Surely nothing was likely to happen up here on the Pnyx, in full view of so many people. Perhaps, but I would have no excuses if I was proved wrong.
At the moment the only thing I was sure of was the poet up on the speaker’s platform was safe. Even so, he would need warning once the next performer stepped up to continue the epic tale.
Meantime, I would take the latest news to every poet I could see. If the man currently performing wasn’t put off by randomly cheering Hellenes, a single playwright creeping through the audience shouldn’t cause any noticeable disruption. It didn’t matter if Kallinos had already spoken to them, I decided. I wanted to see for myself if any of them looked guilty when I said we had reason to think the attacker was looking to settle a grievance that might or might not involve a woman. Obviously I would make it clear that Thallos was guiltless of any crime.
I headed for the closest red cloak. After a moment, I realised Dados was following me. I wasn’t about to object. If his presence meant people assumed I spoke with the authority of the city’s Archons, I wasn’t going to correct them. Then I realised rather more of the audience were getting up and moving around. It took me another moment to realise why.
The list of Agamemnon’s allies is a long one and it lasts until the end of this second episode of the Iliad. It’s fine and stirring stuff, with acknowledgements for a great many towns, honouring their heroes and their histories. In terms of the war against Troy though, nothing actually happens to move the drama along. Anyone without a reason to wait and proclaim their loyalty for their distant home could take this opportunity to get ahead of the queues that would soon form at the closest latrine or at the wine-sellers’ carts. Everyone would want an empty bladder and a full cup as they settled down to enjoy the next poet who would be stepping up to entertain them. Paris would be running scared of Menelaus, and noble, exasperated Hector would set up his nuisance of a little brother to fight a duel, with Helen as the victor’s prize.
The red cloak I was heading for was getting to his feet to edge through the audience. Now I could see his face, I recognised Timagoras. I thanked Athena for this chance to corner him, especially with a Scythian at my side. After what Ikesios had said, I wanted to look into this satyr’s eyes when I offered a range of possibilities for these attacks, from some deceit over money or property to picking figs in another man’s garden.
Still at my shoulder, Dados murmured. ‘What do you suppose he’s doing?’
‘Who? Timagoras?’ The poet hadn’t done anything that I could see. I glanced at the Scythian, curious.
Dados wasn’t looking at the poet. I wondered what had caught the slave’s penetrating gaze. I saw a man trying to walk away from us, quickly and with enough purpose to be noticeable against the haphazard shuffling of the crowd.
‘What’s he done?’
‘Had his eye on your man in the cloak. Started moving as soon as he stood up. Wanted to get behind him.’ Dados’ hand strayed to the bow he carried slung over one shoulder. ‘As soon as he saw me looking, he decided it was time to leave.’
I told myself there could be any number of explanations. Then I clapped a hand to my ear. ‘Ow!’
A bee sting would have hurt less. Dados had startled me with a piercing whistle. Not a single note, but a lyrical phrase. It was like no bird that I’d ever heard. People close by looked in all directions, wondering where the unexpected noise had come from.
I heard the whistling call again, but not from Dados. Someone on the far side of the Pnyx had answered him. A third call came, and this time, I realised the rush of liquid notes was subtly different.
Dados grinned. ‘Come on.’
I hesitated, but only for a moment. That stranger had been intent on Timagoras. That meant he could well be our killer. I couldn’t pass up any chance to put an end to this carnage. I followed the Scythian as he cut through the crowd without the least apology.
The man who was trying to leave wasn’t making much headway against the press of people around the edge of the assembly area. We were gaining on him. Seeing Dados’ Scythian cuirass, men and women hastily got out of our path.
I saw the would-be fugitive passing through the outermost ring of the audience, and cursed under my breath. Once our quarry was away from the top of the Pnyx, he could head down the hill to take any one of countless streets or alleyways. The festival crowds wouldn’t be dense enough to stop him, but they would surely hide him from us.
I nearly tripped over Dados’ sandalled heels as the Scythian suddenly changed direction. Rather than head for where our quarry had been, he made for a comparatively open tract of stony ground between the backs of the people standing to enjoy a snatch of the Iliad and those waiting to buy wine or snacks. We had a clear view of the fleeing man as we arrived. I also saw he had space to run.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Dados. He immediately took to his heels. Dados and I started running after him. Our quarry was soon getting well ahead of us. Whoever he was, he should be competing in the festival foot races. We had no hope of catching him
