‘I see.’ That was good news as far as I was concerned. Resentment loosens tongues.
Now I was confident we’d have a whole lot more testimony to condemn Damianos before a jury, as well as scents to follow as we hunted him down. Add to that, I would be able to tell my mother and Zosime that his mistreated wife and her children were finally in good hands.
Though if we were going to bring the bastard to the Areopagus to answer for his crimes, we still had to catch him. I saw that possibility receding with every drip from a water clock’s spout. Damianos might be vicious, but he wasn’t a fool. He had to know he’d be accused of today’s attack on Apollonides. I wondered which road he was taking out of the city, and where he was heading.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I kept an eye on the yellowing sun as the old man talked. He had plenty to say and he was inclined to repeat himself. Thankful as I was for this information about Damianos, I wanted to get back to tell Aristarchos what we had learned, and dusk wasn’t so very far off.
The last of the day’s competitions between the city’s voting tribes would start at sunset. The torch race starts at the altar of Eros that stands at the entrance to the groves of the Academy, where Prometheus and Hephaistos are worshipped alongside Athena. The runners carry the sacred fire from there along the Panathenaic Way to the god of love’s rock-cut shrine at the foot of the Acropolis. Every voting tribe puts forward a team of forty who run a relay, passing a blazing torch from hand to hand every sixty strides or so. The first torch to arrive will kindle the sacred flame that burns on Athena’s altar high on the Acropolis itself, as the rituals and celebrations go on through the night. The next morning, the great festival procession will arrive to find that fire still alight. Our grateful city offers copious sacrifices and burns the goddess’s portion, and Athena’s ancient statue is given her new gown as tangible proof of our devotion.
I wasn’t sure if Aristarchos and his family would have duties to fulfil as part of the procession, but since they were undoubtedly among the city’s great and good, there was every chance they’d be involved. The Great Panathenaia procession sets off at sunrise from the Dipylon Gate. Honoured aged citizens carry olive branches while prominent resident foreigners wear purple robes and carry silver trays with offerings of cakes and honeycombs to tempt the sacrificial animals selected to take part. They’re all escorted by musicians playing twin pipes and lyres.
After them, Athens’ allies and our own fighting men march or ride in chariots and on horseback, demonstrating our power and unity and whatever else the festival commissioners have decided to celebrate, alongside whoever they’ve chosen to invite, even barbarians on occasion. Last of all, the women of Athens walk in the place of honour, bringing the newly woven gown that will adorn Athena’s most ancient statue. Renewed every year and glorious in saffron and hyacinth hues, the intricate weaving depicts our glorious goddess’s victory over the Titans.
Since the whole immense cavalcade has to be mustered and marshalled well before dawn, I didn’t imagine late visitors would be welcome this evening if Aristarchos and his family were trying to get some rest beforehand.
The rest of the populace has no such responsibilities, so it’s quite common for Athenians and visitors alike to stay up all night sharing in the revelry until the sun rises again. I realised that must be why Adrasteia and Posideos had chosen this particular day to run away at the last Great Panathenaia. If Damianos had been out with his business partners for the whole day of the tribal contests and the night that followed, the fugitives could get a good distance from the city before they were missed. They’d get further with luck, if Damianos came home and went straight to sleep without checking to see his sister was where he’d left her like a miser’s hoarded wealth.
A stir in the road outside interrupted the old man. The lad who’d been sent off earlier reappeared, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘Alkimos is here.’
As the Thracian slave went to fetch Pherenike, I saw an unknown man who nevertheless resembled Damianos talking to the snivelling slave in the entrance across the street.
I seized my opportunity and stood up. ‘Ikesios, tell the brother what’s happened today, as well as everything else we think Damianos has done. I need to tell Aristarchos the bastard’s nowhere to be found around here.’
I wanted to let him know what we had learned from these helpful neighbours. I wanted him to tell the bereaved families how many witnesses would be able to testify to Damianos’ vile character. I wanted those wealthy Athenians who served as visitors’ advocates for other Hellenic cities to know what sort of man might come seeking shelter, so they would tell their allies to reject him. But if I didn’t catch Aristarchos today, I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to talk to him before the Great Panathenaia ended.
The day after the great procession sees the boat races down at Piraeus where those citizens too poor to arm themselves as hoplites display their prowess with their oars. Meantime up in the city, the hoplite and chariot race would show everyone that Athenians rich enough to own horses nevertheless saw themselves as the equals of everyone else, and were prepared to risk their necks to prove it.
The day after that was the final day of the festival, when the panhellenic contest prizes were awarded. Afterwards, we would join my mother, my brothers,
