See Delphi And Die

by Lindsey Davis

  Aulus looked up at me, with a hint of apology. Then bowed his head and slumped helplessly against Young Glaucus. Glaucus held him up with one arm and with his free hand tapped his own forehead, signalling madness.

  ‘You are Falco!’ a man called out triumphantly, his Latin so heavily accented it was nearly Greek. Heedless of the weather and the late hour, heedless of good manners and good taste, he bawled to us at the top of his voice. It was a good voice. Baritone. Used to addressing the public. Used to silencing academic critics and opponents in turbulent lawcourts. It would be pointless to berate him. He would enjoy the challenge.

  ‘Hail to you, Falco! I am Minas of Karystos! These are my friends. He waved to a group of almost twenty men, all in advanced states of serious good cheer. I could see one fellow urinating at great length against a pillar; the sound of his monumental pissing was lost in the rain. Some were young, many older, old enough to know better. All had had a brilliant evening up until now. They were game for more.

  ‘May we come in?’ demanded their atrocious leader. He had the formal politeness of the very drunk, thank goodness. Whether we could fend him off remained debatable.

  Quick thinking gave me a riposte. ‘Sadly no - we have children with us, sleeping.’

  Helena and I had squared up like the Few at Thermopylae, prepared to hold the field until death took us. We refused to yield to this colourful invading horde, although they seemed bound to overwhelm us. Under the balcony roof, rain was gusting in; we were soaked through. My feet were in standing water too.

  Minas of Karystos made a curious figure. He was small, elderly, and keen, like a grandfather taking his grandsons to a stadium. He wore a long tunic in a gaudy hue, with a six-inch embroidered border in which precious metal glinted. Beneath a neatly placed wreath of flowers, grey hair hung in wet straggles.

  ‘Minas of Karystos, I have heard much of your eminence and reputation. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘Come down, Falco!’

  ‘You go and it’s divorce!’ muttered Helena. Wimpishly, I chose to stay.

  ‘You get rid of him then!’

  ‘How can I? Don’t let them come up, Marcus.’

  ‘If they do, here’s the plan - we abandon the boys and dump the luggage. We’ll just leave, make a run for it. Head for the harbour and take the first ship that’s sailing… Minas, it is very late and my wife needs to rest.’

  ‘That’s right; blame the woman!’

  ‘She is pregnant.’

  ‘No chance of that on this trip!’

  ‘Falco, you are a hero; you make many babies!’ Oh gods! I could see Aulus hiding his face in horror. I jabbed a finger at him, letting him know who would be blamed for this.

  ‘You Romans are all too austere! Let go! Be free! You should learn to live, Falco!’ Why are drunks so unpleasantly self-righteous? And foreign ones hideously worse? If we insulted a bunch of Greeks who were trying to get a good night’s sleep, it would cause an international incident. The governor would send Aquillius Macer to ship us home, for endangering provincial stability. But Minas could be as rude as he liked and was unstoppable. ‘Learn to enjoy yourself like a liberated Greek! Come down to us; we have wine; we have excellent wine here.’

  Suddenly he gave up. Sensing that there would be no entertainment here, he was eager to move on to the next venue. ‘Ah, we shall show you pleasure tomorrow then, Falco! I have a plan; I have a thrilling plan - I have news!’ he exclaimed, belatedly remembering the reason for this late-night call. ‘Come down and hear.’

  I shook my head. I gestured to the rain, and made as if to go indoors. For once it worked.

  ‘I have found your people!’ Minas roared, anxious to keep me. ‘I have seen them. I have talked to them. We shall make the wrongdoer show himself. I have a plan; I will show you how, Falco. We shall bring them all together, you and I. Then they will interact and he will be revealed!’

  ‘Fabulous. Minas has invented putting all the suspects in a single room and waiting for the killer to confess…Tell him, Helena. That old ruse stopped working back before the Persians built their bridge across the Hellespont.’

  ‘You’re the hero. You tell him.’

  ‘I am going to throw a great big party for this group!’ warbled Minas. ‘We shall have wonderful food and wonderful wine - dancers, musicians, talk, and I will teach you to play kottabos. Everyone always wants to play kottabos. You will come, and bring my dear young friend Aelianus. Watch and see. I will find the truth for you!’

