Murder At The Panionic Games

by Michael B. Edwards

CHAPTER XVIII

  I came to the hasty conclusion that a few hours in the public baths would serve me better than watching the remaining events of the morning. I still planned to see Usthius either before or after the horse racing this afternoon, but decided that my father could handle the various demands of my sisters during the long jump and the long race. My own initial desire to see the long race had evaporated with my present need to soothe my battered body in the hot water of the baths.

  Having emerged unscathed at our meeting with the brothers from Hades, Duryattes was dispatched to the hippodrome to try and arrange a meeting between the noble Usthius and myself through the medium of that worthy's personal servant. Duryattes assured me that he was a great comrade of this particular slave, and so would have no trouble in setting up such a rendezvous. Whistling a rousing tune from one of the recent popular comedies of the city, my cheerful companion sauntered away down the cobbled street, sure to waken the curiosity of Aeolus with his tone-deaf caterwauling.

  As for me, I headed off in the opposite direction for the public baths, wincing and grumbling as I went. My head still ached from the bouncing it had received, but after carefully taking stock of the rest of my body, I came to the dubious conclusion that I was pretty fortunate to have gotten away with only the slight injuries that I suffered. I reflected that I owed Nolarion a favor for rescuing me just in time to prevent some serious damage, but then smiled to myself that the magistrate was right, when he said that it was Duryattes of the fleet feet to whom I owed the real debt.

  Even with the events continuing in the stadium, the streets were still bustling with sellers, buyers, theater goers, musicians, street entertainers, and the like, all smiling, jabbering, pushing, and generally having a marvelous time. It took me some little while to maneuver my way to the entrance of the baths building, though it was only two blocks down the stadium lane.

  Priene has quite an impressive public baths, you know, although obviously nothing probably like the monstrous edifices in Miletus or Athens. Our city's contribution to the art of bathing was fronted with two rows of tall, white pillars that stretched across the front of the building for about fifteen strides, and led through the portico to a large room around which many couches and chairs were scattered. This room served the purpose of a large andron where one could drink, snack, and chat about the events of the day without having to go into the baths proper. It was nearly empty at the moment with most of its normal inhabitants at the stadium, but two old men, accompanied by youthful male admirers, were chattering away happily in the far corner and waved to me, as I exited the andron into the changing room.

  I doffed my cloak and somber black tunic, hung them on a peg to be brushed and dusted by one of the facility's employee slaves, received a linen towel from the same individual, and padded off through the right hand exit of the room to the hot room.

  The hot room was aptly named for two reasons. First, it had a huge native stone hearth against one wall, where a fire was kept blazing during all hours that the baths were open. Even in the winter this kept the room pleasantly warm, but in the late spring, summer, or early autumn, the place was like the realm of Hades, the underworld. Beads of sweat immediately popped out all over my body, as I entered the room through the door covered by a thick curtain to retain the heat and moisture.

  Secondly, the room's title also reflected the fact that it had a small rock pool in the center that was constantly replenished by a thin stream of hot, running water. This was ingeniously accomplished by continuous heating of water in large kettles just on the other side of the hot room's outer wall. Several of the bath's employees were tasked to conduct this task alone, feeding the fires constantly to maintain a low flame under the kettles. The water flowed out of the kettles through a spout in the wall and down a tiled tunnel to the pool, and exited in the same manner through a tunnel on the other side. One could simply sit in the hot pool, which was the length and breadth of two tall men and relax in the soothing swirl of water. Which I promptly did, there being no other occupants of the room. I must tell you, however, that I believe the fire-tending slaves were taking advantage of the lack of occupants, because the water was not nearly as hot as it should have been.

  At any rate I was able to soak for some time in the tepid liquid, considering my situation and wondering how to proceed with Usthius when I found him. The idea of speaking to him as the family's representative concerning Risalla's future appealed to me, and I determined that was the approach least likely to end in another physical contest for which I was now woefully unprepared. Not to say that I could not have taken Usthius if I wished, you understand. After all, he was just departing his youth, and I could hold my own pretty well, as long as my contestant was not a present day reconstruction of Hercules or Atlas, such as I had met this morning.

