The Athenian Murders (17 page)

'Speak,' said Diagoras. 'I will listen.'

His voice as gentle as the wings of a small bird, Heracles began: 'Tramachus, Antisus and Euneos led . . . still lead ... a somewhat dissolute life. Don't ask me why -
I
don't think you, as their tutor, should feel responsible. But the fact is, the Academy advises them to reject the vulgar emotions aroused by physical pleasure, and not to take part in plays, and yet they associate with hetaeras and act as chorus members.' He raised a hand quickly, anticipating an interruption. 'In theory, there's nothing wrong with that, Diagoras. Some of your colleagues may even know about it and allow it. After all, the young will do that sort of thing. But in Antisus' and Euneos' case .. . and no doubt Tramachus', too . .. Let's just say they've taken it too far. They met Menaechmus - I still don't know how - and became fervent... disciples at his ... unusual evening 'classes'. The slave I engaged to follow Antisus last night told me that, after leaving the theatre, Euneos and Antisus accompanied Menaechmus to his workshop . . . where they held a little party.'

'A party' Watchfully, Diagoras' eyes moved as if wanting to take in the whole of the Decipherer at a glance. 'What kind of party?'

The old man's eyes watched, bulging .. . the sculptor's workshop ... a man of mature years . . . several youths . . . laughing ... the glare of lamps ... the youths waited ... a hand ... waist... The old man licked his lips ... a caress ... a boy, much more beautiful . . . quite naked . . . spilled wine . . . 'Like that,' he said . . . Surprised, the old man . . . meanwhile, the sculptor . . . moving closer . . . slowly, gently . . . gentler still... 'Ah,' he moaned ... at the same time, the other boys ... roundness. Then, on their backs ... strange position ... legs ... exasperating ... in the half-light. . . with sweat. . . 'Wait,' he heard him whisper ... Incredible, thought the old man.
⁴⁵

'That's ridiculous,' said Diagoras hoarsely. 'In that case, why don't they leave the Academy?'

⁴⁵
'Most of this passage - undoubtedly describing Menaechmus' party with the youths, as watched by Eumarchus - has been lost. A more soluble kind of ink was used and many of the words have simply evaporated over time. The blanks are like bare branches where before words perched like little birds,' states Montalo, about this corrupt passage. He goes on: 'How will the reader reconstruct his own orgy with the remaining words?'
(T.'s N.)

'I don't know.' Heracles shrugged. 'Perhaps they want to think like men in the morning and to enjoy themselves like animals at night. I really don't know. But that's not the main problem. The fact is, their families have no idea that they're leading double lives. The widow Itys, for instance, is happy with the education Tramachus received at the Academy. As are Antisus' father, the noble Praxinoe, who is one of the
pry
taneis
at the Assembly, and Euneos' father, Trisipus, the old, venerated general. What would happen, I wonder, if your students' night-time escapades became public?'

'It would be terrible for the Academy,' muttered Diagoras.

'Yes, but what about for them? It would be even worse now that they're old enough to become ephebes, when they acquire legal rights. How do you think their noble fathers would react, when they so wished for them to be educated according to Master Plato's ideals? Those most concerned that none of this should become known are your students . . . not to mention Menaechmus himself.'

And, as if he had nothing more to say, Heracles set off down the deserted street. Diagoras did likewise, watching the Decipherer's face closely. Heracles added: 'What I have just told you comes very close to the truth. I will now explain the hypothesis I consider most likely. In my opinion, all was going well until Tramachus decided to give them away

'What?'

'He may have had a guilty conscience about betraying the principles of the Academy. Who knows? Whatever it was, my theory is this: Tramachus decided to talk. To tell everything.'

'That wouldn't have been so terrible,' said Diagoras quickly. 'I would have understood—'

Heracles interrupted: 'Remember, we don't know what
everything
is. We don't know the exact nature of the relationship they had - still have - with Menaechmus.'

Heracles paused significantly.

Diagoras murmured: 'Do you mean to tell me that . . . his terror in the garden . ..'

Heracles' expression showed that this wasn't what he considered most important. But he said: 'Yes, perhaps. Remember, though, it was never my intention to investigate the terror you claim to have seen in Tramachus' eyes, but—'

'What you saw when you looked at his corpse and which you've never seen fit to tell me,' Diagoras said impatiently.

'Exactly. But now everything has fallen into place. I didn't tell you about it because its implications were so unpleasant that I wished to devise a theory to explain it first. I think the time has come to reveal it to you.'

Heracles suddenly raised his hand. Diagoras thought the Decipherer was about to cover his mouth so as not to say any more. But Heracles stroked his small silver beard and went on: 'At first sight, it seems very straightforward. Tramachus' body, as you know, was covered in bite marks, but . . .
not all over
.
What I mean is his arms were almost
untouched
.
That was what surprised me. The first thing we do when attacked is raise our arms, so that's the first place we're injured. How do you explain that an entire pack of wolves
attacked
poor Tramachus but barely touched his arms? There's only one possible answer: Tramachus was unconscious
at the very least
when the wolves found him, so he didn't put up a struggle. The beasts went straight for his heart, ripping it out.'

'Please, spare me the details,' said Diagoras. 'But I don't understand what this has to do with—' He stopped. The Decipherer was watching him closely, as if he could read his thoughts. 'Wait. You said that when the wolves found him, Tramachus must have been unconscious
at the very least...
'

'Tramachus didn't go hunting,' went on Heracles impassively. 'My theory is that he was going to tell everything. Menaechmus ... and I'd like to think that
it was Menaechmus ...
probably arranged to meet him on the outskirts of the City in order to come to some arrangement with him. There was an argument, maybe even a fight. Or perhaps Menaechmus had already decided to silence Tramachus in the worst possible way. Then, by chance, wolves destroyed the evidence. Now, this is just a theory'

'True. Tramachus may simply have been asleep when wolves chanced upon him,' said Diagoras.

Heracles shook his head. 'A man asleep can always wake up and defend himself. No, I don't think so. Tramachus' wounds show that
he didn't defend himself
.
The wolves came across an inert body'

'But it could be that—'

'That he was unconscious for some other reason? That's what I thought at first, so I didn't want to tell you what I suspected. But if that is so, why have Antisus and Euneos become so afraid since their friend's death? Antisus has even decided to leave Athens.'

'Perhaps they fear we'll find out about their double life.'

Heracles replied quickly, as if Diagoras' suggestions were entirely predictable: 'You're forgetting one last thing: if they're so afraid of being found out, why are they continuing with their activities? I don't deny that they might be scared of being discovered, but I think they're
much more
scared of Menaechmus. As I said, I've made some inquiries about him. He's violent and irascible, and unusually strong despite his slight build. It may be that Antisus and Euneos now know what he's capable of, and they're frightened.'

The philosopher shut his eyes and pressed his lips together. He was boiling with rage. 'That... wretch,' he muttered. 'What do you suggest we do? Accuse him publicly?'

'Not so fast. First we have to establish the degree of guilt of each of them. Then we have to find out exactly what happened to Tramachus. And lastly . . .' Heracles had a strange look '. . . the most important thing: I have to hope that the feeling lurking uncomfortably inside me since I began this investigation - as if a huge eye were watching my every thought - is unjustified.'

'What kind of feeling?'

Heracles' gaze, lost in the night air, was inscrutable. After a pause, he answered, slowly: 'The feeling that I may, for the first time in my life, be
completely w
rong
.'
⁴⁶

⁴⁶
The words 'eyes' and 'watchful' have both been repeated frequently in this last section, and they echo the verses that the author has the Chorus speak: 'You are being watched.' So there is a double layer of eidesis in this chapter. On one hand, the theme of the Labours of Hercules continues with the image of the Stymphalian birds. On the other, there is mention of a 'Translator' and of 'watchful eyes'. What can it mean? Does the 'Translator' have to 'watch' out for something? Is somebody 'watching' the 'Translator'? Montalo's learned friend Aristides has agreed to see me tomorrow. (T.'sN.)

