by J M Alvey
‘Can Aristarchos Phytalid put an end to this trouble?’ she demanded.
‘I believe so,’ I said firmly, ‘and all the sooner, if we can help.’
‘What can we do?’ Melina sat up straighter.
Like our father before him, Nymenios had looked for a wife who could manage the family business’s accounts and records. Well-born girls might only need to be decorative and to bear handsome children, but a wise man knows women of our class can contribute a great deal more to a household. So Melina’s father had the sense to teach his daughters to read, write and reckon as skilfully as his sons.
‘That depends on the answers to some questions. As soon as Nymenios gets back, we’ll go and see what we can learn.’
‘You two are not to go off getting into trouble,’ Mother said sharply, as though we were beardless boys heading for a day’s larks at the gymnasium.
‘We won’t,’ I promised, just as sincerely as I’d always promised her. Which is to say, I was mentally adding, ‘Unless someone else starts it.’
As a schoolboy I’d learned the trick of turning a conversation to distract her, and I hadn’t lost that knack either. ‘So, do you think Chairephanes and Glykera will marry?’
‘He’ll be a fool not to ask for her,’ she said crisply.
‘How soon?’ I prompted.
Discussing Pamphilos’s daughter’s merits and pondering the likely timing of the wedding, as well as where the newlyweds might set up home, kept us all happily occupied until I heard the gate opening down below and Nymenios calling for his wife.
I rose to my feet. ‘I’d better—’
‘Yes, go.’ Melina waved me away.
Down in the courtyard, Nymenios looked torn between exasperation at the time he had wasted and shock at the sight of my bruises. ‘I thought playwriting was a safe trade.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ I offered him a sincerely apologetic grimace before I told my tale for the third time that morning, though I still didn’t mention Hipparchos’s involvement.
‘I want to see if I can find out which temple those old theatre masks were stolen from. You want to find out who’s paying over the odds for the hides from the Dionysia sacrifices. How about we go and ask our questions together? Then I can stand as a citizen witness for whatever you find out, and you can stand witness for me.’
Every temple has its loyal families so, with luck, I’d learn if someone with ties to our existing suspects knew where those particular masks were easily accessible. Or maybe I’d hear that someone who didn’t belong had been hanging around just before the masks went missing. Either way, with Athena’s blessing, I’d pick up something that would chime with whatever Aristarchos learned. Something to lead us to solid evidence that would ring true in court.
Nymenios scowled. ‘I told you. None of the priests are saying who they’re selling to.’
I raised a hand. ‘The priests who are profiting and being paid to keep their mouths shut will all be at the theatre. Whoever’s in the doghouse will be tending the altars today. There’s nothing like a little resentment to loosen a man’s tongue.’
Nymenios still looked dubious. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Let’s start with the Temple of Hephaistos. Remember what Dexios said? The first batch of hides to go missing wasn’t bought out from under his nose. That cartload was stolen, so let’s see what we can learn. I’m sure I remember seeing some of the masks I’m looking for there.’
‘I suppose so,’ Nymenios said ungraciously. ‘I might as well make some use of the day. As long as we don’t get ourselves into trouble.’
‘That’s what I promised Mother,’ I assured him.
‘Not unless someone else starts it, you mean,’ Nymenios answered, with a glint in his eye. ‘I’ll let Melina know what we’re doing.’
As he headed inside, I stayed in the courtyard. He could run the gauntlet of Mother’s interrogation. As the eldest, it was only fair he shouldered such obligations along with enjoying his birthright’s privileges. A few moments later, Mother came outside with him, protesting, as I’d known she would.
‘At least wait for your brother. Take some of the slaves with you.’
‘If we turn up mob-handed, there’s bound to be trouble,’ Nymenios countered.
‘The two of us will just be brothers out for a stroll,’ I agreed. ‘Why shouldn’t we pay our respects at a temple and enjoy a little conversation? Where’s the threat in that?’
‘Shall I fetch you a mirror?’ Mother asked acidly. ‘I don’t suppose you were threatening anyone last night!’
‘All the more reason for me to be extra careful today,’ I assured her. ‘I couldn’t wrestle a wooden duck off Hestaios. Believe me, I won’t do anything foolish.’
‘I won’t let him,’ Nymenios said firmly.
Mother glared at the pair of us and stomped off back into the house. Setting out, we exchanged a rueful glance as the slave closed the gate behind us.
‘We had better come back safe and sound,’ Nymenios said, ‘or Mother will find her way down to the Underworld just to box our ears.’
‘So will Zosime, and Melina.’ I glanced sideways at him as we walked. ‘I was surprised to find her at home today. Is she unwell?’
His veiled look told me he knew what I was asking. ‘Not unwell, Demeter willing.’
So they weren’t going to announce their hopes until there was no hiding the news. I wondered if that would make loss easier to bear, if this early promise didn’t bear fruit. I couldn’t imagine it would.
While we were making this tour of the temples, I’d seek every god and goddess’s favour for them. Though there was little reason to fear for Melina, I told myself firmly. She’d already borne three healthy children, as well as the poor mite born between Hestaios and Kalliphon who didn’t see out his first month. I need not dwell on our sister Ianthine’s fate.
Though that was easier said than done as we walked towards the agora. Thermopylae aside, there’s precious little to admire about Spartans, but that’s one thing they do right. Their women who die in childbirth are honoured as the equals of soldiers who’ve died in battle.
As we approached the marketplace, I tensed, alert for any hint of trouble. To my relief, there were no rabble-rousing orators whipping up spite against Ionians like foam on a stormy sea. A scattering of visitors admired the monuments. Knots of men who’d found some excuse to escape a house full of visitors sat exchanging commiserations and sipping wine. They were already looking forward to getting back to work.
I took the proper path to the Hephaistion today, instead of scrambling up through the bushes on the hillside. A few men and women were paying their respects to the god, their voices echoing softly around the pillars of the colonnade that surrounds the walls of the inner sanctuary. Then we heard the sharp sound of hammering from the far end. We found a young priest fixing nails to the walls of the porch that shelters the sanctuary door.
There was a stack of lead tablets on the floor. I picked one up and read the words roughly scratched into the soft metal.
I, Nikochoros, alert Hephaistos to the villain who took my cloak in the Grove of Kolonos. If he steals it away, may the fires of the god’s forge sear him with fever. If it was taken in error and is returned to me, I will make an offering in thanks.
I wondered if the unknown Nikochoros had indeed been robbed, or was just careless. Either way, I hoped he got his cloak back without paying too much for the privilege. Some of the agora’s idlers make a nice profit at the big festivals ‘accidentally’ gathering up other people’s property before taking the spoils to a temple in hopes of getting a finder’s fee.
‘Thank you,’ the young priest prompted me, his hand outstretched. He’d finished hammering in his nails and was ready to hang the curse tablets up for visitors to the sanctuary to read.
Nymenios was scanning the ones already fixed there. He reached up to tap a broad square of lead placed where everyone would see it first. ‘Excuse me, what d
o you know about this?’
I read the summons for divine vengeance.
I, Emphanes, humble servant of mighty Hephaistos, declare the hides taken by deceit from this temple are property of the god, now stolen. Let those who have so vilely betrayed my trust and misused the god’s bounty pay with blood and boundless suffering. But let those who may have handled these hides in ignorance of this theft be spared by Hephaistos’s grace. May they be blessed and rewarded if they reveal those guilty of this impiety.
Dexios was right. Emphanes, the priest who’d been tricked, was absolutely furious.
‘No one’s come forward as yet?’ It wasn’t just cloak thieves who regularly checked these tablets. The agora idlers who kept their eyes and ears open could earn useful money by supplying information that helped to solve a crime.
Today, the young priest shook his head. ‘Maybe after the festival.’