  Arising from the tiled pool with a sigh, I sat on one of the marble benches in the hot room and dipped into a large jug of warm olive oil, rubbing it into my skin and muscles with a heavy hand. Again, I considered ruefully that this was no time to visit the baths, and that if I were here in the evening after the athletic events of the day, there would be a half-dozen slaves about who were well-trained in kneading the oil into tired arms and legs. Ah, well.

  Scraping off the oil with a bronze strigel, I left the hot room through another exit and entered the cold room. It also had a hearth on one wall, not so large as the monster in the hot room, but at this time of year the fire was not even lit. The room was pleasantly cool due to the large amount of marble covering the floors and walls, and because of the tiled pool of cold water in the center of the room. When I say this water was cold, I mean it was like the water beneath the covering of ice in a pond on a winter's day. The cold room's pool was fed directly by an underground spring, and so was constantly replenished by a steady stream of icy liquid.

  The pool was occupied by a cheerful oldster, who was splashing himself gleefully with the nearly frozen water. He grinned at me as dubiously I eyed the pool, but I internally girded my loins, edged up to the rim, and then stepped off with eyes closed into the depths. Actually, it was not very deep, only about half a man's length, but the shock to the system was enough to make it feel like you had jumped into the sea in mid-winter. I shouted involuntarily as my head broke water, and leaped out immediately, spluttering and cursing. This was apparently the cause of much hilarity to the elderly gentleman, who howled uproariously, as he stood splashing in the corner of the pool. Clambering to my feet at the pool's edge, I grinned at him in return, and we both enjoyed a moment of shared laughter.

  Feeling much refreshed, I left the old man chuckling contentedly in the pool, and made my way to the final door, which exited back into the changing room. Donning my garments, which I noted were not dusted and brushed very well, I walked back through the andron, waved cheerfully at the two elders still arguing in the corner, and headed toward the hippodrome to find my loyal Duryattes and the mysterious Usthius.

  As I wended my way toward the hippodrome, I considered my conversation with the gorgeous Bilassa. All my reasoning as to why she may have wanted to murder either Tyrestes or Habiliates simply flew out the window like a bird accidentally caught in one's house and then blundering its way to freedom. From the way she had talked and the invitation she had flung after me as I fled, my estimate of her morals put her somewhere near a pig that I noted nosing about in the street gutter. Even though she was the daughter of a rich aristocrat and an innocent dupe according to her not-so-bright brothers, she behaved as if she were an experienced heteroi, selling her favors to the highest bidder. What possible reason could she have for killing either of the two athletes? My entire basis of suspicion about her was founded on the surmise that she may have been grievously insulted by a lover's indiscretions or change of heart. If I correctly interpreted her remarks to me, that was about as likely as Pan being insulted because he was accused of seducing too many nymphs! And besides, to accomplish killings a
s complicated as those of Tyrestes' poisoning or Habiliates' chariot accident required some thought and planning. I think Bilassa was about as capable of that as I was of taking over Helios' job of driving the chariot of the sun!

  No, I considered morosely, I think I can eliminate Bilassa as an active member of any plot to destroy the athletes. Of course, there was the possibility that Usthius could have accomplished the deeds without her knowledge because of his desire. Farfetched, you say? Maybe so, but you were not the one on his way to chat with another possible murderer.

  The crowd was beginning to thicken now on the street leading to the hippodrome on the outskirts of the city. By listening to snatches of conversation I was able to deduce that with Habiliates missing, a long-legged boy from Samos had come from behind to win the long race, and Krelonan was held high in the initial standings of the pancration fighting event. No surprise there. Endemion had scored well in the long jump and would be participating in the finals of that event tomorrow. I reflected that he would have to dig deep within himself to win most or all of the events in which he was a finalist tomorrow, and then still remain viable for the pentathlon on the next and final day. But, of course, that is what champions are made of, I suppose. And, after all, his father had accomplished the same tasks twenty years before. Like father, like son? Or were the son's chances being improved by a judicious killing here and there?

  As I drew near the hippodrome Duryattes came skipping over to my side from

  behind a rock outcropping.

  ”Thank the gods you got here in time, young master,” he panted, dancing back and forth. “The noble Usthius has been informed that you are here to speak to him about your sister and will meet with you before the race!”

