We waited. I looked up and down the street. If Damianos came back now, he would see us as soon as he turned that last corner. He would know who we were, and there would be no way for us to catch him before he fled. Kallinos had his bow, but as soon as Damianos ducked out of sight, the Scythian wouldn’t have a target.
At last Pherenike emerged, with her arm around another woman’s shoulders. We stepped aside to let them pass. I guessed this must be Tryphosa, Damianos’ wife. Slightly built, she walked hunched over with a shawl draped over her head to hide her face. That didn’t hide her stifled sobs and shaking shoulders.
Pherenike was soothing her like a baby. She broke off to look at the lad. ‘Fetch Alkimos,’ she said quietly.
Tryphosa wailed some incoherent objection, but Pherenike ignored her. ‘Go on, boy. Father, invite our guests in.’
The boy ran off fast enough to compete for a panhellenic garland. The old man’s expression brightened. ‘Please, you are very welcome.’
Pherenike paused on her own threshold and looked back at Kallinos. ‘If you’re here to keep the peace, you had better stay by that gate. If he comes back and finds her gone, he’ll break down every door on the street until he finds her.’
Kallinos nodded and glanced at Ambrakis. He and the three Scythians went to flank the gate that was still standing ajar. The slave was hesitating in the gap, snivelling with fear.
‘Come in, come in,’ the old man urged impatiently. ‘I am Hermolaos Arastou and you are welcome to my home.’
He didn’t close the gate, so we could instantly see if Kallinos and Ambrakis needed reinforcements. As the old man offered us seats around a long table in the courtyard, Pherenike and the girl gently ushered the weeping Tryphosa inside the house. By the time we’d introduced ourselves to the old man, a tall slave with rusty Thracian hair had brought out cups, a jug of wine, one of water and a plate of cheese tarts that had probably been destined for the family’s evening meal. We waited politely as the old man mixed us each a refreshing drink with the slow care of someone who knows his grip can’t always be trusted.
‘So, your neighbour…?’ I didn’t need to say any more.
‘Did you see her face?’ The old man scowled. ‘He thinks we don’t know because he only hits her where her bruises don’t show. He is a brute when no one can see, then he’s all compliments and gifts for her if there’s anyone looking on.’
‘Do they have children?’ I asked with misgiving.
‘Two sons and a daughter.’ His scowl darkened. ‘At least she’s safe when she’s pregnant and until the baby is weaned.’
That was a double-edged sword. If the poor woman fled to her father’s house, she would have to leave her children behind. Though it looked as if any defiance had been long since beaten out of her. My determination to see Damianos pay for his crimes strengthened.
‘So,’ the old man demanded. ‘Is your friend going to call him before the magistrates for assault?’
‘At very least.’ I saw the other two looking at me. Evidently I’d been elected as spokesman. I decided to share what we knew, short of an outright accusation of murder. The more doors closed to Damianos the better. The more people in Athens or anywhere else who would send word to Hermaios and Polymnestos’ families if they saw him, the sooner he would be caught.
By the time I’d told my tale, the old man was gaping in astonishment. He might be old, but he wasn’t stupid. He could hear what I wasn’t saying, when I said Damianos had questions to answer about three dead men and attacks on two more.
‘I can tell you whether or not he was home when these killings happened,’ he said with a glint in his eye.
‘Thank you.’ I guessed he had little enough to do in his dotage other than keep track of comings and goings along the street, and as an Athenian citizen, he could give evidence in court.
‘He’s been brooding over this insult to his honour ever since Adrasteia ran away.’ Pherenike came out from the shadows of the porch and mixed herself a cup of wine. I wasn’t sure how much she had heard, but it must have been enough.
‘Tryphosa says he swore he would have his revenge when this Great Panathenaia arrived. That’s why there are none of the usual visitors. He’s been obsessed, getting worse and worse the closer we got to the festival. He said he would drag Adrasteia home by her hair when he found her. Tryphosa’s been dreading what he would do to his sister’s lover, though she knew better than to say so. That didn’t save her after he lost his temper and beat his favourite slave to death. She thought he was going to kill her too.’
Lysicrates frowned. ‘If he doesn’t come back, or if he’s accused and condemned, what will happen to her and the children?’
‘Alkimos Sethou will become head of the family. He and Damianos had a falling-out over business matters after their father died, and they’ve barely spoken since Adrasteia ran away. Damianos blamed Alkimos for that, though I don’t know why. His wife and I have stayed in touch. He’s a fair man, and they will take care of Tryphosa and her children.’
If she was prepared to trust Alkimos, that was good enough for me.
‘Is his brother still in the same business? Selling perfume?’ If so, he might be able to tell us where Damianos could turn for help.
The old man answered. ‘They’ve stayed in business together. Alkimos had no choice. Damianos would have made it his mission to ruin him if he ever set
