I was woken early next morning by the house slave. I groaned, rolled over, and opened one bleary eye to peer through the window. It was still dark outside, not even dawn.
“What is it?” I mumbled. “Go away.”
“Messenger for you,” the slave said quietly to avoid waking my brother.
I groaned again, pulled on my tunic, and shuffled down the corridor, trying not to step on the planks that I knew creaked, through the courtyard and into the vestibule.
The messenger was a young slave boy. His hand was shaking when he handed over a piece of torn papyrus and he stuttered the words, “Fr-fr-from the new mistress.” On it were scribbled two words: Come quickly. The finger marks where Diotima had held the papyrus were marked out clearly in drying blood.
I grabbed the slave boy by both shoulders and shook him. “Is she alive? Is she hurt?” I demanded.
But he fainted, and even slaps to the face could not bring him around. I let the fool fall to the floor and snatched the sword Sophroniscus had presented to me when I’d commenced ephebe training. It’s illegal for a citizen to carry a sword through Athens except on military duty, but I wasn’t going to worry about that now.
I ran all the way and crashed through the door. Fortunately it was unbarred, because it never occurred to me to check. If it had been locked I would have broken my shoulder. The silence in the house was ominous. I saw bloodied footsteps leading both up and down the stairs to the women’s quarters. I bounded up and pushed through the upstairs door with my shield arm forward and my sword in ready thrust position.
But there was no one to attack me. Blood lay everywhere. The floorboards were awash with it. Blood spattered two walls and lay across the couches. One of the nurses was slumped back across a couch, the wide, red streak of a deep slash wound in her forehead. I saw it had been either a sword or something like a butcher’s cleaver wielded by someone who hadn’t hesitated to kill brutally. The other nurse lay along the opposite wall, curled into a ball. The pool of blood thickest about her middle told me I didn’t need to look any closer. Stratonike lay on her back in the middle of the room, her head thrown back and her throat slashed open. Most of the blood pooling on the floor came from her.
Diotima was in the middle of the room, like an island rising out of a sea of blood. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and forced a tiny smile. “I’ve had a lot of bad days recently. I wouldn’t mind having a good one for a change.”
I helped her downstairs and called for slaves, but the only one there was Achilles. He told me the others had run. I couldn’t blame them, but I was angry they’d left Diotima behind. I was torn by priorities. I had to get Diotima back home to her mother’s house, but I didn’t dare leave the scene upstairs. There was no telling what might happen while I was gone. I had to find out who had done this and how Diotima had managed to survive. That would have to wait, though. Diotima wasn’t yet fit to talk.
“Oh yes, I am,” she protested in gasps, when I said as much to Achilles. I had ordered him to escort Diotima home. The two of us had wiped her face, but fixing her soiled and bloodied dress was a problem we couldn’t solve without a female slave. “Anyway, this is my home now.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. “You’ve only just moved in, and that was supposed to be for the night only. I didn’t think you’d become proprietorial.”
“That was before someone dared to murder my household. I could have been in there!”
“Why weren’t you?” I asked.
“Remember the last thing I said to you last night? I resolved I was not going to spend a night in the same rooms as a mad-woman who had danced around her husband’s grave. So I walked about the house. I walked a lot. I looked into every nook and cranny. There was nothing else to do. I know this house as if I’ve lived in it. This place belongs to me now. Me, Nicolaos. I am mistress of this house.”
Aha. Diotima had finally found somewhere she could be free of Euterpe. Granted, it had a few disappointing features. It was recently vacated by a murdered man-her father-it housed a violent lunatic, and to possess it, she would have to marry a loathsome creature. But even with these domestic inconveniences it was a place away from her mother, and that counted for a lot with Diotima.
“I realized, I don’t know when, I couldn’t stay awake all night. I could barely stay on my feet. So I slipped into Father’s bedroom and slept in his bed. I barred the door so the slaves wouldn’t discover me in the morning. I thought I would slip back into the women’s quarters before dawn.”
