Sponging off yesterday’s sweat and dust definitely improved my morning. Clean clothes, some food and fresh water made me feel better still. I found the list was still just about legible and brought my writing table out of the dining room’s shadows over the porch. That gave me enough light to work without the sun drying out my inkwell.
Sorting out papyrus and pens, I decided to make three fair copies. I knew Aristarchos would want to know what I had found out. Information is currency for the great and the good, even when its value might not be immediately apparent.
I stared at the creased and smudged sheet, and my good mood faded along with my resolve to be done with this wretched business. Who was I trying to fool? I still wanted to know what had happened to Daimachos and to Hermaios, whether or not I had any right to be involved. Well, I had better get over that, I told myself sternly, if satisfying my curiosity was going to cause strife between me and Zosime. I would get this task done and that would be an end to my part in this.
I started work. I was very nearly finished when I heard a knock at the gate. My heart quickened. I hoped Zosime had come home. I would tell her how sorry I was, how I valued her above everything else. I’d show her these lists, and swear I was drawing a line under this bloody affair.
Kadous opened the gate. Kallinos the Scythian stepped into the courtyard. Despite the hot day, my blood ran cold.
‘Menkaure?’ My throat closed with fear. ‘Zosime?’
‘What?’ Kallinos looked bemused.
I carefully set down my pen. ‘Do you have some news?’
‘Yes. There’s been another attack on a poet wearing a red cloak.’ The Scythian seemed distastefully cheerful about that.
That was none of my concern. I picked up my pen and began writing again. ‘Why are you telling me?’
‘I thought you would want to know.’ There was an unwelcome challenge in the Scythian’s words.
I completed another careful line of writing. ‘I can’t think that anything I learned yesterday will be of use in finding this killer. I can only tell you the man you’re hunting is none of the poets.’
‘Let’s see what the man who was attacked can tell us, shall we?’
Caught unawares, I looked up to see Kallinos grinning at me. It wasn’t a friendly smile. He looked like a keen-eyed hawk seeing a rabbit within easy reach.
‘The man survived. I only heard what had happened this morning. I thought you’d want to hear what he has to say.’
I copied another line, and watched the gleam of wet ink dull as the words dried. I wanted to ask if the man was any kin of mine. I could tell Kallinos this was none of my business, when he admitted the victim was no one I knew. We have no epic poets in my father’s family, or through my brothers’ and sister’s marriage ties. But I didn’t say any of that.
‘Let me finish this and I’ll come with you,’ I said instead.
I would need to go into Athens to deliver these lists. I might as well take news of this latest attack to Aristarchos. Either what I heard from this unfortunate man would underscore the impossibility of me finding this killer, or I could tell him that Kallinos had got some hint the Scythians could pursue. It wasn’t as if I’d be facing any danger.
Whatever the outcome, my duty would be done, and I could go to the Theatre of Dionysos to find Zosime, Menkaure and Telesilla. With any luck I should arrive while the singers accompanied by twin pipe players were still competing. Telesilla could point out anyone likely to challenge Hyanthidas in the competition for pipe players performing alone.
I left the papyrus on the table and found my sandals. Kallinos wandered over to take a look at what I’d been writing.
‘May I?’ he asked.
‘Go ahead.’ I laced my sandals and explained how I’d spent yesterday. A thought struck me, and I looked up. ‘Who was attacked? You say he survived, but will he be fit to perform?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Kallinos consulted the list. ‘Here he is. Thallos of Teithras.’
‘Has anyone told Melesias Philaid?’
Kallinos shrugged. ‘I sent word to Aristarchos Phytalid since he’s been taking an interest.’
That made sense. A public slave is well advised to keep on the right side of the great and the good. I didn’t envy Aristarchos dealing with Melesias’ reaction to this news.
‘Thallos is due to take to the platform early in the second day’s performance.’ I had every detail of the competition committed to memory by now. ‘There’s time enough to find another poet if he’s too badly hurt. Though I can’t believe this is some sort of attack on the festival or the commissioner. There would be so many better ways to do that.’ I’d run through a whole lot of far more dramatic and effective possibilities as I walked home last night.
‘Then what’s the point of these killings?’ Kallinos gave way to his own frustration. ‘A man dying in a drunken fight, or knifed for sneaking into another man’s bed, I can understand such things. But these deaths make no sense. Daimachos was a surly bastard, and we scrape enough of those off the streets for crossing the wrong man’s path, but no one had any cause to kill Hermaios, from everything anyone says.’
‘Let’s see what Thallos has to tell us.’ I nodded at Kadous.
The Phrygian opened the gate, and the Scythian and I went on our way. One thing did occur to me.
‘I saw Thallos in the middle of the afternoon yesterday. He was fine then. He must have been attacked after that.’
Kallinos grunted. ‘I’ve asked the lads, but no one saw anyone with a red cloak involved in the scuffles and other nonsense they were dealing with.’ He looked at me, with barely veiled challenge in
