‘Didn’t you hear the woman?’ giggled Thrax. ‘She thought we were ghosts invading the house for the Anthesteria. The others will convince her she was just having a nightmare.’
The food stalls in the agora were doing a brisk late-night trade. I dug into my purse for loose change and treated us to a hot sausage each. ‘It’s a pity we didn’t have time to explore the secret vault a bit more,’ I said as we sat in a stoa to eat.
‘I think we did extremely well,’ said Thrax. ‘I know exactly what the intruder took from the sarcophagus.’
‘Is that the end of the case, then?’ I said. ‘Do we just tell Zeno what was taken and ask for payment?’
‘We can hardly expect the man to take us for our word,’ Thrax replied. ‘We have to retrieve the stolen object as irrevocable proof. Which is not going to be easy. I don’t think this is a simple case of just breaking and entering. I think we’re up against some very powerful criminals.’
CHAPTER NINE
Notes in the Night
I lay tucked up in my himation, my head too full of thoughts to let me go to sleep. Thrax had told me he’d worked out what the thief had taken from the secret vault but he refused to elaborate further. Which was typical of him. And that last statement on our way home had increased my curiosity. How had he figured out that the crime was committed by ‘some very powerful criminals’, as he called them, and not by some run-of-the-mill hoodlum in desperate need of funds?
I myself had only seen one clue in the vault. The messy handprint in the sarcophagus. It proved that the stolen object had been inside it. But as to what it could have been I had no idea, nor could I begin to guess who had stolen it. I racked my brain trying to think what you might keep in a miniature sarcophagus, besides a tortoise mummy.
‘No, Nico, it was not a mummy the thief stole,’ Thrax had giggled when I suggested the idea as we got ready for bed. ‘The sarcophagus had been adapted into a trinket box.’
Hmm, the information was getting more intriguing by the moment. Why would someone keep a trinket box in front of an image of a god? As a sacrifice, perhaps?
‘So it was a trinket of some kind?’ I said.
The only answer I got was a soft snore. Thrax had fallen asleep under his himation. Bother, I would have to figure this out on my own. I opened my wax tablet to make notes. Writing always helps me sort out my jumbled thoughts and I could use the notes later for my stories. I scratched in the soft wax with the stylus.
THE CASE OF THE STOLEN LAPDOG [working title]
Crime: Melitan dog stolen from owner.
Motive: To stop dog from barking and alerting witnesses to a second, more serious crime.
Second crime: Something stolen from a sarcophagus, hidden in a secret vault.
Motive of second crime: Unknown but obviously something terribly important, committed by powerful criminals.
Perpetrator: Man (or woman) who left a dirty handprint in the sarcophagus.
Clue (or clues) to identify the stolen object: Unknown.
Eventually I fell asleep with the tablet balanced on my tummy. When I woke up in the morning, sending the tablet and the stylus clattering across the floor, Thrax was already up and away. Master Ariston had sent him out to chop olive wood for the brazier.
I was also kept busy all morning and there was no opportunity to discuss the case further. Surprisingly, Master Ariston’s poems had proved very popular with the guests at his father’s symposium and he wanted to write some more. He would hand them out at the various celebrations during the Anthesteria.
By lunchtime, I had a pain in my thumb from holding the stylus too long so I was glad when Master Ariston stopped to eat. ‘Get Cook to send me some porridge,’ he said. ‘I’ll take it in my room. And tell Thrax to go and get me a bunch of narcissi from the market. They’re for my mother. I’m dining with her tonight.’
I found Thrax sitting at the kitchen table. He was knocking seeds out of a pomegranate with Cook’s wooden stirring stick.
‘Ha, that’s lucky,’ he exclaimed when I gave him Master Ariston’s instructions.
‘What’s lucky?’ I said.
‘My having to go to the market for Master Ariston. I need to run a few errands of my own. And also us two not having to work tonight. I’ve got plans.’
‘Oooh,’ I said, helping myself to lentil stew. ‘What plans?’