“The door to the women, did you bar it behind you?”
“No. Stratonike was out cold. The nurses’ sleeping draft worked.”
“So anyone could have walked in.”
“The house was shut up tight.”
Achilles spoke up, “If I might say, sir, the young mistress is quite right. I checked the doors myself before retiring, front and back. All was barred as it should be, sir.”
“Windows?”
“Downstairs shutters locked, sir.”
Diotima said, “And besides, Nicolaos, remember I was walking the house for half the night. If someone had broken in I would have known for sure.”
“Who found the bodies?”
Diotima shuddered and went pale again. “I did, when I returned before dawn.”
“Wait here.”
I had left Diotima and Achilles as much to give myself a moment alone as to investigate. While I was out of sight I took the time to lean against a wall and feel sick. I was shaken by what had happened here. I stayed until my stomach had settled, then continued my work.
I went around the doors, front and back, and every window. Every bar but the front door’s was in place. None showed the least sign of cracking.
“When you sent the messenger to me, did you have to unbar the front door?” I asked on return.
“Yes sir, I noticed that particularly,” Achilles said.
I looked at him closely, unsure whether he understood the implication of what he said.
I said slowly, “I should think the person who did this was a man. It must have required strength.”
Diotima asked, “What do you think happened?”
“You heard no screams?”
“None. But then, by the time I fell asleep I was dead to the world, utterly exhausted.”
Achilles said, “It may help you to know, sir, the old master Ephialtes had special work done to the women’s quarters. The workmen made double walls and pushed cloth within the gap. I think they did the same to the floor. One couldn’t hear what happened within.”
“Why in Hades would they do that?” I asked, astounded.
“It was on account of the old mistress, sir. For when she was having one of her…turns. She could scream fit to wake the dead. The neighbors complained, sir, and the slaves couldn’t get a night’s rest.”
“I see.” That would explain why no one heard anything. And even if they did, everyone would assume Stratonike was having one of her screaming fits. What a beautiful opportunity to murder someone.
“Sir? May I ask a question? I haven’t seen the room. I thought the old mistress must have taken to the old nurses and then killed herself. Isn’t that what happened?”
I looked at Diotima meaningfully. She nodded. “Achilles was downstairs when I screamed and ran for help. He didn’t go up.”
I looked at his bare feet. The crippling scars were there to be seen, and not the slightest trace of blood. They were perfectly clean. Very well then. “Achilles, it is most unlikely that your old mistress killed herself.”
“Oh dear, sir.” I left them again and stepped outside into the street. The sun’s rays were strong now; the day had begun. There was a single set of bloody footprints going out the door and down the street. I squinted and studied in hope, but it was easy to see they’d been left by the boy who’d come to me. The back lane was even worse, the only obvious prints were my own from the night before. If an outsider had killed the women, he’d left without dripping blood, a feat I considered to be impossible.
Was Achilles capable of this? There were two other men slaves; they’d been among those who’d run. But the slaves had left no blood in their wake. Achilles was clean.
Hmm. He was clean. So was everyone else who’d left the house except the messenger boy. Diotima was the only one covered in blood, and I refused to believe she could have committed this crime. I returned once more to Diotima and Achilles.
“Where do you wash yourselves in this house?”
Achilles said, “The men slaves douse themselves back of the slave quarters, sir. The women do the same only they have a large basin they sit in, and there’s a screen for them. The master liked to use the baths at the gymnasium, of course. The old mistress and the nurses had water carried to their quarters. I believe there’s a copper tub.”
Diotima nodded. She had a bit more color in her face. “The tub’s in the room beyond the bodies.”
“Did you look there?”
“This morning? No.”
