The Lydian Baker

15

It had been a long wineless day, which would've pleased Perilla — she always complained I drank too much, Jupiter knew why — but played hell with the cerebral juices. I had Bathyllus pour me a cup of Setinian as I pulled off my grimy mantle, drained it at a gulp and held the cup out for more. Thank the gods for home comforts.

'The mistress around?' I asked.

'Yes, sir. She's in the garden with Alexis and Nestor.' A sniff.

'Yeah?' Now that was news. If Perilla was taking a proprietorial interest in my latest acquisition we'd have a docile, clean-mouthed citizen on our hands in no time. Look at me, for example. 'Tell me more,' I said.

'I understand Alexis is putting on some sort of demonstration, sir.' Sniff number two, this time full affronted-Bathyllus power. 'Although personally if I may say so I think the bird would serve a more useful and decorative purpose as a stuffed centrepiece for the dining table.'

Ouch. Well, Bathyllus never did have much time for anarchists, even feathered ones. I took the cup and jug through to the garden.

I was just in time; the show was about to start. Alexis was setting Nestor's perch complete with glaring star performer centre-stage, just where the evening sun showed his rugged profile to the best advantage.

Perilla was sitting on a wicker chair in what would've been the broad- striper row. She turned round and gave me a smile. I planted a smacker on top of it.

'Marcus! You're back! Did you have a good day?'

'Not exactly.' I had a quick mental image of what the crows had left, and the slither as it went into the hole I'd dug. 'It'll keep. Tell you later.'

'Fine. Alexis has been working wonders.' She turned. 'Haven't you, Alexis?'

The kid grinned and ducked his head. I had a lot of time for Alexis. He was one of my smartest slaves, and the only reason he was stuck with the garden was that he'd asked for the job himself: gardening for Greeks is respectable, seemingly, and not just for the bought help, either; even my pal Heraclitus had arranged to be buried in a pile of horse manure. Which showed if nothing else that grade-A philosopher or not at least he had had a sense of humour.

'I've been training him solid since you got him, sir,' Alexis said. 'He's a changed bird.'

'Is that so, now?' I looked at Nestor on his perch. He didn't look changed to me: still Cotta to the life, disreputable as hell and with a gleam in his eye that suggested he was just playing along for now and waiting to let rip. 'Okay. So let's see what he can do.'

Alexis held up a dried fig. 'Come on, then, Nestor,' he said. '"Sing, Goddess, the wrath…"'

I grinned. Homer. Oh, Jupiter! This I just had to see!

The black eye fixed itself on the fig and the beak twitched malevolently.

'"Sing, Goddess, the wrath…"' Alexis prompted again. 'Come on, you mouldy lump of cat’s-meat!'

Nestor lifted a claw and reached for the fig. Alexis moved it back. A spasm of pure disgust passed over the parrot's face, the claw was lowered and the beak opened…

'"Sing, Goddess, the wrath of Peleus's son Achilles."'.

Perilla clapped her hands. 'Alexis, that's marvellous! Isn't it marvellous, Marcus?'

'Amazing,' I said. I meant it, too; I was impressed. A bit lacking in expression, sure, but for a bird it wasn't bad. His accent was better than mine for a start. 'You going to coach him through all twenty-four books?'

'He's a quick learner,' Alexis said proudly. 'Why not?' He held out the fig. Nestor took it carefully, bolted it down and gave a shudder of pleasure.

'Fuck it!' he said happily.

There was a long and terrible silence.

'Changed bird, right?' I said at last, trying to keep my face straight.

'I'm sorry, sir.' Alexis was beetroot red. 'He forgets himself sometimes.'

'Not your fault, pal. Put it down to experience.'

'One month, Corvinus.' Perilla had got to her feet and was giving Nestor her best chilling stare as Alexis lugged him off in ignominy towards the servants' quarters. 'That is all.'

'Yeah.' I was still trying not to laugh. 'Somehow I don't think Homer's his bag.'

'Perhaps not. But language like that we can do without.'

'Come on, Perilla!' I said. 'He's a parrot! He doesn't understand what he's saying.'

