Zosime passed them back to me. ‘Nor can I.’
Since Telesilla echoed them both, I didn’t imagine I’d see anything they had missed. All three were more widely travelled than me. I raised a hand to summon Kadous, who was sitting on a stool mending the fraying rope handle on a bucket. ‘Find me a thong to thread these on, please.’
As he took the rings off me, I unrolled the scroll and pursed my lips. There were a lot of names. ‘I reckon we could start by visiting that tavern we went to last night, to see how many of these poets are drinking there again today.’
Hyanthidas looked at me, dubious. ‘Don’t you think the owner will have barred them after throwing them out?’
‘There wasn’t any real trouble.’ I shrugged. ‘If they’re not there, we can ask him where’s the closest place they’re likely to be drinking. I’d rather tick five or ten names off this list with one visit than spend the evening going from door to door just to be told the man we want isn’t in. We could be walking the streets till midnight.’
Hyanthidas stood up. ‘Fair enough. We have to start somewhere.’
‘Don’t you two start drinking with them.’
Zosime’s tone was light, but I could tell she was serious. I bent to kiss her cheek.
‘We won’t. I want to be done with this as soon as I can, so we can enjoy the festival.’
Hyanthidas kissed Telesilla. ‘You’ll be all right here until I get back? Or do you want me to stop by our lodgings, and send Arion to escort you back to the city?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She waved him away. ‘I’m sure we can find plenty to talk about.’
‘No question,’ Zosime said with a glint in her eye.
I grinned at Hyanthidas. ‘We had better get back as soon as we can.’
Kadous handed me the dead man’s rings knotted on a leather thong, and went to open the gate. I slipped the thong over my head and tucked the rings under my tunic. I tucked the papyrus list through my belt rather than carry it in a sweaty hand and risk the ink smudging or the layers flaking apart. I didn’t bother with a cloak.
The lane outside was quiet. The heat of the day had passed, but local people hadn’t started venturing out. There were still travellers trudging along the main road though.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ I said to Hyanthidas.
I wasn’t only relieved to have his height and broad shoulders backing me, in case we stumbled on this killer. As a Corinthian, Hyanthidas’ word didn’t carry the weight of an Athenian’s under our laws, but he was safe from dangers that would threaten Kadous. If someone disputed my testimony about some event when the Phrygian was at my side? A slave’s evidence is tested under torture.
‘I owe a debt to you as well as to Aristarchos.’ Hyanthidas waved away my protest that he owed me nothing. ‘Besides, I want to make sure that no one muddies these waters by trying to throw suspicion on that Corinthian the Scythians were so eager to find this morning.’ He grinned, but that wasn’t really a joke. It’s always too easy to blame the stranger.
I smiled back all the same. ‘That reminds me. I must find time to call on my brothers, and reassure them I’m not in trouble. Hermes only knows what gossip’s reached them by now.’
Hyanthidas laughed, and we walked on towards the city. By the time we passed through the gate, locals and visitors alike were out and about, looking for entertainment and refreshment. It was still hot, the air was sultry, and we had worked up enough of a thirst to make me glad we were heading for a tavern.
We arrived earlier than we had done yesterday. There were still seats to be had inside and out. All the same, I reckoned the owner and his slaves would be having a busy night, judging by the bustle on the streets.
There was a clot of red cloaks sitting around one long table. The greybeard who’d attracted everyone’s attention with his eloquence before taking a piss wasn’t there, but I recognised the barrel-chested Ionian as well as the Athenian who’d tried to be more reasonable than his half-drunk companion. They were sharing a jug of wine, and the gathering looked friendly enough.
I caught a passing slave’s elbow. ‘A quart jug of the black, with five measures of water to two of wine, please, and two cups.’
He nodded. ‘Where are you sitting?’
I gestured at the poets. ‘We’ll be joining them.’
The slave might be a pale-eyed barbarian, but he was no fool. He looked at us warily, and I realised he remembered us from the night before.
‘We don’t want any trouble,’ he warned.
‘Nor do we,’ I assured him.
He soon came back with the wine. Hyanthidas took it as I paid the slave and we made our way to the table. The Athenian looked up, mildly surprised, but his face was amiable enough.
‘Good evening.’ There was a hint of a question in his words.
We’d debated how best to approach them as we’d walked up to the city. We’d devised different schemes, depending on what we found.
Hyanthidas stepped forward and offered the wine jug. ‘May we join you to offer a libation to Athena, and to Apollo?’
‘By all means.’ The Athenian wasn’t going to turn down a free drink, and by the looks of it, nor were the others. From their cheerful unconcern, it was also obvious none of them had any idea that one of their number was dead.
Hyanthidas filled their cups, and introduced himself as the lamplight struck red glints from the dark wine. A couple of the group dragged unoccupied stools over from nearby tables. That was enough of an invitation for us to sit down.
The barrel-chested Ionian addressed Hyanthidas. He had clearly noted my friend’s accent. ‘You’re here for the Great Panathenaia? With some particular interest in seeking Apollo’s favour, or merely honouring your city’s patron?’
The