I went first to the corner behind the slave quarters. It was as Achilles described it. There was not a drop of blood to be seen. Also, it was perfectly dry. Whoever had killed the women hadn’t washed themselves here. Next I went back up the stairs, took a deep breath, and opened the door. I stepped through as quickly and gingerly as I could, trying not to step in the mess. I had to jump over the largest pool. Fortunately it was almost dried. The room beyond held beds, three chests, a cupboard, and a tub. One of the beds had metal rings bolted to the wall above it. There was stout rope hanging from the rings. I guessed this was where Stratonike slept. She was probably tied when she was being particularly difficult. The other two beds would be for the nurses. All three had been slept in.
I looked closely at the tub and the floor between the tub and the door. Not a drop of blood to be seen, and these too, were dry. This was rapidly becoming irritating. My fine theory as to how the murderer managed to leave clean was being destroyed by lack of evidence.
I put that aside for the moment and considered another question: how had the bodies ended in the common room? Had they been dragged from their beds? No, that was inconceivable. There was no blood in the bedroom. Had they been knocked unconscious in bed and then dragged? But then why didn’t attacking the first woman wake the others?
So all three women had left their beds, and willingly walked to the common room to be murdered, like lambs to the slaughter. My imagination rebelled. I thought of the big, strong nurses with their muscled arms. I thought of the homicidal Stratonike. Any one of them would have scared me in a dark alley. All three together would be like facing the Furies. I shuddered to think what would happen to any man who took them on all at once.
Stratonike’s arms were bruised, but there was no telling if that was the work of the murderer or the nurses handling her during the funeral. I could see from the stains that the blood had poured from her throat down both sides of her neck. She must have been lying as she was now when she died.
How could the killer have persuaded her to lie still while he cut her throat? She might have been mad, but she wasn’t that far gone. Besides which, Stratonike was the homicidally inclined of the three. Why hadn’t she fought? The answer came to me immediately. Diotima had said the sleeping potion had put Stratonike out completely. Looking down at her now, I could see her face appeared calm and peaceful, possibly for the first time in many years.
So if Stratonike was unconscious, why would anyone bother to murder her? The two nurses might have been disturbed by an intruder and walked into the common room to investigate, but that didn’t explain the death of their mistress.
There was only one possible answer. The purpose of the intruder was to murder Stratonike. The nurses’ deaths were merely necessary because they’d been woken.
I was quite pleased with myself. I’d made quick progress on these murders, faster than I’d managed with Ephialtes. I had a simple picture in mind.
The murderer had crept into the bedroom, picked up the comatose Stratonike and carried her into the common room where he proceeded to open her throat. This woke at least one and possibly both nurses, who came out to investigate. They probably saw that Stratonike had left her bed, and thought she was making the noise. So they walked in unprepared for what was happening. The murderer took a swipe at the first nurse from his crouching position over Stratonike. That’s why the nurse was struck in the stomach. She fell to the side. The murderer, now standing, swung at the next nurse, taking her in the head. She was flung onto the couch where she quickly died, spurting blood up the wall.
The scene was perfect in my mind. It explained the state of every corpse.
Then the murderer, who must have been dripping in gore, walked out of the room leaving no trace, no track, no drops of blood on the stairs or on the ground floor.
No, it was impossible. Yet my theory fit so well, I felt I had the right basic idea. So the killer had cleaned himself before leaving. He must have. But there were only two ways he could have done that, and both were pristine dry.
I set that problem aside once again and considered who would want to murder Stratonike. The nurses sprang instantly to mind. I glanced at their mutilated bodies and decided I could eliminate them as suspects. Who else? Diotima. And she was the only one covered in gore. If Diotima killed the women, it would explain everything and eliminate the need for the killer to be clean. My mind rebelled at the thought and I had to force myself to stay on track. I’d thought at first only a man would have the strength, but could I be wrong? I recalled our race though the city. She was definitely fit. And she loathed Stratonike-with good reason. Would her hatred supply the strength and will to cut her throat? It might…maybe. But if Diotima was the murderer, where was the weapon?
