Menkaure was shaping a mighty pedestal on his wheel. The great vase’s bulbous body and smoothly curving neck were already resting on a board, until the pieces could be seamlessly stuck together with clay. He didn’t look as if he’d welcome interruption, so I went straight through to the back of the workshop.
Zosime was working on a tall, slender flask, so intent that she didn’t notice me approaching. I wished I didn’t have to interrupt her. I certainly waited till she’d lifted her brush from the white surface, so I didn’t make her smudge the paint. ‘Hello.’
She turned, her surprise blossoming into a smile. ‘I didn’t expect to see you so early.’
‘I need your help.’ I leaned forward and we shared a kiss.
She looked into my eyes. ‘What do you need?’
I’d told Zosime about the symposium when I’d got home last night, and everything Nymenios and I had learned, as well as the growing suspicions we shared with Aristarchos.
‘I want to find out if Nikandros Kerykes was involved in killing Xandyberis,’ I said grimly.
The conniving bastard hadn’t hesitated to join in the attempt to murder me, and now we knew he was neck-deep in this conspiracy, not just a gullible fool like Hipparchos. If we could tie Nikandros to the Carian’s murder that was a crime we could haul him before the courts to answer for. Doing that would drag this entire vile conspiracy into the merciless light of day.
‘Then we can see his family get justice.’ In her hurry to stand, she knocked her workbench. The flask she’d been working on wobbled. As she caught the black glazed base to steady it, I got a better look at the design.
‘Is that him?’ I couldn’t be certain it was Xandyberis, not until she added more colour and the final touches, but the man’s profile looked familiar as the figure gave a speech with one arm raised in a rhetorical flourish.
‘Azamis and Sarkuk should take something home.’ Zosime’s eyes were dark with sympathy. ‘Until they can fetch his bones for his family to bury next year.’
‘That’s perfect.’ I swallowed a lump in my throat.
She looked sternly at me. ‘Perfect will be them taking home word of his killer’s arrest and execution.’
I nodded agreement. ‘Let’s go and do something about that.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
We hurried back to the drinking den and, this time, I asked the bemused tavern keeper for a table. Before he could decide where to seat us, I led Zosime to one with a view of Glaukias and Parmenides, still enjoying their leisurely lunch with Nikandros. I breathed silent thanks to Dionysos for that good fortune. Then I asked the god to keep them all from looking our way, even with the vines around this humble tavern’s porch shading us.
A serving girl brought us food and wine and looked on with curiosity as Zosime took pen, ink and papyrus out of my bag of work materials.
‘Thank you. That will be all.’ I smiled at the girl, hoping that would take any sting out of my dismissal.
Thankfully, no one else was paying us any attention, more interested in eating and getting back to work. In between mouthfuls, Zosime worked swiftly and skilfully, drawing a vivid likeness of Nikandros.
She paused, pen poised as she considered the portrait. Deciding it was finished, she turned to me. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We wait here for a few moments.’ I shaded the side of my face with one hand, turning my shoulder to the street.
Parmenides and Glaukias had eaten and drunk their fill and risen from their table. They were walking this way, laughing together and chatting. I turned my back to the street, to make sure they didn’t see me. The chances of them recognising me were slim, but I wasn’t taking any risks. My back itched as if I expected an arrow between the shoulder blades.
I looked at Zosime. ‘What are they doing?’
She raised her cup of wine to mime taking a drink. ‘Going on their way.’
‘What about Nikandros?’
‘He’s still at the table.’ Looking over my shoulder, she frowned. ‘Someone else has joined him. No,’ she corrected herself. ‘They’re getting up. I think they’re going to leave together.’
It was no good. I had to see. As I turned, my blood ran cold. Nikandros’s new companion was the brute whose arm I’d broken when he tried to kill me. Before I realised what I was doing, I was halfway to my feet. Zosime rose beside me.
‘No.’ I laid my hand on her arm to force her back onto her stool.
She looked at me, astonished. ‘I need to see him more clearly, if I’m going to draw a decent likeness.’
‘No.’ I couldn’t command her with a husband’s authority but by all the gods and goddesses above and below, she was going to listen to me. ‘He doesn’t know who you are and I won’t risk him seeing you with me. That’s the man who tried to knife me.’ I raised my cut and bandaged arm as evidence.
Something in my voice or face convinced her. She sank down, unwilling but complying. ‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know.’ Frustrated, I stole another glance over my shoulder. The brute was waiting with an impatient scowl while Nikandros chatted to the exclusive tavern’s owner. The thin-faced man was bowing obsequiously, clasping the young noble’s hands.
‘How are we going to find out who he is, if we don’t have a picture of him?’ Zosime demanded. ‘We need to know. Look, they’re leaving.’
Hades help me, she was right, and on all counts. I risked turning around, to see Nikandros and the unknown man walking away. They had their backs to us and their heads were close together in conversation. Any moment now I’d lose sight of them in the bustling
