Shadows of Athens

by J M Alvey

  ‘Forgive me, but I don’t follow you.’ I was too tired for riddles.

  Aristarchos rubbed a thoughtful hand over his beard. ‘Pheidestratos said something curious when we discussed his play. He seems quite certain that, sooner rather than later, Athens will have good cause to send out settlers to start farming good land sequestered from our allies in Ionia.’

  ‘Sequestrations?’ I didn’t like the sound of that. The Athenian Assembly handing over plots of confiscated land to our own citizens had been one of the grievances prompting rebellion in Euboea.

  Aristarchos looked at me. ‘What might persuade the People’s Assembly to take such action, to secure the commerce and resources that our city so assuredly needs? Do you think that our fellow citizens could be convinced by a surge of dissatisfaction from our allies, and ill-tempered disputes over tribute payments?’

  ‘Surely it would take more than that?’ I fervently hoped so.

  ‘Probably,’ Aristarchos allowed, ‘but who’s to say this discontent you’ve been hearing about won’t lead to something more, to something worse? How would the Athenian people react to outright defiance in Caria perhaps, or refusals to pay the Delian League tribute owed by towns in the Troad or Crete?’

  I recalled Tur’s anger when we’d first met, when I’d told him there was no chance of the tribute being reassessed this year. I remembered the tavern talk that Menkaure and Kadous had related.

  ‘Do you think Pheidestratos asked Strato to write a play about citizens setting out for a distant land allotment because he’s seen these straws in the wind?’

  ‘Or because Pheidestratos is friends with men who’d like to set a few stones rolling down that particular hill,’ Aristarchos said crisply. ‘Men who seem very keen to get that particular notion into potential Assemblymen’s heads.’

  I stared at him, bemused. ‘You can’t imagine Strato will invite me to go drinking with him and helpfully spill some ripe secrets?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Aristarchos allowed himself a moment’s sardonic amusement. ‘But it’s plain that something is going on and we have a duty to the city to find out more. I can make discreet enquiries among the great and the good, to learn what’s prompted Pheidestratos’s current thinking. Your talents and contacts are much more suited to discovering who’s goading our visiting allies and seeing where such rabble-rousers might lead you.’ He glanced sideways. ‘It will be interesting to see if they come knocking on Pheidestratos’s gate. Wouldn’t you rather he had no idea who you are, if your enquiries take you to his household?’

  ‘Trying to provoke an allied city to default on its tribute would a bold undertaking for one man.’ I’d have to be incredibly careful, as well as certain that I had proof, before I breathed a word of such suspicions. I didn’t have Aristarchos’s resources if I was hauled into court, charged with slander.

  ‘We must uncover who’s behind this, and quickly, before such contagion spreads.’ Aristarchos looked grim. ‘We’ve barely got used to peace. Do you want to see the hoplites mustered again, sent to enforce Athenian will overseas, while we wait for urns of ash and bones to come home?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said fervently.

  Aristarchos shook his head. ‘Defence is one thing. Provoking a fight’s quite another. My father taught me that when I was five years old, on the night before he marched to fight at Marathon.’

  Aristarchos must have seen my surprise. His noble father would have trained as a horseman. I bit back my question but he answered it anyway.

  ‘Yes, he marched with the hoplites. Even though the cavalry hadn’t been called up, he was determined to fight for the city. Barely ten years later, I hadn’t even done my military training when he gave me a spear to escort my mother and brothers and sisters to safety in Salamis when the Persians invaded again. Like him, like you, I would give my life to defend Athens and her people, but I won’t see another of my sons, or anyone else’s child, lost to serve some selfish fool’s ambitions.’

  ‘Master,’ Lydis warned, low-voiced. ‘People are starting to look this way.’

  I looked at Aristarchos, troubled. ‘Do you really think there’s some conspiracy to stir up trouble among our allies?’

  ‘It might all be some misunderstanding.’ He shrugged. ‘But mistakes can be just as lethal as malicious intent. A man carelessly walking into a javelin’s path on a gymnasium field is as dead as one run through with a spear in battle.’

