I brushed a hand across the carved stone curls of the Hermes pillar that marks the junction and prayed earnestly for the god of travellers’ guidance help in unravelling whatever Hyanthidas was tangled up in.
I picked up the pace, and neither of the other two objected. We had to wait to pass through the Itonian Gate, where a trio of lads in shiny new leather and linen armour were taking their guard duties very seriously. Fortunately my Athenian accent meant I was spared any curious questions when we reached the head of the line. Once we were inside the city, Arion took the lead.
I was pleased to find Hyanthidas had arranged for better lodgings than the room he’d shared when he’d lived in Athens. I couldn’t see Telesilla wanting to stay somewhere with drunk musicians snoring on the floor between playing at dinner parties, weddings and funerals.
This was a small house in the Limnai district, but it had its own gate and the paved yard inside was swept clean. I could see that because the gate was half-open, and a Scythian in his distinctive cuirass was leaning against the wall outside. He had his bow and quiver ready in case Hyanthidas was fool enough to run.
The musician wouldn’t be so stupid. He knew the Scythians were deadly archers. Besides, he had no reason to run. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. From the way Zosime’s grip on my hand was tightening, so was she.
Tense, Arion addressed the Scythian. ‘This is Philocles Hestaiou of Alopeke—’
‘Go on in.’ The archer waved a casual hand.
Arion pushed at the gate, and Zosime and I followed him. There was a door to a two-storey house straight ahead, beneath a porch where a man was standing, watchful. Another door to the left indicated a separate two-room, shallow-roofed building intended for slaves or stores, or perhaps a workshop. Clearly, the householder was renting those spare rooms out to visitors for the Great Panathenaia.
The yard was just about large enough for people to walk around a long table and some stools. Hyanthidas and Telesilla were seated there with another Scythian. Everybody looked fairly relaxed, so I nodded politely to the man in the doorway under the porch. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good day to you.’ He had a Corinthian accent, so I guessed Hyanthidas or Telesilla knew him from somewhere. He nodded at Hyanthidas and retreated, closing his door. I didn’t blame him. A resident foreigner in Athens is wisest to steer clear of trouble.
The Scythian with his elbows on the table looked up at me and grinned. ‘I thought I recognised your name, when our friend here asked for your help.’
It took me a moment to place the slave. ‘Kallinos! How are you?’
‘Glad of an excuse not to be wrestling drunks who’ll throw up on my feet for the fun of it,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I see you’ve been doing well for yourself since our paths last crossed.’
Kallinos had led the detachment of Scythians who’d been sent to collect a dead body dumped at my door the Dionysia before last. Athenian magistrates may change every year, but the slaves who serve them can become permanent fixtures once they’ve proved their merit.
I was glad to find myself dealing with a man I knew to be fair, but that unwelcome discovery outside our gate had led me into a dangerous labyrinth without any Ariadne to give me a useful ball of thread. I hoped Hyanthidas wasn’t facing anything like that.
‘So what’s my friend accused of?’ I asked as casually as I could.
Kallinos’ grin widened. ‘Not a thing. I’m hoping he might help us out. You too, since you were in the same tavern last night.’
‘We all were,’ Zosime pointed out.
‘I’ll take whatever information you’ve got for me,’ Kallinos assured her before calling out to his underling guarding the gate. ‘Neokles! Fetch a couple of jugs of wine.’
So he expected to be here for a while. I took a seat and so did Zosime. ‘What’s this about?’
‘You were in the same tavern as a gaggle of the poets here to perform the Iliad. What can you tell me about them?’
It was clear Kallinos wasn’t going to tell us what was happening until he’d learned whatever we knew. I shrugged, and related what I could remember of the poets’ disagreements. The others chipped in when I hesitated, and Kallinos asked swift questions if he felt anything was unclear.
‘Then we left and headed for home.’ I looked at the others and they nodded.
‘I don’t understand what brings you to this door.’ Hyanthidas still looked wary.
‘I asked the tavern keeper who he remembered being there, who might have seen something useful.’ Kallinos drained his cup. ‘It’s a lot easier to find a tall Corinthian, even at festival time, than any one of twenty Athenians who everyone says look much the same.’ He glanced at me. ‘It’s an unlooked-for gift from the gods that you were there as well.’
I had no idea what he meant by that, but before I could ask, the Scythian stood up. ‘Will you come with me, please?’
‘Where?’
‘Why?’
Hyanthidas and I spoke at the same time. Kallinos shrugged again.
‘There’s a man wearing a red cloak been found dead. Some poor bastard of a slave sent out to buy charcoal tripped over him just after dawn. I know you two have these lovely ladies as witnesses to prove you were snoring in bed, but the tavern you were in last night was where most of the epic poets were drinking. I need to find someone who might recognise him.’
‘How—?’ I broke off as I realised there must be some foul play here. Someone who’d simply settled down to sleep and never woken up would be carried off the streets with the other refuse by the public slaves.
‘Shall we go?’ Kallinos prompted.
His face told me he wasn’t going to share the details of whatever had happened. Not here, anyway, and there was