  The rain continued falling, as the party-goers wandered off again into the night.

  LX

  I like a good party. Who doesn’t? Believe me, I did not like this one.

  I tried to pretend the event was not happening. The following day, I went back to Mount Lykabettus, looking for dreamy-eyed Philomela. She was not at her hut. I gazed out across the plain to the ocean, and wished I was on board one of the triremes and merchant ships that I could just make out, moored on the distant blue water. I wanted to go home.

  On my return to our inn, disgruntled, I found Helena reading Plato’s Symposium as research for the evening.

  ‘Lucky for some! Intriguing stuff?’

  ‘Pages of debate about the nature of love. Otherwise, little has changed among the greybeards of Athens. Listen to this passage, Marcus.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for Plato, fruit.’

  ‘You will like it.’

  ‘Will I have any choice?’

  While I pulled off my dusty boots and cleaned them grimly, she read to me. Suddenly there came a great knocking at the door of the house, like revellers, and the sound of a flute-girl. Agathon told the attendants to go and see who the intruders were. ‘If they are friends of ours, invite them in, but if not, say that the drinking is over.’

  A little while afterwards they heard the voice of Alcibiades resounding in the court; he was extremely drunk and kept roaring and shouting, ‘Where is Agathon? Lead me to Agathon,’ and at length, supported by the flute-girl and some of his attendants, he found his way to them. ‘Hail, friends,’ he said, appearing at the threshold, with a massive garland of ivy and violets, his head flowing with ribbons. ‘Will you have a very drunken man as a companion of your revels?…’

  ‘I told you philosophy was fun.’

  I laughed; as ever, Helena had mellowed me. ‘I admit that’s a horribly familiar portrait of a very drunk man. I think Minas of Karystos is a Platonist.’

  Helena winced. ‘And my brother is going to become his Alcibiades?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said kindly. ‘Alcibiades may have been a lush, but he was a hugely charismatic character!’

  ‘Drunks tend to think that of themselves,’ Helena sighed.

  The party was held at an inn, luckily not ours. Phineus and Polystratus had placed the Seven Sights group at a run-down establishment closer to Piraeus than Athens.

  The travellers had changed little since we saw them at Corinth. Their current moans were that every time they wanted to visit the sights, they had to walk several miles there and back, or hire expensive transport. Phineus had taken them on one formal sightseeing trip into Athens, after which he left them on their own. On his trip the guide had been inaudible and only interested in taking them to his uncle’s souvenir shop. Volcasius had stayed too long at the Temple of Athena Nike, was left behind unnoticed, and got lost. By the time he found his own way back to their inn, the others had left for a dinner, which he missed. Three days later he was still arguing with Phineus about that, because he had paid for his meal in advance. The others were arguing because promised dancers never showed and the drink ran out.

  ‘Everything as usual!’ Marinus told us, grinning.

  In fact, we sensed differences. There was plenty of observation time, since Minas of Karystos did not turn up with his catering corps for two hours after the appointed start. Organising a party might be his forte, but he achieved it very slowly. I hoped that meant he was spending time on planning. But
I feared he had gone to someone else’s party and forgotten his pledge to us.

  The group, or at least their current survivors, had assembled spot on time. We already knew they turned up promptly for any meals they did not have to pay for. If something is free, seasoned travellers form a queue.

  The Sertorius family came first; we could see what was happening there all right. The tall husband looked grim; the once-dowdy wife was wearing a rather tasteful Greek head-dress, a pointed stephane. She gazed around her more openly instead of seeming haunted; the two adolescents kicked their heels more peevishly than ever, as if they had had their noses put out of joint. Amaranthus joined us next, alone and at a loose end. Marinus and Indus arrived together, tall and short, Marinus grey-haired and still limping from his dog bite, Indus hook-shouldered and saturnine, though he had had his lank hair trimmed recently. Indus greeted Sertoria Silene with an almost imperceptible nod; she responded at once, giving him a pleasant smile. Her husband glowered. His downtrodden wife was enjoying herself, and he clearly hated it.

  ‘Oh wonderful!’ murmured Helena, nudging me.

