The Athenian Murders (19 page)

There were murmurs. Judging by their looks of indifference, it seemed as if almost everyone was happy to be considered 'carrion', and that no one was prepared to alter their opinion of events even slightly. There were reliable witnesses, such as Diagoras, who claimed, though reluctantly, that they had seen Euneos drunk and crazed, wearing a
peplos
and linen cloak, slashing himself with a dagger. Diagoras added that it had been a chance meeting: 'I was returning home last night when I saw him. At first I thought he was a hetaera; then he greeted me, and I recognised him. But I realised he was drunk, or insane. He was cutting himself with a dagger, but he was laughing so I didn't appreciate the gravity of the situation immediately. By the time I thought of stopping him, he had fled. He was heading towards the Inner Ceramicus. I hurried to get help and found Ipsilus, Deolpos and Archelaus, former students . . . They, too, had seen Euneos . . . We called the soldiers . . . but it was too late ...'

Once Diagoras was no longer the centre of attention, he looked round for the Decipherer. He was making his way through the crowd towards the door. Diagoras rushed after him and managed to catch up with him outside, but Heracles wouldn't stop. Diagoras tugged at his cloak. 'Wait! Where are you going?'

The look on Heracles' face made him step back. 'Engage another Decipherer to listen to your lies, Diagoras of Mardontes,' he said, with icy fury. 'I will take half of the money you have paid me so far as my fee and will have my slave return the rest to you at your convenience. Good day.'

'Please!' begged Diagoras. 'Wait! I...'

The cold, severe gaze intimidated him once more. Diagoras had never seen the Decipherer so angry.

'I'm offended, not by the deceit itself, but by your foolish belief that you could
deceive me
.
That, Diagoras, is unforgivable!'

'I haven't tried to deceive you!'

'In that case, my congratulations to Master Plato, for he has taught you the difficult art of lying unintentionally.'

'You are still working for
me’
said Diagoras irritably.

'Again, you've forgotten that it's
my
investigation.'

'Heracles . . .' Diagoras spoke more quietly, realising that a crowd of onlookers had piled up around them like litter. 'Heracles, don't abandon me now. After all that's happened, you're the only person I can trust!'

'Tell me again that you saw that ephebe in girls' clothing slicing himself up before your eyes, and I swear by the
peplos
of Athena Polias that you will never hear from me again!'

'Come, I beg you ... let us find a quiet place to talk.'

But Heracles continued: 'A strange way to assist your students, O tutor! Do you think that smearing the truth with dung will help to uncover it?'

'My concern is
the Academy
,
not the students!' Diagoras' round head had turned quite red, he was panting and tears had risen to his eyes. And he had accomplished a strange feat: he had shouted noiselessly, smudging his voice until he achieved an internal howl, letting Heracles (but only him) know that he had shouted. Repeating his vocal trick, he added: 'You must swear that the
Academy
will be kept out of this!'

'I'm not in the habit of pledging my word to those who lie so freely!'

'I'd kill—' cried Diagoras, at the peak of his inverse scream, his stentorian whisper,'- hear me well, Heracles - I'd kill for the
Academy’

Heracles would have laughed, had he not felt so indignant. He thought Diagoras must have discovered the 'ultra-murmur' - a means of deafening one's interlocutor with spasmodic whispers. The stifled screams reminded Heracles of a child who is terrified of having a precious toy snatched away by a schoolmate and does everything he can to prevent it, but without the teacher noticing. But in this case, the 'toy' was the Academy (and it was at the word 'Academy' that Diagoras' voice became almost completely inaudible, so that Heracles knew what he was saying only from the movement of his lips).

'I'd kill!' repeated Diagoras. 'What is a lie, compared with harming the
Academy?
The worst must give way to the best! That which is worth less must be sacrificed to that which is worth more!'

'Then sacrifice yourself, Diagoras, and tell me the truth,' said Heracles, calmly, sarcastically. 'Because I assure you that you have never seemed to be worth less than you do now.'

They walked through the Poikile Stoa. At that hour it was being swept, with slaves moving their brooms rhythmically, clearing the day's litter. Heracles wasn't sure exactly how, but the repetitive, commonplace sound, so like the chattering of old women, seemed to mock Diagoras in his impassioned state. Incapable as ever of taking anything lightly, the philosopher was now comporting himself with the solemnity he felt appropriate to the situation - head hung low, using language befitting a speaker at the Assembly and sighing deeply.

'I... in truth, I last saw Euneos at the play last night... This morning, just before dawn, one of my slaves woke me to tell me that the
astynomos'
servants had found his body among the rubble on land in the Inner Ceramicus. When I heard the details, I was horrified. My first thought was for the honour of the Academy.'

'So it is preferable for a family to suffer dishonour rather than an institution?' asked Heracles.

'Do you not believe it is? If, as in this case, the institution is so much more qualified than the family to govern and educate men nobly, should not the institution have priority over the family?'

'But how would the Academy be harmed if it became public that Euneos was murdered?'

'If you found that one of those figs was filthy,' Diagoras pointed at the one Heracles was about to eat, 'but you didn't know how it became so, would you have confidence in the other figs from the same tree?'

'Maybe not.' Heracles reflected that if you asked a Platonist a question you ended up answering
his
questions.