There it was: his eyes could see it in the darkness. He'd searched for it watchfully, tirelessly, among the opaque stone spirals of the cave. It was the same one, there was absolutely no doubt. As before, he recognised it by the sound: a muffled beating, like the leather-covered fist of a boxer rhythmically pounding the inside of his head. But this wasn't what mattered: what was absurd, illogical, and what his rational eye refused to accept, was the floating arm whose hand was gripping the organ. There, beyond the shoulder, that was where he should be looking. But why was that exactly where the shadows thickened? Darkness be gone! He had to find out what was hiding in that clot of blackness, what body, what image. He moved closer and put out his hand . . . The heartbeats grew louder. Deafened, he awoke abruptly ... and found, to his disbelief, that he could still hear them.

Someone was pounding on his front door.

'What...'

He wasn't dreaming: someone was knocking insistently at the door. He felt for his cloak, which was neatly folded on a chair by the bed. Dawn's watchful gaze slipped through the crack of window. As he came out into the corridor, he saw an oval face, its only features black slits for eyes, floating towards him.

'Ponsica, open the door!' he said

At first, stupidly, he wondered why she didn't answer. 'By Zeus, I'm still asleep: Ponsica can't speak.' The slave gestured nervously with her right hand; she held an oil lamp in her left.

'What? Fear . . . You're afraid? Don't be stupid! We must open the door!'

Grumbling, he pushed past the woman and went into the hallway. The knocking began again. There was no light -
Ponsica had the lamp - so, when he opened the door, his terrifying dream of only a few moments before (so similar to the one of the previous night) brushed his memory like a cobweb caressing the unwary eyes of someone moving through an old dark house. But at the door he found not a hand gripping a beating heart but the figure of a man. Ponsica came up behind him with the lamp and the man's face was revealed: middle-aged, with watchful, sleep-filled eyes. He wore the grey cloak of a slave.

'I have a message for Heracles of Pontor from my master Diagoras,' he said, with a strong Boeotian accent.

'I am Heracles Pontor. Speak.'

Intimidated by Ponsica's appearance, the slave replied hesitantly: 'The message is: "Come immediately. There's been another death".'
⁴⁷

⁴⁷
This is the end of Chapter Five. I finished translating it after my conversation with Professor Aristides, an amiable man with wide gestures but brief smiles. Like Ponsica in the novel, his hands are expressive, while his face remains blank. Perhaps his - I was going to say 'watchful' - eyes (the eidetic words have slipped into my thoughts now)... as I said, his eyes may be the only mobile, human feature of his plump face with its small, pointy black beard. He received me in his large living room. 'Welcome,' he said, smiling briefly, and indicating one of the chairs by the desk. I told him about
The Athenian Murders,
written by an anonymous author after the Peloponnesian War. No, he hadn't heard of it, but the subject sounded unusual. He
settled the matter with a vague shrug, saying that if Montalo spent time on the text, it must have 'some merit'.

When I mentioned that it was eidetic, he looked more interested. 'Strangely, Montalo spent the last years of his life studying eidetic texts. He translated a good many and established the definitive version of several original texts. I would even go so far as to say that he became quite obsessed with the subject. I'm not surprised - some of my colleagues have spent their whole lives trying to find the final key to an eidetic work. I assure you, these texts can become the worst poison literature has to offer.' He scratched his ear. 'I'm not exaggerating. I've translated some of them myself and have ended up dreaming about the images I've found. They can play
tricks on you. I remember a treatise on astronomy by Alceus of Quiridon in which "red", and all shades of the colour, recurred throughout, nearly always teamed with another two words: "head" and "woman". Sure enough, I started dreaming about a beautiful red-haired woman ... I could see her face quite clearly. It tormented me.' He frowned. 'In the end, I discovered through another text that came my way by chance, that a former mistress of the author had been wrongly
sentenced to death. Using eidesis, the poor man had
hidden the image of her beheading in the text. You can imagine what a shock it was. Instead of a beautiful ghost with red hair, I now saw a decapitated head pouring blood.' He arched his eyebrows and looked at me, as if inviting me to share his disappointment. 'Writing is a strange business, my friend. In my opinion, it's one of the strangest, most terrible things a man can do.' And he added, again giving me his economical smile. 'Reading is another.' 'But getting back to Montalo . . .'