The man looked blankly at the youth. From what I could see of Soterides’ expression, he was equally bewildered. The poet was quicker to recover though.
‘Help me—’
‘Shut up.’ The man from the coast slammed his prisoner’s face into the wall again. He didn’t relax his grip as he looked at me and Ikesios. ‘I know nothing about any woman. I serve Nemesis and this filth has gravely offended her.’
He gave Soterides another shake in case we were in any doubt who he meant.
‘Oh.’ I drew a breath as I saw what was going on. ‘You’re from Rhamnous, from the goddess’s temple there.’
Trikorynthos, where Soterides came from, was a district within easy reach of that town. They were both part of the same voting tribe, named to honour Aias, the great hero of the Trojan war.
‘What?’ Ikesios was still in the dark.
Of course, the youth was an Athenian, born and bred, and I guessed neither his own father nor Hermaios had ever been forced into borrowing money at whatever rate of interest a coterie of priests deemed appropriate.
‘You know there’s a great temple to Nemesis in Rhamnous?’ That was a bit of an exaggeration. Like so many of Athens’ temples, that new sanctuary is still being built. But the divine daughter of night who ensures that men get exactly what they deserve had earned a fine new shrine. She had seen the Persians’ hubris as they advanced to join battle with the Athenians and the Plataeans at Marathon. One of their ships had even carried a pristine block of Parian marble, ready to be carved into a monument to celebrate their great victory. Meantime, the citizens of Rhamnous had prayed for their patron goddess’s aid as they prepared to fight and die to defend Attica.
They say it’s thanks to her help that the Persians were defeated, and the great King Darius paid such a high price for his arrogance. I’m certainly not going to argue, and the Athenians hadn’t baulked when the people of Rhamnous claimed that block of marble as the spoils of war. I’m sure it will come in handy as their new temple progresses. The goddess’s priests are also raising funds for building materials in other ways.
‘Do you know that the temple makes loans?’ I asked Ikesios.
He stared at Soterides, open-mouthed. ‘Of all the goddesses to offend by breaking faith with her servants, you chose Nemesis?’
The poet screwed his eyes closed. If he could have turned his face away to hide his shame, he would have, but the priest still held his head pressed hard against the wall.
‘Let me guess, the loan and the interest came due at the start of the year?’ That explained why Soterides had been trying to borrow money off that merchant, and on family terms.
The priest nodded. ‘But this fool was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately for my mistress, his face is well known and it was easy enough to guess where he’d be. He wasn’t hard to find.’
I raised my hands. ‘We have no wish to interfere with you claiming what is owed to the goddess.’
The priest looked down at Soterides’ hand, still twisted painfully behind his back. ‘We’ll start with those rings. All of them.’
He released his hold and stepped back. The poet fell to his knees, leaning the top of his head against the wall as he rubbed his abused shoulder.
Then I saw him turn his face towards me and Ikesios, just far enough to look at us. His eyes were calculating when they should have been penitent. He planted the foot that had lost its sandal solidly on the beaten earth, ready to stand. He was ready to run, I could see it. His arm might be badly wrenched, but there was nothing wrong with his legs.
‘Don’t,’ I advised him. ‘We won’t offend the goddess by letting you get past us.’
Quite apart from the sheer stupidity of offending her, Nemesis is well known to be generous to those who do right by the laws of gods and men. I had already sought Aphrodite’s aid, but I’d take all the divine help that might be on offer.
‘Your rings,’ the priest repeated, menacing. ‘You can give them to me or I can take them.’
Soterides might be a fool with money, but he wasn’t that stupid. He could see as well as I did that he’d be lucky to escape with only a couple of his fingers pulled out of joint if he resisted. Scowling, he stripped off the rings.
The priest held out his hand. For an instant we saw Soterides consider tossing the gold on the ground. Then he thought better of it, and handed over what I guessed was the last of his wealth. The priest wasn’t finished. His smile was as chilling as a midwinter wind. ‘And the tunic.’
The poet looked at him, aghast. He looked at us with appeal on his face.
I shook my head. ‘Forget it.’
Ikesios spoke to the priest. ‘Do you want some help?’
Soterides sneered at the youth, but he unbuckled his belt all the same. A purse fell to the ground. It didn’t make much of a thud, so I guessed it didn’t hold anything to speak of. The priest made no move to pick up the leather pouch as Soterides dragged the tunic off over his head and handed it over.
He was left standing there naked, tousled and flushed with humiliation, as the priest folded the bold red tunic and then nodded at the purse. He didn’t need to speak. Soterides stooped, scooped up the pouch and handed that over as well.
The priest dropped it down the neck of his own plain brown tunic. ‘We’ll expect to see you before the end of the month. We’ll let you know how much you still owe.’
He walked towards us and Ikesios and I stepped apart to let him pass. Then we moved to stand
