Regardless, I remembered what Aristarchos had said. Any number of poets would be eager to step into these dead men’s shoes. Could one of them have decided to take matters into his own hands and create a vacancy?
‘Was anyone in particular jealous that he’d been invited to perform at the Great Panathenaia?’
‘Not that I heard. As far as I’m aware, everyone agreed he deserved the honour. He was very well liked.’ Apollonides gazed across the courtyard, his eyes distant as he chewed.
If Hermaios hadn’t been a man to make enemies, surely that made it less likely that these killings stemmed from separate grudges. But what could drive a man to kill two poets so brutally, and on the same day? I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Everything I learned made this labyrinth more convoluted.
‘Will you come with me to pay our respects to Hermaios’ family? To see if we can learn anything that might help find his killer?’ I felt like a carrion crow hovering over the dead man, but I hadn’t forgotten the errand that had brought me here.
‘Now, you mean?’ Apollonides looked at me dubiously. ‘They’ll be laying out the body today.’
‘Better today than tomorrow, while the family’s receiving everyone who wants to say their farewells.’ I couldn’t see how I could start asking questions then without causing even more offence. The funeral the day after would be even less appropriate. ‘If we’re going to see justice done, we can’t let this trail go cold. Remember Corinth?’
Apollonides had been with us as we struggled to solve a murder there. He heaved a sigh and got to his feet. ‘Yes, of course. Let’s go.’
We headed for the Piraeus Gate. Keiriadai lay outside the city walls, but it wasn’t too far to Hermaios’ home. That was a relief after all the walking I’d done yesterday. At least my detour to recruit Apollonides meant the household was already busy when we arrived. As we approached the open gate, a grim-faced elder was overseeing the delivery of a substantial quantity of wine. That had doubtless been ordered for the festival. Now it would be poured out for a funeral.
My stomach hollowed. If Apollonides hadn’t been with me, I’d have turned tail. I had no place here. This grief-filled day was very far from the festival eve this family had been expecting to share with friends and relatives. This Great Panathenaia would mean nothing to them now, and every city festival that followed would be soured by the annual reminder of their bereavement. Not a loss from old age or disease, which are inescapable facts of life, but an inexplicable, brutal death at the hand of a violent man.
I drew a deep, steadying breath, and addressed the man politely. It was impossible to tell from his dress if he was slave or citizen and, in any case, the whole household was mourning, so that warranted every courtesy.
‘Good day to you. May we speak to…’ Horribly embarrassed, I looked at Apollonides. I should have asked who was head of this household before we got here.
‘Timon Metrobiou. We won’t take up much of his time,’ Apollonides said quickly.
The elder summoned an underling with a snap of his fingers, and waved us through the gate. From his expression I guessed his grief was too raw for speech.
We followed the slave towards the porch in front of the house. Here outside the city walls, the house and the courtyard were more spacious. That was a good thing as there was already quite a gathering. Men whom I guessed were neighbours carried baskets of gifts of food for the mourners who would soon gather. Their wives and daughters wore shawls hiding their hair as they clustered around the door to the room where I guessed the household’s women would lay out the dead man’s body. Perhaps the corpse was already there. I didn’t know and I wasn’t going to ask. I didn’t need to see another brutally murdered poet.
There was no indication that this was a workshop as well as a residence, so I couldn’t tell what the family business might be. Could that possibly be relevant? I had no idea, though I was starting to realise I couldn’t let every stray thought distract me. I’d end up like Tychos, the floppy-eared hunting dog Apollonides had played in The Hounds. Making full use of the stage crane, the scenery and his own acrobatic talent, he had gone haring after every cat that crossed his path. He ended up catching none of them. I had to concentrate on one thing at a time.
The young slave plucked at the elbow of a man in his prime who was deep in conversation with two sorrowing friends. After a brief exchange, he headed towards us.
‘That’s Timon, Hermaios’ brother,’ Apollonides said in an undertone.
The man’s expression was strained. ‘How may I help you?’
I was glad I’d taken Zosime’s advice not to come here alone. Me and Apollonides together had the air of an embassy. While we’d been waiting, I’d decided that’s what we were. I’d also remembered what Zosime had said about Aristarchos having no real tie to the dead man.
‘Good day to you. We are here on behalf of Melesias Philaid. He is distressed beyond words by news of your brother’s death.’ All that was true, more or less.
‘Thank you. Please – please return my thanks, and my compliments.’
As the man struggled for words, I could see that the sorrow of a well-born man he’d most likely never met meant little or nothing to him in his bereavement.
‘My deepest sympathies for your loss,’ I said sincerely. ‘Please, we don’t want to detain you, when you have so much to arrange.’
‘Indeed. Well, good day to you.’ Timon nodded and returned to his friends. He wasn’t being rude:
