The Lydian Baker

3

I got our coachman Lysias to drive me down to the Piraeus early next morning. The Piraeus isn't exactly one of my favourite places; in fact it depresses me like hell. You'd think that as Athens's port it'd be thriving, like Ostia, but it isn't, and hasn't been for years; oh, sure, the area around the main harbour is prosperous enough, but that's about all most foreigners fresh off the boat see before the ubiquitous cabbies or chairmen have snapped them up and whisked them off up City Road to the City itself (to Athenians born and bred Athens has always been the City; capital 'C' on the old Greek term Homer used nine hundred years back, like no other existed and time was nothing). Move out past the dockside market and the centre immediately beyond and the place is a dump. Ruins, slums, gimcrack buildings put up on the cheap by fly-by-night speculators or locals who can't afford to do the thing properly. Piles of rubble and refuse. You name it, Piraeus has it in spades. Worse, it's the fault of us Romans; barring the shoddy recent stuff that would fall down if you breathed on it too hard that's how our sterling champion of the Beautiful and Good Cornelius Sulla left it when he burned the town in a fit of aristocratic pique a hundred years back. And we wonder why after all we've done for them the provincials still don't like us.

Argaius's trading emporium was in one of the dingy streets leading down from Zea Harbour where in the old days the Athenian navy used to moor its triremes. It was a two-up, two-down building with the living accommodation over the warehouse and a stray dog pissing against the bare brick wall. Not the sort of place, in other words, that you'd envisage as containing seriously pricey statues.

Not the sort of place you'd envisage as containing anything at all except maybe third hand bric-a-brac and constructionally-challenged used furniture. The emporium looked deserted. I tried the door. It was locked, seriously locked, and the windows either side were covered and barred.

Okay. So it was beginning to look like I wouldn't be bothering Melanthus for an authentication anyhow. I hammered on the worm-eaten panelling for five minutes just to show willing, then stepped back to look at the windows of the flat above. One of the shutters was half-open, sagging from a single hinge. I was sure I saw a movement behind it, but whoever was up there obviously didn't want to know.

'Hey, Argaius!' I shouted. 'The name's Valerius Corvinus. I'm acting for Helvius Priscus in Rome. Open up, okay?'

No answer. The windows stared down at me blankly.

Shit. This didn't fit the pattern. If it was a scam I should be inside by now, being treated like royalty and having my arse licked six ways from nothing. There was someone in there, sure there was. So what the hell was he playing at?

I'd left Lysias with the carriage next to a cheap cookshop fifty yards further down the street. Maybe an enquiry there might help. I gave the door one final bang for luck, then set off towards it.

I was almost there when a guy who wouldn't've looked out of place down at the docks loading cabbages came out chewing on a sausage.

'You looking for Argaius?' he said. Not friendly, either; but then smiles in the Piraeus were about as rare as gold pieces.

'Yeah. That's right.' Without making it too obvious I checked the knife I keep taped against my left wrist. 'You know where he is, pal?'

The big docker took another reflective bite at the sausage. 'He just left town. Family business.'

'Is that so, now?' I gauged my distance, but Lysias was already getting down from his box and hefting the weighted stick he carried for emergencies, so I doubted if the guy would try anything. Why he might want to was another question, and an interesting question at that.

'Yeah. That's so.' His eyes never left mine.

'You know when he'll be back?'

'Uh-uh.' His jaws moved rhythmically and he spat out a lump of gristle. The stray dog pounced. 'What's it about?'

'That's my business.' I kept the tone light. 'He leave anyone behind? Someone I could talk to?'

The eyes flickered briefly towards the half-closed shutter, then away again.

'No one to leave,' he said.

Well, I couldn't call him a liar, especially when whoever was upstairs didn't want to show themselves. And short of kicking the door down and hauling them out I couldn't prove anything, either. I shrugged. 'It seems that I've had a wasted journey, then.'

'Yeah.' He didn't move. 'Shame, isn't it?'

The hell with this. I wasn't looking for trouble, and if Argaius was on the level it was up to him to make the next move; if he wasn't, then as far as I was concerned he could shove his scam where it would do the most good. I shrugged again and pitched my voice so whoever was behind the shutter would hear me. 'Okay, friend. But if Argaius comes back you tell him Valerius Corvinus wants a word with him. If he wants me he'll find me in the City. Big house on Lykaion Road, just beyond the Hippades Gate.'

The guy's eyes never shifted. 'Nice address. I'll tell him. If and when I see him.'

'You do that.' I signalled to Lysias to get back onto the box and climbed aboard the carriage. 'Thanks for your help. It's been a real pleasure meeting you.'

He didn't answer, not that I expected him to. No sign from upstairs, either. I gave the order to Lysias and we set off back towards Athens.

'Corvinus, you are not getting involved!'

'What with?' I stretched out on the couch while Bathyllus poured me a restoring cup of Setinian.

'I don't know what with.' Perilla threw herself into a chair by the ornamental pool. 'But I don't like the feel of this. Whatever it is you are staying out of it for a change.'

'That's fine by me.' I let the nectar slip past my tonsils. 'As far as I'm concerned as from now the matter's closed, if it was ever open. Whatever the game was, Argaius obviously doesn't want to play any more. I'll write to Priscus tonight. In fact, you write the letter for me and I'll sign it.'

'Don't be silly!'

'Perilla.' I sat up. 'This Baker business is nothing to do with me, okay? My aesthetic interest in statues is zilch, it's not my money, the whole thing smells worse than six-month-old fish sauce in a heatwave, and if Priscus wants to force the guy into conning him out of two years' income he can get on the first boat over here and do it himself. Now does that satisfy you or do I have to draw you a map?'

Perilla came over to the couch and kissed me. Grinning, I put my arms round her waist and pulled her down beside me. Yeah, well, maybe I had sounded a bit tetchy.

'It's just that I can recognise the signs,' she said quietly. 'Once you get something into your head it doesn't shift. And if past experiences are anything to go by then your personal interest or lack of it has nothing to do with anything.'

'Yeah. Well. This time it's different. Believe me, lady, the best thing that could possibly happen is that nobody will hear anything from this Argaius guy ever again. Even if the Baker is genuine, the world's lived without it for long enough and only screwballs like Priscus will care a toss if it stays lost forever.' I kissed her ear. 'And just to show that I really couldn't care less, what would you say to an early night?'

Her lips twitched. 'Is that a proposition?' she said.

'What else would it be?'

'Fine.' She kissed me again. 'Just checking.'

We were half way up the stairs when Bathyllus soft-shoed into the hall and cleared his throat. Shit. This was always happening. The little guy had as much sense of timing as a third-rate Oscan tambourinist.

'What is it now, Bathyllus?' I said wearily.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, sir…'

'Then don't.'

'…but you have a visitor. From the Piraeus.'

I groaned. Bugger. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut when Prince Charming gave me the bum's rush outside the cookshop. Still, it was done and I had only myself to blame. 'Don't tell me, sunshine. His name's Argaius, and he wants to talk statues, right?'

'Marcus — ' Perilla began.

'Yeah, yeah, I know, but-'

Bathyllus cleared his throat again. 'Her name is Chrysoulla, sir,' he said stiffly, 'and she is an extremely upset young lady. I've asked her to wait in the porch.'

Oh, hell. The plot thickened, and with a woman, no less. I didn't even look at Perilla.

She was a honey. Small and slim, mid twenties, hair jet black and wavy under her headscarf, face like the Praxiteles Persephone. Apart from the puffy eyes and smudged makeup, that is. Bathyllus was right, she was upset as hell.

'Valerius Corvinus?'

'That's me,' I said. Somebody behind me coughed. I looked over my shoulder and grinned. 'Oh, yeah. And the lady with the set jaw and the green glint in her eye is my wife Perilla.' So she'd followed me downstairs after all. Well, I supposed that was fair. With a hot little number like this hammering on our door after the lamps were lit she had a right to be curious.

Our visitor took a deep breath and bit her lip. 'You were at our house this morning.'

'You're Argaius's wife?'

She nodded. 'I didn't come to the door. I'm sorry, but there were reasons.'

'You want to come in properly?' Without waiting for an answer I turned to Bathyllus. 'Bring the wine jug, little guy.'

'And some fruit juice, Bathyllus,' Perilla said firmly. 'With two cups.'

'Whatever.' I led the way into the living room. 'Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.'

Chrysoulla sat stiffly on the edge of the guest chair. She was nervous as a cat. I lay down on the couch and Perilla took her usual place by the pool.

'Now,' I said. 'Being a foreigner I'm not too sure about how Greeks do business, but I'd bet good money they don't send their wives round to clients' houses alone after dark. Especially when they could've talked face to face the same morning. So where's Argaius?'

'I don't know.' Her hands twisted in her lap.

'The guy outside the cookshop told me he was out of town on family business. That isn't true?'

A pause. 'No.'

'Marcus, stop it!' Perilla was looking frosty as hell. 'This isn't an interrogation. Or it shouldn't be.' She turned to Chrysoulla and said gently: 'Your husband's disappeared, hasn't he? When did it happen?'

'Last night, ma'am. He said he had to meet someone. About the Baker.'

I opened my mouth to speak, but Perilla shot me a look before turning back to the girl.

'Did he say who?'

'No. He never tells me nothing — ' She stopped and then said carefully, 'Anything. About the business. He just said he had a meeting with a buyer. On Mounychia.'

Uh-oh. This I didn't like the sound of. Mounychia was the old quarry area to the north east of Zea Harbour, and what few buildings there were in that quarter were shanties or slums. No one who had enough cash to be interested in the Baker would live on Mounychia, so it had to be an assignation. A clandestine assignation. And that stank like dead oysters in July.

'He didn't come back?' Perilla said.

The girl shook her head. 'No. And it's been a whole day now.'

Bathyllus padded in with the wine and fruit juice. Chrysoulla took a token sip and laid the cup down.

'There's no chance that he's simply been delayed?' Perilla asked. 'Or that he's gone on somewhere else?'

'He said it'd only take a couple of hours, ma'am. A preliminary meeting.' Chrysoulla stumbled over the phrase. 'Anyway, he would've sent a message. But that's not why I'm worried.'

'No?'

'Just before midnight someone knocked on the downstairs door. We keep it barred at night, even when we're both in. I thought it was Argaius, but it wasn't.'

I set down my wine cup. 'Don't tell me. The guy I met in the street today, outside the cookshop. Right?'

She swallowed. 'Yes, lord.'

'You know him?'

'I'd never seen him before. He didn't do anything, he just told me that if I wanted to see my husband again I should stay at home and not answer the door to no one till he said different.'

'So why come and see me now?'

'Because I'm scared,' she said simply. 'And because there's no one I can go to.'

'What about family? Friends?' That was Perilla.

'Argaius hasn't any family, ma'am, not living, anyway. And mine are in Crete. As for friends we've none that could help. And the law won't be interested because' — she hesitated — 'well, they just wouldn't be, that's all.' She looked at me. 'I hoped that a Roman like the lord here would have…might be able to…' Her shoulders began to shake.

Uh-oh. There went the interview.

'Marcus,' Perilla said, 'Take your wine into the dining room, please.'

'Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay.' I sidled out quickly.

Not unwillingly, though: I needed the chance to think.