I should have realised Aristarchos would have commitments today. Then he saw me and promptly gestured, first to acknowledge me, and then to tell us to stay put. He spoke briefly to his wife. She was already looking far from festive, and her expression darkened as she glanced in our direction.
Aristarchos removed her hand from his arm and walked towards us. As his family went on their way, Lydis stayed in close attendance on his master’s wife along with the other slaves. Only Ambrakis held back, ready to escort Aristarchos as soon as he was required.
‘Please offer my apologies to your wife,’ I said hastily.
‘She’s just irritated that she can’t use her litter today.’ Aristarchos smiled without much humour.
I decided not to ask if the slaves to carry her in curtained privacy weren’t available because they were up at the Pnyx, or if Aristarchos had forbidden a show of what a great many people consider a Persian indulgence.
‘We have news.’ I ran through everything we had learned since yesterday, as well as the poets’ plan. I spoke as fast as I could, but it was still a lot of news. Aristarchos’ family and friends were out of sight before I had finished.
He sighed. ‘It’s not as if I can forbid this. I’m not even sure that the Archons could, or the festival commissioners – or that they would want to. Melesias is frantic to see this killer caught. He would be easily persuaded this is a good idea.’
He nodded at Apollonides. ‘Good luck. You can have Ambrakis and any other slaves he wants to muster, first thing tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’ I didn’t hide my relief. ‘We’ve recruited Menekles and Lysicrates as well.’
‘Very wise.’ Aristarchos knew them both from our rehearsals, when he’d been patron for my first Dionysia play.
‘We did ask them to meet us here.’ I hesitated.
Aristarchos smiled, this time with genuine warmth. ‘Tell Mus to expect them.’ He turned to be sure that the giant door slave was watching us, and I guessed his gesture indicated we were to be admitted.
‘We shall be out at the races for the rest of the day,’ he went on, ‘and we’re dining elsewhere this evening, but you may consider my household at your disposal.’
‘You are very generous,’ I said gratefully.
‘Just make sure you plan for every eventuality. Tell Mus everything I need to know.’
He summoned Ambrakis with a snap of his fingers, and the two of them walked away. I noticed Aristarchos didn’t seem in any particular hurry to catch up with his family.
‘It’s useful to have powerful friends,’ Apollonides observed lightly.
‘Very,’ I agreed.
Mus let us in and we were given seats in the shade of the outer courtyard’s colonnade. A slave was summoned to bring us whatever we might need. I felt awkward calling him Illyrios, but I knew that was the name Aristarchos’ wife gave every male slave. Apollonides and I began discussing how events tomorrow might play out. Since we’d both spent years watching comedies and tragedies at the Lenaia and the Dionysia, before either of us started writing and acting, we could imagine a great many possibilities.
Just before noon, there was a knock at the gate. We looked across the courtyard to see Mus admit Lysicrates and Menekles. They came to join us, cheerfully curious.
‘What’s going on then?’ Lysicrates looked at us both.
‘Apart from an excellent excuse to get away from a house full of relatives for an afternoon.’ Menekles grinned.
‘Oh, it’s an epic tale,’ Apollonides assured them.
Our friends’ good humour faded as we explained. First we told them about the series of murders. They hadn’t heard anything about these deaths. There was no reason why they should have, of course. It wasn’t as if they knew any of the epic poets personally. They weren’t rehearsing a play and picking up the latest news from the chorus men, or the rumours running around costume and mask makers’ workshops. Both men had been enjoying the festival with friends and family, and neither had any particular interest in the Iliad or the Odyssey competitions.
We laid out the poets’ plan to trap Damianos. The two actors were incredulous. Then they were loud in their objections. Apollonides challenged them to come up with alternative suggestions. I laid out the impossibility of proving the murderer’s guilt beyond all doubt in any other way. Telling them how Damianos had surely killed his Sardinian slave to be certain the poor bastard couldn’t betray him finally silenced them both.
‘All right, you’ve made your point,’ Lysicrates said crossly.
Menekles heaved a grim sigh. ‘So what can we do, to make sure this doesn’t end up as a hopeless comedy of mistake piled on misunderstanding, or worse, some bloody tragedy with dead poets all over the Pnyx?’
‘A rabid dog’s most dangerous when he’s cornered,’ Lysicrates observed.
I wasn’t going to argue with that. ‘Here’s what we’ve been discussing so far.’
Unsurprisingly, our friends had plenty to add. The slave brought us food and drink, and we ended up using olive stones on the tabletop to imagine where different people might be. Finally, we were as satisfied as we were going to get with our plans.
‘Of course, after all this, he may not even show his face.’
Lysicrates was trying to make a joke, so we dutifully smiled. Then we looked at each other, at a loss to know what to do next.
‘Some wine?’ Menekles suggested.
We quenched our thirst, and I told the others the news from the friends we had made in Corinth that Hyanthidas and Telesilla had brought us. It was a relief to talk about something besides violent death for a little while.
‘If they’re up at the Pnyx watching the Odyssey, why don’t we go and join them?’ Lysicrates suggested.
Menekles nodded. ‘We can remind ourselves of the lie of the land.’
I saw that Apollonides agreed. ‘Let me talk to Mus first, while you finish the wine.’
I told the big slave
