Kadous opened the gate to my knock. Anxious in the light of the lamp, he was about to speak, but I cut him off with a gesture.
‘I need to soak my feet, and I’m hungry and thirsty.’ I walked past him and dropped on to the bench in the porch. Leaning my head against the wall, I closed my eyes. Ordinarily, I unlace my own sandals. I’m no Persian, expecting to be waited on, hand and foot. Tonight though, forget it. Kadous could do the honours once he’d filled a basin. I could hear him pouring water.
The door to our living room opened. ‘Where have you been?’
I opened my eyes to see Zosime looking down at me. Her eyes were wide in the lamplight and her lips were pressed together in a tight, level line. Clearly I’d been mistaken when I’d expected her to have got over her misgivings from this morning. Then I realised something more was amiss. She was cross with me.
I was too tired to put up with being scolded. ‘In Athens.’
‘Couldn’t you have sent word, to let me know what you were doing?’
‘How? When?’ I demanded.
‘Aristarchos could have lent you a slave.’ Her voice rose, irritated. ‘You could have sent word to my father, or to Hyanthidas’ lodging. I even asked at your brothers’ house, in case they’d seen you.’
I had to concede she had a point. I’d passed within easy distance of Menkaure’s modest home in the Kerameikos district. I simply hadn’t thought of stopping by.
‘I’m sorry.’ Too late, I realised that didn’t sound nearly as apologetic as I hoped.
Her anger flared like oil dripped onto a brazier’s hot charcoal. ‘So what have you been doing? Besides hunting a killer who’s beaten one man to death and knifed another? Besides risking a thrashing for intruding on a grieving family? You don’t think I had good reason to worry?’
I was too fed up to go through every fruitless thing I’d done since we’d seen each other this morning. ‘You had nothing to worry about. I’ve been finding out who couldn’t possibly be the killer.’
I tugged the crumpled papyrus from my belt, screwed it up and tossed it on the ground. If the brazier had been closer, I’d have chucked it on the burning charcoal.
Zosime set down her lamp and snatched it up. She sat beside me to read what I’d written. Of course, the scrawls on the list made no sense to her.
‘All these men could be killers?’ She looked at me, irate as well as confused. ‘How can you hope to find out which one is guilty?’
My bad temper came surging back. I snatched the papyrus off her and screwed it up again, throwing it into the shadows.
‘That’s not the problem. Not one of them could have committed both murders, if we can trust what they say. But how can we be sure of anything? They could be lying through their teeth. Two or more of them could be conspiring. There has to be more than one man involved, and these poets all know each other. They spend their lives going from festival to festival, watching each other perform, competing for the same prizes. They’re rivals for the same coins tossed by those audiences. There could be any number of grudges and hatreds behind these killings that they’ll never admit to outsiders.’
I spat the conclusions that had tormented me as I was walking home. ‘Even if we can believe everything they’ve told us today, that gets us no further forward. We’re no closer to finding this killer.’
‘I still don’t see why this is your responsibility,’ Zosime wasn’t going to let that go.
‘We settled that this morning. I’m not going over it again.’ Now I’d started venting my frustration, I couldn’t stop. ‘Anyway, I can’t see that it matters. No one can tell me how many other poets are in the city who aren’t on that bloody list. Or these deaths may have nothing to do with the Great Panathenaia. Completely separate quarrels could have got these men killed, or they could have faced some justified vengeance, or something else that we’ll never discover!’
At least three of the men I had talked to had refused to believe there was any connection to be found. These murders were undeniably tragedies, but such deaths were hardly unknown at the great panhellenic festivals. Were they right? Were they trying to convince themselves they had nothing to fear? Were they trying to put me off the scent, because they had something to hide? I had no way to know, and no way to find out.
My wrath burned itself out. I closed my eyes, and leaned back against the wall.
‘Well, I’m glad to see you aren’t lying dead in an alley somewhere.’ Zosime was still furious.
Stung, I opened my eyes, but she had already gone into our bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She’d taken the lamp as well.
Across the courtyard, the other lamp showed me Kadous stirring new life into the brazier’s embers. At least my row with Zosime had given him time to warm some water for my feet. I sat silently until he brought it over. The slave filled a wide, shallow basin before kneeling to unlace my sandals. As I eased my feet into the water, he fetched me bread and some sardines that he’d cooked earlier.
‘Thank you.’ I mixed myself a strong cupful when he fetched me wine and water. Then I poured myself another drink, and a third.
Once I’d eaten, and the water had eased my feet at least a little bit, I hobbled to the spare bed we keep set up for guests in the storeroom. Weary as I was, it was still a long time before I slept.
Chapter Eight
Despite that late night
