‘I wonder when Nikandros got involved in the family business.’ I could certainly see that pustulent little cock deciding to steal what he couldn’t buy. When he realised that robbery wouldn’t work, long term, I guessed he’d sent some pet henchman to do his dirty work. But suspicions wouldn’t get a Kerykes into court.
‘Megakles certainly has deep pockets,’ Nymenios mused.
‘Do you think he’s trying to corner the leather market?’ We could speculate but once again, that wasn’t proof.
Nymenios’s beard jutted belligerently. ‘Let’s go and see.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Megakles has a tannery close outside the walls, just north of the Diochares Gate. Let’s go and see if it’s busy.’
I was ready to call it a day and take this latest news to Aristarchos, to see what he might make of it, before going home and trying to make peace with Zosime. I kept my mouth shut and nodded instead. I know that set of my brother’s jaw. Nymenios had made up his mind to go, with or without me. We started walking.
The young conscripts guarding the Diochares Gate barely gave us a glance. I guess they assumed we were rural visitors making our way home ahead of the crowds who would clog these routes over the next few days. There were already knots of travellers on the road outside the city walls, where the buildings and businesses were far more widely spread. I was glad to see them. The two of us on our own would have been far too conspicuous for my peace of mind.
We both turned our heads as we heard trundling wheels on the road behind us. Nymenios dragged me into the shade of an ancient, obstinate olive tree that forced the road into a bend. The wagon rumbled past and I coughed to try and get the stink out of my nose and throat. There’s no mistaking the rankness of fresh skins still smeared with blood and shit.
Other trades might be enjoying the festival, but some things couldn’t wait. With the high prices paid for these hides, whoever was running Megakles’s tannery wouldn’t risk them getting flyblown before they were dunked in the yard’s soaking pits.
‘That cart’s from the Temple of Ares. I recognise the priest who’s driving it. I also know he told Pataikos that a valued customer has paid in advance for every hide from their sacrifices until the end of the year.’ Nymenios broke into a trot, well able to keep pace with the reeking cart.
I followed, but anything beyond a fast walk left me breathless with discomfort. By the time I caught up with my brother, the cart had arrived at its destination. A short distance ahead, a walled yard was surrounded by scrub and turf roughly grazed by goats. As we loitered beside an anonymous warehouse’s door, the tannery opened its gates wide to admit the stinking load.
I’d visited Dexios’s yard often enough as a boy to know the scene within would be a pungent bustle of activity. First, the skins must be soaked for a day or so. Then slaves would scrape the water-softened hides clean of lingering flesh and fat. More experienced men, slave and free, would tend the pits of limewash, waiting for the moment when the skins were ready to be scoured free of hair. Then the hides would be handed over to grim-faced slaves who would trample them for half a day in troughs of stale piss and a few other choice ingredients. Finally, the yard’s master would supervise the transfer of each consignment into the tanning vats. Every tanner has his own secret brew concocted from oak bark and selected leaves.
I dragged Nymenios into hiding behind the warehouse’s convenient corner.
‘What?’
‘Hush.’ I raised a hand to silence him, before peering cautiously around the rough masonry. Hilarious moves in the right comedy, but this was no laughing matter. Satisfied, but still wary, I withdrew.
‘Did you see that man in a brown tunic? Shoulders like a wrestler?’ He’d been standing in the gateway as the wagon went in. ‘That bastard was in the thick of the fight last night.’
He’d been with the scroll seller Archilochos in the theatre yesterday, too. He’d gone with the three men I followed to that house where the fake Ionian from the riot turned up.
Now Nymenios understood my caution. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Certain,’ I said with savage satisfaction. ‘Looks like I broke the fucker’s arm.’
The wrestler’s forearm was heavily bandaged and quite possibly splinted. His injured arm lay across his belly, with that hand thrust through his belt for support.
‘Who is he?’ wondered Nymenios.
‘No idea, but I’m willing to wager he’s the one who scared the piss out of that priest. Let’s go and tell Aristarchos.’ I was getting my second wind.
Chapter Twenty-One
I spoke too soon. By the time we got back to Aristarchos’s house, I was flagging badly. Worse, he wasn’t there.
‘Can you tell us where he’s gone?’
I might as well have asked one of the mountains in Mus’s homeland. The big slave had clearly been told to keep his mouth shut and so he shook his head, impassive.
‘Shall we wait?’ Nymenios looked at me, hands spread, uncertain. Ruling the roost in his own home was one thing. Insisting on entry to a well-born man’s house was quite another. Some other time, I’d have found this highly amusing.
To my relief, Lydis appeared. ‘Ah, it’s you, and…?’
My brother meekly introduced himself. I would have to tell Chairephanes about that.
‘Who were you expecting?’ Not us. I could see that much from Lydis’s face.
‘The Pargasarenes,’ the slave said briefly. ‘Do you wish to come in and wait for the master? He’s gone to call on Megakles Kerykes.’
‘Yes, please, and thank you.’ I spoke quickly before Nymenios could refuse. Apart from anything else, I really needed to sit down.
Mus stood aside and as Nymenios went ahead, I caught Lydis’s elbow. ‘Tell me he hasn’t gone alone.’
‘He took Ambrakis.’ The slave smiled briefly as he saw the name meant nothing to
