AHMM, Jul-Aug 2005

by Dell Magazine Authors

  I turned to the harpy. “Madam, when were you or your husband last in this shop?"

  "At sundown. Yesterday,” she said. “And the corpse wasn't here, so don't you dare say that..."

  "Can you and do you usually lock the shop?"

  "No,” she said. “In the sailing season, we sleep up above.” She thrust her thumb up toward the ceiling.

  "And you didn't hear any noise last night?"

  She thrust out her impressively wide jaw. “No."

  Lamicus found his tongue. “If this man was murdered here last night, you must have heard something."

  The harpy put her hands on her hips and took a step toward Lamicus. He took a step back. I smiled again. I've known Lamicus to face tempests at sea that would frighten Poseidon himself and I once saw him beat a pirate so badly, the man's whole crew rowed faster than a top trireme crew to get away. “I said I didn't hear anything,” the harpy said. “If you say differently, you're not going to hear anything ever again."

  Lamicus took another step back.

  "Madam,” I said, “Piraeus has many a good tavern and many a bad one. Which kind were you at last night?"

  She glared at me.

  "If the tavern owner served cheap wine, it's no wonder you and your husband slept soundly,” I said, guessing that unless she was lying, a drunken stupor was the only way she would not have heard anything.

  "Armides, that son of a stinking centaur, has good wine. But he always serves sour swill along with rotten cheeses. But then he's cheap enough."

  I nodded and committed the name to memory. I had no reason to get involved in this man's murder. It would be up to his relatives, if he had any, to find his murderer and bring the charge before the Areopagus, our homicide court, who would deal with the matter. But I stored away the name in my mind just in case.

  Besides, I was curious about this murder. I had noticed the victim's hands. They were smooth and white. He was no farmer, no sailor, no tavern keeper. This man was someone of importance. His robe and cloak, draped over a slender body, were woven of a fine wool, unlike the harpy's rough wool chiton. I examined what was left of his face. His beard was well groomed, unlike mine, and his features handsome, though I fancied his nose less straight than mine, my one really good feature.

  That's when I noticed something strange.

  The corpse's mouth was partly opened, and I could see a substance crammed in, as if he'd been eating something at the moment he'd been attacked.

  I pointed. “Look, Lamicus. What does that look like?"

  Lamicus peered over my shoulder. “God, Kleides, what does it matter?"

  "Maybe not at all. But detailed observation tells us a good deal about the nature of things."

  I could hear Lamicus’ sigh and almost feel his eyes rolling in frustration at my Sophist philosophy, but I ignored both and reached into the corpse's mouth to pull out a bit of the substance.

  Lamicus groaned louder. “Kleides,” he said, “the man is dead. He belongs to Hades. It was probably coins to help him pay for passage over the River Styx."

  "First, Lamicus,” I said, “unless the murderer was very supersti—uh, religious, I doubt that he, or she,” I said, remembering the harpy, “would take the time to do the dead man the service.” I looked at the yellowish white chunk in my hand. “Besides, this is certainly no coin."

  Lamicus peered over my shoulder again.

  "Great Zeus,” he said. “It looks like frankincense."

  "It is frankincense,” I said.

  "But why would the dead man have eaten frankincense? Some strange religious rite?"

  "We don't know, do we, that he was eating it. Perhaps the murderer stuffed it into his mouth."

  "But why?” Lamicus grabbed my shoulder. “Kleides, this is dangerous. Very dangerous. You know that the trees in the east from where the frankincense comes are inhabited by winged serpents. I've heard tales of this from the Phoenicians who bring the resin into the harbor."

  "I've heard the tales too. They sound like the kinds of stories devised to keep people away from the valuable trees."

  "I tell you, Kleides, Protagorus and your other Sophist friends will get you into deep trouble someday. This frankincense is holy. This is a dangerous matter. You must not fool with the gods."

  I stood up. “I agree that this is a dangerous matter, indeed. But not because of the gods or some mythical serpents. This is a human act, Lamicus. I have learned from my Sophist friends to consider what is normal in human behavior. Stuffing frankincense into a dead man's mouth is not normal. This act must have some significance.” I looked down at the dead man. “When we find the cause for this strange use of frankincense, we will know why this man was killed. Perhaps we will also know who killed him. I think that..."

