The Furies hound him to Hades. He knew I’d never hand Kadous over to suffer such agonies, just because the law insists that’s the only way to prove a slave isn’t his owner’s mouthpiece.
‘How do you know this witness could be a slave?’ Aristarchos enquired calmly. ‘If you weren’t even there?’
He cut his son off with a sharp gesture. ‘No, don’t lie to me. Not if you want any chance of remaining within this household. Don’t threaten Philocles either. No one will lay a hand on him or his slave because this will never come before the courts. I will see justice done as is my right and duty as the head of this family. Your only hope of mercy is to tell me the truth, and all of the truth, here and without delay.’
Hipparchos looked at the masks. I saw his fists clenching. Then he looked at the knife on the table and visibly came to a decision. He moved towards a stool, about to sit down. ‘I never sought to kill anyone—’
‘You will stand,’ ordered Aristarchos. ‘Continue.’
‘I wasn’t carrying the blade,’ Hipparchos protested, plaintive.
I struck at that first chink in his arrogance. ‘No, but you were carrying a spear shaft.’
I hadn’t been going to mention that, to leave Aristarchos with at least the pretence of doubt over Hipparchos’s involvement. But the little shit had threatened Kadous.
‘I took it off you,’ I reminded him. ‘Hoplites learn how to do that, as well as to keep hold of their own weapons.’ Evidently no one bothered teaching the cavalry such skills.
‘But that much is true.’ I turned to Aristarchos. ‘I used the spear shaft on the man with the blade. Hard enough to bruise his arm, maybe even break a bone.’
We could all see there was no mark on Hipparchos’s arms, bare to the shoulder in his embroidered sleeveless tunic.
The boy looked surprised to think I was showing him some support. I strove to keep my face as impassive as Aristarchos’s. He was the one I owed the truth to, not his fool of a son. Though it couldn’t hurt to give Hipparchos a reason to be grudgingly grateful to me, to counter any urge to seek revenge, once this was all over.
‘So you didn’t set out intent on murder. What a relief.’ Aristarchos’s sarcasm echoed around the courtyard. ‘What were you doing and with whom?’
Hipparchos capitulated. ‘We went to a tavern after the satyr play. Nikandros came to find us. He said a friend of his had a sister pursued by an unsuitable suitor. The man had taken to lurking in the alleys around their house. A good beating should scare him off, that’s what Nikandros said. That’s all I was there to do.’
His pleading eyes slid from his father to me and back again. I guessed that was as much of an apology as I was going to get.
‘The name of Nikandros’s friend?’ Aristarchos demanded. ‘His father and his voting district?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hipparchos muttered.
He looked shamefaced enough to convince me that was the truth.
‘So you simply took Nikandros’s word?’ Aristarchos shook his head with disgust. ‘When you know full well he’s dragged you into utter folly more than once, and lied about it afterwards, just to save his own worthless skin?’
I wondered what that was about, but it was hardly the moment to ask.
‘Whose idea was it to wear masks?’ Aristarchos snapped. ‘Where did you steal them from?’
‘One of the other men brought them.’ Now the youth was growing sullen. ‘I don’t know where he got them.’
‘So you’re a fool and a brute, but not a would-be murderer nor yet a despoiler of temples,’ Aristarchos observed. ‘Your mother will be so relieved.’
Hipparchos reddened. ‘I can ask Nikandros—’
‘No.’ Aristarchos forbade that notion. ‘You will go nowhere and speak to no one until I have got to the bottom of whatever crimes you have committed. Lydis!’ He didn’t look at the slave, his gaze still levelled at Hipparchos, as piercing and as menacing as the point of a javelin. ‘Make sure that the entire household knows my will on this matter. Tell Mus first of all. Tell him he may accept any letters delivered for Hipparchos but they are to be brought straight to me. No one is to carry any messages for my son, written or repeated.’
‘Of course, Master.’
Aristarchos flicked a hand at Hipparchos. ‘You may go.’
The boy took a step, then hesitated. ‘What…?’
Aristarchos raised an eyebrow. ‘What will happen to you now? That will entirely depend on what I discover. Go to your rooms. I don’t want to see you until I send for you. If you remember something else that I may need to know, ask to see Lydis and he will bring me word.’
Hipparchos retreated, his head hanging like a whipped dog:
I took a deep breath once the boy had gone. ‘I am so sorry—’
Aristarchos silenced me with the same sharp gesture he’d used towards his son as he turned to his slave once again. ‘You know as well as I do which young fools he goes drinking with. Draft letters to their fathers from me. Warn them that Nikandros Kerykes has been sucked into some rabble-rousing plot against our Ionian allies. If they don’t want to see their sons face charges of stirring up civil strife, they had better rein them in hard and quickly. With my compliments, naturally.’
‘And Nikandros Kerykes?’ Lydis ventured.
‘I will call on his father myself.’ Aristarchos’s expression was ominous.
‘I’m sorry.’ Too late, I realised I’d repeated myself.
Aristarchos dismissed Lydis with a flick of his hand. ‘Don’t apologise to me,’ he said when we were alone. ‘You’ve done my family a significant service.’
‘Really?’ I allowed myself a little sarcasm.
‘I don’t mean to undervalue your injuries, I can see you’re in pain, but let’s be grateful that no one died,’ Aristarchos said frankly. ‘My situation – this whole household’s situation – would be far worse if you had been killed. You can’t imagine you were the only target
