CHAPTER XIV
”Good evening, noble Polearchus,” intoned Valato as warmly as he could under the circumstances, leading the Miletian by the arm through the prodomus and left into the andron room. In the background we could hear a steady keening, eerily like the whistling of the wind through a narrow tunnel or the plaintive crying of some seabird.
”My daughter, “ explained the small magistrate apologetically, gesturing toward the rear of his house. “She is in mourning for your nephew, Habiliates, although I cannot understand why she is so effected by his shade's passing. She did not even know him.
I can only assume it is her sensitive nature bewailing the end of such a fine, young man.”
He shook his bald head in consternation and smiled sadly.
Polearchus and I shot each other a knowing look, and then returned our attention to our host. I had explained many of my suspicions to the short, dark aristocrat from the giant city across the bay, and he confessed that he knew that his nephew had been secretly seeing some female. He just did not know who until now.
We were gathered at the estate of Valato the same evening as the chariot race.
I had sent messages by courier to the three magistrates, that I and the uncle of Habiliates desired to speak to them. Valato had informed all concerned that he was constrained to stay at home that night due to his daughter's unexpected fit of mourning, and kindly requested all of us to meet at his house. It was still light when we arrived, as the days were lengthening with the advent of summer, and we had no need of oil lamps to show us the location of his mansion.
And mansion it was. It was built in the typical fashion of an Ionian farm estate from native stone and mud brick, but it was twice as large as my father's modest house.
Two squat towers guarded the entrance to the prodomus, lending it the appearance of a
miniature fortress, and a landscaped path bordered by flowers and shrubs wound its way up the small hill to the front door. Valato's wealth lay in his olive groves, and the orderly ranks of gnarled trees marched away in all directions from his palace like obedient soldiers guarding a stronghold.
The andron to which we were led was already occupied by Nolarion, Euphemius, and to my surprise, Crystheus. I certainly had not informed the major priest of my intended meeting, but I discovered who did when Nolarion imperiously admitted that he thought it would be a good idea for Poseidon's representative to be present. What was I, chopped goat meat?
The magistrates all greeted the Miletian courteously and reclined on klines. Polearchus said that he would prefer a chair, giving some indication that this might not be a friendly visit, and the Prienians glanced at each other significantly. I also sat in a chair next to the visitor to lend him my support, for what good it might do. Crystheus, finding no couches or chairs left, stood sullenly in a corner and glowered about the room, his eyes bulging in disapproval.
It turned out that Polearchus needed nobody's support to tell his tale, particularly not my poor offering. Just as he had done with me earlier in the day, the Miletian went directly to the point without any flowery preliminaries.
”I have spoken at some length with your investigator, the illustrious Bias,” he began darkly, letting his eyes flicker back and forth among the three city officials. “He and I have determined that my nephew, Habiliates, was murdered this afternoon during the chariot race.” He and I?
You could have heard a chiton pin drop in that room. Valato stared in consternation. Euphemius's eyes darted between Polearchus and myself, his hands plucking at his snowy garment. The muscular Nolarion's gaze narrowed and his mouth curled down slightly at the corners. Crystheus, in his corner, broke the silence by a
disbelieving cough.
”Surely this is not the case,” he protested pompously. “It must have been an accident, an unfortunate accident to be sure, but just an accident.” His hands were outspread in front of him as if he were warding off some malevolent spell thrown out by the dark foreigner. Polearchus speared him with a contemptuous look, and the priest shrank back into his corner.
"It was murder!" he barked. "We and the chariot's maker examined the chariot and could plainly see that the axle had been sawn through and disguised with paint. It was deliberate, cold-blooded murder accomplished by some whoreson, who wanted to make sure my nephew did not win that race!" Nolarion was the first magistrate to respond.
”Bias?” he asked gently, his narrowed eyes settling on me. “You examined this chariot and came to the same conclusion?” I could feel Polearchus stiffen beside me, realizing that the big magistrate had in effect doubted his word.
”Yes, sir!” I stated strongly, dispelling any possible doubt any of them might have.
"Our guest and I are completely in agreement. The chariot had been tampered with, just as he says."
”But tampering with a chariot does not mean that murder was intended.” Nolarion's large hands stroked his luxuriant black beard. “Perhaps the object was an accident to take Habiliates out of the race, rather than kill him?”