  Cleonyma and Minucia bundled in through the street entrance, hot from a bath-house manicure and pedicure session, which had been carried out by some girl whose ineptitude was sending them both into hoots of laughter (until they remembered how much they had tipped her.) They shrieked hello to everyone, then although they were already more brightly clad than any of us, rushed off to their rooms to get dressed up. The awkward curiosity, Volcasius, sloped in, still wearing his dreadful greasy straw hat and what appeared to be the same tunic we last saw him in. Then came the widow Helvia, neatly dressed in white with her impressive necklace (which we had seen before) and a new bangle; she angled this on her plump arm so that we would all notice it, giving a small smile to Marinus as if it were a gift from him that pleased her. So that little liaison must be going well.

  Attendants finally arrived from Minas. They carried in couches, cushions, flowers, and garlands, with which they began to dress the courtyard. They took their time; no one planned to do in his back lifting furniture. The innkeeper sent out slaves with lamps, which they positioned very sluggishly and forgot to light. A flautist looked in, summed up the lack of preparation, and disappeared again.

  Helena and I had found ourselves a centrally placed table, where we stationed Albia, my nephews, and my dog, all so far on their best behaviour. Young Glaucus had gone to fetch Aulus. We struggled to keep spaces for them. The attendants had no idea that a party was for people, and that people might want to be with their friends. They were designers. To them, placing equipment artistically took precedence over the happiness of mere guests. Gradually they created a theatrical setting - in which our presence seemed a messy inconvenience.

  There was still no sign of any food or drink.

  The travellers became tense about whether and when they would be fed. Helvia had gone fluttery and Sertorius Niger kept striding about in search of somebody to complain to. In his absence from their couch, his wife went over to talk to Indus. She remained there for the rest of the evening.

  Cleonyma and Minucia returned. Wafts of hugely expensive perfume preceded their entrance. Drama was their natural element. In they tottered, in gold sandals with dangerously high cork soles. Both wore floaty purple dinner outfits, so transparent all the men were compelled to look three times. The ladies had piled their hair up in layered ramparts and cascades of ringlets, through which were threaded enormous gemstones. The jewels were real. Cleonyma told us that, mentioning just how much they had cost.

  As soon as she joined the party, Cleonyma chivvied the landlord into bringing drinks all round. Even Sertorius Niger looked grateful. Since she was paying, she helped out the lackadaisical waiters, herself carrying brimful cups to our table, six at a time, and placing them deftly.

  ‘Not a drop spilled. You’ve done that before, Cleonyma!’

  ‘Gods, you could die waiting in some of these places.’ She sat down with us. ‘How do you like the dinner dress?’

  ‘Emm… it’s certainly an eye-catcher!’

  ‘That stinker Volcasius told me it was too revealing. Spoilsport. You look lovely, Helena.’ Cleonyma seemed unaware of the contrast between her own vibrant gauze costume, and Helena’s elegant simplicity. Helena was wearing aqua silk, with discreet silver embroidery; she looked like a nymph, one who knew where the good groves were to be found. I would have followed her through any prickly thickets in the hope of a romp by moonlight.

  I was in ochre, mildewed by frequent bad laundering. I had on the boots I cleaned earlier and a newish belt, the effect topped off by casual curls, a straight Roman nose and a bad Greek shave. I was clean; even my nephews were clean, though their party gear was basic. Albia was in blue, as usual, with a necklace Helena had loaned her. Nux had been combed and defleaed. She had tried to roll in muck straight afterwards, but Cornelius caught her in time. As a party we were presentable, though not modish.

  Helena asked Cleonyma how she was bearing up. ‘This is my last night in Greece. I’ve booked a passage home, leaving tomorrow; Minucia will come with me, to stop me brooding on the ship. Amaranthus has convinced himself she will come back and catch up with the group at Troy afterwards; between ourselves, there’s no chance. I’m giving her an excuse to go home. It’s what she wants.’

  ‘Couldn’t Amaranthus go with her, if they are a couple?’ asked Helena.

  ‘He could!’ agreed Cleonyma. ‘Not suggested - not by either of them. Let the man stay alone with his sport. It’s all he asks of life. He’s attending the Olympic Games next year. I see him dragging endlessly on for ever, from stadium to stadium.’

