‘Forgive me, but the Great Panathenaia isn’t until next year,’ I told him with growing unease. ‘That’s when the Delian League’s business will be discussed, as it is every four years when all our allies assemble for that very purpose. This year’s City Panathenaia is only for Athens and Athenians. In any case, that festival isn’t for another four months, at the start of the new year at midsummer—’
‘There is to be a special reassessment at this year’s Dionysia.’ He shook his head, impatient. ‘Now, you will need to know all about Pargasa to make our case. We can meet after we’ve presented our tribute to honour Athena. That will happen the day after tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I know the ritual,’ I said, irritated. I didn’t need some Carian telling me how the Dionysia would proceed. ‘But I must tell you—’
He brushed my words aside. ‘You must convince the Archons to reduce this levy. We have barely recovered from the Persians’ vengeance. Our fields and orchards were laid waste when Caria rebelled in my grandfather’s day—’
I could believe that but it made no difference. I raised my voice to interrupt him. ‘If there was going to be any reassessment of tributes at this festival, or any time this year, the Archons would have posted an announcement in the agora.’ Even a blind man couldn’t have missed that. It would have been the talk of the city.
The Carian shook his head in obstinate denial. ‘You’re lying. Who’s paying you to silence our pleas?’
My sympathies for this lout evaporated like morning mist. If the dead man had been equally obnoxious, no wonder someone had cut his throat.
‘You Athenians are all the same!’ The young Carian clenched his fists. ‘You want to pick our pockets of every last coin. You spend our silver on your shining new temples and filling your bellies as you gorge at your festivals!’
He flung out a hand. An instant too late, I realised he only meant to gesture towards the Acropolis, still crowned with half-built shrines. But I had already thrown up my own hand to ward off his fist, shoving him backwards for good measure. Caught unawares, he stumbled and fell down hard on his arse. Passers-by scattered, exclaiming. Some laughed, not knowing what was going on.
He stared up at me, scarlet with humiliation and completely taken aback. I wondered when he’d last lost a fight. Men used to throwing their weight around never expect to end up on the ground. Well, it was time he learned that lesson.
‘Forgive me, I thought… Please, listen.’ I offered my hand to help him to his feet. ‘Your friend’s name was Xandyberis? I’m so sorry. I have grievous news. He was found dead last night—’
‘You lie!’ Smacking my hand away, he spat copiously on my feet.
Bystanders oohed and aahed like a theatre audience. I could see several grinning in avid expectation of a fist fight. Fuck that. I had more important things to do. I took a step back and straightened my cloak, trying to ignore the foul slime oozing warm between my toes.
‘Your companion was found dead last night,’ I repeated crisply. ‘The Archons’ slaves took his body for safekeeping on the Polemarch’s behalf. Address all your questions to them.’
As Athena was my witness, my duty to the dead man and to the Furies was done. The young lout was on his hands and knees now. I managed to lose myself in the crowd before he stood up. As I edged away, I saw him looking around wildly. He looked younger than I’d first thought, standing there with his mouth open and his expression dismayed as he realised he’d lost me.
Forget him. I had a play rehearsal to get to, if the Fates didn’t waylay me with any more problems this morning. Though, by the time I reached the road to take me out of the agora, I was having second thoughts. After stopping at a fountain to wash the disgusting slime from my foot and my sandal, I decided I had better make another stop first.
There was no telling if that arrogant young cock of a Carian knew where I lived. Kadous and Zosime needed to know not to open our gate if he turned up, keen to continue our quarrel.
Chapter Four
I doubled back across the agora and threaded my way through the narrow alleys of the Kerameikos district.
‘Looking for a fun time, handsome?’ A three-obol whore lounged against her curtained doorway.
‘Not today, thanks all the same.’ I spared her a smile regardless.
I’d sampled such delights hereabouts most nights after I’d come back from Boeotia. Drinking rough wine and fucking a sweet girl were fine ways to forget the stink and fear of battle. But, Athena be thanked, such sour memories fade. When I met Zosime I was more than ready to abandon brothels for a loving embrace in my own bed.
A few more turns and my destination lay ahead. The pottery’s door stood ajar and sounds of purposeful activity spilled into the rutted lane.
As I entered, Zosime’s father didn’t raise his eyes from the pot he was carefully shaping. ‘Philocles.’
‘Good day to you.’ I walked over, nodding to the other potters at their wheels and the vase painters working at their benches around the walls. Everyone was well used to me dropping in by now.
Menkaure lifted his hands away from his pot and let the wheel slow to a halt. Red clay was vivid on his fingers, his skin as dark as any I’ve ever seen from southern Egypt.
He and I had got chatting when I’d visited this workshop to buy kitchen pots for my mother. We’d emptied several jugs of wine as he satisfied my curiosity about his remote, sandy homeland. Not that I was looking for some setting for a play: I wanted to know
