‘Good.’ I was glad to think Aristarchos was escorted by that sturdy slave.
Mus was about to shut the gate when we all heard a shout outside.
‘Ho there!’ It was Sarkuk, accompanied by Azamis and, more surprisingly, by Tur.
No one would be looking at my bruises if the two of us went out and about together. The boy’s nose was horribly swollen and he still couldn’t see out of one gaudily bruised eye. The other was blackened now and his split lip looked vilely sore.
The three Carians were accompanied by a handful of Scythians, all armoured in linen and leather and ready with their bows.
Their leader bowed to Azamis. ‘We’ll bid you good day.’
I recognised Kallinos, who’d come to recover Xandyberis’s body. ‘Good to see you again. The Polemarch sent you as an escort?’
The tall Scythian nodded. ‘The Archons are gravely concerned about these recent disturbances. He didn’t want these honoured guests of our city to suffer any further insult.’
‘Good to know.’ So the city’s highest magistrates weren’t involved in these attempts to stir up ill-feeling against Ionians. ‘Have you learned anything more about Xandyberis’s killer?’
It was worth a try, but Kallinos shook his head without elaborating.
‘Thank you for accompanying us.’ Azamis offered the Scythian his hand. ‘Good day to you.’
‘You must need some refreshment.’ Lydis ushered the Pargasarenes in as the armed men marched away. ‘I’ll see that wine and food is brought to you.’
His glance included Nymenios and me in this invitation, so we followed the three men and the slave to the far side of the courtyard.
As Lydis withdrew, Azamis heaved a heart-rending sigh. His wrinkled face was drawn with grief. Sarkuk cleared his throat and made a visible effort to be polite despite the burden of his own sorrows. ‘Good day to you, Philocles. Are you going to introduce your companion?’
‘Forgive me.’ I was embarrassed by my thoughtlessness. ‘This is my brother and the head of our family, Nymenios Hestaiou.’
He shook Sarkuk’s hand. ‘I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. My condolences on your loss.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarkuk grimaced. ‘We buried him this morning. It was for the best.’
He didn’t need to elaborate. We’ve all seen death. Even kept in a closed room away from birds or insects, Xandyberis’s corpse must have been turning putrid. Better by far to shroud the gruesome processes of decay under the kindly earth.
‘We will take his bones back, after we’ve returned for the Great Panathenaia,’ Azamis said, resolute.
We nodded our understanding. By the height of summer next year, the grave would hold only a skeleton. Disinterring such remains and sending them home is common enough practice when travellers from some great distance have died unexpectedly in the city.
‘Meantime, his shade can keep watch,’ Tur snarled, ‘to make sure that your Archons deal fairly with us when this cursed levy is reassessed.’
Before anyone could react to that, the young man burst into tears. As he hid his face in his hands, I winced in sympathy. Not just for his grief but at the thought of those racking sobs twisting his swollen face and setting his bruised ribs heaving.
‘My grandson…’ Azamis struggled with his own tears. ‘He hoped for the best for so long. When Xandyberis didn’t come back to the hostel, he convinced himself that our friend had been seduced by your city’s entertainments. After all, a man has his appetites and Xandyberis lost his wife some years ago.’
‘He was not easy to like, not until you got to know him.’ Sarkuk’s bearded chin trembled. ‘But he was always an honourable man. He was dedicated to our town’s well-being and to preserving the rule of law against tyranny, whether by the Persians or from among our own people.’
‘A loyal friend.’ Azamis’s shoulders sagged. ‘A faithful husband and a loving father.’
‘A eulogy any man would be proud of.’ My own throat tightened.
‘Does he leave young children?’ Nymenios’s question betrayed his own worst fears.
The old Carian shook his head. ‘His eldest son is some years older than Tur, well able to shoulder his responsibilities. The eldest girl married a good man, my own sister’s grandson. We will all support them.’
As they spoke, I heard a noise above us. Glancing up, I saw a shutter rattle and wondered if there’d been a gust of wind or if someone was listening to our conversation. If so, it could be a slave or one of Aristarchos’s family; his wife or one of their daughters. Unless it was one of his sons.
I found myself fervently hoping Hipparchos was eavesdropping. I very much wanted that arrogant shit to see the full extent of Tur’s injuries. I wanted him to hear the boy’s searing distress at Xandyberis’s murder. Let that sheltered and privileged ingrate learn about Xandyberis’s family, now left without a father. Let him consider how their little town would suffer, deprived of such a staunch guardian. These were the crimes against gods and men which his friend Nikandros had dragged him into, when he’d drunkenly agreed to have some fun brutally beating a stranger to a pulp.
‘We must decide if we send word on ahead, to break the news of his death.’ Sarkuk sighed heavily again. ‘Or if we should wait and tell his family in person once we arrive home.’
‘How long before you travel?’ Nymenios asked.
The older Pargasarenes exchanged a glance. Tur was still lost in his own distress.
‘If there’s no reassessment of the levy, we have no reason to stay.’ Sarkuk rubbed the back of his neck wearily.
Azamis looked at me. ‘Aristarchos has asked us to remain as his guests until he uncovers who is stirring up such hatred for Ionia. How long do you suppose that will take?’
‘Do you suppose he’ll be able to do it? I mean no disrespect,’ Sarkuk hastily assured Lydis as the slave returned with two girls carrying laden trays. ‘But I imagine these malefactors will have covered their tracks quite thoroughly.’
‘We have a new scent to follow,’ Nymenios began.
‘That remains to be seen.’ I cautioned him with a
