle of seated men. One man snapped his fingers and pointed at Thettalos. ‘A priest must take charge of that amphora.’
Several Councillors agreed and one went further. ‘Someone find a stray dog and pour a cupful down its throat! Then we’ll know, one way or another.’
I didn’t get a chance to see who agreed with that. Wetka took hold of my elbow and ushered me towards the temple’s entrance. I would have resisted, but everyone else was leaving. This debate was only for the oligarchs.
‘Why was Alypos so surprised to see Demeas?’ I demanded.
‘You’re not the only ones who can let treacherous ears hear a lie.’ He smiled, as smug as a fox who’s caught a cockerel. ‘We made sure that Alypos’ man in the Brotherhood was certain that Demeas was dead and that all the tainted wine was destroyed.’
‘Would Perantas really have drunk a cup, and risked the sweet madness?’ I didn’t doubt that Thettalos and Demeas had told the truth about that amphora in Apollo’s presence.
‘Yes, putting his faith in Apollo and Athena,’ Wetka said steadily. ‘The mistake my master’s rivals so often make is to think he’s as cowardly as they are. Alypos realised his error too late.’
‘What happens now?’ I shook off the Nubian’s grip.
‘Most likely, Alypos will flee the city before dark. It will be interesting to see where he seeks sanctuary.’
‘Sanctuary? Not exile?’ I was infuriated. ‘You mean he won’t face justice? Not for killing Eumelos or anything else?’
Wetka smiled at me. ‘Justice is in the gift of the gods.’
Before I could decide if I was going to challenge him or slap him, the Nubian walked away. I turned on Thettalos instead, since the bull-necked man was approaching me.
‘How long will Alypos quit Corinth for? How long before rumours and memories fade and he comes quietly back to pick up his life where he left off, with most people outside the Council none the wiser about his crimes?’
If this was Athens, Alypos would be ostracised by the People’s Assembly, condemned to ten years’ exile, and everyone would know exactly why. Such a man coming back to the city would never escape that stain on his reputation.
Thettalos ignored my furious questions. He had other things on his mind. ‘We found that missing slave, on the road to Kenchreai last night.’
‘What?’ I stared at him, incredulous. ‘Tromes?’
How could the fugitive have been so stupid? Come to that, how could the idiot have got off a ship bound for Zakynthos?
Thettalos studied my face, looking for some sign of guilt, since he was still convinced I’d helped Perantas’ disloyal slave to escape. Thankfully, all he saw was my genuine astonishment. Regardless, he smirked with satisfaction at misleading me.
‘We found Dardanis, while we were beating the bushes for Tromes.’
I was even more taken aback. ‘Eumelos’ slave? What has he got to say for himself?’
‘Nothing much. He’s dead.’ Thettalos’ smile faded and he looked grim. ‘It seems he was killed the same night that Eumelos died.’
‘Murdered by some Son of Heracles?’ Now I glared at him. ‘Another death that Alypos won’t answer for?’
‘Alypos didn’t need Eumelos dead.’ He looked levelly at me. ‘Why don’t you go and help young Nados find out who did? Who wanted to silence his slave as well?’
He turned away, but I grabbed his arm. I had a thousand questions, but one clamoured louder than the rest. ‘Why are you telling me this? Perantas won’t like it. He wants everyone to think that Alypos had Eumelos killed.’
Thettalos shook himself free. ‘He never accused him of it.’
That was true but the bull-necked man still hadn’t answered my question. ‘Why are you telling me?’
Thettalos raised his hand and I saw he was wearing the dead man’s agate ring carved with the image of Bellerophon astride Pegasus. ‘He was my brother.’
He strode away. I stood still as a temple pillar, trying to make sense of this as the Corinthian crowds swirled around me. Then I headed for Eumelos’ house.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I could smell the lingering stench of putrefaction before I reached Eumelos’ gate. It might have been years since I’d searched a battlefield’s dead for a friend, but I’ll remember that reek till I die. They had brought Dardanis home.
Thankfully, I hadn’t stopped to eat any lunch on my way here, and I was very glad indeed that I hadn’t stayed up late last night playing drinking games. When Simias opened the gate, he looked horribly hungover.
