Hyanthidas was seeing the same warning signs as me. He nodded. ‘I will.’
I made my way around the edge of the crowd to reach the knot of poets. By the time I drew close, Achilles was recognising Lykaon, prince of Troy, as a man he’d already captured once and sold into slavery on Lemnos. As we all know, Achilles wasn’t impressed to see him back at the battle.
As the poet up on the platform gave us the young prince’s heart-rending appeal for mercy, Ikesios saw me approaching. He came to meet me, and we walked a little further away, to escape scalding looks of irritation. When people have already devoted two long days and late nights to following the entire performance their patience for interruptions wears thin.
‘We have a plan.’ Ikesios was bright-eyed with eagerness.
‘Tell me.’ I tried to look encouraging.
I needed to know the worst so Aristarchos and I could work out how to foil any hare-brained scheme that might lead to more bloodshed, or to Damianos learning he was suspected and escaping before he could be accused.
‘Remember how Hector was fooled, when Patroclos wore Achilles’ armour? Hector pursued him, not knowing he was chasing down the wrong man?’ Ikesios grinned. Clearly, it didn’t occur to the youth that we might try to dissuade them. ‘If Damianos hears that Posideos is coming to the city, he won’t be able to resist trying to find him. We can offer him someone to follow and overwhelm him when he tries to strike. There’ll be countless witnesses to see us catch him in the act. The magistrates will have to commit him to the city prison for public violence.’
If that happened, the magistrates might very well order the Scythians to hold Damianos in the city prison until his trial. Perhaps this wasn’t such a mad idea, though I could still see plenty of potential pitfalls. ‘I remember Patroclos ended up dead. Who’s volunteering to be killed this time?’
Ikesios shook his head, stubborn. ‘Daimachos, Hermaios and Polymnestos were caught unawares and alone. This time we’ll be ready for this bastard. Besides, he wants information more than he wants blood. He won’t kill before he’s tried to beat his sister’s whereabouts out of the man he thinks is Posideos.’
‘How will he hear the news that Posideos is here – supposedly?’ I tried for a tone of mild enquiry.
‘We’re already talking about it. How much we’re looking forward to seeing Posideos and his lovely wife. What a lovely surprise their unexpected visit will be, as they join us to enjoy the second day of the Odyssey.’ Ikesios’ gesture swept past the poets he had been talking to and took in every man who’d performed in the Iliad.
I told myself the chances of Damianos overhearing poets gossiping on the Pnyx had to be slim. Unless he was already sitting within earshot, unsuspected. We still didn’t know what he looked like.
Ikesios’ next words killed that frail hope as dead as some poor Trojan in Achilles’ path.
‘We’re going to Koele tomorrow, to split up and visit every tavern we can find. Four or five of us at a time, we’ll share a jug of wine, and talk about Posideos so that everyone can hear what we have to say.’
So the youth had thought this through. Adrasteia’s flight from home must have been a local scandal, and I didn’t imagine it had been forgotten since then. I wouldn’t wager a sixteenth of an obol against somebody passing the news on to Damianos, whether they were genuinely trying to be helpful, or they enjoyed throwing a lit oil lamp into a heap of brushwood. Every district has both breeds of busybodies.
‘I see.’ I didn’t want to start an argument to ruin the ongoing performance for the people close by. ‘So you expect he’ll come up here the day after tomorrow. But how will he know who to attack?’
Ikesios looked at me as if I was an idiot. ‘Because everyone will be greeting Posideos by name, with loud cries of welcome.’
‘Damianos will hardly attack him in full view of the audience.’
‘Of course not.’ Ikesios was getting impatient. ‘He’ll follow whoever our man is when he leaves, looking to catch him unawares. Only he won’t know that we’ll be following him. He’ll be taken by surprise, just like that priest of Nemesis.’
For the first time, I thought I saw a flaw in their plan, or at least something to give these fools pause for thought. ‘Who is going to play this part? How do you know Damianos won’t already know who he is? He’s been stalking epic poets for days.’
For the first time, Ikesios looked uncertain. ‘We’ll find someone to help us.’
‘Right.’ I tried to hide my relief. At least they had to solve that challenge before they could go any further. I swiftly prayed that divine Athena bless anyone they asked with the sense to say no.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ I nodded a brief goodbye. ‘Good luck.’
I made my way back to the others. Keeping my voice low, I told them what I’d learned.
‘That’s madness,’ Hyanthidas said flatly.
‘Someone will get hurt,’ Menkaure agreed.
‘Or killed,’ Telesilla said grimly.
‘Or Damianos will see it for a trap,’ Zosime observed. ‘If he does, at very least that’ll put him on his guard. At worst, he’ll flee the city. Then Daimachos, Hermaios and Polymnestos will never see justice and Adrasteia will never be safe.’
‘So we have tonight and tomorrow to come up with a better plan of our own.’
I looked at the four of them and saw everyone was as much at a loss as me.
Chapter Eighteen
Darkness had fallen. We sat through the tragedy of Hector’s death, so powerfully delivered that the vast audience fell silent. As Andromache mourned her lost love and grieved for the future that lay ahead for their young son, the stillness up on the Pnyx was broken only by faint
