See Delphi and Die

XXXIII

Since no other delaying tactic struck me, next morning I did set out for the acropolis.

I crossed the Forum on its north side, in my hiking gear and with Nux at my heels. At one point I noticed Phineus outside a shop. He was deep in conversation with another man, one of his many contacts, no doubt; I put my head down and got by unseen. Then a voice hailed me. It was just Cleonymus, the freedman; he was sitting on the central rostrum on his own, waiting for the wine shops to open. His wife and their two companions were all asleep with hangovers, so he said he would come up the crag with me to see the views. Nux was wagging her tail at company, so I agreed. Cleonymus was wearing a massive belt buckle against his richly embroidered tunic, with such heavy gold bangles on his muscular forearms that I thought it a duty to remove him from the envious crowds.

We walked over to the east end, and climbed a short flight of steps which led to a row of about six individual temples to minor divinities. This town was certainly pious. Next we passed through some small shops, emerging opposite a much larger temple in the Roman style which had the standard air of an imperial family dedication. Its columns had elaborate acanthus-leaved Corinthian columns; belatedly it struck me that the florid Corinthian style of capital was actually named after this city. I had never liked it. Glancing back, I saw the more straightforward Doric Temple of Apollo, exquisitely outlined against the deep blue waters of the Saronic Gulf and a lustrous sky. Its Greek austerity tugged at my old-fashioned Roman core.

"That's handsome, but I don't take to Corinth, Cleonymus – too much religion and too much shopping."

"Oh you can never have too much shopping, Falco.

Over on our right where the land dropped away lay the theatre; to the left was a gymnasium where I knew Young Glaucus had already established his credentials. We passed a very old fountain, into which Jason's young wife was supposed to have thrown herself to quench the

pain of Medea's poisoned robe; beyond that was another fountain, a sanctuary of Athena, and a sanctuary of Aesculapius.

"So Turcianus Opimus could have brought himself here! Then he could have died where the Roman governor might arrange to ship him home."

"Epidaurus was even more beautiful – though not very peaceful when the sacred dogs all had a yap." Cleonymus had spotted the stone money box for donations; he dropped a silver coin in the slot. "Show willing." It was like his generosity in buying wine for everyone. He thought he should share his own good fortune. Few owners of a vast inheritance retain so much benevolence.

We soon felt we ourselves might have to offer the god of medicine some votive statuettes of lungs. The road took us upwards, its steep incline challenging our stamina. Nux chased to and fro around us, heedless of the slope, a small excited bundle of fur with ears pressed back by her own momentum and eyes turned to slits in the wind she created. Eventually I put her on a lead, fearful the crazed animal would leap off the cliff. As the views became ever more spectacular, I was less and less minded to climb giddily down the rockface to rescue Nux from some tiny ledge. The mad dog would probably topple me over into oblivion in the act of welcoming me.

Initially Cleonymus proved a surprisingly good walker, considering his wine intake, though it was soon clear I had more long-term stamina. We puffed up in silence for a while then got talking as we settled into our stride. I let him guide the conversation. He told me a little of his travels, before I asked how he and Cleonyma came to be hooked up with Minucia and Amaranthus.

"Oh we just met them on this trip."

We climbed on, then I prodded again. Helena Justina thinks Minu'cia seems a bit restless with Amaranthus."

"Minucia doesn't say much, but she seems to miss her family."

"She dumped a husband? Children too?"

"I believe so, Falco. Plus aunts, sisters – and a puddle full of ducks! She's a home-lover who made a run for it to prove she could," Cleonymus told me. "Now she's hankering to see dough rising in her own crock again."

"Will she leave Amaranthus?"

"They've been together quite a while, I think. Cleonyma and I think the sad events on this trip are having an unsettling effect."

"Sudden death makes you wonder about your own life expectancy… Was Amaranthus married too?"

"No, never. He's a loner at heart, if you ask me."

"So what's his background, Cleonymus?"

"Salt-fish export. He's made a packet from shifting amphorae of sea bass. Looking for markets got him started on travel; now he combines work and pleasure. He's a real sports aficionado too. He was hopping mad when we got to Olympia and he realised there were no contests."

"Was that mis-selling by Seven Sights?"

"According to them, no."

"And according to you?"

"Guess! The fact that the dates have been muddled up since Nero is now twisted around to become our own fault. We all convinced ourselves this year was next year, while Phineus claims he and Polystratus – do you know that slime-ball, by the way? – would never have deluded us…"

"Yes, I met Polystratus back in Rome. He tried to sell me the Olympic Games for next year, funnily enough."

"So now he does know the proper date," scoffed Cleonymus. "What was your verdict on him, Falco?"

"True salesman – idle, devious, full of sharp practice. He upset Helena Justina by treating her as if she was a miserly hag, holding me back."

"I'm not surprised." Cleonymus tweaked up the corner of his mouth. "Cleonyma nearly bashed him with her travel scroll box when we were booking, – he would have really felt it; Cleonyma has a lot of travel narratives." We saved our breath for the next few moments. "Pity she didn't do it," Cleonymus murmured, more obliquely than usual.

As the road wound upwards, the views improved but we sweated more. The crag was almost sheer; only this western side could be scaled at all, and it was hard going. High above, we could make out what must be the other Temple of Apollo, this one straddling the acropolis peak, together with scattered roofs and columns of several other temples. The effects of prolonged imbibing were slowing down my companion now. We paused, with the excuse of admiring the fabulous panorama. Nux lay on my foot, licking my insole through my bootstraps. She might be a street dog from the Seven Hills, but she preferred walking on the flat.

"Indus seems to enjoy a raffish reputation," I suggested to the freedman.

"Enjoy is right; he loves being the centre of intrigue."