'But if you found a dirty fig on the ground,' Diagoras continued, 'would you blame the fig tree for its filthy state?'

'Of course not.'

'Well, that's what I thought. I reasoned as follows: If Euneos alone was responsible for his own death, the Academy will not be harmed; people will even be relieved that the bad fig has been removed. But if someone was behind Euneos' death, how can we avoid chaos, panic, suspicion? And what if one of our critics (of which we have many) started making dangerous comparisons with Tramachus' death ... Can you imagine what would happen if word spread that someone was murdering our students?'

'You're forgetting one small thing,' smiled Heracles. 'With your actions you're contributing to Euneos' murder going unpunished.'

'No!' cried Diagoras, triumphant for the first time. 'That's where you're wrong. I intended to tell
you
the truth. You would continue the investigation in secret, with no risk to the Academy, and you would catch the culprit.'

'A masterly plan,' said the Decipherer sarcastically. 'Tell me, Diagoras, how did you do it? I mean, did you place the dagger in his hand?'

Reddening, the philosopher looked gloomy once more. 'No, by Zeus, I would never have touched the corpse! When the slave led me to the place, the
astynomos
and his servants were there. I told them the version of events I had devised on the way, and named several former students who I was sure would confirm everything I said, if the need arose ... When I saw the knife in his hand and smelt the strong odour of wine, I thought my explanation was plausible. Could that not, in fact, be what happened, Heracles? The
astynomos
who examined the body said that all the wounds were within reach of his right hand. There were no cuts on his back, for instance ... In truth, it would seem that he himself ...'

Diagoras fell silent on seeing that the Decipherer again looked angry.

'Please don't insult my intelligence, Diagoras, by quoting the view of a miserable rubbish collector like the
astynomos.
I am a Decipherer of Enigmas.'

'What makes you think Euneos was murdered? He smelt of wine, he was wearing women's clothes, he held a dagger in his right hand and could have caused all those wounds himself. I know of several horrible cases of the effects of wine on the young. This very morning I remembered an ephebe from my
deme
who became inebriated for the first time during the Lenaea one year and killed himself by dashing his head against a wall. So I thought—'

'You started thinking, as always,' interrupted Heracles placidly. 'While I simply examined the body. There you have the difference between a philosopher and a Decipherer.'

'So what did you find?'

'His clothing. The slashed
peplos
’

'Yes?'

'The slashes bore no relation to the wounds
beneath
.
Even a child would have noticed. Well, maybe not, but I did. A simple examination was all it took for me to see that beneath a straight cut in the cloth lay a round wound, and that a large puncture mark concealed a light, straight cut on the skin . . . Somebody obviously
dressed him
as a woman
after
he was stabbed . .. first slashing the clothes and covering them in blood, of course.'

'Incredible,' said Diagoras, truly impressed.

'It's merely a question of knowing how to look at things,' replied the Decipherer, indifferent. 'As if that were not enough, our murderer made another mistake: there was no blood around the corpse. If Euneos had stabbed himself so savagely, there would have been a trail of blood over the rubble and rubbish, at least close to him. But there was no blood on the ground: it was clean, if you like. Which means that Euneos was stabbed
somewhere else
and then moved to that derelict part of the Inner Ceramicus.'

'Oh, by Zeus ...'

'But perhaps this last mistake was
crucial
.'
Narrowing his eyes and stroking his neat, silver beard thoughtfully, Heracles added: 'Though I still don't understand why they dressed him in women's clothing and placed
this
in his hand ...'

He took an object from under his cloak. They both stared at it in silence.

'Why do you think someone else put it there?' asked Diagoras. 'Euneos could have picked it up before ...'

Heracles shook his head impatiently. 'Blood was no longer dripping from Euneos' body. Rigor mortis had set in,' he explained. 'If Euneos had been holding
this
when he died, the fingers would have been too stiff for me to remove it as easily as I did. No.
Someone
dressed him in women's clothing and slipped this into his hand.'

'But, by the sacred gods, why?'

'I don't know. And I find that disconcerting. I haven't translated that part of the text yet, Diagoras. Although I assure you, in all modesty, I'm not a bad translator.' Suddenly, Heracles turned and set off down the steps of the Stoa. 'Now, everything has been said, so let us waste no more time! We've got another Labour of Hercules to perform!'

Diagoras hurried after him. 'Where are we going?'

Heracles replied: 'To meet a very dangerous man who may help us! We're off to Menaechmus' workshop!'

As he walked away he put the withered white lily back under his cloak.
⁵¹

^5
1
I
could help you, Heracles, but how to tell you all that I know? How are you to know, clever a
s you are, that it isn't a clue f
or
you
but
for me
,
for
the reader
of an eidetic novel in which
you yourself,
as a
character,
are just one more duel
.
Your presence, I now realise, is also
eidetic
.
You're there because the author decided to put you there, like the lily the mysterious murderer placed in his victim's hand, to convey more clearly to the reader the idea of the 'Labours of Hercules', which is one of the central themes of the novel. So, the 'Labours of Hercules', the 'girl with the lily' (with her cry for 'help' and warning of 'danger') and the 'Translator' - all three mentioned in the last few paragraphs - are, so far, the main eidetic
images. What can they mean? (T
.'s N.)