‘Well then,’ he barked. ‘You’re here now. What do you want?’
I looked across at Ikesios and saw his eyes were wide with confusion. I shrugged to convey I was at just as much of a loss.
On the other side of the gate, the poet sounded hurt, while manfully trying to rise above this shameful lack of welcome. ‘Since I have walked so far to see you, something to drink would be appreciated.’
I wished he hadn’t said that. Now I was thirsty. Ikesios’ grimace told me so was he.
‘Drosis!’ the irritated man snapped.
He must have summoned a slave. We waited and listened, but it was hard to make out what was happening. I guessed some refreshment was coming.
Ikesios looked at me, eyebrows raised in query. He gestured back towards the main road. It was easy to see what he was asking. Was it time for us to go?
I was tempted, but there was something going on, even if the woman we sought wasn’t hidden here. I wanted to hear more in hopes of some hint that might still lead us to her. Since I couldn’t work out how to possibly convey all that to the youth, I settled for a brief shake of my head.
We heard the clunk of something being set down on a table.
‘That is a very fine vintage.’ Soterides approved. ‘Your business is clearly prospering.’
He sounded happy for his friend. The man’s answer was far less amiable.
‘I could say the same. You’re carrying enough gold on your knuckles to break a man’s teeth, and that tunic can’t have come cheap.’
Soterides sighed. ‘Appearances are important in my profession. You surely understand that? But the Muses’ favour can be a fickle thing. We cannot rely on returns as predictable as the winds that carry your cargoes from Egypt.’
Ah, so that was why we were on the road to Piraeus. This man he’d come to see was a merchant of some sort. If he imported goods from Egypt, those would have most likely arrived a month or so ago. The sailing season had started in the spring, and no one does much business over there in the summer. By all accounts, half the land that’s not sand ends up under water when their great river floods.
The unknown merchant grunted. ‘What of it?’
Ikesios looked at me, with his eyes narrowed. I pursed my lips and nodded agreement. We had both heard an ominous note in the man’s voice.
Either Soterides didn’t hear that, or he chose to ignore it. ‘Your strongbox must be full to overflowing. You can surely spare me a small loan? On family terms, obviously. As soon as I’m next in Athens, I’ll repay every obol of course.’
I had to admire Soterides’ easy confidence. I admired the merchant’s uncompromising reply even more.
‘No.’
‘I only need a small sum to cover my expenses until the Epidauria.’ The poet sounded as if that was a matter of days, not a couple of months. Such a loan wouldn’t be a small sum, not as far as my family are concerned, and none of us have Soterides’ expensive tastes.
‘No.’
Now Soterides sounded mortally wounded. ‘My success reflects on us all. Surely you can see this is an investment?’
That was clearly a rhetorical question, but the merchant answered with one of his own.
‘Is that what you said to Theophilos when you borrowed money off him? On family terms, of course. How about Kriton? What did you say to him, when you persuaded him to give you a loan as well, on family terms obviously?’ The man’s mockery was brutal.
Now Ikesios was pressing a hand to his mouth to curb an unguarded laugh. His eyes were wide as he looked at me.
‘Well?’ This merchant wasn’t playing speechwriters’ games. He clearly expected an answer to his questions.
I didn’t blame him. A loan on family terms is a matter of honour, to earn goodwill that you can expect to see repaid in favours rather than earning you any interest on your silver. Honourable behaviour has to go both ways, whether that loan is arranged between those related by blood, marriage or by long-standing friendship. First and foremost, that means repaying the money in the amounts and on the dates agreed.
Soterides cleared his throat. Strain tightened his voice as he tried to ask a casual question. ‘Have they come to Athens to celebrate the Great Panathenaia?’
‘No. They probably can’t afford the trip.’ The merchant’s tone was cutting.
Ikesios winced, though his eyes were still laughing. I grinned back.
‘Well?’ the merchant said again. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
I heard sounds of movement in the courtyard. I guessed Soterides was about to leave. I pointed at the alleyway behind Ikesios. He nodded his understanding. There was no way we could get back to the high road in time to go unnoticed. If Soterides saw us, we might very well find ourselves in a fight. He would be furious to think there were witnesses to his humiliation, and that merchant was right about the damage a fistful of rings could do.
The poet managed to sound remarkably dignified for a man who’d just been so soundly rebuffed. ‘Thank you for the wine. I will bid you farewell, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your festival.’
The merchant wasn’t finished with him yet. ‘Don’t think you can go to anyone else in the family. No one will lend you a quarter obol until you’ve repaid Theophilos and Kriton in full, and even then I wouldn’t give much for your chances. Don’t try trading on my name with the money lenders either, in Piraeus or anywhere else. Everyone who knows me knows you’re a vine that’s all leaves and no grapes.’
I nearly choked as I swallowed a laugh. The last time I heard that old saying in the theatre, the actor’s gesture made it very clear he was referring to a lack of fruit dangling below his enemy’s exaggerated comedy cock.
Thankfully Ikesios had his wits about him, and dragged me into the
