The merchant hurled a last barbed shout. ‘Sell that fancy tunic and those rings, and you can settle your debts. I know a goldsmith who’ll pay a fair price.’
I saw Soterides flinch, as if that shot had physically struck him. I had no sympathy as we watched him walk towards the road. My brothers and I work hard for the silver that will see my nephews educated and armed to fight for Athens, and their sisters securely and contentedly married. From time to time, we band together and each put up a share of a loan to help out those in temporary difficulties among our wider circle of family and friends. We never make more than one such loan at a time though. None of us can afford to see our generosity abused.
By now Soterides had reached the end of the entry. He paused and looked both ways before stepping out to take the high road back towards the city.
Ikesios let out a disappointed breath as we started walking after him. ‘So much for that.’
I wasn’t so ready to give up. ‘What if the costs of keeping this woman are the burden that’s sinking him in debt?’
Ikesios wasn’t convinced. ‘Then where is she?’
‘Let’s follow him and hope we find out.’ But as we reached the high road ourselves, I grabbed his arm.
‘Wait.’
‘What?’
‘There!’
I pointed. I had just seen a man emerge from an alley on the other side of the road. His gaze was fixed on Soterides. He was following the poet with a purpose that was obvious even at this distance. He was tall, muscular, and I was glad I had Ikesios with me. It would take the two of us to tackle him.
‘He was waiting for a chance to get him on his own.’ I guessed the killer had already known the woman he sought wasn’t in that house.
‘What are we going to do?’ Ikesios was intent on our enemy as we started walking.
I could see a burning desire for revenge in the young man’s eyes. ‘We have to catch him in the act if we’re to bring him before the Areopagus Court. We have to take him alive if he’s to answer for Hermaios’ murder and for killing Polymnestos. We owe it to their families.’
Ikesios looked mutinous. ‘Of course,’ he said a few paces later.
I wasn’t convinced. I would have to hold the youth back without letting our quarry get away. At least the murderous stranger had no expectation of being followed himself. His attention was fixed on Soterides. The poet glanced over his shoulder from time to time, but this pursuer meant nothing to him. I guessed he was more concerned about being cornered by the people whose trust he’d abused, and he would know their faces. That meant the man who was following him could edge ever closer without Soterides noticing.
‘He’s going to attack him before he reaches the city gate.’ I spoke that realisation aloud. ‘Far enough away for the guards not to see.’
Ikesios nodded and we both walked faster. We closed the gap between us and the killer. Soterides was slowing now. I guessed he was reluctant to return to the Pnyx. He’d have to put on a performance there, and not just the show of confidence that fooled so many. Everyone was convinced he was rich, and that meant generosity. He’d be expected to be open-handed with his silver, paying for jugs of wine and tasty treats from the food vendors’ braziers.
The man hunting him seized his chance when Soterides passed a gap between two rows of houses. He suddenly broke into a run. Before Soterides had any idea what was happening, the attacker wrapped his arms around him.
Soterides’ elbows were pinned to his sides. More than that, he was all but knocked off his feet. Stumbling, he lost a sandal as he was half-shoved, half-dragged into what passed for seclusion so the killer could do his worst. A man passing by on the far side of the road stopped, startled. If he had been inclined to intervene, he changed his mind when he saw Ikesios sprint into the fray.
I raced after the youth. We saw the killer had Soterides pressed up against a wall with a broad hand clamped on the back of his neck. The rough stone was already bloody where the poet’s cheek had scraped along it. The killer’s other hand had firm hold of his wrist. He was twisting Soterides’ arm up behind his back so viciously that the poet could have scratched an itch between his own shoulder blades. That left him with a free hand, but all he could do was feebly slap at the wall. He had no chance of bracing himself to throw the heavier man off his back.
‘You swore her an oath. You have let her down. She will not forgive or forget.’ The attacker eased up just a little, shook Soterides by the neck like a dog with a rat, and slammed him into the wall again. The poet wailed in wordless protest.
Ikesios had seen enough. He took a long stride with his fists raised to fight. ‘Hey!’
‘No!’ I grabbed his arm. I’d seen enough to realise that something was wrong. That we were wrong somehow.
It took me a moment to understand why. For a start, everything we knew so far told us this killer had help. There was no sign here of a slave coerced into doing murder. Besides, Thallos had said an Athenian attacked him. I couldn’t say where this man called home, but that accent came from somewhere out in Attica.
Soterides’ attacker turned his head to glower at us without losing his hold. ‘This is none of your concern.’
Now I had a better idea of where he was from. That was a coastal accent, far to the north and east of Athens.
‘We’re looking for a missing woman. We think he has her hidden
