We found Zosime, Menkaure, Telesilla and Hyanthidas sitting close to the spot they’d claimed yesterday. We’d agreed on that before I’d left home. The actors and I settled down to enjoy the rest of the day as the performance went on through the evening and into the night.
As Odysseus visited the Underworld, I wondered what rebukes and reproaches Damianos would face when he passed from this life to the next. Then the wily Ithacan and his men evaded the lure of the Sirens, and escaped the horrors of man-eating Scylla and the vortex of Charybdis, thanks to Circe’s warnings. Well, most of them escaped, but disaster struck after the crew were driven by hunger to slaughter and eat the cattle of the sun, despite knowing that was forbidden. I pondered all the things that could go wrong tomorrow, if one of our supposed allies did something stupid, even after all our warnings.
Odysseus finished telling his tale to Alcinous and the Phaeacians and lay down to sleep. That’s where the first day’s performance ends, so we headed for our own beds to do the same. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.
Chapter Twenty
We didn’t have to get up early, so it didn’t matter that we’d hadn’t reached home till long after midnight. The first of the blue-cloaked poets wouldn’t take to the speaker’s platform until the heat of the day had passed, and Damianos couldn’t start hunting his prey before then.
Washing and dressing quietly, I left Zosime asleep. Out in the courtyard, I found Kadous humming a tune as he looked for eggs in the hen coop.
‘You’re cheerful.’
The Phrygian’s grin widened. ‘I won several good wagers. Tyren lost a fair sum betting on the wrong chariots though.’
I shrugged, non-committal. My father had taught me and my brothers never to wager silver we couldn’t afford to lose. ‘Who won the foot races?’
I would be looking for work as soon as the festival was over, and clients often like to chat about such things. Kadous was about halfway through an epic recital of the athletes’ contests when the bedroom door opened and Zosime emerged.
I turned to offer her a kiss. ‘Have you decided if you’re coming into the city?’
We had agreed that she would steer clear of the Pnyx. If serious trouble erupted, the actors and I would be distracted by worrying if she was safe.
She shook her head. ‘I’ll stay home and work at my loom like a good Penelope. Dad’s seeing some friends from Thebes, and I don’t fancy another day sitting in a tavern.’
‘I’ll be home as soon as I can,’ I assured her.
‘Make sure you come back with good news.’ Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious.
Kadous served us breakfast, and then I headed for the Itonian Gate. The road was busier than it had been on any day of the festival so far. That often takes visitors by surprise. The musical and athletics contests are open to all comers from the Hellenic world, so surely they’ll draw the biggest crowds? These fourth, fifth and sixth days of the eight are for the purely Athenian contests between teams drawn from our ten voting tribes.
What these visitors don’t realise is these are the most important competitions as far as we are concerned. These contests happen annually, not just every fourth year for the Great Panathenaia. Families from clear across Attica will make the journey to arrive today, as even the smallest one-donkey village owes its allegiance to one of our ten legendary heroes. Every city district has partners in the countryside and on the coast to make up its voting tribe, to make certain that everyone’s interests are represented in the People’s Assembly.
I knew Hyanthidas and Telesilla would be going to the theatre to see the warrior dance contest, where armed and armoured teams display the dexterity and precision that could save their lives in battle. The Corinthians had admitted they wanted to see that spectacle even before we had decided there was nothing they could do to help today.
Up on the Pnyx the second day’s performance of the Odyssey hadn’t started, though Melesias and the judges were already enthroned up on the speaker’s platform. Across the assembly area, citizens and visitors alike were settling down to enjoy the entertainment with keen anticipation, and I could see blue-cloaked poets here and there. I found a quiet spot where I wouldn’t get in anyone’s way, where I would seem to be watching the recital while I was looking out for Damianos.
Today red cloaks were scattered through the audience like poppies in a field of corn. Apollonides was standing by a pastry-seller’s handcart with a wine cup in his hand. Only four or five of the Iliad’s performers were with him. We had agreed that he mustn’t be surrounded. Damianos had to see some opportunity to strike.
Those poets were coming and going, with only Eupraxis staying by Apollonides’ side. Each new arrival greeted the actor; calling him Posideos with convincing surprise and delight. Perhaps my friends from the theatre and I had been unfair when we’d had our doubts about their acting abilities without a well-rehearsed script. They seemed well able to improvise.
Apollonides wasn’t wearing a red cloak of course, but the voluminous green cloak he had got from somewhere certainly stood out. As far as I could see from this distance, he was playing his part with the ease and commitment I had expected. Along with Menekles and Lysicrates, we had put a plausible story together to
