With his friend Indus occupied, the slyer bachelor, Marinus, was deep in conversation with the widow Helvia. She was letting him enjoy himself as a raconteur while she rearranged her stoles and chuckled at his stories. Now that I knew I should distrust the air of muddled innocence, Helvia seemed a much more intriguing character. She wore a necklace of rather good gold chains. Was this unexpectedly fine item her secret bait? Was Marinus, who thought himself such a smooth operator, about to be tickled into a subtle trap by Helvia's chubby fingers?
Marinus talked on. This was what he did so well. I could just overhear him. Most garrulous fellows with a reputation for an 'endless fund' of tales have a much smaller stock than they reckon, but Helvia fluttered admiringly even when his anecdote about the 'magic' temple doors that were operated by underground fires came around again. Yes, I could see it now; Helvia knew what she was doing. Marinus clearly underestimated her and his career as a sponger could be under threat.
Everyone had managed to avoid Volcasius; he was demanding secrets of life from the chamberlain, a thin, bald slave who replied with perfect manners, though his dark eyes had glazed over.
Phineus came back to the room with Sertorius, as if they had both been to relieve themselves. Aquillius dug me in the ribs. 'Should I tackle him again about his Delphi request?'
'Don't lose him, at any rate,' I warned. 'He is my best suspect.'
Aquillius perked up. He had quaffed a goblet or two. 'Then shall I fasten him in a neck-iron and throw him in a holding cell?'
'That's up to you. It depends how brutal your regime is in this province…'
Helena was looking troubled. 'Aquillius, can I ask something, please? You said Phineus doesn't use permanent staff – but you also said he wants to send a representative to Delphi. Have I missed something? Who can he dispatch on this errand?'
Aquillius shrugged. 'Phineus must feel more beleaguered than he shows. He has summoned assistance from head office, I understand.'
'From Rome?' asked Helena.
I put down my wine goblet on a side table.'Who is it?'
'Some partner in his agency.'
We only knew of one Seven Sights staffer back in Rome – one who, come to think of it, looked rather like the fellow I saw with Phineus the other day. Out of context, I had failed to make the connection. Suddenly it was all too clear. 'A pushy swine called Polystratus?'
Aquillius shrugged. 'I've not met him.'
I raised an eyebrow to Helena, wondering what this meant. All I could imagine was that, as Aquillius said, Phineus felt more need of support than he generally revealed. Well, that was good. I liked him being nervous.
'So shall I arrest him, Falco?' Full of drink, the quaestor was single-minded.
'Up to you. You could decide that since several of his clients have been murdered, you need to arrest the organiser, while we investigate.'
'At the very least Phineus has been careless in protecting clients,' Helena contributed.
Aquillius liked that. He liked it so much that he bolted from the room, in search of soldiers from the governor's armed guard. Next thing, Phineus was trying to look unconcerned as he was bundled out by several bemused looking legionaries in red tunics. This was so rapid, most of the group failed to notice.
'That was fun!' Aquillius slapped his hands together. It was probably the first time in his tour of duty he had managed to take the initiative. I was unsure he had done the right thing, but Phineus had had previous experience of arrest. That showed in the resigned way he marched off, with no protest and no resistance. Whatever happened about this, he would take the episode philosophically.
'When in doubt, clap some bugger in chains,' I said. 'Even if he did nothing, other people may get jumpy when they hear him rattling.'
I was less than keen on the quaestor's reply. 'So what's your next move, Falco?' He managed to sound as if he thought I had run out of options. There was no need for him to be so pleased with himself. In Corinth I had indeed explored all possible avenues. But I had one last idea.
'Phineus is right about Delphi. We do need to reunite Statianus with the others – and I need to ask him some hard questions. So, if you'll give me the transport I asked for in the first place, Aquillius, I will go to find him.'
'See Delphi and die!' quipped Aquillius. Some old travel joke, apparently. Then his amiable face clouded guiltily. He blushed. 'Well, not literally, I hope!'