  ”It looks as if we have an hour or so.” I squinted at what I figured was the sun's position in the overcast sky. “Come, let us find something to eat, and then I will meet with our next suspect.” Duryattes' eyes shone brightly at being included in my machinations, and together we purchased and munched on some olives, grapes, and maza bread, washed down with cold spring water.

  We found Usthius in one of the horse corrals on the far side of the hippodrome, where he and his servant were currying and grooming a magnificent black stallion. They were tying strings of ribbons in the animal's braided mane and tail, and polishing his hooves with black dye and olive oil. Our target was dressed in his black tunic, much like mine, but I again observed that his hair had not been sheared nearly as short as mine. My overzealous mother or his statement of his true feelings toward his dead brother? He eyed me warily, when he saw us approaching.

  ”Greetings, Usthius,” I spoke loudly as we came up to him. “I thank you for agreeing to speak with me before the race. I do not see Euphemius about. Surely he is the owner of this marvelous beast?”

  ”Euphemius is making wagers at the track. We are to join him there with the horse shortly. I understand that you wish to speak to me about your sister, Risalla?” I looked at him curiously as he spoke. He was about my height, but slim in a boyish fashion with a petulant, feminine face and long delicate hands. He had pale, almost washed out eyes, and his lips were too full for his thin face. He was not tanned and overtly muscular like his brother Tyrestes had been, but gave the impression of tension coiled within, like a whip before it is snapped over the heads of a racing chariot team.

  ”That is true,” I confirmed, leaning casually against a corral post. He muttered a few words to his groom about continuing the horse's preparations and motioned for me to follow him to a small rock outcropping outside the corral. Duryattes glanced at me as I walked after Usthius, and then engaged the groom in low conversation.

  ”Are you here officially at the behest of your father?” he asked hesitantly. I thought I detected a hint of nervousness in his manner. All to the good.

  ”No, no, nothing like that,” I asserted confidentially from the corner of my mouth. “Let us say that I am here to look after the best interests of Risalla before my father learns about your dalliances with her.” I had hardened my voice as I spoke this last sentence, and fairly spat out the last four words.

  ”Dalliances?” he sputtered, taken aback. I saw the alarm flare in his pale eyes.

  “Surely you speak too harshly, noble Bias. I have not dallied with your sister. Why, look at me! I am much too young to wed.”

  ”Perhaps we are not speaking of wedding,” I grated, stepping toward him in a threatening manner. “Risalla has told me that you have spoken to her several times in the past months, and your language bordered very much on the improper the last time at the opening religious ceremony of the games. What do you have to say to that, eh?”

  Usthius visibly recoiled away from me, stepping backwards and thereby placing a small boulder between himself and me. I barred my teeth wolfishly, and continued.

  ”What have you done with my sister, you cur, and what are your intentions?” I snarled, grabbing at the front of his tunic. He stumbled back again, tripped over a projecting root, and sat down in the dust with a thump.

  ”I have done nothing improper, Bias!” He scrambled to his feet, fear widening those strange eyes. “You must believe me! We have spoken a few times, but that is all. I know that I should have asked you or your father's permission to speak to her, but it was done innocently in the agora. I have done nothing else, nor do I intend to!”

  ”That is not what Risalla claims,” I countered, circling around the rocks to close the distance between us. He did the same in the opposite direction, so that, to an onlooker, we must have looked like two boxers circling in a ring.

  ”Let me explain,” he pleaded, holding his hands up in front of him as if to ward me off. We stopped circling and stared at each other over the boulder between us.

  It was rather ironic, really, me pretending to play the same role as the giant brothers of Bilassa had done several hours before. I almost chuckled, but caught myself in time and growled at him instead.

  ”Well, explain then!” I demanded and added a curse for effect.

  ”We only talked about possibilities of the future,” he said with a rush. “Why, I was not even the head of my household then. How could I have proposed anything to Risalla?”

  I allowed a crafty look to sneak into my eyes, and then answered in a harsh whisper.

  ”Perhaps even then you had plans to be the head of your family, eh, Usthius? It is well known that you and Tyrestes were not close and disagreed about many things. How much easier for you to seduce innocent girls like my sister with the promise of an estate behind your lying tongue.” The incongruous picture of an innocent looking Risalla in my mind almost made me lose my mental composure, but I pushed the intruding vision aside and growled ferociously again.

