Ikesios spoke up from beside the window, where he was leaning on the wall again. ‘Artemon of Thorikos has to be one.’
Eupraxis looked over to him, uncertain. ‘Is he in the city? Have you seen him?’
Now Ikesios looked unsure. ‘No, not yet, but would he be anywhere else during the Great Panathenaia?’
My heart sank. ‘Can we confine ourselves to poets you think are actually in Athens?’
Even so, by the time the two of them had finished, I had added another fourteen names to my list. I heaved a sigh as I got to my feet.
Apollonides stood up and jerked his head at Ikesios. ‘Come on. You can make a few more introductions for us.’
The youth hesitated, looking at Eupraxis. ‘I could come back here afterwards, and help you prepare?’
‘Don’t you want to see the whole performance from the start, up at the Pnyx?’ Eupraxis was clearly hoping Ikesios was going to say he didn’t.
The lad shook his head and I saw the gleam of tears in his eyes. ‘I would rather help you. To serve Athena. To outweigh this evil. To honour Hermaios’ memory.’
‘The sooner we can cross the names off this list, the sooner you’ll be free to do that.’ I headed for the door.
Apollonides followed me out. The boy held back, still talking to Eupraxis. We went down the wooden stair and waited for Ikesios to catch up with us.
‘Do you want me to find a citizen working here who can vouch for our friend?’ Apollonides didn’t sound as if he thought that was necessary.
I shared my suspicions about the Lemnian’s poor eyesight. ‘I can’t see him picking out a man in a crowd and stalking him like a hunter pursuing a deer, can you?’
‘He’d only need to follow a red cloak,’ Apollonides pointed out reluctantly. ‘If he wanted to knock some other poet, any poet, on the head, in hopes of getting his chance to perform.’
I sighed. ‘Do you seriously imagine he did that?’
But I had to ask the question. Eupraxis looked as fit as any other Hellene who takes his duty to fight for his city seriously. He could probably have taken that staff off Daimachos and beaten him to death with it. If he had some reason to hate him that we didn’t know about. We would never know it though, unless Eupraxis chose to admit his crime, and why would he do that?
‘No.’ Apollonides ran a hand through his curls.
I nodded. ‘Besides, there’s nowhere here where he could have held Hermaios and tortured him. Why would he do something so vile to a man he clearly admired? There’s no way he could have carried a body out of here on his own, and there’s no indication he owns a slave.’ There had been no sign of anyone else staying in that room.
‘True,’ Apollonides agreed.
I felt more certain as I gestured at the industrious bronzesmiths on the far side of the courtyard. ‘If Hermaios was killed here, someone would have seen or heard something and raised the alarm. And the same is going to be true of at least half of the men on this list, maybe more, once we’ve seen where they’re staying. Add to that, a good few of them will vouch for each other. If we’re ready to trust Eupraxis’ word, then we can already discount Epilykos of Klazomenai and the other Ionians, especially since there’s no chance they could have killed Daimachos either.’
All the same, as I looked at the papyrus, my heart sank. We’d started with a long list of men we thought could be the killer and now we’d added half as many again.
Apollonides heaved a sigh as Ikesios came down the wooden steps. ‘Let’s go and see what we can learn, and Hermes save us from blisters.’
I patted the bulge of Aristarchos’ silver. ‘Let’s start in the agora and pour a libation at the altar to the twelve gods. We’re going to need help from all of them before this is over.’
Be careful what you pray for because the gods may just give it to you. Isn’t that the warning from priests and oracles? By the time I was heading for home, the sun had long since set. Aristarchos’ silver was spent, and Apollonides and Ikesios had gone their separate ways. If my feet weren’t blistered raw, Hermes didn’t deserve the credit. My brother Chairephanes is the master craftsman who makes my sandals. My legs ached all the same. If we hadn’t walked the length and breadth of Athens, that was more by luck than judgement.
Despite the late hour, the road was still busy with people trying to reach the city before the festival started tomorrow morning. That meant they were heading in the opposite direction to me, and I was in no mood to be continually stepping aside. Some of the travellers saw I wasn’t about to yield the path and dodged out of my way. Others were blinded by their haste or the torches they carried in the summer night. As careless people blundered into me, I vented my frustration with a few brutal shoves and some savage curses.
‘What did you say?’ One outraged man must have had a day as exhausting as mine.
I tried to decide whether to apologise, or to punch him to save time if he was intent on a fight. Instead his wife dragged him away.
He threw a last insult at me over his shoulder. ‘Arrogant, cock-sucking Athenians. Always act like your shit don’t stink.’
I ignored him and went on my way. As I turned for home by the Hermes pillar, I stopped. Taking a few deep breaths, I waited for my bad temper to ebb a little before I went on. The god’s face was shrouded in shadow as I forced myself to brush a hand over his head and mutter ungracious thanks for everything we’d learned today.
I started walking again. Every redoubled ache told me stopping had been a stupid mistake. I should have
