by J M Alvey
Menkaure was shaping a mighty pedestal on his wheel. The great vase’s bulbous body and smoothly curving neck were already resting on a board, until the pieces could be seamlessly stuck together with clay. He didn’t look as if he’d welcome interruption, so I went straight through to the back of the workshop.
Zosime was working on a tall, slender flask, so intent that she didn’t notice me approaching. I wished I didn’t have to interrupt her. I certainly waited till she’d lifted her brush from the white surface, so I didn’t make her smudge the paint. ‘Hello.’
She turned, her surprise blossoming into a smile. ‘I didn’t expect to see you so early.’
‘I need your help.’ I leaned forward and we shared a kiss.
She looked into my eyes. ‘What do you need?’
I’d told Zosime about the symposium when I’d got home last night, and everything Nymenios and I had learned, as well as the growing suspicions we shared with Aristarchos.
‘I want to find out if Nikandros Kerykes was involved in killing Xandyberis,’ I said grimly.
The conniving bastard hadn’t hesitated to join in the attempt to murder me, and now we knew he was neck-deep in this conspiracy, not just a gullible fool like Hipparchos. If we could tie Nikandros to the Carian’s murder that was a crime we could haul him before the courts to answer for. Doing that would drag this entire vile conspiracy into the merciless light of day.
‘Then we can see his family get justice.’ In her hurry to stand, she knocked her workbench. The flask she’d been working on wobbled. As she caught the black glazed base to steady it, I got a better look at the design.
‘Is that him?’ I couldn’t be certain it was Xandyberis, not until she added more colour and the final touches, but the man’s profile looked familiar as the figure gave a speech with one arm raised in a rhetorical flourish.
‘Azamis and Sarkuk should take something home.’ Zosime’s eyes were dark with sympathy. ‘Until they can fetch his bones for his family to bury next year.’
‘That’s perfect.’ I swallowed a lump in my throat.
She looked sternly at me. ‘Perfect will be them taking home word of his killer’s arrest and execution.’
I nodded agreement. ‘Let’s go and do something about that.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
We hurried back to the drinking den and, this time, I asked the bemused tavern keeper for a table. Before he could decide where to seat us, I led Zosime to one with a view of Glaukias and Parmenides, still enjoying their leisurely lunch with Nikandros. I breathed silent thanks to Dionysos for that good fortune. Then I asked the god to keep them all from looking our way, even with the vines around this humble tavern’s porch shading us.
A serving girl brought us food and wine and looked on with curiosity as Zosime took pen, ink and papyrus out of my bag of work materials.
‘Thank you. That will be all.’ I smiled at the girl, hoping that would take any sting out of my dismissal.
Thankfully, no one else was paying us any attention, more interested in eating and getting back to work. In between mouthfuls, Zosime worked swiftly and skilfully, drawing a vivid likeness of Nikandros.
She paused, pen poised as she considered the portrait. Deciding it was finished, she turned to me. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We wait here for a few moments.’ I shaded the side of my face with one hand, turning my shoulder to the street.
Parmenides and Glaukias had eaten and drunk their fill and risen from their table. They were walking this way, laughing together and chatting. I turned my back to the street, to make sure they didn’t see me. The chances of them recognising me were slim, but I wasn’t taking any risks. My back itched as if I expected an arrow between the shoulder blades.
I looked at Zosime. ‘What are they doing?’
She raised her cup of wine to mime taking a drink. ‘Going on their way.’
‘What about Nikandros?’
‘He’s still at the table.’ Looking over my shoulder, she frowned. ‘Someone else has joined him. No,’ she corrected herself. ‘They’re getting up. I think they’re going to leave together.’
It was no good. I had to see. As I turned, my blood ran cold. Nikandros’s new companion was the brute whose arm I’d broken when he tried to kill me. Before I realised what I was doing, I was halfway to my feet. Zosime rose beside me.
‘No.’ I laid my hand on her arm to force her back onto her stool.
She looked at me, astonished. ‘I need to see him more clearly, if I’m going to draw a decent likeness.’
