by J M Alvey
At least Nikandros was prompt. The sun was barely dipping below the roofs of the neighbouring houses when he arrived and hammered on our doorpost. ‘Hello within!’
I was relaxing on a bench with a jug of amber wine, or trying to at least. I set down my untasted cup and went to open the gate.
‘Good evening.’ I stepped back to invite the two men into the courtyard.
‘No slave to do your bidding?’ Nikandros looked around my modest home with undisguised disdain. ‘Is that why you want to steal my money? To buy yourself a man of all work?’
‘Has your Phrygian run off?’ Iktinos fixed me with an unfriendly stare. Even with that bandaged and splinted arm he looked very dangerous.
I ignored the brute, while making sure that I stayed well out of his reach. ‘You don’t seem to have brought my money,’ I pointed out to Nikandros. A mina is too much silver to carry in a purse tucked inside a tunic.
‘Because you’re not getting an eighth of an obol,’ the wrestler spat. He stepped forward, pushing Nikandros aside. There was no mistaking who was in charge. ‘Not until you tell us who your witnesses are. Prove you can make a case against us.’
I took a step away and looked past the brute through our open gate to Mikos’s house. Our neighbour’s gate stayed stubbornly closed. I did my best to conceal my apprehension, folding my arms with an air of unconcern that I’d copied from Apollonides.
‘You want me to tell you who to threaten until they recant their testimony?’ I looked at Iktinos.
‘You tell us and you might get some silver.’ He smiled but I didn’t believe him. He looked as trustworthy as a rabid dog.
I nodded at Mikos’s gate. ‘It’s our neighbour.’
Iktinos half turned to take a look.
‘Our neighbour’s wife,’ I said quickly. ‘You won’t get anywhere near her.’
‘A wife?’ That got me Iktinos’s full attention. He stared at me, incredulous. ‘She can’t be a witness in court.’
‘Her husband can,’ I insisted. ‘On her behalf.’
His smile grew even more predatory. ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘Master?’
Iktinos and Nikandros spun around, both startled to find Kadous behind them. That meant neither of them saw my relief. I’d been waiting to see the Phrygian slip silently through Mikos’s gate, with Alke swiftly bolting it behind him. As soon as he appeared, he’d raised a single finger. Good. Now I had the answer to a crucial question.
‘Where the fuck did you come from?’ Iktinos scowled at Kadous.
The Phrygian pushed our gate closed and stood there, barring their way out.
‘Who is this?’ Nikandros demanded. ‘What’s going on?’
Iktinos sneered at Kadous. ‘You think I couldn’t take you with one hand?’
‘You’re welcome to try.’ The Phrygian flexed his arms to show off his muscles.
‘Nikandros.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Let’s discuss the matter of additional compensation for the man you killed. The Carian whose body you left at my gate.’
That’s what Kadous’ signal meant. Now that Onesime had seen the so-called wrestler in the flesh, she had identified Iktinos as the leader of the men who’d dumped Xandyberis’s corpse.
‘So who gets to pay up?’ I looked from the boy to the brute. ‘Who struck the fatal blow?’
‘That wasn’t my doing!’ bleated Nikandros. ‘We didn’t know he hadn’t managed to speak to you. We were only supposed to beat him senseless, to warn you both off.’
‘Same as the other night?’ I challenged. ‘When you dragged Hipparchos into your treason?’ I jerked my head at Iktinos. ‘You didn’t imagine he’d use a knife then, same as he’d done before?’
‘Prove it.’ The wrestler grinned at me, convinced he was the victor yet again.
‘You don’t deny it?’
‘Why should I?’ He shrugged. ‘Your witness won’t ever make it to court and no one will believe your slave’s testimony against an honest citizen called Kerykes. Not even after he’s had his fingers crushed to make sure that he’s telling the truth. So you can shove your claims for compensation right up your slack, dribbling arse.’
A slow smile spread across Nikandros’s face. ‘That’s right. Shove it up your arse.’