PART FOUR
DELPHI LEBADEIA
The city of Delphi is a steep slope from top to bottom, and the sacred precinct of Apollo is not different from the rest of it. Tliis is huge in size and stands at the very top of the city, cut through by a network of alleyways. I shall record those of the dedications that seem to me most memorable. I do not think it is worth worrying about athletes or obscure musicians…
The entrails of most victims do not reveal Trophonius' mind very clearly, but on the night a man is going down they slaughter a ram at a pit… It makes no difference if all the earlier sacrifices have given good omens unless the entrails of this ram carry the same meaning. But if they agree, every man goes down with true hope…
PAUSANIUS, Guide to Greece
XXXIX
Delphi. A mistake, perhaps. Once I decided on action, my brain cleared. Back at our lodgings that evening I made rapid plans for a trip across the Gulf. Helena insisted on coming with me, wanting to see that ancient sanctuary. I opted to leave behind most of our luggage, plus Albia, my nephews, Glaucus, and the still convalescent Nux. Travelling light, Helena and I would make a flying visit, retrieve Tullius Statianus, and return to Corinth.
It sounded good. Aquillius Macer was finding us a reliable ship, a fast one if possible. I reckoned on three days at most.
There were two reasons why I left behind the youngsters and the dog. Apart from my wish for speed, I gave Glaucus instructions that when Nux seemed her lively self again, he was to put her on a lead and walk her past the various members of the tour group. 'See if she growls at anyone. But if she reacts, don't tackle the suspect. Tell Aquillius, the quaestor.'
Glaucus looked nervous, but Albia and the boys were keen enough to do it. I wanted the test carried out, even though I doubted they would identify the killer of Cleonymus this way. For one thing, the odds were on Phineus, and he was now out of reach, under arrest.
One thing had struck me. Statianus was supposed to be in Delphi. If true, he at least could not have killed Cleonymus. Unless he had returned to Corinth secretly (making our Delphi trip an utter waste of time) then either Statianus was innocent – or if he killed his wife in Olympia, some second killer dealt with the freedman here. Our witness at Acrocorinth had described the mysterious 'expensively dressed man' as older than the bridegroom. So did that make Statianus innocent? Was the bride's brutal killer this new man, the middle-aged smart dresser – and if so, did he have any connection with Marcella Caesia three years earlier?
The situation got more complicated at every turn. And worse was to come. Helena and I were bidding our companions goodbye before our walk to the port at Lechaion, with our bundle of clothes, a money pouch, and my sword. As we stood outside our lodgings at the Elephant, we were accosted by Volcasius.
'I am very surprised to hear you are leaving Corinth, Falco!'
'Just a scenic trip.'
The bony fool stood right in the way of my hired donkey. That suited the donkey, whose reins I jerked to no avail. 'We have to make haste, Volcasius. Have you something to say?' asked Helena coldly.
'Hardly my place,' he sneered. 'Falco is the expert.'
'Say what you came for.' I encouraged my mount again, ready to shove Volcasius aside if I had to. The beast stretched out its nose to him, as if to a friend.
'There is an obvious clue you have overlooked.'
Knowing I was about to swear at him, Helena quickly answered for me. 'What is that, Volcasius?'
'Your dog was hurt during the events up on the acropolis. Either you don't know, or you have strangely discounted this: o
ne of our party had a nasty dog bite previously.'
It was true, but I was none too pleased to find Volcasius making an issue of it. 'I know all about that. Marinus was bitten by a sacred dog at Epidaurus, the night Turcianus Opimus died. Marinus told me himself, so why don't you keep out of it?' I covered my frustration. 'Volcasius, stop being self-righteous. I always distrust the man who comes singing that one of his companions is the guilty party. I'll be looking at Marinus – but I'll be looking at you too.'
I kicked up the donkey and made it walk around him. Helena followed me on hers. We left Volcasius standing there, convinced of his own cleverness and our stupidity. Gaius, who was coming with us in order to return the donkeys to their stable after we took ship, leered at the man as he passed.
Not until we were aboard did Helena and I break our silence.
I kicked at a bulkhead. 'Cobnuts! I am completely slipshod. I missed that.'
