The afternoon wore on. Somewhere out towards the main road I heard a swell of voices, laughter and the slap of countless feet. I realised the satyr play must be long done. The day’s trilogy had been thoroughly debated over wine and food in the city’s taverns and the theatre audience was heading home.
I found a scrap of broken pot in a nearby heap of rubbish and used a stone to scratch a crude map on it to fix this location in my mind. Once I’d done that, I studied the most obvious scrapes and dents on the gate I was watching, to be certain I could describe it so there could be no chance of mistake.
I heard voices several times, though never from the house I was watching. I crouched low, ready to pretend to be tying my sandal if someone came out to dump a bucket of slops. Then I’d stroll away, back towards the main road. I couldn’t risk the uproar of being chased away like some thief.
Thanks to Athena, no one appeared and I stayed there, safe enough. The daylight yellowed and I wondered what Zosime and Menkaure were doing. I hoped they had gone home to Alopeke. Hopefully the Pargasarenes would simply go back to the house where Aristarchos had lodged them. Sarkuk and Azamis would want to see Tur after all.
I wondered if Kadous was still hunting fruitlessly for me. I had no idea how long he’d search before he gave up. But if he went home and confessed he couldn’t find me, I had no idea what Menkaure and Zosime might do. If they went to tell Nymenios, my whole family would end up frantic.
Dusk deepened. I decided I couldn’t stay here. For one thing, it wouldn’t be long before someone could sneak out of that gate without me seeing them, hidden by the gathering darkness.
A fiery glow appeared in the house’s courtyard. A pine torch. Someone was leaving. I stood up and flexed my feet to ease my legs, stiff from waiting so long.
The gate opened and four men came out. I couldn’t tell if they were the four I’d followed here or if one or more were later arrivals. Even with the torch, the night hid the colours of their clothing. Ruddy light gleamed on a balding head though. With any luck, that was Archilochos.
I watched them make for the street that led towards the main road. As they rounded the corner, I followed as quickly as I dared. All the while I watched warily in case that gate opened again. If it did, I’d have to brazen it out, looking straight ahead and walking purposefully past.
Hermes be thanked, I passed his pillar without incident. I could see the torch heading northwards. I smiled, relieved. With the night to hide me, I didn’t have to get too close. I only needed to see which direction they took when they reached the junction with the main road.
Cloth flapped, loud in the quiet night. Someone swallowed an oath. Out of the corner of one eye, I glimpsed a fluttering cloak. Men rushed at me from a lane to my left. Masked men, with eyeholes and open mouths eerie black voids against pale paint.
No chorus ever attacks a drama’s principals like this though, and I wasn’t about to play the defiant hero. Forget declaiming some defiant speech. I took to my heels, as swift as if I wore winged sandals.
Not swift enough. They were young and fit, not battered and bruised from brawling, or sluggish from a hangover. One long-legged runner drew level with me, his grasping fingers reaching for my shoulder. I flung out a fist to knock his forearm away.
Another sprinter appeared on my other side. He carried a long, solid stick. A spear shaft. He rammed its end into the back of my thigh. My knee buckled and I fell hard, landing with all the wind knocked out of me. That meant I was too slow to see the booted foot coming for my guts. At least curling up around that agony meant the next kick intended for my balls only bruised my thigh.
The spear shaft slammed into my shoulder. I yelled with pain and fury but managed not to arch my back and expose my belly again. I rolled away, onto my front. Another kick came for my head. I seized that fucking foot and twisted it hard.
Taken unawares, my assailant fell over. His flailing arm sent the man beside him stumbling. I seized my chance and scrambled to my feet. The man with the spear shaft swung again, aiming for the backs of my knees. This time I saw him first and spun around to avoid the blow. All the while I shouted curses and insults, desperately yelling for help.
It seemed everyone in this neighbourhood was deaf. Was this how Xandyberis had died? Fuck that. I wasn’t going down to the Underworld without a fight.
I grabbed for the spear shaft, one hand taking a firm grip between my attacker’s hold and my other hand seizing the middle of the wood. One fist pushing, the other pulling, I twisted the long stick like an oar and sent him staggering backwards.
He’d forgotten one of the first things he should have learned in his hoplite training. Never let go of your spear. Now I had a weapon, even if it lacked a metal point. At least the bastard was bright enough to shout a warning to the others.
Burning pain seared my arm. One of these fuckers had a knife, but I couldn’t see who it was in this darkness, surrounded by shadows and swirling cloaks. A hand darted forward, holding steel betrayed by a glint of light. I smashed the spear shaft downwards. Not at the blade. Not at the hand that held it. I hadn’t forgotten my training. Knowing the man would flinch from my blow, I aimed for his withdrawing arm. The wooden shaft struck solidly with
