CHAPTER IV
”He was poisoned,” lisped the iatros calmly to the roomful of listeners, who hung on his every word. “It is quite evident.”
”What was it?” inquired the magistrate Valato in a near whisper, peering wideeyed at the healer.
”A common enough drug,” sniffed the iatros, a tall, stately man. “ It is called melampodium or hellebore. Very useful as a medicine in small amounts, but a deadly poison when administered in a large quantity.” He glanced condescendingly about the andron, as if daring his listeners to question him, and hoping they would, so he could drawl out another learned answer.
We were gathered at the estate of the magistrate Nolarion, which happened to be the closest appropriate house to the religious grounds at the Panionion. After the crowds had disbursed, grumbling and murmuring, to their various permanent or temporary homes, servants had transported the body of Tyrestes by litter to Nolarion's abode, to await the arrival of his family. They would claim the body and take it back for proper preparation and burial. It had not been easy persuading the throngs at the Panionion to give up their gawking and prophesying and go home, as they were sure they had seen a clear sign of the young athlete's foreshadowed death in the bungled sacrifice of the first bullock. Everybody knew that the efficacy of a sacrifice was dependent upon meticulous observance of closely defined rules. The ritual must have the right words spoken and the right actions performed at just the right moment. Since this had obviously not been the case in this morning's activities, there was ample reason to believe that Poseidon Helikonios had demonstrated his displeasure by striking down one of the competitors from his home city.
Other than the litter bearers, only Endemion and myself had physically touched the slain athlete. This was important, as those people closely associated with the dead were considered polluted, particularly those who had physical contact with a corpse. I did not look forward to being set apart from everybody else by being forced by custom to wear black clothing and to cut my hair. I had not even personally known the man! At least, I would not be expected to tear at my own flesh or weep loud ( and usually pretended) lamentations at his passing. The others at the site, including the magistrates and Tyrestes' fellow athletes, had been noticeably careful not to touch the body, after he had collapsed onto the ground.
”How is the poison administered?” asked Nolarion solemnly to the physician, who preened himself and looked pleased at the question.
”It can be taken in either food or drink. Although somewhat bitter and dry to the taste, this could be disguised by a strong-flavored stew, soup, or wine. It works fairly quickly in large doses, and by Tyrestes' reactions, reported by Bias here, I would say he had ingested it only a few moments, perhaps, to a half an hour earlier.”
”So you are saying this could not have been an accident?” asked the third magistrate, Euphemius, hoping that the healer would contradict him.
”Oh, no, of course not.” The iatros waved a languid hand. “This was a large amount of the drug -- much more than a medicinal dose. Unless Tyrestes himself was taking the drug, which does not seem likely considering his physical prowess and superb condition, somebody else would have to have administered it to him.” The men in the andron glanced back and forth at each other speculatively.
”This...somebody,” ventured Valato. “It would have to be a person familiar with medicine?”
”If you are wondering if only a physician has access to the drug, then I must disappoint you,” said the iatros dryly. “It can be obtained by anyone with enough money to pay.” Valato did indeed look crestfallen at this pronouncement.
”Thank you. You may go now.” ordered Nolarion to the healer. “Please accept my thanks for your swift response to my request for your attendance.”
”Certainly, magistrate.” The iatros smiled indulgently, as he let himself quietly out of the room, escorted by one of Nolarion's several body attendants.
I let my gaze wander over the various people in the room, with a belated wish that I was not one of them. On the three klines against the three walls of the room away from the entrance door were the magistrates, Nolarion, Valato, and Euphemius. These were the most powerful governmental executives in the city-state of Priene at this time, having been elected by a majority of the city council for a one-year term each. Priene proudly boasted a democratic, as opposed to an oligarchic, monarchic, or tyrannical form of government. The free citizens of the city-state, which included all landowners and their adult sons, were part of the assembly, which met occasionally to discuss weighty matters pertaining to Priene's future. The council, consisting of twenty members of the assembly selected by lot, prepared business for the assembly to discuss. The three magistrates were the executive officers of the government, serving without pay, and basically running the day-to-day workings of Priene in between council and assembly meetings. I studied each of them in turn, as they talked quietly among themselves.
Nolarion was the wealthiest of the three, having the largest and most fertile estate. His lands on the very banks of the Meander produced an impressive amount of grain and figs, and the size of his sheep and goat herds equalled those of any two other assembly members combined. Nolarion was a large man, just beginning to turn from muscle to fat, even though it was evident he tried hard to keep the physique that had made him one of Priene's most famous athletes twenty years before. His magnificent, thick, black beard curled halfway down his broad chest, and he tended to stroke it with gentle fingers as he spoke. About 45 years of age, he had been a magistrate off and on for a dozen years, highly respected and admired.