‘You heard?’
‘Thettalos told me.’ I looked over his shoulder. ‘Where is he?’
‘On his way to be buried alongside Eumelos,’ Simias said with undisguised relief. ‘The body was vile.’
Presumably the silent litter bearers had been given that revolting task, and they had all my sympathies.
‘Have you any idea how he died?’ Though establishing that must be a vain hope after ten days.
Simias opened the gate wider. ‘Come and hear what the doctor has to say.’
I went into the courtyard and saw Chresimos the Cycladean sitting with Nados in the portico’s shade. The housekeeper Abrosyne and two other girls were scrubbing a grim stain on the paving, pouring vinegar onto handfuls of wood ash scooped from a bucket. A sharp odour rose above the stink of decay.
Chresimos raised a hand as I approached. ‘It is impossible to tell if Dardanis was poisoned, still less if he died from the same concoction that killed Eumelos.’
‘I can imagine.’ Though it was an obvious question to ask, I guessed that’s why the trio had sent for this particular doctor, with all the optimism of youth. ‘Was there anything to be learned from his body?’
‘He wasn’t robbed. He still had his purse and his cloak and shoes.’ Nados poured well-watered wine into four waiting cups as Aithon appeared from the house with another one. He must have gone to fetch that when Simias opened the gate.
‘Theft may have been his killer’s intention,’ Chresimos observed. ‘His arms had been slashed with a blade and his scalp was torn. That much was clear, despite the maggots.’
Aithon took a gulp of his wine, looking queasy. ‘But he got away.’
‘I’m reminded of something I saw during the fighting in Megara,’ Chresimos mused. ‘Several soldiers in the thick of a battle lost their helmets and suffered head wounds that broke the skin but not the skull. They seemed to be recovering but two fell into a stupor a day or so later. They could not be roused and died during the night. Dardanis’ skull was intact . . .’
I really didn’t want to think how the doctor had established that.
‘If we assume he was attacked at night on the road,’ the Cycladean continued, ‘it’s possible that he escaped his assailants, and hid where they couldn’t find him in the darkness. Alas, he succumbed to that head injury before morning, and no one discovered him before he died.’
‘He’d never have been found, most likely,’ Nados said sombrely, ‘if Thettalos and his brutes hadn’t been tearing up every thicket between here and Kenchreai, hoping to flush out Tromes.’
The trio exchanged an eloquent glance. I spoke up before Chresimos could ask any awkward questions.
‘He disappeared the night Eumelos died, so it’s fair to assume he was attacked on his way to the port.’
‘How did he know the master wouldn’t recover?’ Simias objected.
Chresimos set his wine cup down on the table, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I believe I was the one who told him. A man called at the Asklepion in the dead of night and asked how Eumelos fared. He gave me his oath that he was one of this household. I told him his master would die before morning. I assumed you had sent him to enquire. He may well have been Dardanis, though I cannot say for certain, given the decay of the corpse. He was a man of the same stature.’
‘Instead of coming to tell you, he took the road to Kenchreai.’ I looked at Nados. ‘Have you any idea why?’
Chresimos got to his feet. ‘Perhaps you’ll find some answers in there. I’ll leave you to it.’
I followed his gaze to the far end of the portico where a leather-bound package lay on the tiled floor beside a lumpy purse tied with a thong. ‘What’s that?’
‘Dardanis had it tucked inside his tunic, against his chest.’ Nados grimaced. ‘Fortunately it seems maggots prefer fresh meat to tanned hide.’
Simias took a deep breath. ‘Better yet, he was lying on his back when he died, so the worst—’
‘I understand.’ I didn’t want to contemplate the consequences if whatever this was had been trapped beneath a decomposing corpse.
‘His purse, on the other hand.’ Simias grimaced and swallowed hard.
‘We really had better see what’s inside them.’ Nados was still trying to convince himself as Aithon returned from escorting the doctor to the gate.
I went over for a closer look. Something had been placed in the centre of a large square of leather. The sides had been folded across it, and then the top and bottom flaps. Two leather straps had been knotted around it, crossing over each other. The package was gruesomely stained, though the reek of decay was mostly coming from the purse sitting in its noxious little puddle.