‘What a bizarre thing to happen. Forgive my interest,’ Nymenios explained as he introduced himself. ‘Dexios, the tanner who was cheated, he supplies my business with leather. This sacrilege is causing us all serious trouble.’
‘You may rest assured we’ll show Hephaistos our gratitude,’ I added quickly, ‘as soon as he smites the thieves.’
Nymenios shot me a glare, but he played along. ‘If someone brings you evidence good enough to drag the guilty men into court, we’ll split the damages we’re paid with the god.’
I saw the young priest hesitate, swapping his hammer from one hand to the other and chewing on a wisp of his straggly beard. The lad knew his duty to encourage offerings to the temple. I could tell he’d also seen things he was eager to share. On the other side of that hypothetical drachma, he knew he wasn’t supposed to gossip.
‘Dexios is livid,’ I prompted, to weight the scales. ‘They must have heard him bellowing up on the Acropolis.’
That tipped the balance. ‘I know. I was there. I thought he was going to hit Emphanes,’ the lad confided.
‘Surely not!’ I leaned forward like a comedy slave, avid to hear more.
The young priest stepped closer as I’d hoped he would, and so did Nymenios. Unfortunately, the lad only repeated what we’d already learned from Dexios. It seemed Emphanes couldn’t have looked more of a fool if he’d been up on stage with a red leather cock in his hand.
Nymenios tried to rein in his exasperation. ‘And now there are no hides to be had anywhere. Do you know who’s outbidding us all?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ the lad said unconvincingly, before he added pointedly, ‘though a month or so ago, we were offered half the usual silver for that selfsame cartload.’
I seized on that unsubtle hint. ‘For the hides that were stolen? Who offered the god such an insult?’
‘Nikandros Kerykes,’ the young priest said with sudden venom. ‘Swanning about like he was doing us some gracious favour. Emphanes sent him off with his ears ringing.’
I had to swallow a profane exclamation. I’d hoped for answers but this was an unlooked-for blessing. When we got to the bottom of this, I’d be showing Hephaistos my gratitude with my own silver.
‘Good to know the prick doesn’t always get his own way.’ I managed a chuckle. ‘I’ve crossed paths with that arrogant bastard.’
‘He didn’t care.’ The boy’s resentment boiled over. ‘He sent some bare-knuckle fighter to tell us to take the silver and keep quiet, or we’d lose our teeth or worse. I—’ His nerve abruptly failed him and he hastily gathered his tools. ‘I must be about my duties.’
As the young priest scurried off, Nymenios looked at me, narrow-eyed. ‘What?’
‘Just a moment.’ I ushered him out of the porch and a little way around the colonnade. ‘Wait here.’
I hurried to the far end of the sanctuary where the rear wall offered an alcove for sundry dedications to Hephaistos. My memory hadn’t played me false. A handful of masks from Ephialtes’s Discus Throwers were hung there. A group of friends devoted to Hephaistos must have been in that chorus.
I walked back to my brother. ‘What does Nikandros Kerykes want with a cartload of fresh hides?’
‘How hard did they hit your head last night?’ Nymenios raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Megakles Kerykes owns three tanneries that I know of, though he only sells his leather to his well-born friends’ workshops.’
‘I wonder when Nikandros got involved in the family business.’ I could certainly see that pustulent little cock deciding to steal what he couldn’t buy. When he realised that robbery wouldn’t work, long term, I guessed he’d sent some pet henchman to do his dirty work. But suspicions wouldn’t get a Kerykes into court.
‘Megakles certainly has deep pockets,’ Nymenios mused.
‘Do you think he’s trying to corner the leather market?’ We could speculate but once again, that wasn’t proof.
Nymenios’s beard jutted belligerently. ‘Let’s go and see.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Megakles has a tannery close outside the walls, just north of the Diochares Gate. Let’s go and see if it’s busy.’