I choked back my distaste and searched the women’s quarters thoroughly. I didn’t find a cleaver, nor a knife, nor a sword, nor any other weapon. There weren’t even the small knives anyone would have. I supposed that was to be expected, given the presence of Stratonike.
I returned to Diotima.
“What took you so long?” she demanded. “I don’t have to ask where you’ve been.”
My investigation had taken its toll. My sandals were red. I was spattered from my feet to my knees, and my palms were smeared.
I ignored her comments and asked, “Where’s the kitchen?”
“Hungry?” she asked sarcastically.
“Not particularly. I don’t think I’ll be eating meat for a while. I want to see the knives.”
“I’m coming with you this time,” Diotima said.
She led me to the kitchen, next to the slaves’ quarters. It looked much like the kitchen of my home, with the oven placed outside to avoid fires and the preparation bench and food stores inside. The knives were hung on hooks. Every hook had a knife.
Diotima frowned. “How strange.”
“What is?”
“The knives are all there.”
I nodded unhappily. “Yes, I was expecting one to be missing.”
“No, Nicolaos, you don’t understand, there was a knife missing.”
That startled me. “Say that again?”
“Last night, as I wandered the house, I came in here and I noticed there was a knife missing. That one.” She pointed to the meat cleaver.
I stepped close to the cleaver and stared. “I can see the slightest trace of blood on it, in the crack between the handle and the blade.”
“Of course you can, it’s a meat cleaver.”
Achilles coughed. “Excuse me, young mistress, but I think you must be mistaken. All the knives were there yesterday morning.”
“Nonsense,” Diotima said brusquely. “The cleaver wasn’t there last night.”
“It was there in the afternoon. I saw it.”
“Are you sure, Achilles?” I asked.
“Quite sure, sir. I looked over the kitchen especially because we all expected the new master to stay for the funeral feast.”
“Didn’t he?”
Diotima said, “He did. But being the only male family member, it was a depressing affair even by the usual standards. Stratonike was alternating between wailing a cacophony and hysterical laughter. Rizon shouted at the nurses and me to shut her up. He was in a foul mood after what happened at the funeral. He walked up to the nurses and shrieked at them that Stratonike was to be silent or he’d have them beaten.”
“Did he beat them?” I was thinking of the bruises on Stratonike.
“No. He and Stratonike ended up face to face, him shouting that she belonged to his household now and she’s to do what she’s told or else, her mouthing obscenities and ignoring everything he said. He stalked back to the table and stuffed his face with Ephialtes’ food and wine. Stratonike picked up a knife and threw it at him. She missed, but the knife flew past his face. Rizon went pale, shouted that he was a fool to let a self-confessed murderess anywhere near him, not to mention the bad luck and the curse of the Gods that falls upon a woman who murders her family, and that in her case it was too late and now she was doubly cursed. That was when he ordered us to get her out of his sight.”
“Then he left?”
“He left some time later. I didn’t see, I was upstairs with the women. I had a choice between staying with Stratonike or Rizon.”
“What about you, Achilles?” I asked.
“I didn’t see him leave either, sir. I was clearing the table. The new master departed while I was out back at the midden.”
“And he didn’t do anything else? Anything important, I mean.”
“He struck-” Achilles glanced at Diotima, who ordered, “No, Achilles.”
But I’d heard enough, and with the hint I could see the bruise forming along the side of Diotima’s face.
“He struck you?” I was enraged.
“He was unhappy I’d grabbed the spear of vengeance from him during the funeral march. He hadn’t known how to exert his authority over me in front of other men, but he knew what to do afterward.”
“Rizon and I are going to talk,” I said grimly.
Diotima tossed her head to the side and refused to let me examine her bruises. “There’s no point, Nicolaos. I belong to Rizon now and it’s all perfectly legal. He can do whatever he likes to me. I suppose I’ll have to get used to it, and learn how to keep out of his way.”