‘You can’t even think up your own insults. How sad. Never mind.’ I raised my hands in surrender as the boy took an angry step towards me. ‘You may as well play his echo while you can. You’re tied together for life, or at least until he decides that it’s safest to eliminate any witnesses to his murders. Tell me, have you seen all the others who were with you that night? Are you sure some aren’t already lying dead in some ditch?’
‘They’re fine,’ Nikandros retorted.
‘Really? Tell me their names,’ I invited. ‘Let me see that for myself.’
‘Shut your mouth.’ Iktinos glared at me. ‘We’re leaving and your slave had better not try to stop us.’
‘Let them go,’ I told Kadous.
If he’d only opened the gate a little faster, that might have been an end to it all. But the Phrygian took a moment to glower at the smirking pair before turning to raise the latch.
Tur erupted from the storeroom. ‘Why did you kill him?’ he raged.
Iktinos spun around, ready to fight, broken arm or not. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
Sarkuk hurried out to back up his son. ‘Friends of the man you murdered.’ He was as furious as Tur, though less foolhardy. ‘We are respected allies of Athens who can call you before the courts! You will answer with your life now that we’ve heard you admit your crime!’
For the first time, Nikandros looked scared. ‘I admit nothing!’
‘They’re foreigners,’ Iktinos said rapidly. ‘They’re no ones from nowhere and no jury will condemn us just to satisfy them. You’re an Athenian citizen.’ He took a menacing step towards the Carians. ‘Fuck off back to your mountainside and screw your scabby goats!’
Kadous looked at me, wanting to know what to do. If I could have reached Tur, I would have slapped him. Beyond that, I was at a loss.
The plan had been for the Pargasarenes to stay out of sight in the storeroom so they’d hear whatever confession I could trick out of Iktinos and Nikandros. Then they could go to the Polemarch to lay a formal accusation. I’d never intended for them to challenge this murderous pair face to face. At least Azamis showed more sense that his son and his grandson. He was still hanging back in the doorway.
‘I’m sure we can come to some accommodation.’ Nikandros looked at me, as sickly pale as a man who’s been stabbed. ‘I can pay compensation. You asked for one mina?’
‘Fuck off,’ I snarled, ‘and take him with you!’
If I could scare the boy off, I could only hope that Iktinos would follow. Though there was the very real danger that the wrestler would snap Nikandros’s neck before they reached the Hermes pillar on the corner. He must know the boy would turn against him now he faced the prospect of going to court.
‘I don’t think so.’ Iktinos drew out a knife that he’d carried concealed in the bandages wrapping his arm. A blade long enough to pierce a man’s liver or slash an artery in his neck or leg. A killer’s weapon.
I moved, more careful than ever. ‘You think you can kill every one of us?’
‘I can try.’ Iktinos’s confidence meant he liked his chances. I didn’t blame him. None of us had a knife.
Sarkuk began circling the wrestler, moving in the opposite direction to me. ‘You do realise he’ll kill you as well?’ he said to Nikandros without ever taking his eyes off Iktinos.
‘Don’t be so foolish.’ The boy pressed himself against the wall. It wasn’t clear who he was talking to. It didn’t matter. No one was listening to him.
‘What lies will he tell your father?’ Kadous wondered. ‘Blame some cloak-snatcher lingeri
ng after the festival?’
The Phrygian was staying directly behind the wrestler. Iktinos scowled, shifting from foot to foot as he tried to keep both me and the Carian in view. He knew Kadous was behind him but attacking any one of us meant turning his back on at least two other enemies.
‘He’ll say Nikandros came here on his own,’ I suggested. ‘He’ll swear he followed the boy to keep him safe, but he tragically arrived too late to save him from these Carians’ revenge.’
‘He’ll probably say Nikandros killed Xandyberis,’ Sarkuk observed, ‘to put himself beyond suspicion.’
‘Just to be on the safe side,’ I agreed. ‘But there’s one thing he’s forgotten.’
I raised my voice to be quite sure I was heard. Iktinos whirled around as the door to my would-be dining room opened.
Kallinos stepped into the courtyard. He was grinning. ‘I know this one. Public slaves can testify in Athenian courts without being put to torture.’
