Antiphon nodded. ‘Did anyone else ever see his Diomedes’ assault on the gods?’
The answering murmurs were fervent with admiration.
Someone spoke up from the end of the table. ‘He wasn’t only a master of the dramas. I saw him give the appeals to Achilles in Delos last year. He could drop his voice to a murmur and have everyone straining to hear.’
That recollection prompted sorrowful grimaces on several faces. Now the dead man was truly mourned. As silence fell around the table a second time, I realised every poet was looking at me, grimly expectant.
I did my best to look confident and composed. ‘Melesias Philaid will send word tomorrow morning, once we are certain that this unfortunate is indeed Daimachos. Good evening to you.’
I had no idea what was going to happen to address the poets’ concerns about the performance, but that was the festival commissioner’s problem, not mine. Hyanthidas was already on his feet, and we walked briskly away before anyone could ask any awkward questions.
Outside, we paused briefly in the mouth of an alley, out of the way of passers-by.
‘Where to?’ Hyanthidas glanced back at the tavern, on watch for anyone following us.
‘Did you see anything suspicious?’ We’d agreed our tactics before we went in there. I would do the talking while Hyanthidas watched the poets, in case any man’s expression betrayed him.
‘No.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I honestly don’t think any of them did it. This isn’t only a competition for them. The performance is an offering to Athena. I can’t see any poet profaning that. Can you?’
‘No.’ I agreed, and not only because of that. I spend a lot of my time around actors. If any of those poets had been feigning their shock as they realised what Daimachos’ death meant for the festival, they were devoting themselves to the wrong art. It wasn’t even as if they’d had masks to hide behind.
‘He certainly wasn’t popular, as a man I mean, even if he was such a skilled performer.’ Hyanthidas shook his head. ‘I’ll never understand why bastards like that are given so much leeway just because of their talent.’
‘Me neither.’ Though I’d seen something of the same attitude in theatre circles. ‘But I reckon that’s where our answer lies.’
‘How do you mean?’
I gestured at the tavern. ‘There were any number of Athenians in there last night, drunk enough to be full of fight, and more than ready to take offence when Daimachos insulted our city. They wouldn’t know or care that he was blessed by the muses when he performed. I reckon one of them followed him after he was thrown out. They may have just intended to have words with him, but you saw what he was like. He said something else, something worse, and whoever was challenging him lost their temper. They decided to shut him up once and for all.’
Hyanthidas nodded slowly. ‘And now they’ve sobered up, no one will ever know what they did, as long as they keep their mouth shut.’
‘They may even be telling themselves they were defending Athena’s honour.’ That was a question I would leave to the goddess. We had one last task before we could put this sorry business behind us. ‘We should still make sure Daimachos isn’t sleeping off too many jugs of wine though, before we tell Aristarchos. If we can’t find the Boeotian, he can notify the Polemarch tomorrow.’ The magistrate would know which wealthy Athenian served as the Visitor’s Advocate for the town of Leuktra.
‘Where’s he supposed to be lodging?’ Hyanthidas looked back at the tavern door and the basket of torches on offer. ‘Shall I get a light so you can see your list?’
‘No need.’ I’d committed the details to memory when I had enough lamplight to read inside. ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’
Chapter Five
My feet were getting tired by the time we reached the street we were seeking below the Hill of the Muses. Thankfully, there was a lamp at the gate of the house where Daimachos had been renting a room. I heard lively conversation in the courtyard, and when we knocked, a scrawny slave opened up promptly.
‘Oh.’ He was surprised to see us.
Looking over his head, I could see men gathered around a table looking at us with owlish curiosity. They were well supplied with jugs of wine, and I guessed they’d started drinking early.
‘Is Daimachos of Leuktra here?’ I asked the slave.
He looked at me blankly, then shook his head.
‘Has he been here at all today?’
The boy answered with another head shake.
‘When did you last see him?’
The slave stared at me for a long moment, clearly uncertain what to say. Exasperated, I looked past him and raised my voice.
‘Who is the householder here?’
‘I am.’ A burly man rose from his stool. If he’d been drinking as long as the rest, he showed no signs of being the worse for it. ‘What’s your business with me?’
Since he didn’t introduce himself, I saw no reason to give him my name. ‘We’re here on the festival commissioners’ behalf. Have you seen Daimachos of Leuktra today?’
‘No. He never came back last night, but that’s no business of mine.’
The man looked wary. I guessed he had some reason to avoid dealings with the city’s officials.
I squared my shoulders and summoned the authority of my friend Menekles playing Agamemnon on stage. ‘Show us his room.’
The man hesitated.
‘Now,’ I ordered sternly.
The man capitulated, which was a relief as I had absolutely no idea what to do if he refused.
The householder took a lamp from the table and led us to a small chamber tucked away at the back. He threw the door open with a grunt. ‘See for yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ I took the lamp from him. ‘Don’t let us keep you from your friends.’
Hyanthidas followed me and stopped oppressively close to the man. The Corinthian’s height would make most people step back,