Valato was almost the opposite in physical appearance, being of birdlike size and timid demeanor. These looks, I knew, were deceiving, as I had observed him speak many times at the council and the assembly, of which my father and I were both members. He had a powerful, booming voice, which easily reached every corner of the impressive Priene bouletarion, and which surprised everyone who did not know him. How, they would ask themselves, could such an impressive voice come forth from such an unimpressive chest? At any rate, it did, and he had the temper of a bantam rooster to accompany the surprising voice. His well-trained sophistry cut many an opponent to figurative ribbons on the bouletarion floor, and once he had an opponent in his grasp, he would not let up, but would shake the subject to death, as a terrier shakes a rat. His bald head gleamed and his short, light brown beard bobbed as he spoke earnestly in the soft evening light. Like Nolarion, he had served several terms as magistrate.
Euphemius physically struck a note somewhere in the middle between these other two disparate government officials. This was his first term of office, and he appeared to defer to his more experienced colleagues. I knew that he had a large estate near the port of Naulochus, and invested the majority of his wealth in grapes and olives. His groves produced the finest oil this side of the Aegean, it was said, and his wine nearly rivalled that of Chios. He was very tall, tended to stoop as he walked, and possessed a stiff, iron-gray beard that flowed almost to his convex belly. His clothes were very fine linen of the palest white, and he looked vaguely like a giant stork, as he bobbed about. Not a very impressive speaker, I was told, but had a mind like a dagger's edge. Just goes to show that you cannot always tell by looking at someone.
In addition to the three magistrates in the andron were myself, Crystheus, and Endemion. I was here since I was the last individual to touch Tyrestes alive, and Crystheus, of course, was present since the death occurred on the grounds of his tiny kingdom. Endemion had two claims for his presence. Like myself, he had held Tyrestes in the dying competitor's last moments of life, and in addition, was the eldest son of Nolarion, in whose house we all currently debated.
Nolarion cleared his throat thoughtfully after the departure of the physician and cast a dubious eye at us all.
”It appears, then, if we can believe Martosius, the iatros,” he began cautiously, “that unless Tyrestes took his own life, he was, uh,
dispatched by somebody else.” All of us inspected this statement silently and carefully from all sides with appropriate humms and hahs.
”I simply cannot believe this has happened in our city. Are you implying that Tyrestes was murdered?” demanded Valato softly, his fingers drumming on the edge of his wine kylix. We in turn considered this statement slowly, turning it up and down in our minds like children inspecting a new ball until Euphemius spoke.
”It is quite obvious that he was murdered. We are talking about the best athlete in Priene, set to compete for the greatest honors in all of Ionia. Can anybody in his right mind suggest that such a man would take his own life?”
”But murder,” murmured Crystheus sadly. “This just cannot be true, not on the grounds of the Panionion. It just cannot be!” We regarded him solemnly. He was voicing the hidden thought that all of us harbored--that the miasma or pollution created by a murder, especially on sacred ground, would endanger the festival, the games, the city, and indeed, any citizen's house that the killer was received into, however unwittingly. It was almost like an insidious fog or mist that could creep on catlike feet down the city streets, infesting all the people it touched. Crystheus wrung his pudgy hands in front of himself, and peered at all of us in turn imploringly. I prudently did not open my mouth.
”Very well, then,” ventured Valato, clearing his throat as well, “let us assume that Tyrestes was murdered. Martosius said that the poison must have been introduced into his body by food or drink taken not very long before he collapsed. How could this have been accomplished?”
”All the athletes, including myself, were given wine to drink in a libation to Poseidon Helikonios at the ceremony,” mentioned Endemion, speaking up for the first time. “Is that not correct, father?” He directed his question to Nolarion, who was staring at him unblinking.
”Yes, my son,” answered the big aristocrat slowly, flexing and unflexing his big hands. “But those drinks were given to all of you by us, the magistrates. Are you saying that one of us destroyed the best chance that Priene has to win the Panionic games?”
The incredible foolishness of this thought struck us all simultaneously. The Panionic festival and its attendant games were the most important internal event in the entire political and social structure of the Ionic League. It was one of the few dollops of cement that held together the tenuous philosophy of what an Ionic Greek was supposed to be. There were not very many of these bonds, you know. We Greeks tended to be a very independent sort of people, and clung tenaciously to our small city-states.
We excused Endemion's next outburst due to his relative youth.
”I am as good an athlete as Tyrestes,” he exclaimed heatedly, flinging his arms wide as if casting an imaginary fishing net. “I can equal him in most of the events of the pentathlon! I will win for Priene!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Endemion abruptly realized the import of what he had said, and reared back with embarrassment and chagrin.
”Forgive me!” he choked out, and stumbled to his feet from the chair in which in was sitting. “I did not mean to denigrate his abilities or his death. He was my comrade, and I loved him! I loved him!”
”Of course you did!” protested Nolarion, pressing the young man back into his chair, and enfolding his son's head against his own great chest. “Of course you did”, he repeated soothingly. Endemion rocked against his father's body, his arms wrapped around the older man's waist. I glanced away, not wanting to intrude upon the athlete's obvious mourning for his fellow competitor, and noticed the other men doing the same.
