Except I didn’t have a wife, and as long as Zosime still loves me, I won’t be looking for one. I don’t need to, thankfully. Nymenios has done his duty by our family name by fathering two fine sons and two citizen daughters. Chairephanes has married a neighbour’s girl and he’s eager to add to Athens’ next generation of soldiers and their loving wives as soon as Demeter blesses them. So my mother has grandchildren to dote on, and the promise of more to come. If anything, my family would be relieved if Zosime and I stayed childless, rather than have to explain to the other children some day that their cousins were bastards without citizens’ rights.
So as long as I was living out here beyond the city walls, no one would care if I invited musicians and actors to dinner, and my beloved companion joined us. Or if someone like Mikos, who lived across the lane, decided to disapprove, I couldn’t see him hauling his lazy arse all the way to Nymenios’ gate to demand my brother do something about it. Though these days Mikos is too besotted with his new son and heir to pay much attention to anything beyond his own household and business.
I looked thoughtfully at the dining room. Zosime is a skilled artist, working in the same pottery as her father. She doesn’t paint dramatic scenes with heroes in bright red glaze striding across black burnished vases, though. The pale funerary vases and jugs that she decorates are subtle masterpieces that become prized possessions. Since they’re used to pour libations on a grave, they are decorated with some scene of the deceased doing something they enjoyed in life. Zosime has a rare talent for drawing a convincing likeness of the lost loved one from the memories of the bereaved.
I wondered if Zosime would like to try her hand at a larger picture. No one outside our little household need ever know that the murals were her work. What goes on behind an Athenian household’s closed doors stays behind those doors. A man is the absolute ruler inside his own home, and his word is final.
A hesitant knock at the gate broke into my musing. Kadous came out of his room. He looked at me, brows raised in query. I looked back and shrugged. Perhaps we’d imagined it.
Whoever it was knocked again, harder. The Phrygian unbolted the gate and opened it just enough to see who was there.
‘Good morning. Please excuse me, but may I speak to Philocles Hestaiou?’
Surprised, I recognised the voice of Hyanthidas and Telesilla’s slave. ‘Arion? What brings you out here?’
Kadous was already letting the Peloponnesian in.
‘You did well to find us,’ I remarked. Hyanthidas had been to my house a few times, but this trip was Arion’s first journey outside Corinthia as far as I was aware.
A young man, leanly muscled from his daily labours, Arion tried to smile. The strain in his eyes cut that short. ‘I was given good directions. My master’s compliments, and can you please come to the city?’
Zosime appeared from the storeroom. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s a Scythian at our door. He says my master must stay there until his commander comes to question him.’ So Arion meant this Scythian was one of the city’s public slaves, rather than some random visitor from those fabled lands far to the east.
‘Question him about what?’
‘I have no idea.’ Arion’s voice tightened with anxiety. ‘But he said my master couldn’t leave the house.’
‘But you could?’
Arion nodded. ‘My master asked if he might have an Athenian citizen to stand witness to whatever was going on. The Scythian agreed that would be wise, so I was sent to find you.’
How serious was this? Something that might end up in court? Only an Athenian citizen or a sworn ally of the city could give evidence before an Athenian jury. Any foreigner would need help if such a jury was going to believe in his innocence, especially over an accusation brought by one of the city’s own.
‘Let’s go.’ I was already looking for my sandals under the bench in the porch.
‘Where’s Telesilla?’ Zosime wanted to know.
‘Sitting with my master.’ Arion looked blankly at her. Where else would his mistress be?
‘I’m coming with you.’ Zosime went to fetch a wrap from our bedroom.
I knew better than to argue with my beloved, and in any case, I wasn’t about to object. Zosime could find out what Telesilla knew, while Hyanthidas and I dealt with the Scythian’s commander. I wondered uneasily what was going on. There are always unfortunate incidents during a big festival, and it’s too easy to assume visitors are to blame.
I looked up from lacing my sandal. ‘Have you any idea what this could be about?’
Arion shook his head. ‘No. None. I’m sorry.’
I nodded. ‘That’s all right. We’ll know soon enough.’
Zosime appeared wearing a light shawl over her knee-length draped dress. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I am.’ I stood up and nodded to Kadous, who opened the gate.
Outside in the lane, I saw a couple of gates were ajar, with curious neighbours or their slaves looking out. I waved and smiled to indicate there was no cause for concern. Satisfied, the gates closed.
Zosime and I walked along the lane to join the main road leading towards the city. Arion followed a few paces behind us. As the day went on, this route would get busier and busier. Farmers and their families would be coming in from Attica and visitors from further afield would