‘No.’ I couldn’t command her with a husband’s authority but by all the gods and goddesses above and below, she was going to listen to me. ‘He doesn’t know who you are and I won’t risk him seeing you with me. That’s the man who tried to knife me.’ I raised my cut and bandaged arm as evidence.
Something in my voice or face convinced her. She sank down, unwilling but complying. ‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know.’ Frustrated, I stole another glance over my shoulder. The brute was waiting with an impatient scowl while Nikandros chatted to the exclusive tavern’s owner. The thin-faced man was bowing obsequiously, clasping the young noble’s hands.
‘How are we going to find out who he is, if we don’t have a picture of him?’ Zosime demanded. ‘We need to know. Look, they’re leaving.’
Hades help me, she was right, and on all counts. I risked turning around, to see Nikandros and the unknown man walking away. They had their backs to us and their heads were close together in conversation. Any moment now I’d lose sight of them in the bustling street as people headed back to their daily labours after their midday break.
‘Wait here. Don’t move until I come to get you.’
They say fortune favours the bold. I begged the goddess of luck to help me, and any other deity who might be listening. Leaving Zosime at the table and praying that she’d do as I asked, I slipped through the crowds. I only wanted to get close enough to hear something, anything, to give us a hint about the killer. Some scrap of conversation that might tell us where to go to learn more.
As long as they didn’t look round, I should be safe. They had no reason to think they were being watched. If they did turn, if I was seen, then I’d take to my heels, as fast as Hermes in his winged sandals. I wouldn’t care about people looking. Far from it. I’d want every eye on me. Nikandros and his friend could hardly cut my throat in front of a street full of witnesses.
Whatever they were discussing, Nikandros was getting agitated. His hands waved with increasingly animated gestures. The man with the broken arm walked stolidly beside him, barely answering. Then, all of a sudden, he grabbed Nikandros’s tunic and forced the arrogant youth into a narrow side street.
I clenched my fists and sprinted to the corner of the building at the mouth of the alley. I felt sick as I recognised the voice of the man who’d tried to kill me two nights ago.
‘If you want any more silver from me, you snivelling little bastard, you’ll do what I tell you!’
‘Iktinos—’ Nikandros choked on a gurgle.
That was so utterly unexpected that I looked around the corner before I realised what I was doing. I caught a glimpse of Nikandros pushed up hard against the wall, the other man’s hand around his throat. Even using one arm, this Iktinos was astonishingly strong, powerful enough to lift the young idiot off his feet. Nikandros was on his tiptoes, expensive sandals scrabbling in the dust.
‘Do you understand me?’ Iktinos shook him like a dog with a rat.
I half expected to hear Nikandros’s neck snap. As it was, he gasped some sort of assent.
Satisfied, Iktinos released him. ‘Then I’ll see you at the Academy, at sunset.’
I’d heard enough. More than enough. I shrank back, my heart pounding. An instant later, I hurried away, trying to put every man and woman on the street between me and that alley. As soon as I reached the sanctuary of the friendly tavern, I shrank onto my stool, cowering behind the w
ine jug.
‘Did they see me? Can you see them?’
Zosime ate an olive, reluctantly amused. ‘No, and no.’
I sat up a little straighter and poured myself a cup of wine. My heart was still racing and my mouth was as dry as the deserts of Egypt. The wine quenched my thirst, though I had to fight to calm my shaking hand enough to drink it.
‘Well?’ Zosime prompted.
‘I heard his name.’ I managed a smile.
‘So?’ She looked at me, expectant.
I took a deep breath. ‘Now we go home.’ I nodded at the portrait she’d sketched, the ink now dry. ‘When we’ve found out what that can tell us, I’ll take everything we’ve learned to Aristarchos.’
Zosime gave me a long, contemplative look. Finally, she nodded. ‘Very well.’
We walked back to the pottery first, to collect Kadous. I wasn’t leaving Zosime at home on her own, even if I was convinced Nikandros and his murderous friend hadn’t seen us. Though, judging by what I’d seen in the alley, their relationship was rather more complicated than well-born paymaster and hired killer. That gave me plenty to think about on the walk back to Alopeke.
