‘Soon.’ I hesitated. ‘I hope so, anyway. You’re not the only ones with troubles. Someone’s spreading lies about me.’
I explained, swift and succinct, about the paint on my wall. I didn’t particularly want to tell my brother, or have to listen to his advice, but Nymenios was the head of the family. I decided I wanted him forewarned before someone stirring up shit brought home a rumour that I was a Persian sympathiser.
‘I’m trying to get to the bottom of it, but that could take me the rest of the festival.’
Nymenios nodded with reluctant understanding. ‘So we’ll see you if we see you.’
‘Say sorry to Mother for me.’ Someone else I owed amends.
I barely reached my seat with the cups of wine that I’d promised Zosime and Menkaure before the second play started.
Wracking my brains over who could be wrecking my brothers’ business, as well as wondering why someone was stirring up trouble among Athens’ allies, was an unwelcome distraction as the drama got underway. Theseus was on board ship, sailing for Crete with a chorus of youths and maidens, all to be sacrificed to the Minotaur. In a nice touch, these were the sons and daughters of the citizens’ chorus from the previous play.
Poseidon offered to save him, in return for Theseus installing him as patron god of Athens. To no avail. Theseus stayed loyal to Athena. Poseidon revealed himself as the hero’s true father but, once again, Theseus wouldn’t be swayed from his duty to King Aegeus and the city.
Duty was the thread running through this play. When Theseus returned in triumph, to relieve the fears the chorus had been sharing with the audience, he brought Ariadne with him. He explained how her help and her ball of yarn meant he’d been able to slay the Minotaur and escape the Labyrinth. But he still left her on the island of Naxos, as the chorus performed a very fine rendition of the Crane Dance. As Theseus heroically explained, yielding to his love for her would fatally split his loyalties. Athens had his allegiance, first and always.
I was out of my seat as soon as the chorus left the dancing floor. I’d caught a glimpse of Lysicrates over by the rehearsal ground.
‘I won’t be long,’ I promised Zosime.
‘Make sure you’re not or all the cheese will be eaten.’ Menkaure was unpacking a lunch basket.
I had to go the long way round, circling the back of the stage building. When I arrived, I searched in vain for Lysicrates. I did see Oloros and he glowered at me. Was he anxious about the tragedy competition or was he part of this conspiracy to turn Athenian hostility eastwards? If he was working with the city’s enemies, why would he do such a thing? My head ached. All these questions could drive a man mad.
A moment later, Lysicrates appeared at my side, disgustingly bright-eyed. ‘Enjoying the plays?’
‘Of course.’ I waved that away. ‘Well? What have you heard?’
He jerked his head sideways and we walked away from the bustle. ‘You want to find out what Leptines has been doing lately.’
I frowned. ‘Do I know him?’
‘Played a Phoenician for Phrynichos the year before last. A Spartan for Critias a couple of years ago, and a Macedonian for Oloros before that.’ Lysicrates nodded at the tragedian who was still dithering a few paces from the theatre entrance. ‘But he hasn’t been hired for a play for the last two years and he can’t even get a place in a chorus. That’s very bad news for a man with his expensive tastes.’
This sounded promising. ‘Why isn’t he being hired?’
‘He’s offended too many people, swaggering about, boasting how they couldn’t possibly win without him. He’s good, but no one’s that good.’ Lysicrates wrinkled his nose. ‘We all know what happens to tall poppies.’
‘Anything else make you think he’s our man?’
‘For a man who’s not performing at this festival, and who’s had a lean time of it lately, he’s got silver in his pockets all of a sudden. He’s also spent a lot of time with Strato.’ Lysicrates held up a cautionary hand. ‘There may be nothing in that. People have been wondering if Leptines is giving up the stage to write.’
He folded his arms. ‘The thing is, though, if that’s the case, what’s he doing with Strato? I can’t see Leptines turning to comedy after a lifetime playing tragedy. I can’t see him writing anything, to be honest. He isn’t one of those actors you always know will take up a pen. He’s good with someone else’s words, but on his own? A beardless boy could out-argue him.’
‘That sounds worth looking into,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you.’
‘Watch your step.’ Lysicrates looked at me, serious. ‘Strato came around here earlier. He was very keen to make sure everyone knew you were accused of being a Mede sympathiser in the agora a day or so ago. He knew an awful lot about what had happened for someone who wasn’t even there. I saw him here in the theatre myself, all that afternoon.’
‘I wonder if Pheidestratos is part of this conspiracy.’ This sounded even more promising. ‘Did he tell Strato to write his play around the notion of sending citizens to settle confiscated lands?’
‘Lands confiscated from Ionians as a penalty for not paying their tribute?’ Lysicrates speculated.
‘You’ve heard talk about that?’ I looked at him.
He nodded. ‘There’s all manner of wild rumour flying around. No one knows why our allies expected a reassessment this year, but now word’s spreading that it won’t happen and our honoured guests are far from happy. Some of them swear if that’s so, there won’t be a single silver owl offered up next Dionysia. Not unless they get a fair hearing, and they want that well before the scheduled reassessment at the next Great Panathenaia. Apparently some men from the Troad are planning to stay in Athens, to air their grievances as soon as the
