‘A little while. We’ve been watching the races, then she swore she’d seen you.’ He hugged Telesilla close. ‘As always, she was right.’
‘I’m glad to see all’s well with you.’ Telesilla smiled at Zosime, and I reckoned she was talking about more than spotting us in the crowd.
‘Let’s get out of the way.’ Zosime stepped aside to let another supplicant approach Aphrodite’s altar.
I took the empty jug from her, and the four of us walked back to the wine-seller to return his property.
Hyanthidas looked at me, more serious. ‘Have you called on Aristarchos?’
‘Not yet.’ I had to raise my voice above the noise.
Zosime squeezed my hand. ‘Go on. I’ve got company now.’
I hesitated. ‘What if he expects me to run some errand? What if he sends me to go and find out when each these poets arrived in the city?’
She shrugged, resigned. ‘You have to see this through. We agreed that. Just be careful, please. Promise me.’
‘I will, I swear it.’ I kissed her. ‘You are more than I deserve.’
She smiled. ‘Don’t you forget that.’
Hyanthidas had moved so he was standing behind both women. He was alert and ready to fend off unwanted advances from opportunists in the crowd. ‘Watch your back.’
‘I will,’ I assured him.
I made my way out of the agora. Aristarchos’ house wasn’t too far away, and it was pleasant to arrive without being breathless and sweaty for a change.
Mus slid back the grille in the gate when I knocked, and opened up immediately. ‘The master will be glad to see you.’
The big barbarian wasn’t smiling, and his tone was sombre. My heart sank and I wondered what had happened now. ‘Where will I find him?’
Before Mus could answer, Lydis appeared in the archway across the courtyard. His expression lightened with relief and he beckoned me over. I tried not to look too apprehensive. That became a whole lot harder when I walked into the inner courtyard and saw Kallinos the Scythian with Aristarchos and Ambrakis.
‘Good. I’m glad you’re here.’ Aristarchos was exasperated, though clearly not with me. ‘I have to go out, but Kallinos has news that warrants further enquiry.’
‘Another body’s turned up.’ The Scythian was scowling as if this was a personal insult.
I felt sick. ‘A poet? Who?’
Kallinos glowered. ‘We’re not sure. That’s to say, we don’t know if he’s a poet. He’s not one of the ones we’ve been traipsing around after. He wasn’t wearing a red cloak, but he was killed with an epic performer’s staff, like Daimachos. Well, not quite like him. He died quickly, then the killer ran for it. Anyone who knew this man should still be able to name him, if we can only find the right people to ask.’
He looked at Aristarchos. ‘But I can’t spare more than a couple of men to go knocking on gates. Not and send enough to make a presence up on the Pnyx again, even with Ambrakis and your men, and Melesias Philaid’s slaves to help us. We still have to keep the peace in the agora for the races as well as at the pentathlon. Then there’s the wrestling, the boxing, and the no-holds-barred bouts. Those crowds can get very rowdy.’
I raised a quick hand. ‘Ambrakis, can you find out when the poets arrived in the city?’
He looked at me blankly, then looked at Aristarchos.
‘Why?’ his owner asked.
I quickly explained my reasoning, or rather, I shared what Hyanthidas had realised about the timing of this unknown woman’s disappearance.
‘We should have thought of that sooner.’ Kallinos shook his head. ‘But there’s still been no hint that one of them might be sneaking off to some lover they’ve got tucked away.’
I thought about what Zosime had said about the different things men would admit to a slave, to a fellow citizen, or to a potential patron. Perhaps I was going to have to ask such intrusive questions myself. I fervently hoped news of yet another murder would loosen someone’s tongue instead.
‘Do as Philocles asks,’ Aristarchos told his slave. Then he looked at me. ‘Can you go and help Kallinos put a name to this dead man?’
‘I can try.’ I didn’t want to tempt the Fates or Furies with overconfidence.
‘I have every faith in you.’ Aristarchos paused for a moment. ‘I have to go and meet the delegation from Pargasa. They’re here to collect Xandyberis’ bones, as well as to make their case to the Archons, before the magistrates reassess our allies’ levies. You found his killer by the gods’ good grace,’ he reminded me. ‘Let’s pray they favour you again.’
‘As you say.’ Zosime had already mentioned the dead Pargasarene who had been dumped at our gate, and she had reminded me how I’d uncovered the truth behind Eumelos’ killing in Corinth. Perhaps Kallinos had been divinely inspired to come and find me, when the first of these poets had turned up dead. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is a hint from the gods.
I looked at Kallinos. ‘Let’s go.’
Perhaps the Furies had known how readily I was going to yield to them. The dead man was lying in an alley not far into the Diomea district, so it wasn’t a long walk. One of Kallinos’ underlings was standing guard over the body. The young Scythian’s scowl and heavily accented warnings were barely keeping the growing crowd at bay.
Like Daimachos, the dead man was sprawled on his back. Unlike the Boeotian, his face was recognisable, even though the killer had used his fists on his victim, just as he had done with Thallos. A broken staff lay in two pieces beside the body, easily identified as a performance poet’s prop by the crook on the end. From the blood in the dead man’s dark hair, it seemed obvious the polished wood had cracked his skull.
‘When was he found?’ I glanced at Kallinos.
‘Early this morning, by a slave carrying night soil out to the middens.’
The victim was a man in his prime, neither handsome