As we turned past the Hermes pillar, I straightened my cloak and my tunic and brushed a hand over my hair.
‘You look thoroughly respectable,’ Zosime assured me.
Kadous grunted his agreement, walking a few paces behind us just as a biddable slave should, and carrying my scrivener’s bag.
As we approached our gate, I turned and held out my hand. Kadous gave me the portrait of Nikandros. Then he and Zosime went to stand on our threshold while I crossed the lane to knock on Mikos’s doorpost.
The little slave Alke opened up. She was so surprised to see me that she just stood there, gaping.
‘Is your master at home?’ I asked formally. ‘Please tell him Philocles Hestaiou has urgent business to discuss.’
‘Of course.’ Her voice rose in a startled squeak as she closed the gate in my face.
I wondered how long I’d have to wait. I glanced at the Hermes pillar and prayed to the god of messengers that Mikos wouldn’t just ignore my request and punish Alke for relaying it.
A few moments later, the gate opened and I saw that Mikos’s curiosity had got the better of him.
‘What do you want?’
‘To talk to your wife, in your presence naturally,’ I said with measured politeness.
Now Mikos was really puzzled. ‘What about?’
‘You must recall the dead man left at my gate.’ I unrolled the papyrus in my hand. ‘We believe this may be one of his killers. I wish to ask your wife if she saw anything that night. Perhaps she can identify this man.’
‘I don’t want her involved. We don’t know who that is.’ Mikos didn’t even look at the picture I held up. ‘I don’t want to get mixed up in any trouble.’
That was true enough and I could hardly say it came as any surprise. It was a safe bet that the next time Mikos heard some disturbance out in the lane he’d head for his house’s innermost room. He’d be shutting his eyes and sticking his fingers in his ears, while better men than him had their throats cut. I wanted to beat the sweaty coward’s face into a bloody ruin.
Instead I took a deep breath, to make certain I could continue speaking in a calm and even tone. ‘Then everyone at the next district council meeting will learn how Mikos Theocritou Alopekethen is too craven to play his part in securing justice for a murdered visitor, an honoured ally. That you choose not to serve grey-eyed Athena by seeing this vile insult to our city answered. That you spurn your obligations to the Furies, as they turn their gaze this way, summoned by the dead man’s blood. Unless you would rather I told all our neighbours how crucial your help has been to restoring their peace of mind, helping to make sure there are no more local commotions?’
I don’t think I quite managed to emulate Aristarchos’s cold poise but I reckoned Lysicrates would say I’d performed well enough.
Mikos’s lip curled, grudging. As I’d hoped, if honour couldn’t make him do the right thing, fear of disgrace among all his friends and associates made him reconsider.
‘Give that here.’ He stretched out his hand for the papyrus.
‘No.’ I twitched it out of his reach. ‘I need to speak to your wife myself.’
I didn’t trust him not to come back and swear that Onesime didn’t recognise Nikandros, whatever she might actually say. I also wanted two citizen witnesses to whatever she said. I was sure I could find some threat or reward to compel Mikos to give evidence in court.
‘What do you want?’ Onesime appeared behind him. Alke must have fetched her mistress. The little slave cowered a few paces away.
Taken by surprise, Mikos stood there dithering. I seized the initiative and raised the portrait so that Onesime could see it.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. ‘He was one of those who brought the dead man here. One of the gang who painted your wall.’
‘Thank you.’
Mikos interrupted with a weak man’s belligerence. ‘Be off with you then. You’ve got what you wanted. Don’t bother me about this again.’
I bowed low, mostly to hide my contempt. When I stood up, my face was an expressionless mask. ‘You are to be commended, citizen, that your wife understands her duty to Athens so clearly, and that she has taught her slave the same. I trust you will show them your approval.’
I looked Mikos in the eye, unblinking, and hoped that he understood that I’d find some way to make him regret it if we heard Alke’s wails as she was beaten this evening, or if Zosime saw Onesime with bruises at the fountain tomorrow.