Nikandros recognised the Scythian’s uniform of linen and leather. He collapsed, sliding down the wall as his knees gave way. Burying his face in his arms, as though that could make all this horror disappear, he wailed like the spoiled child he was.
Iktinos had more backbone, and he knew it was time to flee. Kadous stood between him and the gate. He sprang at the Phrygian, slashing low and wide, seeking to spill my slave’s guts on the ground.
Kadous had been in enough knife fights to avoid that fate. He might even have got the knife off the wrestler if he’d been given the chance. I’d seen him do that in the past. Mus and Ambrakis hurried out of the dining room. We’d agreed not to take any chances when it came to bringing Iktinos down.
Only Tur decided to help, and it seems that Caria needs wrestling trainers as much as it lacks teachers of rhetoric. The idiot Pargasarene threw himself onto Iktinos’s back, crushing the wrestler’s arms to his sides in a ferocious bear hug.
In fairness, if Iktinos hadn’t been so experienced in competition as well as brawling, Tur might have succeeded. The Carian was big and strong. But Iktinos simply bent his knees and dropped his shoulder in one swift, smooth move. That lifted Tur clean off his feet and hurled him over Iktinos’s head to slam into Kadous.
The two men collapsed, entangled. Blood splashed over them both. Tur was screaming like a sheep savaged by a wolf. I saw Iktinos had thrust his knife right through the boy’s forearm, in between the bones. The bastard hadn’t just stabbed him. He’d twisted the knife as hard as he could.
Sarkuk ran to his son’s aid, ripping off his tunic to staunch the fearsome wound. With all these men in the way, none of us could reach Iktinos. No one could stop the murderer as he dragged the gate open and fled down the lane.
Kallinos considered the carnage unmoved. ‘Dados?’
The sleepy-eyed Scythian emerged from the dining room’s shadows. He already had an arrow ready. I followed him to the gate, skirting Sarkuk and Tur as Kadous ran for bandages from Zosime’s stores.
Ambrakis and Mus pursued the killer but neither man was a sprinter. Iktinos had a good start on them and showed an unexpected turn of speed. He was running for the main road. If he reached the corner, I knew we would lose him. He’d keep on running all the way to Piraeus. He’d be on board the next ship sailing anywhere before anyone could find him.
Dados contemplated the fleeing man for a long moment. Then he drew his bow and loosed his shaft in a single fluid motion.
The arrow took Iktinos in the back, to the left of his spine and just below his shoulder blade. He collapsed by the Hermes pillar, screaming as he writhed in agony. By the time we reached him, his cries were fading and bright red blood frothed on his pallid lips.
‘I’d have brought more men if I’d known we’d be carrying another corpse all the way back to the city,’ Kallinos remarked.
‘I’m sorry to make so much work for you.’ I watched Iktinos’s struggles for life and breath fade until his eyes glazed in death.
I was content to see the bastard pay the ultimate penalty for his crimes. He would have died sooner or later. He’d been marked for the Furies’ vengeance, ever since the Scythians heard his confession. It wasn’t as though Megakles would have paid for his defence if Iktinos had been brought to trial before a citizen jury. He wouldn’t have let the murderer implicate his son Nikandros. The best the wrestler could have hoped for was an anonymous gift of hemlock to cheat the public executioner, as payment for his silence.
On the other side of that coin, I would much rather he had died later than sooner. Now we had no chance of getting vital answers out of him in return for that cup of hemlock. More than that, without him in the Scythians’ custody, there was no case to take to court, to make the conspiracy the talk of the agora. Kallinos had heard Iktinos confess to murdering Xandyberis but Nikandros had denied it. Now that the wrestler was dead, he could shoulder all the blame. The plotters would retreat into the shadows and bide their time before another attempt to profit by dragging Athens into war.
‘He’s going to drip blood all down my back,’ complained Dados. He hauled the dead wrestler up all the same, hoisting him over one shoulder.
I watched them walk away and returned to my house. As I reached the gateway, Kadous was binding up Tur’s wounded arm and reassuring Sarkuk.
‘It looks worse than it is. He can still use all his fingers. See? Show us, lad.’