  ”Had plans to be the head of my family?” Usthius repeated back to me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  ”I mean that you could easily try to sway Risalla into your bed by promises of her becoming the mistress of your estate! Just as you could persuade Bilassa, eh, you dog?”

  His head snapped back as if I had struck him a blow. He glanced wildly to the right and left as if to contemplate flight, and I thought for a moment that he might actually run. But he surprised me completely with his next words.

  ”Are you completely mad, Bias?” he demanded, staring at me and clinching his fists. “Are you accusing me of murdering my brother to obtain my estate?” He lifted his eyes to the heavens and snickered in disdain. I must admit I was taken aback by his reaction.

  ”What in the name of Poseidon are you laughing at?” I shouted. “You are the mad one here, not I!”

  His reaction subsided as quickly as it had erupted, and his eyes were wide and angry, as he snarled at me.

  ”You fool! You amateur! Do you have any idea of the state of my land? I am virtually without a stater! Why do you think I am riding for Euphemius in this horse race? Why do you think I rode in that insane chariot race yesterday?”


  ”Why, to gain the glory of the victory in the place of your brother,” I blurted out. “It is well known that you envied him his athletic prowess!”

  ”I did what?” he asked in an amazed tone. “I envied him his athletic prowess?

  You are mad! I am riding in these races because Euphemius is paying me, you idiot. I would not take part in these dangerous races otherwise!"

  I was absolutely dumbfounded. I had never heard of such a thing in my entire life. Paying him! Paying him to ride in the great games!

  ”Euphemius knew I was the only one other than Tyrestes who could halfway handle his crazy horses,” Usthius went on. “I refused to have anything to do with the races, until he offered me a tidy sum of money to participate. He wants to win a race badly, and I am his only chance, though not much of a chance, I admit. But I must have that money. My brother left the estate with virtually nothing except the land and a broken-down house. I have no flocks, no horses, no grapes, nothing!”

  He paused for breath, and then rushed on.

  And as for Bilassa, the other part of your wild accusation, she has the morals of a slut of the streets. She approached me yesterday as a substitute for Tyrestes, and when I told her that her actions were not proper, she laughed at me and called me a sexless dolt. She even made a grab under my tunic, if you believe it, and jeered at me when I shied away! She has even less morals than Risalla!”

  He obviously let that last sentence slip out unintentionally, for as soon as the words left his mouth, he clamped his teeth shut with an audible click and whirled to try and escape. Of course, I could not let him get away with this type of accusation, be it true or not. I caught the neck of his tunic with my outstretched hand even as he turned, and clubbed him on his ear with a clenched fist.

  He howled as if the Nemean Lion were on him, and struck out wildly with both fists, pummeling me randomly about the head and shoulders. I hung onto him mercilessly despite the blows and struck him hard several times, until at last he collapsed in the dirt, sobbing and wiping a bloody nose.

  ”I have done nothing,” he wept bitterly, as I stood over him with my fists still bunched. “I want nothing to do with Risalla or Bilassa. Gods above, I am only 18 and have nothing to offer anybody. I must accept money for riding in these races just to try and pay off my brother's creditors. Let me alone, for Poseidon's sake!” He sat there in the dust, big tears welling out of his eyes and mingling with the blood and mucus running out of his nose.

  What a contemptible character, I thought. Not even Risalla or the sluttish but beautiful Bilassa would want to have anything to do with him. I felt ashamed that I had laid hands on him, even though I had little choice under the circumstances.

  ”Listen, you cur,” I hissed, standing over him like a boxer in the games staring at a downed opponent. “Do not ever speak to my sister again, do you hear? You are a piece of sheep dung who is not fit to hold his brother's cast-off sandals, much less own his estate.”

  It only occurred to me some moments later, as I walked away with Duryattes prancing wide-eyed at my side, that I had indeed treated him exactly as the brothers of Bilassa had treated me. Ah, well, one acts very differently when the sandal is on the other foot, eh? Still, I longed to be finished with the whole sordid business.

  Edwards—Murder At The Panionic Games