  I stopped to see what the commotion was behind us. I had almost forgotten the harpy and the other people who had gathered, and I had certainly forgotten about the mild earthquake.

  "Kleides,” I heard someone say.

  It was Pericles, handsome and statesmanlike in the helmet he wore so often in public, not as his critics said because his head was distorted, but because he thought of himself as the servant of the city and as the defender of the people who had elected him to office.

  "Pericles,” I said, surprised. “I did not know, sir, that you were in Piraeus."

  "I am here to inspect the new colonnade. I was checking to see that all was well after the earthquake. I've been told that a man died here."

  I nodded and gestured for him to enter. I did not want to speak in the hearing of the crowd. “Indeed. A strange death.” I pointed out the man's wounds and showed the frankincense to Pericles.

  "I know the man, Kleides. He is Zeno, a harbor official, a collector of the two percent duty on the value of imports coming into the harbor. He comes from my own deme, my own part of Athens.” Pericles stayed silent for a moment. “Athens is fast becoming the center of our Greek world. Our navy is unmatched; our port is the best and the busiest. It must be kept so. Kleides, I ask you to use the keen powers of observation you have to solve this murder. Do what you need to do. I will provide any funds you need."

  "Of course,” I said, bursting with pride. I'd helped Pericles before. It had been an honor and would be again. Perhaps I would never be the great thinker Protagoras is, or the great statesman Pericles had already become, or the great playwright Sophocles was fast becoming, but I might make some contribution to my city that my descendants might honor. If, that is, I didn't stumble my way to the wrong conclusions. It was a bit frightening. But we all owed duty to our state. I told Pericles I would do all in my power to find the murderer.

  "I believe that is a harbor official lying there."

  Pericles, Lamicus, and I all turned toward the low, mellifluous voice, like the throb of a lyre's strings.

  I almost dropped the frankincense in my hand. It was the lovely woman I'd seen holding the crock of honey. Aspasia, the man with her had called her. I frantically smoothed my hair and searched my mind for something appropriate to say, ashamed that I, an aspiring Sophist, should be speechless. Such is love: a blessing and a curse, as our great poetess Sappho wrote.

  "Indeed, he is,” Pericles said. “But so beautiful a woman as you should not be exposed to such a scene of violence."

  "I am from Miletus,” Aspasia said. “I have seen much violence from the Persians.” She gestured to the dead man. “Death is offensive when it comes with such violence, but offensive more to the heart and mind than to the eyes."

  I looked from her to Pericles. I knew, then, that I had lost Aspasia. I could see the glow in the eyes of our great statesman. Despite his marriage to an Athenian aristocratic woman, he had clearly fallen in love instantly with this Ionian beauty, struck as I had been. I was no match as a competitor for her against Pericles.

  "It is this official's partner who should have been murdered."

  We all looked to the swarthy, square-faced man who had spoken, a Libyan, I thought. The stubble on his jaw
looked as tough as boar bristles and the scar across his right eyebrow cut in deeply.

  "Why?” Pericles and I asked at the same time.

  "A drunken wide-assed piece of trash. Never at his post when he should have been. Forever swilling and stuffing his stomach at Armides’ place. And we had to pay for his bad habits, pay and pay and pay again. Couldn't or wouldn't do his job right and that one knew it.” He gestured at the corpse and shook his head in anger. Then he stomped off.

  At that, I knew where to begin my inquiries and what a possible motive had been for the official's murder. But I turned my attention to Aspasia. She nodded and smiled to me, but her bright brown eyes went back immediately to Pericles. I wondered if Pericles’ political enemies, the conservative wealthy, might find enough support to ostracize him, exiling him for a year. I'd hate to see it happen for Athens’ sake and for friendship's sake, but there might be a certain advantage for me.

  Pericles thanked me again so graciously for agreeing to help that I felt ashamed of my thoughts. It didn't stop me from feeling a bit disgruntled, though, when he walked off with Aspasia and the man I took to be her father.

