‘Does anyone want something to eat?’ Zosime looked at us all. ‘There’s spiced barley porridge left from yesterday.’
Kadous went to fetch yet more water while I found a mixing jug and chose an amphora from my small stock in the dining room. Menkaure lit a lamp and set it on the bench in the porch while I diluted the blood-dark wine once the Phrygian returned.
‘All praise to Dionysos.’ Once everyone was sitting down, we offered the first taste to the god.
‘Kadous,’ I said casually. ‘When you get a chance, ask Alke if she saw any strangers hanging around this afternoon.’
I could always hope the gaunt little slave had been standing guard for her mistress. She might have seen something useful.
‘Anyone carrying a paint pot, you mean?’ The Phrygian scowled. I was about to reassure him, saying I didn’t blame him for not catching whoever defaced our wall, when Zosime asked him something else entirely.
‘How badly do you think Mikos will punish her if he catches Onesime with another man?’
‘Bad enough, but he knows if he thrashes her too hard he’ll have no one to cook his meals and sweep his floors.’ The Phrygian looked even grimmer.
I decided to change the subject. ‘So what did you do after the choir competitions?’
Kadous refilled his cup. ‘I went to Elaios the cobbler’s workshop, over by the Diochares Gate.’
‘Ah, of course.’ Elaios is well known for opening his doors to folk from the Troad and the Hellespont. Ever since the age of heroes, Hellenic cities have founded colonies to the west of the Halys River, which marks the boundary of Persia’s Phrygian satrapy. Kadous could always be sure of finding some of his countrymen there. ‘Did you enjoy some good company?’
‘Yes, and no. It’s usually the same crowd,’ my slave continued thoughtfully, ‘even if we only see some of the traders once or twice a year, when they come for the Dionysia or the Panathenaia. But there were a handful of strangers there today, all with fire in their bellies. They were claiming that paying the Delian League’s levy to the Athenians is as bad as paying taxes to the Persians, maybe even worse.’
I didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Surely they were just full of wine?’
Kadous shook his head. ‘I reckon they were set on strife.’
‘Did they get any fish to bite?’ Menkaure asked.
Kadous nodded darkly. ‘That’s why I left. Fists and cups were about to start flying.’
So there hadn’t only been trouble in the agora today. ‘Does Elaios’s crowd honestly think that the League tribute is so unfair?’
‘Not normally. Not beyond grumbling into their third or fourth cup.’ Kadous shrugged. ‘Everyone does, when they’ve racked up some trading loss, or heard of a bad harvest at home. But these strangers were up in arms, condemning the levy as vile injustice.’
‘Drink fuels a lot of folly,’ Zosime remarked. ‘I doubt they’ll remember much when they wake up wine-sick tomorrow.’
Menkaure shook his head. ‘Words like that are like arrows. You can’t call them back and they stick in the mind of whoever might hear them.’
I shared his concern. ‘Is the whole of Ionia nursing this grievance?’
Whoever these unhappy men might be, they lived a long way from Pargasa. The Troad and Caria are at the very top and the very bottom of the Ionian coast respectively. If you’re heading for the Hellespont from Athens, you sail a northerly course across the Aegean by way of Lemos and Samothrace. Or you travel by land through Thessaly, Macedonia and the coastal cities overlooked by Thrace. The only sensible routes to Caria lie southwards, taking ship from island to island, by way of Delos and Mykonos, or Paros and Naxos, to Cos before making landfall at Halicarnassos.
‘If they are, Athens needs to take heed.’ Kadous looked me in the eye.
I knew what he meant. Rumours of Boeotian discontent had rumbled like distant thunder for several years before their revolt broke out. But the Archons had still seemed as amazed by the uprising as a man struck by lightning from a clear blue sky.
When we’d been camped out and waiting for battle at Charonea, every hoplite in my phalanx had agreed that if the great and good of Athens’ fine families had only kept their ears open in the agora, maybe all that bloody trouble could have been nipped in the bud. If so, perhaps the Megarans and the Euboeans would have thought better of taking up arms as well and we’d be safely back at home. I hated to think the peace we enjoyed now was so fragile. Before I could pursue that cheerless notion, Menkaure spoke up, unconcerned.
‘They’ll all calm down once they know there’s to be a fresh assessment of the levy at this year’s Panathenaia.’
‘Who told you that?’ exclaimed Zosime.
‘That’s the word from Crete.’ Menkaure’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m not sure who mentioned it first. Maybe Zokyros? But a good few others had heard the news too.’ He looked quizzically at his daughter. ‘What’s it to us?’
‘Remember the dead man dumped at our gate?’ she retorted. ‘He said there would be a reassessment at this Dionysia.’
‘There’s been no notice of any such thing posted in the agora,’ I pointed out.
Menkaure shrugged. ‘Your dead man got the wrong festival. Everyone knows League business is debated at the Panathenaia.’
‘Only at the Great Panathenaia and that’s not until next year,’ I insisted.
‘No, Zokyros said there’ll be a special assessment this year.’ Menkaure had no doubt about it. ‘There’ll be some declaration posted beforehand, you’ll see.’
‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’ Meantime, I’d better learn as much as possible about these rumours, and warn Aristarchos. ‘Will you do me a favour? Can you ask around and find out exactly who’s heard this? Can you ask who first told them? I’d like to know who’s particularly upset about having to pay the tribute.’
Menkaure looked more closely at me. ‘Why are you
