‘Is he any good?’
Spintharos snorted. ‘He wins, more often than not. He never gives up and he’s not satisfied with just winning. He likes to make sure his opponent knows he’s beaten. If he can’t get the better of his victim with skill, then he’ll hurt him. I’ve seen him force an elbow joint too far, to deliberately tear a muscle, treading on someone’s foot before a throw to wrench their ankle into a sprain. Of course, he always claims it was an accident.’
The brute would get thrown out of any pan-Hellenic games with that attitude. ‘Is he ever beaten?’
‘Occasionally,’ Spintharos said judiciously, ‘and he hates it. Anyone who does get the better of him on the wrestling ground needs to spend the next month watching his back and to avoid walking alone after dark. More than one of his opponents has been jumped on some deserted street and left there beaten bloody.’
‘I can imagine.’ I checked the sky again. I definitely didn’t want to be on the road late enough to risk meeting Iktinos or Nikandros on their way to their sunset meeting. ‘Do you know his father’s name, his voting tribe or the district where his family live?’
The doctor frowned. ‘I don’t believe I do.’
‘If you can find out discreetly, please send word to Aristarchos Phytalid. Iktinos may come here to consult you or one of your colleagues. I believe he has a broken arm.’
This time Spintharos’s smile was far less charming. ‘Quite a few people will be happy to see that.’
‘Don’t let him see you have any particular interest in him,’ I warned.
‘Of course not. Now, is there anything else?’ He looked me up and down.
‘Not today, thanks all the same. I really need to get back to the city.’
‘I’ll wish you good afternoon.’ Spintharos headed back to his patients without further ado.
I hurried back to the Dipylon Gate. Thanks to Athena, Hermes and every other deity from Olympian Zeus down, I didn’t see Iktinos or Nikandros.
When I arrived at Aristarchos’s house, he and Lydis were still besieged by scrolls. The stacks of papyrus were now reinforced with the first replies to the queries sent out this morning. I pulled up a stool and began to explain what I’d learned. They both set down their pens and listened intently.
I kept my promise to Zosime and went home as soon as we finished discussing the day’s news. It wasn’t my fault that it was well after dark by the time we’d decided what to do next. At least I arrived safely home with both Mus and Ambrakis escorting me. That went some way to placating her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I headed for the city at first light. Once I was there, I made a few essential preparations. Then I made my way to Megakles’s house in the Diomea district, where he’d held that treacherous symposium. Finding a convenient alley to lurk in, I watched and waited until the first visitors of the day arrived. Megakles had a steady stream of callers. I recognised some faces. Others were unknown to me.
There was no sign of his treasonous bastard of a son. By mid-morning I was snatching glances at the Acropolis and wondering if Athena had turned her face against our plan. I tried to swallow my bitter frustration. If the gods willed it, I must accept their judgement. But I’d give them to the end of the day to change their divine minds.
Sometime after noon, Nikandros emerged, scowling. ‘Get out of my way, you oaf!’
He shoved the big gate slave aside, which is to say the Kerykes doorkeeper let him pass. The man wasn’t as tall as Mus but his shoulders were so wide that he risked getting wedged between those gateposts if he didn’t turn sideways to go in and out. That might make a good joke for a play. The right actor would get a big laugh from that doorkeeper’s eloquent shrug of contempt once the young master’s back was turned.
I followed Nikandros to a nearby tavern, where he paid for a large measure of barely watered wine. He sat at a corner table, moodily searching the street for faces he knew, glowering at the oblivious passers-by.
I could guess why he was in such a foul mood: he had none of his friends to drink with. Hipparchos had been sent to the Phytalid estate in Steiria, escorted by his brother Xenokrates, who knew exactly what the young fool had done. Aristarchos had informed me that provided Hipparchos applied himself to study and prayer they would come back at the start of Thargelion. The Thargelia is a festival of purification and expiation, after all.
If Hipparchos felt hard done by, sent away from Athens for a full two months, I was sure his older brother would remind him how much worse his fate could have been. My own brothers would have rubbed my nose good and hard in such disgrace. For the moment, I was just relieved to know I wouldn’t trip over the idiot as I pursued our quarry today.
Seeing Nikandros was getting restless, I walked into the tavern and sat at his table. ‘Good day to you.’ I waved the wine seller away. There was no chance this side of Hades that I’d share a drink with this shit.
Unsurprisingly, he was outraged. ‘What the fuck do you want?’
I smiled. ‘If you’re expecting to see Euphorion and Andokides, think again. They’ve been sent to their families’ holdings in Attica and won’t be back before the Panathenaia.’ Their fathers had followed Aristarchos’s advice. ‘Now.’ I leaned forward. ‘Shall we discuss what you owe me for painting those false accusations on my house wall?’
‘What?’ He sounded exactly like his father, astonished that some commoner dared challenge his misdeeds. ‘Who says
