Sarkuk gave me a measuring look. ‘Why was he at your house?’
‘I honestly have no idea.’ I hoped they could see this was the truth. ‘Did he say he was going to see me? Do you know anyone who could have told him where I lived?’
‘Not at all.’ Sarkuk shook his head slowly, pensive. ‘Besides, you told my son that this has all been some mistake. That we will see no relief from the levy at this festival or even this year.’
‘There was no mistake,’ snarled Tur, rising to his feet yet again. ‘We have been deceived. How do we know we’re not still being lied to? You could have killed him yourself before playing the good citizen to cover up your crime!’
‘Why would I kill a man I don’t even know?’ I’d make allowance for the boy’s grief but I wasn’t going to be accused.
Tur hesitated but he was still determined to find someone to blame. ‘You could have—’
‘Enough!’ Sarkuk snapped. ‘You insult our visitor and make a fool of yourself. Forgive my son,’ he said stiffly. ‘He is very young.’
‘So were we all, in our day.’ I forced a thin smile to take some of the sting out of my words.
The old man, Azamis, looked up, dark streaks of tears in his beard. ‘He said he was going to see Archilochos when he left here that night.’
‘Who’s that?’ I looked hopefully around the three of them.
‘A trader,’ Sarkuk said thoughtfully. ‘A regular visitor to Pargasa. He brings our town council the news from Athens several times a year.’
‘Did he tell Xandyberis that the tribute would be reassessed?’ My pulse quickened. Aristarchos would want to know about this. ‘At this year’s Dionysia, not at the Panathenaia?’
‘Perhaps.’ Sarkuk looked uncertain.
‘Do you know where to find this Archilochos in Athens?’ I tried to hide my urgency.
Sarkuk shook his head. ‘Xandyberis always dealt with him.’
‘Xandyberis believed that knowledge is power.’ Azamis surprised us all with a humourless laugh. ‘He wasn’t inclined to share either.’
I looked at Sarkuk. ‘You should tell the Polemarch about this man, this Archilochos. It may help the magistrates find out who killed your friend.’
He nodded, grim-faced. ‘And we must recover his body.’
‘Let me show you the way to the city prison,’ I offered. ‘The Scythians there will be able to tell you what to do.’
I wasn’t only being helpful. I wanted to hear everything that Sarkuk might have to say about this mysterious trader. I also wanted to learn whatever the Scythians might have discovered about Xandyberis’s death in the past few days. Then I could hand all this new information over to Aristarchos and head off for dinner with my family. It was still early enough in the afternoon. I’d get home in plenty of time to find some honey cakes left.
Then, with Athena’s blessing, I could put all this unholy mess safely behind me. Then all I would have to worry about was my play’s performance tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
I wanted to take Sarkuk to see the Scythians alone, but the youth Tur insisted on coming.
‘You’re not walking these streets without me at your side,’ he said forcefully to his father.
I caught the lad’s sideways glance. I could see he still didn’t believe I wasn’t involved in Xandyberis’s murder. He was just longing to find some excuse to confront me. I didn’t react. I grew up with three brothers.
The greybeard Azamis didn’t help. ‘I will be quite safe,’ he assured his son. ‘I won’t open the door to anyone.’
‘Make sure you don’t.’ Sarkuk slung a cloak around his shoulders and looked at me. ‘Shall we go?’
I led the way. The far end of Heliotrope Lane joined a road leading out of Kollytos towards the Hill of the Pnyx. We soon reached the tangle of streets inside the Piraeus Gate and headed north to cut between the Hill of the Areopagus and the Acropolis.
‘You didn’t say how Xandyberis died,’ Sarkuk said abruptly. ‘You can tell me, though I’d be grateful if you didn’t distress my father by…’
He fell silent, not wanting to yield to his worst imaginings.
‘His throat was cut.’ I offered what little comfort I could. ‘It looked as if he fell to a single blow. He wouldn’t have suffered.’
‘Xandyberis taken unawares?’ Tur shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it.’
I wasn’t sure if his scorn was for the dead man or for my implausible tale. I let that go because I’d just realised something.
Unless a foe strikes very lucky, it’s vanishingly rare for a first thrust to kill. Mortal wounds usually follow any number of lesser slashes and gashes. Those few times when I’ve seen some poor fool injured in a tavern fight or attacked in the street, it’s the unexpected attacks that prevail. Attacks from a man the victim was drinking with or talking to mere moments before.
I wondered if the killer was someone Xandyberis was willing to walk beside or to sit next to, never expecting such a companion would turn a blade on him. Someone he trusted like this trader Archilochos.
I’d have to be absolutely certain, with witnesses or evidence to back me, before I dared lay any such accusation before the Athenian courts. The penalties for malicious prosecution would beggar me if no more than one in five of the jury agreed that I’d proven my case.
‘So, Archilochos,’ I said as casually as I could, ‘what does he trade in? What does Pargasa buy and sell?’
‘Precious little,’ Sarkuk said frankly. ‘We grow olives and almonds and raise sheep and goats, but there’s scant land with enough water to grow grain. There are seldom years when we can harvest more than we need to feed ourselves.’
‘Fewer still when we can sell any surplus for our own profit. All our hard work goes into hoarding
