‘What is it?’ Ikesios asked with dread in his eyes.
There was no way to soften this blow. ‘Polymnestos Anytou has been killed.’ I saw incomprehension equal the shock on their faces. ‘Dreadful as this is, I think it helps us understand what’s going on.’
I quickly set out the reasoning I’d offered to Melesias, as well as some further arguments that had occurred to me a few moments too late when I was going down the steps.
‘This man has waited to strike until this Great Panathenaia, because he wants as many of the poets he suspects here in the city as possible, and he wants the crowds to cover his crimes. If he’d attacked Thallos or Hermaios or Polymnestos at any other time, the likelihood of him being discovered would be so much greater. I don’t just mean his chances of being caught in the act are much less at the moment with the Scythians so occupied. Think about it. If an Athenian poet was killed on the streets going about his usual business at some quiet time of year, his family would start looking for some personal quarrel that might explain it. Some connection might lead them to this man. During the Great Panathenaia this killer could hope these deaths would be dismissed as the outcome of robberies or drunken fights.’
‘If you’re right, then those of us who weren’t competing last time should be safe.’ Eupraxis looked guiltily relieved.
‘Perhaps, but I don’t think this man will hesitate to attack someone if he thinks they can tell him where this woman is.’ I looked both of them. ‘As Athena and the Furies stand witness beside us, can you think of anyone you know who competed at the last Great Panathenaia who could have kept this woman hidden away? Somewhere out in Attica perhaps, or in some other city? Maybe out in the islands? Somewhere he could visit her as he travelled from festival to festival?’
That was another answer I’d realised too late to offer Melesias. Any of the Athenian poets could still be the guilty man. It didn’t matter that they had homes and families here in the city. If they spent half their year travelling from place to place, they could have a second household set up somewhere convenient, and no one else would ever know.
Even Ikesios’ lover Hermaios, could have done this, I realised belatedly. I hoped the youth wasn’t going to take offence at the implication. But his thoughts were elsewhere.
He looked at me, reluctant, but accepting he had a duty to speak. ‘I was going to find you today, to tell you what I heard over some wine last night. Soterides Philotherou has some sort of secret. He keeps disappearing, and he tells different people different stories about where he’s been.’
I stared at him. Perhaps the missing woman was hidden close by after all.
‘Is he here?’ I looked around at the hundreds of people I couldn’t put a name to.
‘Over there, in the red.’ Ikesios pointed to a very well-dressed and well-barbered man laughing with a group of friends. The rings on both his hands gleamed in the sun, and his tunic was a rich maroon thanks to expensive Corinthian dyes. Seen in passing, one might think for a moment that he wore an Iliad performer’s cloak.
‘He took part in the contest last time?’
Eupraxis nodded. ‘He was very good.’ He only sounded a little grudging.
I thought fast. I turned to Ambrakis. ‘Please tell Aristarchos everything we’ve just discussed while I keep watch on Soterides.’
I reminded myself not to rush too far ahead. I had to move quicker than the proverbial tortoise, but I mustn’t make the hare’s mistake. ‘Please ask your master, on my behalf, if Lydis can make enquiries about those three men Melesias told us about. Do you remember their names?’
‘Yes.’ The fuller answer he’d probably have liked to give me hung unspoken in the air.
‘Thank you.’ I had no idea what the secretary would be able to learn about some poet who’d come from Tiryns, but the other two were Athenians. I’d bet a fat purse of silver that Lydis had his own network for trading news and favours with other slaves who were the confidants of the city’s great and good. Though how soon we might learn something useful was another question entirely.
‘What are we going to do?’ Ikesios looked at me.
I could see he was determined to do something, with or without me. I also saw Ambrakis wasn’t going anywhere just yet. He wanted to take the full story to Aristarchos. I thought fast and looked at the poets. ‘Do you think that Soterides will know my face? Does he have any interest in comic theatre?’
Eupraxis looked embarrassed. ‘He considers epic performance is the first and only true art. He barely acknowledges the triumphs of tragic playwrights, and says their actors merely trade on debased imitations of our skills. I couldn’t say when I last heard him even mention a comedy.’
He couldn’t say, or he wouldn’t? For a performer, the poet was a poor liar. I guessed Soterides had shared some thoroughly derogatory opinions of my chosen profession. Well, that was between him and the Muses. Though I might find a place for a pompous Homeric poet in some future play… As long as Soterides didn’t get himself horribly murdered. There wouldn’t be a lot of laughs in that.
‘If he has no idea who I am, I’ll keep watch on him until he leaves here. Then I’ll follow to see where he goes. We want to know where he’s staying, for a start.’
Trikorynthos is a long way away out in Attica, almost as far as Rhamnous, so he wouldn’t be making that journey to and fro every day.
Another question occurred to me. I looked at both young poets. ‘Do you know why he’s not competing this year?’
Ikesios could only shrug, but Eupraxis could barely hide his satisfaction as he answered.
‘Oh, he was quite certain he would