'We both missed it.' Helena beat one fist against her palm, so hard I winced and gripped her wrists to stop her. I won't accuse women of talking themselves out of trouble – but Helena was quicker than me at rationalising this dog bite. 'Marcus, maybe Marinus was simply unlucky at Epidaurus. Nobody has suggested that the sacred dog bit him because he had lashed out at it. The way Marinus told the story, he was asleep in a cell when he was bitten.'
'Perhaps he wanted us to think that.'
'He didn't have to draw attention to it. The bite was on his thigh – under his tunic. He had no need at all to show us. Still…' Helena began to analyse the clue, if clue it was. 'Suppose Volcasius has a point. Say Marinus silenced Turcianus and Cleonymus – or even just Cleonymus. Let's consider his motive.'
'He preys on women.' I was terse. But I stopped blaming myself, and my next response was balanced. 'He does it for money, not sex. Killing the bride – or even arranging a tryst with her – would be out of character. Valeria wasn't his type of victim. She was married, for starters. She had little cash in her own right; even as a couple, she and Statianus were travelling on a budget. One of the women commented that they were bad at managing their money.'
'And someone said Milo of Dodona was fooling himself if he thought they were possible sponsors for his statue. So,' Helena mused, 'did Volcasius name Marinus to draw away attention from himself?'
I barked with laughter. 'Do you see Volcasius as a sexual predator?'
She thought about it, more carefully than me. 'He is certainly odd. I don't suppose he has had normal experiences with women.'
I was still dismissive. 'Prostitutes, most likely. If he bothers.'
'In that case, he might have gone up the acropolis to find gratification at the Temple of Artemis. We can ask the women there when we return to Corinth.'
'They won't tell us. By then, they will never remember. Whores have short memories; given their life, who can blame them?'
'He smells,' replied Helena. 'I know you will say, prostitutes meet plenty of stinkers, but taken with his odd manner, I am sure Volcasius would attract notice. Oh, but nobody would ever call him 'well-dressed, Marcus!'
Possibly he cleaned up and dressed better when visiting professional women. But I thought Helena was right. I could not really imagine Volcasius getting spruced up for anybody. Even if he used prostitutes for sex, he would despise them.
'This is a false lead, Marcus.'
I let Helena reassure me – but I spent the rest of the sea journey brooding. At least that took my mind off feeling queasy.
Well, it did to some extent. I wanted to disembark at Kirra, but the helpful captain took us past it to a nearer beachhead. By the time we landed at Itea, I was wishing we had gone the long way round by land, where I had heard the roads were good enough to take the largest wagons, so even if it took forever, you could relax in family-size comfort, almost the entire way.
Note 'almost'. Even people who came coach-drawn, all had to climb out and lug their goods on their backs the final mile or so. Despite the need to bring pilgrims and visitors to the oracle and the Pythian Games, the last stretch of the road was dire. It was a hard pull even for a man on foot. Helena tackled it bravely, but by the time we staggered to a halt in the village, she was weeping with desperation. I was little better, though I had reckoned I was generally in good shape.
Our bags fell from our hands. We turned back and looked over the plain below. Covered with a thick forest of wild olives, the land fell away gracefully to the sea which twinkled in the distance. The sanctuary clung to a steep hillside on twin peaks of Mount Parnassus, with other mountains crowding around it. Above us towered enormous unclimbable crags. Huge birds of prey circled languidly on the updraughts, so far away that their long wings looked mere threads of black against the brilliant sky. The air was thin and chilly, even though the sun was shining. The beauty of the setting, the bright light, and the rarefied atmosphere gave pilgrims their first notion that they were approaching the gods.
We had made it. As our breath hurt our windpipes, we clung to each other and were proud of our exertion. We could not speak, but we were grinning with triumph to have made the climb.
Had we known what lay ahead of us, our mood might have been different.
XL
We wasted time next morning asking in the town for Statianus. Delphi was bigger than I had expected. If he was staying there, we could not find his inn.