”What does it matter what the object was?” interrupted Polearchus harshly. “My kinsman is dead. I demand retribution!” He raised his fists above his head and shook them. The magistrates stared back at him sympathetically but in some confusion.
”My dear sir, we certainly agree with you that retribution by your family is warranted, if this is a case of murder,” agreed Valato quickly. “But how do we find the
culprit of this accident?"
”And, really, what does it have to do with us?” questioned Euphemius querulously. “We cannot identify every madman who attends the Panionic Games. Why, there are thousands of people here from all over Ionia!”
The Miletian stared around the room in dumbfounded anger, as if not believing the evidence of his ears. I rose quickly from my chair to forestall an outbreak from him.
”Gentlemen,” I began quietly but firmly, “I do not believe you fully understand the implications that are present here. I think that the deaths of Tyrestes and Habiliates may be related. The crimes may even have been committed by the same person.” I paused theatrically for effect.
”In that case, this is not simply a case of murder, foul though that may be,” I concluded softly. “There could now be a guestslayer among us!”
The term 'guestslayer' reverberated through the andron like a thunderclap. Nolarion barred his teeth like a wolf and half rose from his kline. Euphemius again played the stork, flapping his arms distractedly, his eyes boring into mine. I could hear the hiss of Valato's indrawn breath and saw him grab at a kylix of wine for a few precious gulps.
You see, as bad as murder was, guestslaying was infinitely worse. To an Ionian the hospitality of his city and the pride that he took in its accomplishments was all-important. Guestslaying meant that an invited person, who trusted in that hospitality, was betrayed with ignominious death. While a murder infused the murderer, the victim's family, and his close friends with a deadly miasma, guestslaying clearly contaminated the entire city-state. A known guestslaying without appropriate retribution would reflect on the honor of every citizen of Priene, and even affect our relationship with Poseidon, our home deity.
”Why do you think this is a guestslaying?” harumphed Valato nervously, after he had swallowed his wine. The state of his agitation could be measured by the fact that he
did not offer anybody else a kylix. I gathered my thoughts for a moment, reluctant about revealing too much of my conjectures.
”I do not say for certain that it is. But the similarities between the two deaths are interesting. First, murders are rare, as we all know, and here are two committed in the same city only a few days apart. Second, both victims are well-known athletes of great ability. Third, they were both here in the city to participate in the great games. And last, several people whom I have connected to both young men were present at both murder sites.”
”But this does not mean that Habiliates' murder was
a guestslaying,” complained Crystheus from his corner. “A citizen of Miletus or any city could have killed him.”
"That is true," I admitted, peering at the magistrates, who were nodding at each other, obviously hoping that this was indeed the case. "But unless all these similarities are coincidences, then it was a guestslaying, because we know that Tyrestes was killed by a Prienian. Only citizens from our city were pouring wine or handling cups or jugs at the ceremony!"
This clearly shook my listeners from their sense of complacency. Nolarion heaved a great sigh, then asked softly. “And who knows about the possibility that this was a guestslaying?”
Polearchus eyed him haughtily for a moment, and then answered. “Only Bias, myself, and my carpenter know that Habiliates was murdered. That is, only we know it at this time.”
”What do you mean by that, sir?” asked Valato, his deep voice booming out incongruously from his small chest.
”I shall tell you precisely what I mean,” the Miletian spit back at him. “I mean this! I have said that my family demands retribution for this foul deed. You must find out who committed this crime and present him to me for justice in Miletus!”
”And if we cannot or do not find out?” asked Nolarion, almost whispering.
”Then I will announce this guestslaying to the multitudes gathered here,” said Polearchus. “We will see how your city fares when I tell the crowd about Priene's evil heart on the last day of the games!”
”Do you mean to say that you are threatening us?” asked Crystheus in disbelief.
”Indeed I am, priest. You have three days to find the murderer.
On the third day, the day of the pentathlon, I will insure that every Ionian at these games knows about this unsolved guestslaying.” You must understand that this was indeed a potent threat. This was such a serious matter in most people's minds that it could effect the trade Priene conducted with her fellow cities, and almost certainly the free sense of travel from Priene to other places and vice versa. Miletus would surely be grievously insulted, a major blow to the most powerful of all Ionian city-states. What her reaction might be nobody could say. And the crowd itself? Would it react violently when informed that it had been sleeping, eating, and celebrating for the last three days in a town blanketed by the wicked miasma of guestslaying? I did not know, but I do know that I did not wish to find out.