  I turned to see Lamicus looking at me.

  "She is lovely, isn't she?” he said.

  "I didn't notice."

  Lamicus snorted.

  I commandeered two Scythian police to remove the body and left.

  * * * *

  Armides’ tavern had a floor composed of half the shells, bones, crockery pieces, and dirt in the universe. Leucippus would have had a fine time examining the floor to see what the universe was composed of.

  Armides poured wine for me from an earthenware vessel painted with a pitifully bad picture of Odysseus’ men turning into pigs. I thought the picture appropriate for the tavern. When I asked about Tisias, the name I'd been given as Zeno's partner, Armides pointed to a man seated on a stool, his chins, all three of them, propped in his hands, his elbows resting on a crude table. He looked half asleep, and, from what I could tell, was about as wide-assed as the Libyan shipper had said.

  I took my cup of wine and water and approached the table. Tisias looked up at me, then promptly lowered his flabby chins back into his hands.

  I said nothing. I drank my wine slowly. It was only midday, and if, as I had decided to do, I were to hang around the taverns of the port to pick up information, I would have to pace my drinking or I'd soon be as besotted as Tisias.

  Three men entered the tavern, ate some salted fish and barley bread, looked at Tisias and myself, and left. I had Armides pour two more cups of wine, paid him the three obols, returned to the table, and set one of the cups in front of Tisias. He looked startled, but he pulled the cup to himself.

  "Tisias,” I said. “I'm Kleides of Athens. My half brother's a merchant."

  Tisias’ bleary eyes opened a bit wider. He looked at me as if I were speaking some Egyptian dialect instead of good Athenian Greek.

  "I want to talk to you about Zeno's murder. I'm sure you've heard about it by now. Pericles has asked me to look into the matter. I understand that you were his official partner for duty leveling."

  Tisias reached for the cup I'd put in front of him and began to hoist his bottom-heavy frame from his stool.

  "You can talk to me now or go with the Scythian police to a prison. I'm sure some officials will come to see you within a year or so."

  Tisias sat down, his red face turning rather pasty.

  "Do you know a square-faced Libyan shipper with a scar across his right eyebrow?"

  Tisias took a massive gulp of wine. He obviously didn't ascribe to our Athenian saying, meden agan—nothing in excess. “I've seen hundreds of shippers,” he said. “I can't be expected to remember them all."

  This was reasonable. “Well, this one remembers you.” I decided on shock value. “He thinks you should have been murdered instead of Zeno."

  Tisias swallowed hard. “Me? I haven't done anything."

  "The Libyan thinks differently. I have the duty records in my possession. Two other officials are examining them."

  Tisias swallowed again, this time washing down half his cup of wine.

  "Tell me about the last several shippers you levied. Any arguments with them?” I knew that generally murder was preceeded by some argument or resentment.

  "No arguments. None."

  "The duties were standard: two percent of the value of the cargo?"

  Tisias looked forlornly at his almost empty cup. “Yes, standard. Uh, yes, I think so. It's hard to remember."

  I began to wonder how the slender, elegant Zeno operated with wide-assed and rather dull-minded Tisias. Drinkers like Tisias were easily corrupted. But then why had the fastidious-looking Zeno tolerated Tisias? I decided on a test. “Look, just tell me about the last three shipments you two taxed."

  Tisias’ hands were now shaking. “You can look them up, can't you?"

  "You can tell me about them, can't you?"

  Tisias put his pudgy hands over his mouth. “I don't know anything. I wasn't involved in the whole thing.” He got up and lurched out of the tavern. He was sick or pretending to be. He couldn't remember the last few shipments or wouldn't talk about them. I rather suspected the former.

  Armides came up with a krater of wine. “More?"

  "No."

  He picked up Tisias’ cup, exposing from beneath his chiton a well-muscled, black-haired arm. I suspected he could handle the rough characters in Piraeus with little trouble. “He'll be back. He's a good customer.” He winked. “Good for me. He spends quite a bit here. More than he should be able to.” He tilted his balding head at me. “I suspect he's corrupt, but I don't ask questions. Best not to know too much. You could end up like Zeno."