'You honestly believe that?'

Good question. I kissed her instead of answering. 'Leave it. What time's dinner?'

The lady was still bristling, and I got the backlash. 'Not now. Meton insisted on waiting until you got back. It's grilled fish, and he didn't want it to spoil.'

'Fine.' I sighed; what with subversive parrots, touchy chefs and linguistically-sensitive wives my domestic life was currently a mess. 'Okay. So let's just have a plate of olives and cheese out here until Meton gets his finger out. I'm starved. Bathyllus?'

'Yes, sir.' The little guy oiled up. 'Olives and cheese, sir. And one extracted digit. Certainly, sir.'

'Don't push it, pal.' I turned to Perilla. 'You want a fruit juice?' She nodded. 'One fruit juice, little guy. And easy on the sarcasm.'

Bathyllus left in high dudgeon. You can add a sarky major-domo to the above. Ah, well, at least I wouldn't die of boredom.

'So did you talk to Melanthus?' Perilla sat down on the bench under the oleander. I joined her and pulled up a footstool. My legs were stiff. I'd been doing too much travelling around in coaches these past few days, and I was missing the exercise.

'No, I didn't talk to Melanthus.' I poured a fresh cup of wine and put my free arm round her shoulders. 'Because Melanthus has disappeared. And Smaragdus is dead.'

'What?' She turned to stare at me. 'Oh, Marcus!'

'Not murdered. At least, not quite.' I told her the whole story, glossing over the grisly part. 'So we're stuck again,' I finished. 'Unless this guy Dida can help.'

Bathyllus came out with the fruit juice and snacks on a folding table. I started in on the cheese.

'Actually,' Perilla sipped her fruit juice, 'I'm beginning to think you're right about Melanthus. He sounds horribly like Marius.'

I nodded: yeah, I'd made that comparison myself. Our prospective adopted daughter's father had been an obsessive art freak too, and the two were a type. Sextus Marius had been red-blooded, a man's man, clever, sophisticated, cultured. Sane in every respect but the one that mattered; and there the guy was a thorough-going, five-star, gold-plated nut. He'd got the Rock eventually, and the world was well rid of him.

'All the same,' I said, 'I wonder about Alciphron. He seemed just a bit too keen to slag off his colleague. And whether it fits in or not the only evidence for Melanthus's obsession comes from him.'

'True.' Perilla hesitated. 'On the other hand the academic world is rather…uncompromising.'

'You mean bitchy?'

She ducked her head and smiled. 'Yes, I suppose that is what I do mean. The criticism can get quite personal at times.'

'Yeah. Well, maybe it's nothing and I'm maligning him.' I sipped my wine. 'Forget it. Anyway, we're stymied as far as Melanthus goes at present until this Dida character shows up. But what's really bugging me is how Smaragdus fits in. Him and his pal Harpalus.'

'In what way?'

I shrugged. 'I'm not sure. But there's something out of kilter in that direction. Too many things don't add up.'

'Such as what?'

'For a start, Smaragdus moved out to his beach hut because he was afraid what had happened to Argaius would happen to him, right?'

'Yes.'

'Only when I talked to the guy's landlady she said he'd disappeared — I quote — "days ago". She was giving him until the end of the month before pitching his smalls out into the street and putting the “To Let” sign up. Sure, she might have been exaggerating because she wasn't exactly the soft- hearted motherly type, but if she wasn't then Smaragdus must've done a runner before his partner was chopped, not after.' I paused. 'Strange, right?'

'Yes.' Perilla nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, that is strange. Very.'

I emptied my winecup and refilled it. 'Then we come to Harpalus. The news that Smaragdus was dead rocked him, sure, but it didn't come as any surprise. It was as if he knew something like that was on the cards. And yet with the Baker gone it shouldn't have been. Eutyches had no reason to give Smaragdus any grief because Argaius had spilled the beans over where the statue was stashed and he had it already; furthermore, if Melanthus is Eutyches then it makes even less sense because the guy's obsession starts and ends with the Baker. I'd go along with Alciphron there, one hundred percent: Melanthus may be capable of murder, but he wouldn't kill for the fun of it.'