Nor apparently did the city magistrates. They immediately tried to reassure the angry Polearchus.
”I can tell you, sir, that you do not need to make such a threat,” cried Euphemius.
”We shall get to the bottom of this matter, we shall indeed!”
”Yes, of course we shall,” repeated Valato, his short brown beard bobbing with earnestness. “You know that the noble Bias is investigating the matter. He has already proved to us by his comments tonight that he is clearly giving it much thought and attention. Surely, he will find the culprit or culprits within the next day or two, eh Bias?”
He looked anxiously at me for confirmation.
”Of course, sir,” I replied, bowing my head ironically in his direction.
”As a matter of fact, did you not just say that you had connected several people to both athletes, and they were present at both murder sites,” asked Nolarion, so softly that I had to strain to hear him. “Tell us who they are and if you suspect them of any complicity in this matter, noble Bias.”
As he so blithely said these words, the enormity of my mistake burst blindingly in front of my sight. Yes, I had said precisely that, and his son was one of those people! As was the daughter of a major aristocrat of the city and the noble younger brother of one of the slain athletes. Gods above, I had not even ruled out the magistrates themselves yet, because of the possible dalliances of Valato's plain but fiery Ossadia and the desires of Nolarion to see his son a champion!
”Those were just conjectures, gentlemen,” I stammered, retreating furiously from my prior statement. “I only listed them in order that you might perceive the seriousness of the situation.”
”Well, you certainly accomplished your objective in that regard,” said the big magistrate dryly. “But conjecture or not, tell us who these people are that you suspect of these evil crimes?” All eyes looked expectantly at me, and I swallowed hard.
”No sir, I would rather not,” I whispered weakly.
”What did you say?” asked Crystheus in astonishment. The magistrates were staring at me incredulously, as if I had just turned into Pan, complete with horns and hairy goat legs.
”I do not think that would be wise,” I repeated, more strongly this time. “You have shown great confidence in my abilities by awarding me the honor of investigating this matter and finding the murderer. In that regard I have discovered that I must have independence and secrecy if I am to accomplish your designs.”
”And you have discovered these needs in only a few days?” asked Nolarion, his
tone of sarcasm very evident. “Are we then to believe that this is about all you have discovered? Is that why you do not wish to inform us of whom you suspect?” Thank you, Poseidon, for showing me the way out!
”Indeed, that is not true, magistrate,” I replied in as stiff a manner as I could contrive. “I have seen numerous people at both locations. Why, even Crystheus himself has been evident at both sites!” The mouth of the major priest fell open, as he stared at me and then around at the bemused onlookers.
”Are you saying that the illustrious Crystheus is a suspect?” asked Euphemius wryly. “I propose that it would have been difficult for him to poison Tyrestes with one hand and kill the sacred bullock with the other!” Some strained laughter followed this remark, but at least the mood was broken.
”Of course, you are correct, sir,” I agreed. “But you see, I have not spoken to all the suspicious parties, and I feel that to burden you at this time with my incomplete meanderings would be tiring.” It was clear that the whole conversation was becoming tiring to them by now, for which I thanked the god of the sea again.
”Oh, very well,” said Valato, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Keep your secrets to yourself, Bias. But remember this--we expect you to find the answer to this puzzle if you wish to keep your good name and honor intact. We have no desire to see the noble Polearchus accuse the city of harboring a guestslayer, be it true or not.”
He grimaced at the Miletian, reminding me of a bantam rooster displeased with some sort of intruding beast in the farmyard. Polearchus scowled back at him, clearly not intimidated by his show of defiance.
”I have great confidence in the ability of Bias to come to the bottom of this barrel of rotten fish,” the Miletian snarled. “But his or anybody else's honor notwithstanding, I will keep my word about announcing it on the last day of the games. Now, if you will
excuse me, I must prepare my garments of mourning for the morrow.”
As he rose from his chair, a new bout of wild wailing broke out from the back of the house as if punctuating his final remarks. Valato glanced quickly about, and smiled sadly again in apology.