I reached the street where the foundry stood. As I expected, the gates were closed and the air was free of smoke and the taste of hot metal. The silence wasn’t total though. There was no bellows’ growl or the ring of tools on metal, but I could hear voices. Not that I expected the place to be deserted. There were bound to be guards to prevent any pilfering while the artisans were away.
But I wasn’t hearing the idle grumbles of slaves who had somehow forfeited the favour of leisure to enjoy the Great Panathenaia. These were angry voices, hurling accusations. I couldn’t make out the words, but the aggressive tone was unmistakable. I broke into a run, but the slap of my sandals and my own noisy breath filled my ears. I reached the gate and stopped to listen, trying to subdue my heaving chest with one hand. The next words I heard rang with menacing defiance.
‘Do not hope to intimidate me with your speeches, as if I were some boy! I am just as well versed in hurling insults and slurs!’
Was Eupraxis trying to talk his way out of danger? Words are all very well as a weapon, but I’ve yet to see anyone fight off a spear with a pen.
‘It’s me, Philocles! Open up!’ I hammered on the gate.
Not waiting for an answer, I stepped back to assess the height of the entrance. I wondered if I had any chance of getting over that wall without help. Before I could try, the gate opened a crack. I charged forward, ready to use all my strength to force my way inside. Though I wasn’t sure what I was going to do after that. Wrestling a man to the ground was one thing, but the killer had used a knife on Hermaios. That wouldn’t stop me, but it would be a very different fight.
The gate opened a little more, and Ikesios looked out. I barely managed to skid to a halt and avoid slamming into the heavy planks. If I’d hit the gate, I’d have sent him flying.
‘You’re here.’ That was a truly stupid thing to say, but it was the only way I could stop myself asking questions that would be far worse. I wanted to know why he wasn’t out in Keiriadai. His lover would be buried at dawn tomorrow, so those who had known and admired Hermaios would be paying their respects at his home today.
‘Yes?’ Ikesios’ stony expression challenged me to make something of it.
I didn’t waste any more time. ‘I need to talk to Eupraxis, and since you’re here, to you.’
Thankfully Ikesios was well used to taking orders from his elders. ‘Come in.’
I followed him through the gate to see the poet standing in the centre of the courtyard consulting a scroll. A trio of slaves who looked a lot more useful than Theokritos’ pair looked at me from their seats on sacks in the shade of the charcoal store. Their curiosity was tempered with well-disguised irritation at this interruption to their private recital.
Eupraxis looked up and nodded a greeting, though I don’t think he recognised me. His thoughts were far away on the field of battle outside Troy. He grimaced as he spoke to Ikesios.
‘I’m still not convinced that I’m getting enough difference in tone between Achilles and Aeneas.’
I did feel a fool as I remembered that confrontation between those great heroes was in the episode they must be rehearsing. Not that I’d realised Eupraxis was speaking. The voice I’d heard had been deep, resonant and powerful. It seemed that Melesias Philaid knew talent when he saw it.
Then I remembered why I was here. ‘Has anyone asked to see you today?’
I breathed a little easier as they both shook their heads. ‘There’s been another attack. Don’t open the gates to anyone you don’t know, not until the festival is over.’
Now I was talking as much to the slaves as to the two poets. Strictly speaking I had no right to give them orders, but I guessed that whoever owned them and this foundry wouldn’t want Eupraxis murdered on his premises. Thankfully, this trio looked bright enough to know it.
‘Can someone fetch me a cup of wine, well-watered, please.’ Theokritos hadn’t offered me any refreshment and the heat of the day was building.
Ikesios sent a slave out to get us all a drink. Once I’d dismissed him with a nod of thanks, he and the other two charcoal shovellers took the hint and retreated. Now I was alone with Eupraxis and Ikesios. As soon as I’d quenched my thirst, I explained what I’d learned today.
‘I’ve never looked at another man’s wife, still less seduced one.’ Eupraxis looked baffled by the very idea. ‘Who needs that sort of trouble?’
‘You’re too devoted to your art to notice what’s going on around you,’ Ikesios told the other poet with a wry grin. Then he looked at me. ‘Hermaios warned me against sampling the temptations on offer. He said some women come looking for a little adventure with a poet who has set their blood racing. They think they’ll be safer from discovery if the man they invite into their garden will be leaving town in a day or so.’
‘Seriously?’ I was astonished.
Granted, I know my brothers’ wives and my sister relish the freedom that festivals to honour the gods offer them for a few days or more
