Meantime, I had devised absolutely no arguments that would persuade Ikesios and the other performers to abandon their reckless scheme to catch Damianos. Unfortunately I hadn’t had any better ideas to find some damning evidence that would prove the bastard’s guilt. I was only growing more apprehensive that this murderer would somehow escape punishment for his crimes, at least as far as Athens’ courts were concerned.
The audience stirred as the poet left the speaker’s platform. Everyone braced themselves for Patroclos’ funeral and the games to console his weeping spirit. I was about to ask the others if they’d had any inspiration when a hand tapped my shoulder.
It was Lydis. ‘Excuse me, please.’
‘Of course. Sit down. Behind him.’ I looked hastily across the audience as I sought to hide the slave behind Hyanthidas’ greater height. To my relief, there were enough lamps here and there to show me Ikesios wasn’t looking this way.
I wasn’t reassured though. I saw that first gathering of poets had gone their separate ways. Now several clusters of men in dark cloaks had their heads close together. It was a safe bet they weren’t assessing the dramatic delivery of the epic. I had to do something, and I had to do it fast. The more poets Ikesios recruited, the harder it would be to stop this plot before it ended in some disaster.
I turned to Lydis. ‘Do you know where Damianos lives?’
Well trained, he didn’t ask questions. ‘Yes.’
‘Take me there, now.’ I stood up and looked at the others. ‘We’ll see what we can find out tonight while that lot are still celebrating the conclusion of their Iliad. We can discuss what to do first thing tomorrow.’
‘Be careful.’ Zosime’s face was shadowed with apprehension in the dim light. ‘Both of you.’
‘We’ll just be seeing what his house can tell us about the sort of man he is,’ I assured her. ‘So we can make some plan in the morning.’
I led Lydis down a path that would keep him as far away from Ikesios as possible. As we left the Pnyx I explained why. I could only hope Aristarchos could think of some way to thrust a spear through the spokes of the poets’ chariot wheel.
We hurried past the Piraeus Gate and on into Koele. It wasn’t very far. On the other hand, to my relief, Damianos Sethou’s house was in the depths of the district, within sight of the city walls. If Ikesios and his allies began with the first tavern they came to tomorrow, it should take them a fair while to reach these streets. With luck, they wouldn’t be making an early start after drinking late into the night with their devotees.
I fixed the route in my mind as we walked. When we arrived, I studied the closed gate that Lydis indicated. I wanted to be certain I would know it again. There was a lit lamp waiting for someone to come home, so I could see the wood was sturdy and well painted. There were no scuffs or splinters at the bottom to hint at hinges needing repair. There was no way to see over the wall to the house though, not without attracting attention. These streets weren’t busy, but they weren’t deserted.
I turned to Lydis. ‘Go home. Tell your master everything. I’m going to see what I can find out that might prove useful. I’ll share whatever I learn with him first thing tomorrow. I will be very careful,’ I added before he could caution me, on his master’s behalf or on Zosime’s, come to that.
‘Very well.’ The wiry slave didn’t look happy, but he did as he was told.
I watched him trot away and satisfied myself that no one strolling home or out to see friends had paid any particular attention to our conversation.
Once Lydis was out of sight, I went in search of the nearest tavern. Ikesios was right about one thing. Taverns are where neighbourhood rumours gather like bees around a blossoming tree. I wanted to know what was being whispered about Damianos. Before I went inside, I fished my purse out of my tunic, or rather, the purse of Aristarchos’ silver that Lydis had handed me so early this morning. Even after keeping the tavern owner out in Ankyle happy, there should be enough in there to encourage a wine-seller to share a little gossip, always provided he could spare the time from his other customers.
I blessed Athena, and just as swiftly apologised to Dionysos, when I walked into the tavern and saw that this evening’s trade was brisk without being hectic. Locals coming home from the athletics competitions and the Homeric recital were enjoying a festival drink, but this place was too far off the beaten track to be flooded with passing trade. Judging by the relaxed atmosphere, that suited the locals and the tavern keeper perfectly well. It looked like a comfortable place to spend an evening. The floor and tables were clean and there was a lingering savoury scent from whatever food had been served earlier in the evening.
More importantly, the place had clearly been well-established for years. Adrasteia’s flight must have been a topic for gossip around these tables. I hoped the current tavern keeper had been here to hear it. He was a burly man, taking a few moments’ ease between mixing jugfuls from the amphorae of wine stacked against the wall behind him and the stone storage jar for water firmly fixed in the earth of the floor.
I picked up a stool that wasn’t being used and walked over to take a seat a few paces away from his table of jugs and cups. ‘A full measure of your finest amber, please. One of wine to four of water.’ I held up two obols. That should reassure him that I had silver to spend, but I wasn’t here to get roaring drunk