  Was this the final answer to the puzzle of the dead man being dumped on my doorstep? Xandyberis’s killers could well have hoped to ruin my play’s chances by getting me accused of murder, at the same time as stirring up Carian outrage when they learned their envoy had been killed. If Strato had won the competition, then everyone would be talking about his play while annoyance with ungrateful Ionians swirled around the city. On the other hand, this could all be as far-fetched as any notion a dramatist might concoct.

  Aristarchos continued, brisk. ‘Let’s see if we can gather a few more facts. There should be at least one of the tribute commissioners at the banquet I’m attending tonight. Meantime—’ he surprised me by clasping my hands in his own and smiling broadly ‘—let’s pretend we’ve been discussing The Builders. I’m assuring you that I thought your actors and your chorus did superbly well. Second place at your first Dionysia is absolutely no disgrace. Well done, to all of you.’

  The warmth in his voice and the strength of his grip convinced me these congratulations were genuine. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Better still, I don’t have to pay out yet more money on a plinth for the victor’s tripod. Go and celebrate with your players, and here’s some of the coin you’ve saved me.’

  He turned to Lydis and the lithe slave reached inside the low-cut armhole of his sleeveless tunic. He produced a bulging leather pouch that had been concealed by the fullness of the cloth bunched up by his bronze-embossed belt.

  Aristarchos dropped the purse into my hands. ‘This should keep the wine flowing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Feeling the weight, I reckoned that much silver would quench every thirst in Soterides’s tavern.

  ‘Now, you must excuse me.’ Aristarchos shook my hand in farewell.

  ‘Of course.’ That was a relief. I could see my family waiting impatiently by Dionysos’s statue, along with Kadous and our other slaves. Menkaure and Zosime stood a few paces away.

  Nymenios and Chairephanes greeted me with loud satisfaction over how well their leatherwork had performed. As I had anticipated, Mother and Melina had been tremendously entertained by Egeria, the lascivious Etruscan. Naturally, they were also scandalised, as was right and proper for respectable citizen women.

  Kadous and the other slaves merely grinned broadly. I could see they were holding their tongues out of respect for my mother and my brother’s wife. There’d be plenty of ribald speculation the next time I visited the workshop, discussing where exactly I’d found inspiration for men exaggerating the length of their cocks.

  ‘I still don’t see why you didn’t win first prize,’ Mother complained.

  Everyone echoed her with loyal and loud indignation.

  ‘As Dionysos is my judge,’ I assured them all, ‘it was a fine and fair result. Maybe I’ll do better next time.’

  I noticed Melina hold out her hand to Nymenios. As he put a supporting arm round her waist, she leaned against him, closing her eyes.

  ‘It has been a very long day,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for waiting to see me but you must be ready to get home and have something to eat.’

  ‘You’re dining with your actors, I take it?’ Nymenios looked mildly envious.

  ‘Dining and drinking,’ Chairephanes chuckled. He’d drunk more than his share of the day’s free wine.

  ‘Come and see us tomorrow.’ Mother embraced me in swathes of rosemary-scented pleated wool.

  ‘I will,’ I promised.

 
‘After the tragedy and the satyr play,’ Melina reminded me. ‘We’ll be coming to watch those.’

  ‘Of course.’ I watched them walk away before turning to Menkaure and Zosime.

  The Egyptian grinned. ‘It was a very good play.’

  Zosime threw her arms around my neck and kissed me long and deep. ‘I told you so,’ she said when she was forced to take a breath. ‘I’m so proud of you, my love.’

  I kissed her back, just as fervently. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’ That was the simple truth.

  She kissed the tip of my nose before taking a pace back and looking at the fat purse I was clutching. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Silver to reward the chorus and actors, to pay for an evening’s revelry at Aristarchos’s expense.’ I looked at Menkaure. ‘Care to join us?’

  He shook his head, amused. ‘I’ll see Zosime to Alopeke.’

  ‘Take Kadous, then he can bring you safely home,’ she said firmly.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ I objected.

