He paused and I couldn’t tell if this was all he had to tell me. Then he heaved a sigh and went on.
‘He has been seen going out and coming home at odd times for the past six or seven days. Some days he’s gone out at dawn and other times, he’s come back well after dark. A few days ago, so I hear anyway, he came back with blood on his clothes. I’ve seen bruises and scratches on his arms for myself.’
The tavern keeper’s glance at his slave betrayed the source of this news. So there was no hope of him coming forward to share what he’d heard when the prosecution was announced. Damianos would insist the tavern slave was tortured to validate his testimony, and my new friend wasn’t having that. Still, surely there could be no doubt that Damianos was the killer.
We just had to prove it. Talking of slaves… I hardened my heart, and was about to ask what the tavern keeper could tell me about the rest of the household when he smashed my hopes like an old pot.
‘He had a favoured slave, a sly Sardinian, who would run his errands. There was some commotion the other day, so I’m told. The next day, the Sardinian was carried out dead, taken to be buried outside the city.’ He glanced at his own slave again. ‘No one much liked him, the Sardinian, but something like that makes people curious, you know? It’s not as if there’s been any recent illness in the district. No one can explain it.’
I felt sick. I could guess what had happened. Perhaps the Sardinian had baulked at being dragged deeper into Damianos’ crimes. Perhaps the killer had realised the slave would betray him if he was accused of assault by Thallos, once the pain of torture overwhelmed the Sardinian’s fear of his master. Either way, Damianos had killed the only real witness to the three murders that we could hope for. Even if the full story of the Sardinian’s death ever came out, it would make no difference. Damianos disposing of his own property so callously might offend the gods, but it wasn’t against the laws of men.
I sighed and poured out the last of the wine for me and the tavern keeper to share. I also laid some more silver on the table beside the empty jug. ‘I’ve never met Damianos and I don’t think we’ll be doing business. There’s no need for him to know that, don’t you agree?’
‘I’ve no reason to speak to him about anything.’ The tavern keeper swept up the silver with one hand, and raised the jug with the other. ‘Some more?’
‘Thank you, but no.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll wish you a good evening, and an enjoyable festival.’
I smiled and headed out. I could see the tavern keeper was still curious, but hopefully he’d see nothing to be gained by gossiping about a nosy stranger. As I walked back towards the Pnyx, I was forced to reconsider the poets’ plan. We had to do something to be certain this murderer would face justice. Catching him in the act looked like the best way to do that. But so many things could go horribly, fatally wrong with that scheme.
Absorbed in my thoughts, I nearly collided with a man heading in the other direction. I sidestepped hastily, but he was so preoccupied that he didn’t even spare me a glance, still less offer any acknowledgement.
I walked on a few paces, thinking nothing of it. Then something I’d seen in the man’s expression made me halt. I’d only caught a glimpse of his face in the light from the lamp on a gatepost, but I had seen that he was angry. No, more than angry. He was furious. Murderously so.
I turned to see the stranger was still within view, striding purposefully away. His hair and beard were dark. He was as tall as Thallos, maybe a little taller, and broader across the shoulders than the poet. I wouldn’t want to face him in a boxing match, still less in a fist fight if I was caught unawares.
I considered where he might have come from. Obviously, he could have spent his evening anywhere in the city. Even so, this street would be his most direct route if he had come down from the Pnyx. What was he so angry about? There could be any number of reasons for that. But perhaps he’d heard that someone he’d been trying to find to settle an old score would be in the city in a few days… Or was I weaving a story out of a passing encounter, the way I did when I was devising a play?
I was walking after the man by now. I soon realised I was retracing the route Lydis and I had taken earlier. It wasn’t long before whatever god-sent instinct had made me stop walking was proved dramatically right. The man went to Damianos’ house, by which I mean he went home. He had a key to thread through the hole in the gate, and the long brass rod was angled just right to push back the bolt inside. Since I was making sure I was well hidden in the shadows, I was too far away to see if his knuckles were bruised. As he reached up to take the lamp down from the gatepost, I saw a golden gleam from the seal ring he wore. I got a better look at his face as well. As I tried to commit every detail to memory I prayed to the Furies that I’d know him again in the daylight.
He went inside the yard and closed the gate. I heard the rattle of bolts at top and bottom that couldn’t be reached by a key. Damianos was locking up for the night.
I hurried back to the Pnyx. As I went, I rehearsed what I was going to say, first to Ikesios and then to Zosime. If I