He muttered something wordless and slammed his gate shut.
I turned to Kadous and Zosime, still standing silently by our own doorposts. ‘So now we know for certain.’ I walked across the lane and kissed Zosime before unlocking the gate. ‘Don’t open up to anyone we don’t know.’ I handed the key to Kadous.
‘Watch your back.’ The big Phrygian looked troubled.
‘It’s broad daylight.’ I tried to reassure him. ‘The streets are busy, and don’t forget, these people have no idea that we’re out to foil their plans.’
He glowered at me. ‘That hasn’t stopped them trying to kill you.’
‘True enough.’ I could hardly deny it. ‘Which is why I’ll go and see Aristarchos, and be back here as fast as I can. I swear it.’ I glanced at Zosime to include her in this promise.
‘Make sure you are.’ Her expression was unreadable as she turned and went into our courtyard.
I waited until Kadous bolted the gate before heading back to the city. Passing the Hermes pillar, I asked the god’s blessing as I promised myself a day of sitting in the sunshine, going nowhere and doing nothing but reading poetry, once all this was done and dusted.
Passing through the Itonian Gate, I followed the Panathenaic Way through the city. I didn’t take the turn that would lead me to Aristarchos’s house, continuing through the Kerameikos district and on to the Dipylon Gate. I hadn’t said I was only going to Aristarchos’s house.
As I followed the road that led to the Academy, I quickened my pace, constantly checking the sun. I had a fair way to go and the daylight was starting to yellow. I absolutely needed to be done with this errand well before sunset.
Reaching the Academy, I skirted the sacred grove of olive trees and ignored the athletics and wrestling grounds, heading for the sanctuary where the healers gathered.
The first doctor who passed me assessed my bruises with an expert eye. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak to Spintharos, if that’s possible,’ I asked politely. ‘My name is Philocles and I’m here on business for Aristarchos Phytalid.’
That was true enough, even if Aristarchos didn’t know it yet. When the brute Iktinos had mentioned the Academy, I’d remembered the name of the doctor whom Lydis had summoned to tend young Tur’s broken nose and bruises. Athena willing, he’
d have a few more of the answers we needed. Then we might finally have enough pieces to fit together to show everyone the whole picture on this amphora.
‘I imagine he’ll be able to see you. Wait here.’ The doctor waved me towards a modest colonnade where a handful of patients sat morosely on benches.
I took a seat as far away as possible from anyone who looked remotely contagious and hoped that Spintharos would arrive quickly. As soon as a tall, lean-faced man in a blue tunic appeared and started scanning the glum-faced gathering, I stood up.
‘Excuse me, I’m Philocles—’
‘I know who you are.’ An unexpected smile lightened his severe features. ‘I enjoyed your play very much.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ I allowed myself a moment to bask in that compliment. Then I led him a short distance from the colonnade, far enough not to be overheard. ‘Can you tell me anything about a man called Iktinos? Does he train here? Though, please, keep this to yourself. He’s—’
‘You don’t need to warn me about him,’ Spintharos said tersely. ‘I’ve treated enough injuries he’s caused.’
‘Who is he?’
‘A wrestler by trade, supposedly in training for the next Nemean Games. I believe Megakles Kerykes pays his expenses.’ The doctor didn’t hide his scepticism.
‘You don’t seem convinced,’ I prompted.
‘He doesn’t train like any athlete I’ve known. He’s gone for days at a time and there’s rumour he breaks heads and legs for the Kerykeds. Oh, he wrestles here often enough,’ the doctor assured me, ‘but out of lust for fighting, not to improve his skills for the sport.’
‘Is he any good?’
Spintharos snorted. ‘He wins, more often than not. He never gives up and he’s not satisfied with just winning. He likes to make sure his opponent knows he’s beaten. If he can’t get the better of his victim with skill, then he’ll hurt him. I’ve seen him force an elbow joint too far, to deliberately tear a muscle, treading on someone’s foot before a throw to wrench their ankle into a sprain. Of course, he always claims it was an accident.’