‘How?’ The youth’s eyes filled with fresh tears, but his voice was steady.
I cleared my throat. ‘First and foremost, we need to learn if Hermaios had any enemies. We never sought to intrude, but the longer we delay, the more time his killer will have to escape justice.’
‘Will you tell us what you know, so we need not disturb the others who are grieving?’ Apollonides asked.
‘I see. Yes.’ Ikesios sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. ‘There is a decent tavern this way.’
We began walking. I tried to find a way to start a conversation that wouldn’t seem unforgivably insensitive. After we’d gone a short distance, Ikesios saved me the trouble.
‘What happened? Where was he killed? When did he die?’
I would leave the brutal answer to that first question for as long as I could. ‘He was found at dusk on the hillside beneath the Temple of Hephaistos. When did you last see him?’
Ikesios answered readily enough. ‘We had lunch in a tavern in Melite. There were a handful of us there.’
I could see it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be suspected of having any hand in the killing. ‘A gathering of poets competing in the festival?’
He shook his head. ‘Only Hermaios has – had – that honour.’ His voice roughened with emotion. ‘The others were musicians, though none are competing this year.’
‘Was there any trouble? Any harsh words?’
‘Nothing.’ Ikesios was adamant. ‘We were looking forward to the festival, and to seeing Hermaios triumph. We went our separate ways when we left, some time in the mid-afternoon. I’d promised my father I’d be home to welcome my cousins from Eleusis.’ His voice cracked. ‘I had to get back to Piraeus.’
It would be easy enough to prove that the boy couldn’t have been involved, if he’d been seen heading out of the city, or if someone could swear he was down in Piraeus any time around dusk. Kallinos had said Hermaios hadn’t died quickly, and he’d been found soon after he was murdered. I decided the Scythians could make those enquiries with the Polemarch’s authority to back them.
‘You’re sure there was no other trouble, even if it didn’t involve you?’ I persisted. ‘No one waiting outside the tavern to continue some dispute, who might have mistaken Hermaios for someone else?’
‘No.’ His voice rose in protest.
I wondered about the confrontation I’d witnessed. ‘Did Hermaios favour learning the poet’s craft by seeing the epics performed? What were his thoughts on the festival commissioners stipulating everyone in the contest must use copies of the same scrolls?’
Ikesios sniffed, coughed and replied with determined composure. ‘He saw those things as two sides of the same coin. He said a poet can’t understand how to bring the great epics to life without seeing a master of the craft perform. No man can learn to throw a discus or javelin by reading an athlete’s victory ode. He must take to the field himself. On the other hand, the best way to honour Homer is to make certain his words aren’t corrupted by someone’s fallible memory or by unwarranted pride that leads a lesser poet to think he can improve on perfection.’
It was hard to see how anyone on either side of the debate could have taken murderous offence at that, especially as Hermaios hadn’t even been in the tavern the night before last.
‘What episode of the Iliad was Hermaios going to give us?’ Apollonides asked.
‘The final conclusion. Priam’s appeal to Achilles. That’s why we knew he’d win the competition, no matter who had gone before him, Hermaios would outstrip them.’
Ikesios stopped abruptly. The youth’s face twisted as he struggled to master his emotions.
I turned to Apollonides. ‘So what drew you away from epic performance to a career on the stage?’
He managed a grin. ‘It turned out I had a talent for turning even the most dramatic action into comedy. I swear to the muses I never meant to, but I couldn’t even recite the duel between Paris and Menelaus without getting a few laughs.’
‘I know the feeling.’ I really did. ‘My attempts to write tragedy risked bringing Melpomene’s wrath down on my head. Somehow the jokes always slipped in.’
Ikesios had got himself in hand. ‘No one wants to anger a muse.’
He started walking again. Apollonides and I let him set the pace. Before I could find a way to ask anything else about Hermaios, the boy stopped and pointed at a tavern.
‘Let’s take a table.’
We walked with him to claim seats beneath a leafy pergola. The youth was clearly known to the owner, who greeted him with a wave.
‘The usual?’
Ikesios nodded, then turned to us. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ He headed for the rear of the tavern, seeking either a latrine or some privacy to regain his composure.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Apollonides. ‘So who is he?’
‘A young epic performer, just starting out. He’s good. Hermaios was introducing him to the other poets and giving him advice on improving his skills.’ Apollonides winced. ‘I’m not surprised he’s devastated. They were very close.’
I could see he meant Hermaios had been Ikesios’ lover as well as his friend and mentor. The youth would surely want to help see this killer – or killers – caught. I wished I could think how to use this gift from the gods without adding to the young man’s grief.
The tavern owner brought us a jug of wine. I poured a libation. ‘May Dionysos and the muses help us see justice for Hermaios – and for Daimachos of Leuktra,’ I added hastily.
All Hellenes owe allegiance and duty to the same gods, and that means the inhabitants of every city can expected their divine protection and retribution, even the obnoxious ones.
‘May Athena and Apollo help in this hunt.’ Apollonides made his own offering.
It was considerably more than a moment before Ikesios reappeared. His hair was wet and he’d found a comb from somewhere to