Thrax moved his chair closer. ‘I didn’t spend all morning chopping wood, Nico. In fact, I didn’t chop any wood at all. I borrowed some from the house next door. They have a big pile right outside their back door.’
I looked around the table in alarm, praying no one had heard him. Stealing firewood is a crime. It can land you with a hefty fine, often double the price of what you stole. The punishment would be even harsher for an unfortunate slave like Thrax. He might end up in prison, or even beaten to death.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Thrax. ‘No one noticed. And I’ll replace it when I chop my own wood this afternoon.’
‘So what did you do while you were meant to be chopping wood?’ I asked.
‘I went to see Zeno to tell him we’re very close to finding out why Argos was stolen. I said it in a very loud voice to make sure everyone in the house heard me. I think it’s stirred the hornet’s nest. If my hunch is right, we’ll see the effects of my little conversation with him tonight.’
‘I’m not following,’ I said.
‘I’ll explain later,’ he said, flicking pomegranate seeds into his mouth. ‘I’d better get to the market before they run out of narcissi. See you tonight, Nico, at the secret meeting place. Dig out some epiblemas, the more tattered the better. I think there are some in the storeroom.’
CHAPTER TEN
Trailing Suspects
Tattered epiblemas? Why did we need girls’ shawls? Were they a part of Thrax’s plan for tonight?
‘Nico,’ groaned Master Ariston, ‘you’ve spilled ink all over the papyrus again. Please don’t spoil any more parchment or I’ll deduct the cost from your wages.’
I’d be the first to admit that I can often be clumsy but that’s not why the kalamos kept slipping from my hand that afternoon. There were so many thoughts going round in my head, I just couldn’t concentrate on my work.
After what seemed like an eternity trapped on the banks of the Styx, Master Ariston yawned hungrily. A delicious smell of stewed hare was wafting out of the kitchen across the courtyard. ‘Let’s call it a night, Nico. I have to get ready for dinner with Mother. Get my best chiton ready, the purple one with the key pattern around the border. My mother likes that one. She gave it to me last year to wear at the festival of Athena. And find Thrax. I need him to fill my bath and scrape my back.’
* * *
The moon had risen by the time Thrax and I met at the secret meeting place. He’d brought a large bag with him.
‘Did you get that at the market?’
‘Yes. Off a friend.’
‘One of your special friends?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Akademus?’
‘No, another one. He never tells me his name. Did you find the epiblemas?’
‘I did.’
‘Good.’ Thrax opened the bag and pulled out two old, loose-flowing chitons. They were so tattered I doubt the slaves in our house would use them as floorcloths. ‘Put one of these on,’ he said, ‘and drape an epiblema over your shoulder.’
‘We’re stepping out disguised as girls?’ I said.
‘Best idea to prevent anyone from Zeno’s household recognising us.’ Thrax pulled two more things out of the bag. For one horrific moment I thought they were dead hares. But they turned out to be wigs.
‘Don’t tell me. You got these off one of your friends too.’
Thrax laughed. ‘My friends can get hold of literally anything, as long as you don’t mind the stench.’
He was right. The wigs smelled awful.
‘Where did your friend get them?’ I asked. ‘A grave?’
‘He probab
ly raided an actor’s dressing-up chest,’ giggled Thrax, planting one of the wigs on my head. ‘Actors are the only people I can think of who wear wigs. Although you might be right. They might have dug up an Egyptian woman’s grave. I believe there are a few Egyptian people buried outside Athens.’
The thought that I might be wearing a dead person’s wig was enough to make me break out in a sweat. But I didn’t have time to panic. Thrax and I had to get on with our investigation. ‘How do I look?’ I said, straightening the wig.
‘Like a dead bride come to seek her husband at the Anthesteria,’ joked Thrax. He produced a lekanis.
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I’m not putting on make-up.’
‘It’s only face powder. We have to look the part, Nico.’
By the time we climbed out of the secret meeting place and made our way to the street, I was sure we looked frightening enough to scare away the dead. It was a good job we were close to the Anthesteria. If anyone we knew spotted us, we could always claim we were on our way to a party.
‘Where are we going, by the way?’ I asked Thrax.
‘To Zeno’s house again. To observe from across the street. The more I think about it, the more I’m certain the thief had help getting into the house. Someone let him in. One of the slaves there is involved.’
‘What makes you think that? I thought the thief got in through the chicken coop.’
‘The hole is too small for anyone but a child of our age or less. And I don’t think the thief would risk having a child crawling in and opening the back door for him. The possibility of alarming the quails and the squawking hens would be too great. They would wake up Eirene.
‘Perhaps the thief himself was incredibly slim,’ I suggested.
Thrax shook his head, making his wig jiggle. ‘The handprint in the sarcophagus shows he was quite a beefy man. I’m hoping that what I told Zeno this morning, about us being on to the thief, will panic the slave who was involved. He’ll try to get in touch with the thief and warn him.’
‘And if we follow the slave, he might lead us to him,’ I said. ‘Is that what you’re hoping for?’
Thrax nodded. We came to the Street of the Four Winds and he started towards the back alley.
‘We should watch the front of the house,’ I said. ‘It’s coming up to the Anthesteria when masters treat their slaves as equals and let them use the front door. It would look suspicious if the guilty slave was seen creeping out of the back door, don’t you think?’
We pitched up in a doorway across from Zeno’s house. The house behind it seemed abandoned. The paint on the front door was blistered and the altar near it dusty and full of dead flowers.
‘The perfect spot for a couple of beggars,’ said Thrax.
Despite the late hour, the Street of the Four Winds was heaving with people coming in and out of houses. The spirit of the Anthesteria seemed to have gripped Athens already. Thrax placed the empty lekanis on the ground to help set the scene. I put in a handful of chalkoi for added effect.
We’d only been settled in the doorway a few moments when we heard a loud clink and another coin landed in the lekanis. A generous passer-by had thrown in an obol, enough money to buy a fresh loaf of bread or a cup of good wine. A moment later the front door across the street opened and a young man stepped out.
‘That’s Olympos,’ said Thrax from under his epiblema.
From what I could see, Zeno’s slave was very slim with wide shoulders and a chin that stuck out. He stopped for a moment to touch the feet of the Hermes statue by the front door, then sauntered away, whistling cheerfully.
‘He’s in a good mood,’ I said. ‘Not what you’d expect from a worried slave on his way to warn his partner in crime. Are we going to follow him?’
‘No,’ said Thrax. ‘He’s only going to the wine shop at the end of the street. Notice he’s not wearing a himation. He doesn’t mean to stay out long, and he’s carrying an empty pelike. He’ll be back in a moment.’
I hadn’t noticed the wine shop – these places are very often just front rooms in ordinary houses – but Thrax was right. Olympos returned a few moments later, holding the pelike balanced on his right shoulder. He was still whistling cheerfully.
The front door closed behind him with a bang. A delicious smell of fried tiganites wafted out of a nearby window. My tummy growled loudly.
Suddenly the front door to Zeno’s house swung open again. This time Eirene came out. She closed the door gently and looked up and down the street before hurrying off.
Thrax picked up the lekanis and we followed her at a distance. She came to the end of the street, hesitated for a moment to let a cart trundle past, then turned on to a wider road. She stopped when she came to a house next to a small temple dedicated to Hera. Thrax and I watched from a doorway as Eirene rapped on the door and was immediately let in. She didn’t stay inside long. A few moments later she came out with a child, a girl of perhaps five or six. The two of them crossed the street and sat under a statue of the goddess.
Eirene unwrapped a large honey cake and the two shared it, scattering crumbs for the doves that gathered around them. The sound of the girl’s laughter carried across the street and I wondered who she was.
Before long the cake was eaten. Eirene and the girl stood up and the cook knocked on the door to the temple house again. A priestess in a flowing chiton answered it and took the child back inside.
‘Well, Eirene didn’t creep out to warn someone, either,’ I said as we followed her back to Zeno’s house.
‘You’re right,’ Thrax agreed. ‘She’s not a suspect at the moment, although what we saw back there was a very important clue.’
I looked at him, puzzled. ‘Was it?’
‘Definitely. The whole picture is emerging very fast.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Game of Petteia
We stationed ourselves in the disused doorway again. I was trying very hard to understand how Eirene sharing a honey cake with an unknown girl made the mystery clearer. To me it complicated matters. Though at least we seemed to be eliminating suspects at a quick rate.
‘The thief’s accomplice probably wasn’t Olympos,’ I said.
Thrax adjusted his wig. ‘And we can eliminate Eirene and the slave Deborah. Zeno told me she’s still away.’
‘That leaves Hilarion,’ I said. ‘Though how or why an old slave would want to help a thief rob his own master, I have no idea. He looks like a decent person to me.’
Another coin clinked in the lekanis. The door to Zeno’s house opened again and a stooped figure in a flowing himation stepped out. There was no mistaking Hilarion. He stood in the doorway for a moment, waved goodbye to someone inside and closed the door with a loud bang. He certainly wasn’t trying to creep out unnoticed.
‘Come on, Nico,’ hissed Thrax. He picked up the lekanis and we followed Hilarion as he sauntered down the street. A group of children who’d been playing hide-and-seek came out of their hiding places and crowded round him.
‘Got any honey cakes today, old man?’
Hilarion grinned and pulled a small package from inside his himation. The children watched in silence while he peeled back the cloth to reveal a handful of cakes.
‘Me first! Me first!’ They burst into a chorus of chatter as Hilarion handed out the cakes. ‘Say thank you to the nice lady for us, sir. A very big thank you. She’s very kind.’
Hilarion laughed. ‘Don’t stay out too late now. You all have to get up early for work tomorrow.’
He tucked the empty cloth back inside his himation and walked on. Thrax and I followed him out of the Kerameikos and to the agora where the stalls in the southern stoa were still doing a brisk business. Here the old slave stopped at a stall that sold cheap perfume, where he handed the stallholder an alabastron.
‘The usual, Hilarion?’ she asked, obviously pleased to see him.
Hilarion rummaged in his bag for a purse as the woman filled the alabastron from a jug. No more holding coins in the mouth for
him, I thought, and after his frightening experience, who could blame him? Now the old slave led us past the Mint House and out on to a narrow street tucked under the walls of the Acropolis. The houses here looked old and weather-beaten. Many of them had piles of rubbish outside the front door and there was a stench of cheap wine and stale pee in the air. The noise of people roaring, laughing or fighting was deafening. A group of sailors and young women in brightly coloured garlands were dancing along the street in a long, wavy line, clinging on to each other’s waists.
‘What is this place?’ asked Thrax.
‘It’s where poor people come for their fun and games,’ I answered. ‘Although you might spot the occasional wealthy man or famous person if you look. I hear Socrates is known to frequent the establishments on this street. He says he comes to learn all about life from the common man, but I think it’s for the cheap wine.’
Hilarion stopped outside a door and rapped on it with his knuckles. It opened and he was let in.
‘Should we wait for him to come out?’ I asked Thrax.
‘We didn’t follow him all the way here to stand outside in the cold,’ replied Thrax. ‘We’re going in too. Follow me, Nico, and don’t say a word. Just smile shyly at people and nod. But don’t look them in the eye. We don’t want anyone finding out we’re not really girls.’
We marched up to the door and Thrax knocked on it loudly. It opened again, revealing a man with a very shiny bald head. He glared at us.
‘No children allowed in here,’ he barked. ‘Go home to bed, girls.’
The poor man seemed to have only one tooth in his mouth and his lips were swollen, as if someone had recently punched him in the mouth.
‘We’re desperate for some loose change, sir,’ pleaded Thrax, trying to soften his voice.
The man continued to glare. ‘You heard me. No children allowed. By order of the management. If you need food or money, go three doors down. It’s a charity house. There are some lovely priestesses there who will give you a nice bit of bread and cheese and a bed for the night.’
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