The funny thing was that the wrong person had died. If someone had murdered Rizon it would have made perfect sense. There was a houseful of people who hated him, plus me. But everyone in the house was used to Stratonike. Why kill her now? I was unwillingly drawn back once more to Diotima as a suspect.
I made another round of the kitchen in search of inspiration, but I saw nothing except the cleaver, which I took down. There was nothing special about it I could see, except I was sure I was holding the blade that had killed three women. I hung it back on the wall. I looked out the window into the courtyard. Someone had come in here, in the dark, having to be careful not to awaken the slaves. That person had taken the cleaver off the wall and then in the dark walked up to the women’s rooms. He would have to be careful not to trip over anything on the way.
Diotima and Achilles were restless during my silence, but I ignored them. I had to think this through. Presently Achilles muttered to Diotima, “Mistress, what about the purification? Should we do it now?”
Diotima replied, “I don’t know, Achilles. I’m a priestess and not even I know the rules for this situation. If there’s ever been a time when the house of a murdered man sustained another murder before it was washed, I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s it!” I exclaimed in excitement. I almost jumped for joy. “Achilles, tell me, how many buckets of seawater did you bring for the purification?”
“Sir? Ah, seventeen.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes sir, we had the seawater brought here from Piraeus. I loaded seventeen buckets on the wagon because that’s as many as we had plus the ones we could borrow from the neighbors. I carried each one in when the wagon returned. I was most particular to make sure none were stolen.”
“Go count them.”
I grinned at Diotima until Achilles returned. He looked puzzled.
“Sixteen, sir. I can’t imagine what happened to the other one.”
“I can. The murderer carried it upstairs to wash himself after the crime. Athens might be dark and lonely in the middle of the night, but no murderer could risk dripping blood all the way back to their home.”
Diotima said, “There was a bucket in the corner of the room. I remember it.”
“So do I, but I assumed it was used for night stools.”
We went up the stairs once more. Diotima and Achilles stayed at the entrance, where Achilles gaped at the scene for the first time, while I went to the corner beside the door in which stood the bucket. Now I knew what to look for. The floor in that corner was ominously clean, though the wall behind was spattered. I put my nose to the empty bucket.
“Seawater.” The salt smell was obvious.
Who would have known the house of Ephialtes had seawater that night? Depressingly, every man in Athens who attended his funeral the day before. That would be about half the population, including everyone implicated by Ephialtes’ death. Most people could have guessed the seawater would be kept at the back of the courtyard, anyone with a bull’s-eye lantern could have found it. Anyone could have guessed there’d be a cleaver in the kitchen.
We retraced our steps downstairs. The runaway slaves had come to their senses and sheepishly returned. They were waiting for us in the courtyard. If they’d kept on running, they could have been executed. Diotima forbade them to go up any stairs, ordered them go about their business, and sent the kitchen girl to make us something light to eat. It was almost midday and we’d been on the go and under stress since before dawn. We invited Achilles to sit with us: after the morning’s trauma he was more like an assistant to us than a slave. I was aware he’d stayed with Diotima when he could have run. I was sure she’d be mindful of the same. Achilles was a man I could trust with her.
The kitchen girl returned with heavily watered wine, olives, and bread. Diotima said to her, “Thank you, Criseis, that will be all. Oh, and please wash the meat cleaver. Do it now.” Criseis stared at Diotima. “Be thorough,” Diotima ordered. Then she turned to me and asked, “Who would have wanted Stratonike dead?”
I could answer that one immediately. “You, Rizon, anyone in this house who couldn’t take any more of her screaming, and whoever killed Ephialtes.”
Diotima nodded glumly. “Well, I didn’t kill them! And even if I was going to murder the wretch I would never have hurt those poor nurses. Do you think it was the same man as killed Father?”
“It’s possible.”
“That leaves us with the slaves. I don’t suppose you killed them, did you, Achilles?”
Achilles held his hands up in horror. “Please, mistress! Never jest about something like that. I know you don’t mean it, but that’s the sort of comment that could get a slave like me killed.”