Next task was to familiarise ourselves with the sanctuary. We knew it would be a dramatic experience. Even after Olympia, with its massed temples and treasuries and its hundreds of statues of athletes, we were awestruck by the plethora of monuments. Nothing prepares the traveller for Delphi. In its heyday it must have been staggering, and it remained spectacular. We were seeing the sanctum when it was sadly in decline. That was due to Rome. Not only had bully boy Sulla stolen all the precious metal donations to finance his siege of Athens, but things had then deteriorated until the final indignity, ten years ago, when Nero attended the Pythian Games and carried off five hundred of the best statues. Nero loved Greece; he loved it so much, he stole as much as possible.
More importantly, Roman rule had meant the loss of Delphi's political power. Cities and states no longer came here to consult on matters of policy. Without their gratitude for good advice, no more treasure would be deposited.
As you would expect, the sanctuary of Pythian Apollo was surrounded by a wall. Parts were made from enormous polygonal blocks which seemed to be the handiwork of giants. There were several gates, the purpose of which in my opinion was to funnel visitors into the hands of money-grubbing souvenir-sellers and guides.
We had decided not to use a site guide. The clamorous guides decided otherwise. We were mobbed as soon as we stepped through the main gate on to the Sacred Way. Despite us shaking our heads and striding ahead, one man attached himself to us. He was a round-faced wraith with receding hair, so short that as we walked beside him we felt like over-healthy demigods. He proceeded with his patter whether we wanted it or not. Around us were other groups of pilgrims and tourists, all looking bemused by the same torrent of stories, recitation of inscriptions, names of battles, and lists of donated weaponry and gold plate. In the past, every city in the Greek world had jostled for attention by making ostentatious gifts, seeking the favour of the gods and the envy of other cities with varying degrees of taste and extravagance.
The monuments nearest the gate score highest. Later, visitors are far too jaded to remember much. Our guide talked us past the bronze bull dedicated by Corcyra and the nine bronze statues of Arcadian gods, heroes, and heroines. I chortled at the outrageous belligerence of a Spartan commemoration of a naval victory over Athens, which boasted no fewer than thirty-seven statues of gods, generals, and admirals (each one meticulously named by our guide;) Helena preferred a more dignified and austere Athenian monument, which commemorated the battle of Marathon. These were just tasters. We could see the great Temple of Apollo above us, fronting a dramatic open air theatre, but at this rate we would take three days to reach it.
&nb
sp; 'Can I pay you to skip?' I asked the heedless guide.
'Can we pay him to shut up?' muttered Helena. He was now dragging us to a replica of the Trojan Horse, prior to Argive statues of the Seven against Thebes – and then another set of Argive gifts: the seven sons of the Seven against Thebes. We looked at each other in horror. Luckily the seven sons had managed to destroy Thebes, which spared us further generations. Even so, the magnanimous Argives kept going and managed to install ten more statues, these set up to emphasise their kings' links with Hercules. Do not ask me what links; by then I was looking for a chance to wander off. Helena was gripping my hand tight, in case I abandoned her with the guide.
Soon we were in among treasuries. They were neat little roofed buildings, rather like tiny temples; instead of colonnades all round, their porches were generally adorned with only a couple of columns or caryatids – although the spectacular (rather too well draped) caryatids on the Treasury of Siphnos (where the hell is Siphnos?) sparkled with gemstones on their diadems and in their hair. The guide trotted out mentions of winged-victory acrotiria, sphinxes, continuous friezes, and sculptured Herculean metopes. The only way to cope with his bombardment of information was to copy the caryatids and affect a slight archaic smile (while wondering how long it was until lunch.)
By the time we reached the Council Chamber, my archaic smile was openly disfigured by bared teeth. Local government upsets me: old men making wrong decisions to protect their own trade interests.
At least we were getting somewhere: the spring once guarded by the rampaging dragon called the Python, which had been slain by the infant Apollo.
Apollo's mother Leto had stood on a rock and held him in her arms to shoot. This Leto must have been a liability. Helena and I had once been plagued by a neighbour who allowed her child to loose off toy arrows in the street; however, we hid our disapproval of feckless mothers and nodded wisely as the guide proclaimed Apollo's institution of a peaceable and spiritual regime.
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