  ‘Minucia has children?’

  ‘They must be grown up now, but yes, she has children. She used to keep animals. She has a useless husband too - I think she even misses him. Funny what you can get used to!’

  Still conscious that I had been Cleonyma’s chosen male representative at her husband’s funeral, I asked tentatively about arrangements for taking home his ashes. She was not at all offended that I had mentioned it, and burst out laughing. ‘Oh that’s dealt with, Falco! At first I put him in a valuable urn. Parian marble, with gold fittings - beautiful. But then I thought they’ll get me to pay port duty on the dear lad’s ashes. They can stuff that! It’s twenty-five per cent for luxury goods. He used to get annoyed at that every time we went home and customs homed in on us; for some reason they always used to decide we were people worth stopping and searching… I wasn’t prepared to transfer him to a nasty box to smuggle him in - though Juno knows, I’ve had enough practice. So I scattered him around a bit when we went to Marathon.’

  ‘He would approve!’ we assured her. I hid a grin as I imagined my brother-in-law Gaius Baebius, the tax official, spotting Cleonyma tottering up a quayside among her collection of souvenirs. a gift, who would fill up his duty targets for the next month in one swoop.

  Cleonyma went quiet. ‘I shed a little tear when I left him there. He would have enjoyed Marathon; he always liked places with a history.’

  We were quiet too. Remembering Cleonymus’ unforced generosity, we honoured him and raised our cups to his memory.

  As she stood up to leave, Cleonyma leaned down to Helena and pointed to Sertoria Silene. ‘She’s leaving her husband, can you believe it? She’s taking on Indus; well, he needs sorting out. She can be quite bossy, if she’s given her head, and Indus seems to enjoy it. The best bit is, she’s told Sertorius Niger he can keep those two dreadful children; there is no chance of her taking them!’

  Helena smiled, in a way which I knew meant she was suddenly thinking about our children. ‘Now, don’t hold back, Cleonyma - tell us the truth, please do: who is Indus running away from?’

  Cleonyma smiled. ‘Oh surely it’s obvious - he’s fleeing from his mother!’

  We roared with laughter.

  ‘I’m going to get really drunk tonight,’ confided Cleonyma. She was halfway there already.

  Somethin
g must be due to happen soon. A solitary man with a bent taper started going around, lighting up the oil lamps. One table cheered him. He looked embarrassed.

  Cleonyma went off to order more drinks; she asked for nibbles with them. The nibbles never came, though I had a feeling she paid for them.

  The flautist returned. This time he was accompanied by a lame harpist and an extremely short drummer. They helped themselves to drinks, then stood around. An unhealthy-looking girl in a short tunic brought cut roses to every table, encouraging us to wind them into some wreaths of leaves which had already appeared unnoticed. Gaius and Cornelius both took to her; they set about avid flower arrangement. Close up, she was ten years too old even for Gaius, and probably married to a slobbish matelot who beat her.

  At long last, caterers arrived. As they took over a corner of the yard, we gathered we had a long wait ahead of us. Raw ingredients were being carried in. Shellfish and mullet were still alive, and I swear I heard a chicken cluck. Simply lighting the fire for their cooking-bench took ages.

  ‘There is Aelianus!’ exclaimed Albia, spotting him first.

  In the entrance to the courtyard we saw Aulus, shepherded discreetly by Young Glaucus. They were greeted enthusiastically on all sides. Smart in a tunic with purple stripes of rank, Aulus made a slow progress past the other tables, shaking hands with everyone.‘Your brother looks like a candidate courting election votes!’

  ‘He’s playing Alcibiades.’

  ‘No; he’s sober - so far!’

  It was weeks since Camillus Aelianus had seen the travellers at Corinth, when the quaestor first arrested them and he bunked off. He was clearly well regarded and had to repeat for every group details of what he had been doing since. Someone gave him a wreath, though I noticed he resisted being crowned. He was trying to extract himself as speedily as possible.

  When he reached us and dropped the wreath on our table, we found out why. He handed a scroll to Helena, a letter from their mother, then while she was distracted, he murmured, ‘Marcus, you need to come with me. By the look of things here, there is time for a quick detour, and you have had a summons.’