‘No one could expect you to be,’ I assured him.
He muttered something under his breath in his own tongue as we walked on. I didn’t have to understand it. He was exasperated and so was I. The Scythian was right. These killings made no sense.
We made our way to Thallos’ cousin’s house in Limnai. The slave on the gate remembered me from yesterday, so we were welcomed into a comfortably cool porch and served well-watered wine to quench our thirst. The slave seemed to assume that I had the festival commissioner’s authority for my visit today and I said nothing to make him think any different.
I did check the sundial high on the courtyard wall. I still had time in hand. I didn’t really need to see the singers’ competitions, and the solo instrument contests wouldn’t start until well after noon.
All the same, I was relieved when Thallos appeared reassuringly quickly once a lad was sent to fetch him. He was walking stiffly all the same, with the caution of a man who’d taken a beating. I could see bruises where his tunic left his arms bare, as well as on his jaw.
He was surprised to see Kallinos in the Scythians’ easily recognisable linen and leather armour. ‘I don’t see how I can be accused of disturbing the city’s peace, when I was the one who was grabbed and attacked.’
Thankfully he was more curious than defensive.
‘He wants to know who attacked you so the Scythians can keep a look out for the bastard,’ I explained. ‘We think this may have something to do with the attacks on Daimachos and Hermaios.’
‘I think you may be right.’ The poet teased a split in his swollen lip with the tip of his tongue.
I sat up straighter and set my cup down on the table. ‘Please, tell us what happened?’
Thallos took a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘It was some time after you and I talked yesterday. Maybe an hour?’ He glanced at the sundial carved on the wall by the gate. ‘I’d arranged to meet some friends at a tavern not far from here.’
He waved that away. ‘I never got there. Someone grabbed me from behind. Before I knew what was happening, they wrapped my cloak around my head and dragged me into an alley. Somebody started asking me something, beating me while they were at it. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. When they realised that, they pulled the cloak away so they wouldn’t have to shout.’
‘They? There was more than one?’
‘Oh yes. I was shoved up against a wall by the bastard who did this.’ He pointed to the bruise on a cheekbone that was spreading to blacken his eye. ‘He kept hold of my arm on this side while he punched me. His slave had hold of my other wrist so I couldn’t fight back.’
He gestured as he spoke, and I realised the bruises on his arms were the marks left by brutal fingers.
‘The second man was definitely a slave?’
I saw my own distaste reflected on Kallinos’ face. If we found this killer, his helpless accomplice would have to be tortured to guarantee his confession, no matter what he might want to say willingly. Only public slaves could give evidence in court without facing that brutality.
Thallos had no doubt about it. ‘He wore a plain, rough tunic and had shackle scars on his wrists. He didn’t say a word and he looked more afraid of the Athenian than anything else that might happen. He didn’t take his eyes off the man.’
That certainly sounded like a slave to me. ‘This man was an Athenian? From the city itself?’
As far as outsiders are concerned, we’re all Athenians, whether we live within the city’s walls or somewhere out in the countryside. Thallos was from Teithras out in Attica though, so I hoped he knew better. We can usually tell a farm mouse from an agora rat from the differences in a man’s speech.
‘Definitely. Not that I knew the bastard. Otherwise I’d have gone straight to the Archons.’ Thallos was outraged, as any citizen would be. Athenian law denies any man the right to thrash a citizen of our great city.
‘What else can you tell us about him?’ I could already see this man must have been strong. Even with a slave’s unwilling help, overpowering the poet wouldn’t have been easy. Thallos was maybe ten years older than me, but he was fit and well-muscled enough to take his place in the line of any phalanx.
The poet sat gazing into the distance. ‘Dark hair and beard. As tall as me, maybe a little taller. Broader across the shoulders though, otherwise he’d never have got the better of me. He wore a good-quality tunic, but there was nothing memorable about it. He wore no jewellery apart from a gold seal ring. That’s what did this.’ He pointed to his split lip.
‘Did you leave any mark on him? A scratch or a bruise?’
‘No.’ Thallos shook his head, chagrined. ‘It happened so fast. They had me pinned before I could think of fighting back.’
I tried to hide my disappointment. Even knowing we were looking for a citizen who lived inside the walls, there was no way the Scythians would find this man among the festival crowds.
Thallos was still talking, as baffled as he was indignant. ‘I didn’t get a chance to ask what he wanted before he started hitting me. He kept asking me where she was, over and over again. The Athenian, I mean. “Where is she? I know you seduced her and stole her away. What have you done with her now? Tell me where to find her!”.’
An epic poet makes an impressive witness. As he mimicked the killer’s single-minded savagery, a chill ran down my spine.
Thallos shivered with fear that was clearly slow to fade. ‘It didn’t matter what I said. I told him I had no idea who