  "You think Tisias killed his partner?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Piraeus is a dangerous place."

  I nodded, considered having Armides bring me some eels, decided his eels were probably as cheap and ill kept as his wine, and left.

  Outside, I spotted Tisias pushing himself away from a wall he'd been leaning against. I watched him. I was sure that he was neither alert nor intelligent enough for either murder or corruption. But he was just the type who could be silenced with a few good bottles of wine. I followed him through some streets, keeping him in sight easily since the streets of Piraeus followed the neat rectangular grid Hippodamus of Miletos had designed. Thinking of the island of Miletos brought Aspasia to mind with her Ionian beauty. I decided I was entitled to some good wine at Pericles’ expense and hoped Tisias was headed to a good tavern.

  I was only a little disappointed. He entered a tavern in the southern part of the harbor where the navy kept its light, narrow triremes docked, the pride of Athens, except for aristocrats who referred to our skilled sailors as “sea trash,” and refused to even go into this part of Piraeus. I myself didn't mind. I knew that rowing a trireme was back- and arm-breaking work, and I admired our sailors, whether citizens, metics, or foreigners.

  I hung around the harbor admiring the sleek triremes, waiting for Tisias to leave the tavern he'd chosen. I wanted to talk to the tavern's customers without Tisias’ presence. I had to wait two hours.

  Inside the tavern, considerably cleaner than Armides', I ordered a half pint of wine and headed for a table and bench where four sailors sat talking. They looked at me with some suspicion, but after I revealed that I knew how the three banks of rowers moved the triremes, a genuine interest of mine, they relaxed.

  I got round to Tisias. They knew him, at least I presumed so because they laughed heartily when I brought up his name. Daneus, the handsome one with the very curly black hair and veiled brown eyes that betrayed little, flicked the dregs of his wine toward a wide-mouthed krater. The dregs hit their mark and went into the urn, an indication that the handsome Daneus, probably paid well as a top-notch rower, had attended a fancy symposia or two, hosted by someone with some wealth, and played well the game of cottobus, the flicking of the dregs at a target.

  He poured o
ut some of his own water and wine for me. I tasted it with approval: Thasian wine, with a nice flavor of apples.

  "Why is someone like you interested in the likes of Tisais?” Daneus asked.

  "The likes of me?"

  He gestured to my chiton. I happened to be wearing one of my better ones. “You've got some drachmas. Besides, I think I recognize you. Kleides of Athens, aren't you? Your father owns a large farm. Good olive trees."

  I nodded. “It's a good profitable farm. My father despairs though. I have ambitions of becoming a Sophist and getting paid well for lectures.” I looked Daneus in the eye. “Easy work."

  Daneus met me eye for eye. “With your father's money, you don't have to work, even easy work. But I was on Pericles’ naval expedition round the western Aegean. I know the reputation you earned for fighting hard and coming through in dangerous spots."

  "Yes,” I said. “We hoplite soldiers killed a good twenty Corinthians. You sailors successfully rammed seven ships. My half brother Lamicus says he'd rather have one trireme of sailors than a thousand hoplites like myself to protect his merchant ship."

  This satisfied Daneus. “So why are you asking about Tisias?"

  I told him, explaining what Armides had said about Tisias’ corruption.

  Daneus eyed a young prostitute walking past the doorway. “Nice,” he said, then turned to me. “Tisias is a bottomless hole of wine and food, too bloated to be truly corrupt. He just turns his eyes from corruption."

  I had figured just that. I remembered Zeno's elegant chiton and slender hands. “From whose corruption? Zeno's?"

  "Exactly,” Daneus said. The three other sailors, who'd been listening intently, nodded.

  "Talk to the foreign captains,” one of them said. “They hated Zeno. He overvalued their cargoes and kept the overcharge. And he encouraged Tisias’ drinking to keep him silent."

  Another sailor laughed. “I doubt that Tisias could see straight enough to double-check the books the way he was supposed to. That made the captains hot as peppers too."