‘He’s been attacked,’ I said unemotionally.
The man laughed without any hint of sympathy. ‘Picked the wrong whore, did he? One with a partner waiting to take his purse while she was bent over and taking his prick? Serves him right.’
I didn’t dignify that with a reply as I looked around the small room. The householder’s theory wasn’t worth considering. No prostitute or pimp would have left Daimachos’ body with those rings still on his fingers.
The man hovered in the doorway as we surveyed the room. There was a bed with a blanket neatly smoothed and tucked, and a stool which I guessed belonged to the house. Thankfully the chamberpot had been emptied and rinsed so there was no stink from that. Two tunics were folded on the stool, and a basket beside it held a collection of scrolls and personal oddments. I saw a comb, a pen box and some lidded pots secured with knotted twine. Those must be the dead man’s possessions, along with a travelling cloak hung on a peg.
I took that down and draped it over my arm. ‘We’ll take his property to the Polemarch.’ I wasn’t asking permission.
The householder scowled. ‘How do I know—?’
‘Or we can come back at first light tomorrow with a couple of Scythians.’ I held his gaze until he looked away.
I spread the cloak on the bed and made a neat bundle of Daimachos’ things. As Hyanthidas stepped forward to take it, the householder tried again.
‘He owes me money, you know.’
‘Take it up with the Leuktra Visitor’s Advocate.’ I nodded at Hyanthidas, who picked up the bundle.
We left the room, and this time, the householder stepped back to let us pass. I handed him the lamp as we headed for the gate. The gathering in the courtyard fell silent, watching us as the scrawny slave hurried to let us out.
‘If no one pays me, I’ll rent that room to somebody else,’ the man called after us.
I didn’t bother answering. We walked to the end of the street before I spoke to Hyanthidas. ‘Thanks for following my lead in there.’
‘I didn’t think we needed questions about why a Corinthian might be working for the Polemarch.’ His faint amusement faded away. ‘I didn’t see any sign that anyone there knows what’s happened to Daimachos.’
‘Me neither,’ I agreed. ‘I’m starting to think we will never find out.’
I only hoped Athena, Zeus and the Furies were watching. I wanted them to see that I had done what I could for the dead man’s sake. Daimachos might have been an unpleasant loudmouth, but that wasn’t the point. We have a duty to the unjustly dead, however obnoxious they may have been.
Hyanthidas sighed as he hefted the cloak-wrapped bundle onto his other shoulder. ‘This doesn’t seem much to show for a life.’
‘He may have some property and family in Leuktra.’
‘Do you think we’ll find something to tell us in this lot?’
‘I think if we’d left his stuff there, everything in that room would have been gone before morning,’ I said frankly. ‘There might be some keepsake that his family want back.’
Hyanthidas grunted. ‘I wonder if they’ll be sorry or sad to learn he’s not coming home.’
I shrugged. ‘Some men show very different faces to their loved ones. My brother Nymenios is ruthless when it comes to business, but he can be as giddy as a pup chasing its tail when he’s playing with his children.’
Hyanthidas shifted the bundle to settle it more comfortably. ‘Where are we taking this? To the Scythians at the city jail?’
I thought about that as we walked on. ‘Let’s go and see Aristarchos and tell him what we’ve found out. He can decide whether to pass those things on to the Leuktra Visitor’s Advocate or to the festival commissioners, when he sends them word in the morning.’
Either way, the matter would be out of my hands. I walked more quickly. ‘We’ll do that and then head home. Kadous will be cooking dinner by now. Will you stay the night when we’ve eaten? You’re very welcome.’
‘If Telesilla wants to,’ he said amiably. ‘We should make a quick stop to tell Arion though.’
‘Of course.’
We went on through the busy city. Even the street where our one-time patron lived was loud with voices and laughter rising behind the tall walls as we passed the large and luxurious houses. I knocked at Aristarchos’ gate. The slave guarding the entrance slid the wooden panel back from the grille that lets him see who’s outside. Mus is always cautious, even though he’s tall and broad enough to make Hyanthidas look stunted and underfed.
He looked surprised to see me. ‘Ambrakis found you so soon?’
Now I was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
Before the barbarian could answer me, as he opened the gate to let us in, another figure appeared. I couldn’t make out who that was. All I saw was a dark shadow against the lamplight in the outer of the spacious house’s two courtyards. Then he stepped into the light of the lamp by the gate.
‘Kallinos?’
He didn’t waste time with questions. ‘Another epic poet has been killed.’
I stared at the Scythian, appalled. ‘Who? When? How?’ The questions were out before I remembered my part in this business was over.
Kallinos answered before it could occur to him that I had no authority to ask. ‘Hermaios Metrobiou of Keiriadai. He was found just after dusk, not far from the agora. He hadn’t been there long. The body was still warm and limp.’
‘You could put a name to him so quickly?’ I was surprised.
‘He still had his face and I knew who he was. I’ve seen him perform before now.’ Kallinos’ answer was coloured with a hint of justified rebuke.
I nodded to accept that rap on my knuckles. Slaves are entitled to enjoy the epics as much as anyone else.
‘There’s no possibility this could be a robbery?’ I was ready to seize the flimsiest hope. I wanted to be done with