  ‘There could be,’ the Phrygian slave said darkly, ‘if you’re going to be spending coin like some sailor fresh off a boat in Piraeus. Someone could follow you down a dark alley to see if you’ve got anything left worth taking.’

  ‘We still don’t know who killed that Carian.’ The fear in Zosime’s eyes stifled my protest.

  ‘Very well.’ I capitulated.

  Besides, if Kadous came with me, he could keep his ears open for anyone stirring up discontent around the taverns. That would put some of Aristarchos’s silver to good use.

  Well, that was my intention. I can’t actually remember what anyone discussed that night. My chorus and the actors were intent on honouring Dionysos by drinking all the wine they could lay their hands on. I’ve no idea if I walked home or if Kadous had to carry me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zeus roused me the next morning with a thunderbolt that split my head in two. The thunder came again. And a third time. After that, I was forced to realise that my brains weren’t actually leaking onto my pillow. There was no hope of the Underworld’s shadowy peace. The worst had happened. I was alive, and I was awake. Fuck.

  Next, I discovered I was lying face down, sprawled corner to corner across my bed. My empty bed. I guessed I hadn’t moved since they’d dumped me here to sleep off my folly. I was still wearing yesterday’s tunic. At least someone had taken off my shoes.

  I also found out I’d been drooling because my face was stuck to the pillow. As I licked repellently sticky lips, my mouth tasted as sour as wine dregs left in a jug overnight. Fuck.

  I wondered if I could lift up my head without my skull shattering like a cracked pot put on a hot hearth. Before I could decide, that fucking thunder rolled across the heavens again. Though an unbiased observer would probably say someone was knocking gently on the bedroom door. ‘Yes,’ I croaked.

  The door opened. Daylight struck, blinding as a lightning bolt. I buried my face in the blanket with a groan. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Zosime said crisply.

  ‘Where’d you sleep?’ I mumbled, guilt-stricken.

  ‘In the spare bed. Kadous made up a pallet on the floor for my father.’

  ‘Fuck.’ So Menkaure had seen me as drunk as a hedgehog gorging on fallen, fermented grapes. Roaring drunk? Soppy drunk?

  ‘Is he still here?’ I rolled onto my side and squinted up at her. The sun was still dazzling, even with the pillared porch shading the doorway.

  ‘No, he’s already gone to the theatre.’ She shrugged with apparent unconcern.

  Even wine-sick as I was, I could see that she was less than pleased about something. Belatedly I realised why. ‘How late is it?’

  ‘Late enough that you need to get up now,’ she said meaningfully, ‘if we’re to see today’s plays.’ Sitting on the edge of the bed, she offered me a cup.

  I hadn’t thought I could feel any worse. Now I realised I could. I’d promised Zosime we’d see all the tragedies in this year’s competition. I knew she was really looking forward to seeing some drama that would be completely new to her. She knew every line of my comedy by heart, after all. If she missed her chance to see today’s trilogy, that promise was dead and gone. Unless some rural theatre hired those particular actors for their country festival. Would I be able to find that out? Maybe we could travel . . .

  Such desperately scrambling thoughts were no match for my thumping headache. I shifted and reached for the cup. ‘Just give me a moment. I’ll get up, I promise.’

  ‘Yes, you will,’ she agreed. ‘And then you can read the letter that’s just arrived from Aristarchos.’

  ‘A letter? Let me have it.’ I tried to sit up. That was a serious mistake. The room rocked like a ship’s deck in a storm. I slumped back onto the blanket with my eyes tight shut and waited until it stopped. ‘Fuck.’

  Zosime’s hands closed around mine, to save me from spilling the cup and soaking the mattress. ‘You need to drink this.’

  I wanted to tell her there was no chance of that, but I didn’t think I could open my mouth without spewing bile all over the bed. It took a few long, uncertain moments before I felt the odds shifting in my favour. I sat up again, very, very slowly. After some deep, deliberate breaths, and still painfully cautious, I took a sip from the cup. The well-watered amber wine had already been sweetly aromatic before Zosime added honey and a few choice herbs. I could definitely taste fennel, but the rest was anyone’s guess.

