So far so good. Now I concentrated on the rest of the wide space. I saw a few Scythians, but like last night, there were no more of them in attendance than any Athenian would usually expect. I was glad to see Kallinos and Dados, and guessed we had Aristarchos to thank for that. I saw Ambrakis, who was making a convincing show of gawking at the crowd like someone on his first visit to the city. I couldn’t pick out any of Aristarchos’ other slaves as I had no idea what they looked like. I could only trust they’d made their own arrangements to act as soon as they got my signal. I really hoped Mus had passed on those instructions correctly.
I couldn’t see any sign of Damianos. A disconcerting number of men who might have been him snagged my eye, but every time I looked more closely I didn’t recognise their faces. I grew more and more uneasy. Yesterday I’d been confident that I would know the killer again. By the time the first poet took to the speaker’s platform, I was seriously doubting myself.
I managed to sit reasonably still through Odysseus arriving back on Ithaca, and meeting Pallas Athena. I listened attentively as she warned him what to expect from the suitors infesting his house while they besieged his wife. I was one of the first on my feet once the goddess had disguised the long-suffering hero as a filthy old beggar, and before the next poet stepped up to relate the Prince of Ithaca’s meeting with the humble yet noble-hearted swineherd Eumaeus. I had to walk off my anxiety.
Easy to see in his green cloak, Apollonides was still standing with his supposed friends over by the pastry cart. I couldn’t tell which trio of poets were with him at present, and I didn’t waste time trying to recall their names. A few moments later, I saw Apollonides was moving, heading away down the hill. He must be heading for the nearest public latrine. With this hilltop used for so many public assemblies, that wasn’t far away. The Archons long ago must have worked out how far a man was prepared to walk for a piss and how far was too far, so he’d sully some quiet corner instead.
We had discussed this possibility, though I had no way to know if Apollonides was prompted by genuine need or if he’d had enough of this pretence and wanted to see if he could draw Damianos out. Eupraxis didn’t go with him, as we had agreed. Men seldom want company on such errands, and anything out of the ordinary risked stirring the killer’s suspicions that all was not as it seemed.
I saw Menekles strolling after our friend, staying just close enough to keep Apollonides in view. I walked casually over to take Menekles’ post. That was on the other side of the assembly area from the spot where I’d been loitering. The tall actor had picked a good vantage point. I got a clear view over the audience, though I still couldn’t see Damianos. I could also look down the path running down the hill towards the alley that led to the latrine.
As I glanced down the slope, my blood ran cold. Wearing a dark brown tunic, Damianos was walking up the hill. My memory for faces hadn’t deserted me. I knew it was him, no question. In the next breath, I realised he wasn’t coming up to the assembly area. His attention was on the alley where Apollonides – or as he thought, Posideos – had just gone.
In the blink of an eye, I guessed what must have happened. Damianos had been up on the Pnyx earlier and I hadn’t spotted him. He’d seen Apollonides being greeted by the poets and had marked him down as his prey. Then he’d retreated down the hill and found somewhere to watch and wait. He knew the wine our friend was drinking would eventually demand release. Now he was moving in. We thought we were lying in wait for the killer, but he had set a snare of his own.
My mouth was as dry as dust. That wasn’t a possibility we’d discussed, and there was no time for me to go and buy a cup of wine. I worked my jaw and rolled my tongue around my teeth. When I felt some spit flowing, I licked my lips. I whistled a three-note trill pitched high to rise above the murmur of the crowd. We hadn’t had time to find the Scythians and learn their Euboean shepherds’ secrets, but we’d agreed this would be good enough. This signal would tell the actors and Ambrakis that I had recognised Damianos.
I saw Menekles’ shoulders stiffen. The briefest of hitches slowed his step. So he had heard me. Good. Had he realised my whistle signified the man who was coming towards him? I was already walking towards the slope, forcing myself not to run. The last thing I wanted to do was provoke Damianos into bolting like a startled goat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lysicrates was moving too. He’d been lounging by a wine cart whose owner had set out some stools for serious drinkers.
I couldn’t spare any attention to see where Ambrakis had got to or how many slaves he was mustering. I needed to keep watch on Damianos, but I mustn’t make that obvious. I sauntered on down the slope. I was just another man heading away from the Pnyx. Not even one needing a piss. I made sure not to look towards the alley where Apollonides had gone. Damianos needed to think he could catch Posideos alone. To my relief, I saw Menekles realised that too. He strolled straight past the path leading to