Frozen-faced with shock, Tur nevertheless managed to oblige. I winced.
Still huddled in a heap, Nikandros was wailing incoherent entreaties.
‘Get up!’ Suddenly furious, Azamis seized his black curls. He dragged the boy towards the gate. Enraged, the old man was stronger than he looked. ‘Get out!’
Seeing me on the threshold, Nikandros stretched out beseeching hands. ‘Please, please, I beg you. Let me make this right. Five minas? For the dead man’s family?’
Azamis let him go. Nikandros staggered to his feet. He straightened his tunic, relieved, until he saw the force of the old Carian’s loathing.
‘You think you can buy your way out of everything?’ spat Azamis. ‘You think any silver can outweigh your sins?’
Nikandros didn’t see the blow coming. I doubt he’d ever been slapped by a parent or a tutor. The old man’s fist took him in the side of the jaw. I don’t know if it was the punch that knocked him out or smacking his head on the gatepost, but he fell to the ground, utterly senseless.
‘Is he dead?’ Azamis rubbed his bruised knuckles as I stooped over the sprawled youth.
‘No.’ Though he had a nasty gash in his scalp where he’d struck the corner of the solid wood. When he woke up, he’d have a vicious bruise. If he woke up, if his skull was still whole.
I heaved a sigh and called out to Kadous. ‘Find our guests some good wine while I fetch Zosime.’ She’d gone home with Menkaure to his rented rooms when they’d finished work at the pottery. From the moment we’d hatched this plot, I’d been intent on keeping her as far away as possible from Iktinos and Nikandros.
‘Mus, Ambrakis.’ I beckoned to the slaves. ‘We’d better take this garbage back to the city.’ The walk should give me time to compose some convincing explanation for the guards on duty at the Itonian gate.
I hated to think what Aristarchos would say when he learned how badly our plans had gone awry. Given the choice, I’d dump Nikandros in a ditch. Let any god or goddess who cared look after him, if they felt the fool boy deserved mercy. But I didn’t have a choice. Justice might have been done for Xandyberis, but more innocents would die if the plotters still got their war.
Mus and Ambrakis grabbed Nikandros’s wrists and ankles and carried him, limp and with his head lolling, all the way to Athens.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I arrived at Aristarchos’s house at noon the following day as requested. Mus opened the gate and Lydis led me through to the inner courtyard. Azamis, Sarkuk and Tur were a
lready sitting there, silently waiting. We’d tried to persuade the boy to stay in bed, but he insisted on being here, his eyes bright with fever as he cradled his bandaged arm.
I didn’t speak. We’d all been warned not to make our presence known. We satisfied ourselves with silent nods and brief, grim smiles.
Lydis joined us as one of the household girls brought refreshments. None of us could eat, though the wine was welcome. As we all wordlessly offered a libation, I wondered who the Carians prayed to. I sought Athena’s blessing, to help us foil her city’s enemies once and for all.
Everyone tensed when we heard the gate open. Mus’s voice echoed around the outer courtyard as he announced the visitor to his master.
‘Megakles Kerykes.’
‘Good day and thank you for coming.’
Aristarchos was sitting in a tall, cushioned chair carefully placed by the archway to make sure we could hear this conversation. The long table, the stools and all the scrolls and letters had been cleared away. The stage was set for a dramatic confrontation.
‘Mus, a seat for my guest.’
We heard the sharp clatter of a stool being set down. I strained my ears for any hint that Megakles had brought a slave as an escort or bodyguard. No, there was no business of handing over a cloak, no instructions for some underling to sit out of earshot. Good. Aristarchos had been right. Megakles felt safe enough walking these wealthy streets at midday. Besides, the fat fool was coming here confident that Aristarchos was ready to join him in concealing his son’s treason. The fewer witnesses to such duplicity, the better, even slaves.
‘I was relieved to get your letter this morning,’ Megakles said stiffly. ‘To know that you understand how closely our interests align.’
‘Forgive me.’ Aristarchos didn’t sound the least remorseful. ‘When I said I wished to discuss resolving the consequences of your son’s activities, I should have made myself clear. I wish to see him suitably punished.’