"Has he confessed his history?" Cleonymus gave me the finger to the

nose which is the universal sign of keeping mum. "Oh go on! What's he running away from?" I begged.

"Sworn to secrecy, Falco."

"Tell me this at least. does it have a bearing on the deaths I'm investigating?"

"Absolutely none at all!" Cleonymus assured me, laughing.

Doggedly, I pursued the issue. "I'm having some trouble placing both of those caustic bachelors. Something about Marinus keeps you guessing too."

"He's looking for a new partner," Cleonymus said, rather firmly.

"Yes, he comes right out and says so. Helena thinks it's not quite normal."

"Normal enough for a professional fraud." I raised an eyebrow. After a moment, Cleonymus told me, "My wife and I have met him before. Marinus doesn't remember; his tracking system concentrates on single women, not married couples. It was a couple of years back; we ran into him on Rhodes. He was looking for a new partner then too – and he found one. Unfortunately for the lady."

I caught on. Marinus is a professional leech? Emptied her coffers, then did a bunk?"

"Absolutely."

"He seems such a decent fellow."

"Secret of his success, Falco. Left her broken-hearted and bankrupt. She was too embarrassed to admit it, or to do anything about it. Between ourselves, Cleonyma and I had to lend her the fare home." When he said "lend', this good-natured man probably meant "give'.

"Is the same true of Indus?" I asked, but Cleonymus only twinkled in reply.

"Well, if Marinus is defrauding rich victims, I'd be worried about Helvia – but it looks as if he has checked her out and finds her too poor."

"Ah, Helvia!" Cleonymus was smiling again. "A woman to watch, maybe. We suspect there could be more to dippy Helvia than most people think."

I grinned in return. "You're giving me a fine expose – though tantalising! Any views on the tortured Sertorius family?" He shuddered. "And I think I can guess what you feel about Volcasius?"

"Poison."

"So what about the masterly Phineus, purveyor of dismal feasts and dirty donkeys?"

Cleonymus had stopped again, visibly out of breath. His only comment on Phineus was elusive. Interesting character!"

He was badly in need of a rest by now, whereas I had to continue with my errand to the so-called sorceress. We agreed Cleonymus would sit down here and wait for me, while I carried on in my search for the boys' water-seller, then I would pick him up on my way down. I left Nux to keep him company while he recovered.

I toiled on, leaning on my stave to help keep the legs going. The air, always clear, now seemed even thinner. Dazzling views lay below, over the city and on to the blue waters of the Gulf of Corinth, with a dark line of mountains behind, indicating mainland Greece to the north. Down on the Isthmus, I tried to convince myself I could make out the straight line of the diolkos, the ship-towing track. After a short breather, I slogged upwards again until finally I came upon what could only be the upper Peirene spring. That meant the old crone Gaius and Cornelius met was no longer on the acropolis, or I would have passed her.

I refilled my flagon at the spring. It was ice cold and crystalline, trickling over my hands in refreshing runnels as I tried to persuade the liquid to flow into the container's narrow neck.

I had met people coming down the hill, though not many. Knowing about the Temple of Aphrodite, it was no surprise to see a woman dallying by herself. She looked middle-aged and perfectly respectable – so I guessed she must be from the temple, and was one of its hard-working prostitutes. I was too old and far too wise to expect voluptuous fifteen-year-olds.

I gave her a polite smile and said good morning in Greek. She was not much to look at; well, not by my standards. That was usual in her calling. She wore a classic folded-over robe, in white, with her greying hair bound up in a bandeau. Give her a double flute and she could be on a vase – that would have been twenty years ago. She had a pot belly, flabby arms, and vacant eyes.

She was gazing out across the view to the Gulf, with a dreamy, don't-approach-me smile. I had no need for and no wish for her services. Still, it was fun to imagine what kind of tricks this worn-out minion of love would turn with the hard-bitten sailors and merchants who made the effort to come up here. Frankly, she looked far away with the nymphs.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?" No answer; in fact, her stony silence implied she thought me a loser with a very old

seduction line. "The name is Falco, Didius Falco." That was supposed to reassure any businesswoman; clients do not provide personal details, not unless they are local town councillors visiting venerated half-retired prostitutes for a regular appointment they have kept for decades.

My friendly request was meeting resistance; I did feel a few doubts. I even wondered if this woman was herself the so-called old water-seller. She was minus a hat, and I could see no suitable equipment with her, though a little way off there was a mangy donkey, nibbling at the barren scree in search of sustenance. He looked up at me despondently.

"If this was a myth," I suggested to the floozy, "you would be a sphinx who would issue tortuous riddles – and frankly, I'd be stuck. I rely on my wife to unravel codes…" The charm was failing. "Look, all I want is this. do you know anything about an elderly lady who sometimes sells water to travellers on their way up the crag? I just need to find out is she is still in the vicinity?"

The loopy-looking dame turned her head and surveyed me as if she had never seen a man before. In view of her supposed profession, this could not be true. Surprisingly, she answered the question. Her voice had a remote quality, but she made sense. Why do you wantlier?"

"Need to ask her about something that happened at Olympia three years ago."

She gave me a wilder stare than ever. "She has left here now."

"Thank you." I was tucking my flagon back into my belt, ready to descend the hill again.

"I am Philomela," announced the woman suddenly.

"Nightingale! Good pseudonym for a working girl." Must be a reference to her singing out convincingly as she faked orgasms.

She looked confused but made me the usual offer. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No thanks. The act of love is difficult when travelling, but my wife and I made up our losses yesterday. Sorry."

Once again I was subjected to the weird gaze. "I have no idea what you are talking about," said the so-called Philomela. Then she realised what I had meant – and I too saw my error. Oops! She was not a prostitute.

I saluted her smartly, and turned on my heel. Before either of us had time to be embarrassed, I made off hastily back down the road to Corinth.