  Whatever was in it did help. I opened one eye to offer Zosime a crooked smile.

  ‘Eat this.’ She handed me a heel of plain barley bread.

  That was a much greater challenge. I managed a couple of bites before the thought of chewing and swallowing any more made my stomach lurch. Once again, it was a few moments before I thought I could talk without heaving what little I’d eaten back up.

  I held out my hand. ‘Please may I have my letter now?’

  Zosime had it tucked into her belt. She handed it over and took the empty cup in exchange. ‘What does he say?’

  I snapped the seals and winced as I unfolded the aggressively crackling papyrus. The next challenge was forcing my bleary eyes to read the damn thing. As before, Aristarchos came straight to the point.

  What light could Lysicrates shed on those performers in the agora?

  ‘Fuck.’ That had completely slipped my mind. I hadn’t asked any of the actors who they thought could impersonate Ionians well enough to fool an Athenian crowd.

  ‘For a man who makes his living with words, you’re getting tediously repetitive.’ Zosime stood up. ‘Come on, get out of your sty and turn yourself back into a man fit for decent company.’

  ‘Yes, Circe,’ I muttered as she went out through the door.

  She wasn’t wrong though. I smelled as bad as any drunken swine, reeking of stale wine sweat. I eased my legs over the side of the bed. So far, so good. Then I realised my tunic was pungent with fatty smoke from a tavern’s griddle cooking sausages and skewered gobbets of fowl.

  I managed to wrench it over my head before the stink made me vomit. Throwing the garment into a far corner I swallowed hard, barely managing to quell my nausea. Then I tried calling out through the open door. ‘Kadous? I need hot water for washing.’

  Chairephanes swears by a Spartan steam bath after too much wine, but even if I’d had the time I couldn’t have faced the Lyceum today. The gymnasium would be full of hearty athletes who had no taste for tragedy. They would be spending their Dionysia roaring at each other as they raced to a sprint’s finish line or cheering on each other’s long jumps and discus throws. Such uproar would rival any torment Odysseus had seen in the Underworld, as far as I was concerned.

  The Phrygian appeared with a grin. ‘A pot’s already steaming.’

  I managed a rueful smile. ‘I assume I can thank Zosime for that?’
>
  He came into the room. ‘You should make sure she knows you’re properly grateful.’

  I considered asking Kadous about last night’s debauchery. No, I decided, there was nothing to be gained by hearing how badly I’d embarrassed myself. Besides, I was pretty sure Lysicrates would tell me every last hideous detail the next time we met.

  ‘Is she very cross with me?’ I asked, apprehensive.

  ‘Cross enough,’ he said drily. ‘Better not keep her waiting. I’ll find you some oil.’

  As he left, I rose slowly to my feet. I trod on my belt buckle. ‘Fuck.’

  Looking down I saw a leather pouch on the floor. The purse Aristarchos had given me. Empty. Discarding the notion of bending over to reach for anything, I settled for kicking the purse out of sight, under the bed.

  Outside, the sunshine was still painfully bright. I barely opened my eyes while I rubbed myself down with olive oil and scraped every last trace of grime and stink off my skin. After sluicing myself from head to toe with warm water, I took a long drink from the jug Kadous brought fresh from the fountain, and another one after that.

  That felt better. I was still very far from recovered but I should at least be able to take Zosime to the theatre. If I did that, as well as remembering to ask Lysicrates about actors who were good at playing Ionians, the day wouldn’t be a total loss.

  I was about to head back to our bedroom and find some clean clothes when Zosime surprised me, appearing from the not-yet dining room. She held out a papyrus sheet.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the men Onesime saw painting that filth on our wall. Maybe you could find someone who saw Xandyberis with some strangers. If you knew where and when he met them, perhaps that would help you learn who they are. Maybe seeing this will jog a few memories.’ She handed me a portrait of the dead man. Her artistic skills brought him vividly back to life with deft strokes of a pen.