“Sorry,” she said. “But what do you mean, a slave like you?”
He said sadly, “There are some slaves, mistress, who get by almost as if they were metics, some are almost like members of the family. Then there are the ones who are treated like working drudges, as most of us in this house. But at least those are ignored by the owners. Then there are a few slaves that seem to be the butt of every cruel jest. No matter how well they serve, they always seem to be noticeable when it’s time to play a joke on a slave. That’s me.”
Diotima said, “I’m sorry, Achilles. I never knew you before, but you belong to me now. Can I make it up to you?”
“Don’t free him,” I said quickly. “He’s the only one here you can rely on.”
Achilles looked at me, hurt. “Well, thank you very much, sir.”
“Ignore him, Achilles. I tell you what, when this is over I’ll free you if that’s what you’d like.”
“I take that very kindly of you, young mistress. May I think on it? I’m not sure what I would do if I was free. How would I earn a living?”
“We’ll work on it later.” She patted his hand.
I pointed out, “Of course, in order to make good on that promise you have to be alive later.”
“What do you mean?” Diotima asked, startled.
“Has it occurred to you, the murderer might have had two targets?”
“No, it hadn’t. Are you suggesting he was after me?”
“He was looking for at least Stratonike. That must be so since, not having found you, he went ahead and killed her anyway. She was killed either because of who she is, or who she was married to. If the former, then it’s going to be an esoteric form of a domestic quarrel. If the latter, then whoever is involved in the death of Ephialtes is afraid he might have said something important to her, or is afraid she might have seen something, or perhaps have observed someone visiting this house.”
“That seems preposterous.” Diotima snorted. “She was a lunatic who barely knew the people around her. I’m sure Father would never have discussed anything with her.” She thought about it with her head tilted to one side and staring into the distance. “How about this,” she suggested at last. “What if Father wasn’t murdered for politics? What if it was a personal reason? Then it might make sense that they also would want to kill Stratonike.”
“And you thought my idea was weak?”
“Let me know when you have a better one.”
“I do. Right now, I would very much like to get my nose close to Rizon and have a big sniff.”
Diotima grimaced. “Gah! Even the thought turns my stomach.”
It was impossible of course. I could not go anywhere near the man without it being clear I’d been tramping about a murder scene with his fiancee.
Fortunately someone had to inform him of what had happened. Ordinarily a messenger would be sent, but it would be reasonable for Diotima to go personally. Once there she would see what she could of his clothing, appearance, and, most importantly, get close enough to smell him for the aroma of the sea. Diotima shuddered in distaste. “The thought is appalling but I suppose I must.” Diotima rose to wash and change her bloodied clothes with the help of the returned women slaves.
“Go with her to Rizon,” I ordered Achilles. “Don’t let her out of your sight once she’s in the house with him.”
Achilles trembled. “The master may have a different view, sir.”
“I know, but do your best.” It occurred to me that Achilles ultimately would belong to Rizon, and he could earn whatever favor there was to be had by reporting the morning’s actions. “I’m going to offer a variation on what Diotima said to you before, Achilles. If Diotima is unhurt when all this is over, then there’ll be a reward for you. If I can, I’ll buy you and set you up with a comfortable existence.”
“Thank you, sir. And if the mistress is regrettably hurt, sir, despite my best efforts?”
“I’ll buy you anyway, but if you were negligent then I’ll kill you.”
“That would not be in the nature of a jest, sir?”
“No, Achilles, it wouldn’t.”
“And I had thought you such a nice young man, sir,” he said in an aggrieved tone.
“Concentrate on the happy part where she isn’t hurt.”
I left Diotima and Achilles to clean up the mess. Diotima remained a ward of the state until the wedding, and so in addition to telling Rizon of the deaths she would have to send a messenger to Conon. I regretted not being there when he learned of this latest thorn in his backside, as if Ephialtes’ death wasn’t complicated enough already.