After a few moments Endemion's sobs quieted, and he lifted his head from his father's chiton. Nolarion inspected his son's face closely for a heartbeat, then nodded and released him. The magistrate resumed his kline and swallowed several gulps of wine. Endemion sat quietly, reddened eyes downcast upon the floor.
”In any case,” spoke up Euphemius, his head bobbing up and down in time to his words, “numerous persons handled the wine, the jugs, the amphora, and the cups! As absurd as it sounds, the poison could have been placed in a cup by a pouring girl, by one of Crystheus' temporary helpers, or even by one of the spectators, jostling for a closer look at the ceremony. It could even have been accomplished by a bystander along the procession route, handing out sweetmeats or tidbits to the parading athletes!”
I observed the others in the room nod at this statement, and considered to myself that this was a fine kettle of fish, indeed.
”One thing is clear, however,” emphasized Valato. “Many of the people believe that this is a sign that Poseidon is displeased with the festival or, indeed, all of Ionia. Since the crime is murder, it is the province of the state to solve it, and show the populace that it has nothing to do with the gods' favor or disfavor with the city or Asiatic Greece!” Normally, the solving of a crime is the province of the victim's family, but murder is so serious in its implications that its investigation has been largely precluded by the government. This is not to say that there is a special person or group of persons responsible for the investigation of a crime or for the enforcement of the law -- it is just another duty of the city's magistrates.
”I believe something else is equally clear,” interjected Euphemius. “Since the act was committed on the grounds of the Panionion, the logical individual to pursue the investigation and bring the culprit to justice is Crystheus!”
At this unexpected pronouncement the major priest jumped to his feet, upsetting his half-full kylix, and protested vociferously, his eyes popping out impressively from his face.
”I cannot do this thing. My duties keep me so occupied that I have no time for anything else. Besides, I know nothing about finding a murderer or investigating a crime, nothing. I have never been near a crime before in my life!”
His hands twined in the front of his chiton, he glared wildly about himself until his gaze rested upon me.
”Wait!” he exclaimed. “ I have it. The pollution already resides in Bias, yes, in Bias, since he touched Tyrestes as the young man was dying! His finding the criminal will be both opportune, since he has few important duties, and appropriate, since he may then rid himself of the miasma of death!” By the gods, those eyes shone like he had a lamp on the inside of his fat head.
All the other eyes in the andron turned to me, and I could feel their thoughts bounding in upon mine like a hunting dog slavering after a rabbit.
”This is not the right solution, “ I asserted weakly, looking pleadingly from one to the other. “ I hold no special place of respect in the people's minds and have been no nearer crime than Crystheus! Besides, I have plenty to do in keeping the sacred grounds presentable.”
The magistrates again glanced back and forth at each other, and I even noticed Endemion watching me expectantly.
”This may indeed be a viable solution.” postulated Nolarion softly. “It is true that the pollution must be rooted out, and that a polluted person has a great stake in doing so.”
”In that case, why can Endemion not be your investigator?” I suggested indignantly. “He is as polluted as I am!” Nolarion dismissed this idea with a impatient wave of his beefy hand.
”My son is the only chance left for Priene to win in the games. His miasma will be dispersed, when he takes the pentathlon and brings glory back to the city, as I did many years ago!” The two other magistrates nodded sagely at this bit of nonsense, effectively leaving me high and dry. Crystheus nailed down the lid of my coffin.
”I will use two of the temporary helpers until Bias returns triumphant,” he suggested happily. “I have the greatest confidence in his ability to reach a satisfactory, indeed a completely satisfactory, conclusion in this incident.” Thank you very much, I thought sourly, glaring at him.
”So then, good Bias,” said the bald Valato, putting the matter squarely in my unwelcome hands, “will you undertake to deliver our city and sacred grounds of this disgrace?”
My gaze sought out each
person in the andron in turn, and the answer in each one's eyes was the same.
”Indeed, sir,” I sighed in defeat. “I will do my best to solve this problem, and report my findings back to Crystheus, if this so pleases you.”
They all nodded solemnly, if not with evident relief. This answer to the dilemma had several obvious advantages, even to my untrained and naive mind. If I succeeded, then I would be free of the miasma, and the city and the sacred grounds would be shown to be blameless, since Poseidon would not be hiding the identify of the murderer. If I failed, the magistrates could claim that Poseidon was angry with me alone, or at the most with Crystheus as well, since the murder occurred on the Panionion grounds. At any rate, I and not the city, would retain the pollution, since Poseidon would have chosen not to clear my spirit of this contamination! The festival and games would recover over the next four years, and all Priene needed to do to exorcise itself was appoint a new major and minor priest. What a monumental balls-up, I considered to myself.
The magistrates were saved by any further inane protestations from me by the startling arrival of much wailing and lamenting outside the prodomus of Nolarion's large house. Tyrestes' relatives had arrived to claim his body.