'But Melanthus didn't kill Smaragdus. You said his death was an accident. Besides, he had an accomplice.'

'Prince Charming. Right. Still, Melanthus would've had to give the order to hassle the guy. That's what I can't make out. What did Melanthus stand to gain?'

'Unless your Prince Charming was acting without orders.'

'Why should he do that?'

'I don't know. But it's possible.'

'Anything's possible.' I took a swallow of wine. 'Probable is where things get tricky. And probable it isn't.'

'Very well. Leave it for now. Go on.'

'The other screwy thing about Harpalus was that he knew the Baker had disappeared. If I was the last person besides his visitor to see Smaragdus alive then he shouldn't have known, because even Smaragdus didn't know until he took me to the cave.'

'Harpalus could have talked to him between your visit and his death.'

'That doesn't leave all that much time, lady. Smaragdus had been dead for quite a while. Take my word for it.' We'd still got dinner coming, and I didn't want to mention the crows. 'And if Harpalus had been over to the beach hut he would've found the body himself.'

'Maybe he did. Maybe Harpalus was the second visitor. Or led the man to him.'

'Uh-uh.' I shook my head. 'No way. Whoever he was, Smaragdus's visitor wasn't Harpalus, or he wouldn't have run. Sure, again it's possible, but I'd bet good money Harpalus didn't know his pal was dead before I told him. He isn't the murdering type, especially where Smaragdus was concerned, not even at second hand. And if he'd found Smaragdus dead he would've buried him or taken him home. No, we've only got two probable scenarios here. First, that Harpalus knew where the cave was and had checked it out personally after we'd been there, and second that someone told him the Baker was gone before Smaragdus died.'

'But that assumes he was a lot more involved than you thought he was.'

'Sure it does. And that's interesting, because I got the impression from Smaragdus that only he and Argaius knew where the statue was hidden. Sure, he might've shared the secret with Harpalus, but I doubt it. Not intentionally, anyway.'

'You mean Harpalus could have followed the partners on one of their visits? Without Smaragdus's knowledge?'

'Yeah. It's one explanation, anyway. And if so then knowing where the Baker was stashed he could've gone there any time between Melanthus's visit to the cave and this morning and found the cupboard bare. That way he wouldn't have to know anything about Smaragdus's death.'

'But why would he bother?'

'Search me, lady. It's only a theory.'

'Unless he was in league with Melanthus, of course. That would explain everything.'

'No.' I shook my head again. 'That won't wash either. Sure, it sounds good, but I can't see Harpalus in a lovers' double-cross. He's straight, by his lights. Or that was my impression, anyway.'

'Mmm.' Perilla sipped her fruit juice.

'In any case, what it doesn't explain is what went on at the beach house when Smaragdus had his accident. The guy knew he was in trouble, sure he did, or he wouldn't have been so desperate to get away. So what trouble was he in?'

'You say he knew Melanthus by sight. Perhaps if he saw him coming and recognised him he put two and two together.'

'That still doesn't make sense, Perilla. We keep coming back to the fact that Melanthus — or Eutyches, anyway — already had the statue. He was home and dry, Smaragdus was out in the cold and there was no reason for Melanthus to talk to him. Unless…' I stopped.

'Marcus? What's wrong?'

Oh, Jupiter! Jupiter Best and Greatest! There was only one unless that I could see, but that was a beaut. And it explained everything: why Smaragdus had left his digs before Argaius had died, how Harpalus had known the Baker was gone, and what had happened at the beach hut.

'Marcus?' Perilla tugged at my sleeve.

I glanced up at the sun. Hell. It was too late, now, for another trip to the Piraeus, and anyway if I stood Meton up again the guy would poison the soufflé. It would have to be tomorrow, early. 'Uh…sorry, lady. I was wool-gathering.'

'Nonsense. You've thought of something, haven't you?'

'Yeah.' I took a contented swallow of wine. 'I know now why Smaragdus was hiding out at the beach hut. And why Melanthus needed to talk to him.'