I was ready to call it a day and take this latest news to Aristarchos, to see what he might make of it, before going home and trying to make peace with Zosime. I kept my mouth shut and nodded instead. I know that set of my brother’s jaw. Nymenios had made up his mind to go, with or without me. We started walking.
The young conscripts guarding the Diochares Gate barely gave us a glance. I guess they assumed we were rural visitors making our way home ahead of the crowds who would clog these routes over the next few days. There were already knots of travellers on the road outside the city walls, where the buildings and businesses were far more widely spread. I was glad to see them. The two of us on our own would have been far too conspicuous for my peace of mind.
We both turned our heads as we heard trundling wheels on the road behind us. Nymenios dragged me into the shade of an ancient, obstinate olive tree that forced the road into a bend. The wagon rumbled past and I coughed to try and get the stink out of my nose and throat. There’s no mistaking the rankness of fresh skins still smeared with blood and shit.
Other trades might be enjoying the festival, but some things couldn’t wait. With the high prices paid for these hides, whoever was running Megakles’s tannery wouldn’t risk them getting flyblown before they were dunked in the yard’s soaking pits.
‘That cart’s from the Temple of Ares. I recognise the priest who’s driving it. I also know he told Pataikos that a valued customer has paid in advance for every hide from their sacrifices until the end of the year.’ Nymenios broke into a trot, well able to keep pace with the reeking cart.
I followed, but anything beyond a fast walk left me breathless with discomfort. By the time I caught up with my brother, the cart had arrived at its destination. A short distance ahead, a walled yard was surrounded by scrub and turf roughly grazed by goats. As we loitered beside an anonymous warehouse’s door, the tannery opened its gates wide to admit the stinking load.
I’d visited Dexios’s yard often enough as a boy to know the scene within would be a pungent bustle of activity. First, the skins must be soaked for a day or so. Then slaves would scrape the water-softened hides clean of lingering flesh and fat. More experienced men, slave and free, would tend the pits of limewash, waiting for the moment when the skins were ready to be scoured free of hair. Then the hides would be handed over to grim-faced slaves who would trample them for half a day in troughs of stale piss and a few other choice ingredients. Finally, the yard’s master would supervise the transfer of each consignment into the tanning vats. Every tanner has his own secret brew concocted from oak bark and selected leaves.
I dragged Nymenios into hiding behind the warehouse’s convenient corner.
‘What?’
‘Hush.’ I raised a hand to silence him, before peering cautiously around the rough masonry. Hilarious moves in the right comedy, but this was no laughing matter. Satisfied, but still wary, I withdrew.
‘Did you see th
at man in a brown tunic? Shoulders like a wrestler?’ He’d been standing in the gateway as the wagon went in. ‘That bastard was in the thick of the fight last night.’
He’d been with the scroll seller Archilochos in the theatre yesterday, too. He’d gone with the three men I followed to that house where the fake Ionian from the riot turned up.
Now Nymenios understood my caution. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Certain,’ I said with savage satisfaction. ‘Looks like I broke the fucker’s arm.’
The wrestler’s forearm was heavily bandaged and quite possibly splinted. His injured arm lay across his belly, with that hand thrust through his belt for support.
‘Who is he?’ wondered Nymenios.
‘No idea, but I’m willing to wager he’s the one who scared the piss out of that priest. Let’s go and tell Aristarchos.’ I was getting my second wind.
Chapter Twenty-One
I spoke too soon. By the time we got back to Aristarchos’s house, I was flagging badly. Worse, he wasn’t there.
‘Can you tell us where he’s gone?’
I might as well have asked one of the mountains in Mus’s homeland. The big slave had clearly been told to keep his mouth shut and so he shook his head, impassive.
‘Shall we wait?’ Nymenios looked at me, hands spread, uncertain. Ruling the roost in his own home was one thing. Insisting on entry to a well-born man’s house was quite another. Some other time, I’d have found this highly amusing.
To my relief, Lydis appeared. ‘Ah, it’s you, and…?’
My brother meekly introduced himself. I would have to tell Chairephanes about that.