The Athenian Murders (39 page)

He wasn't sure how many more similar stories unfolded before his mind began to understand. Just as a hanging object, when struck, swings violently and irregularly at first, then evenly, then terminally slowly, reverting gradually to its former stillness, the furious spinning stopped. His consciousness planed over a point of repose before managing at last to remain
linear and motionless, in harmony with the surrounding reality. Now he could distinguish between what was his - the pain, and what was not - the images, noises, smells. Dismissing these, he focused on the pain, and wondered what was hurting - head, arms? - and why. He could only find out why by resorting to memory, so he tried to remember. Ah yes, I was at Itys' house when she said: 'Pleasure.' But no, afterwards ...

Just then, a moan issued from his mouth and his hands twisted.

'Oh, I was afraid we'd gone too far.'

'Where am I?' asked Heracles, when what he really wanted to ask was: 'Who are you?'

But the man's response answered both questions: 'This is our meeting place.'

And, as he spoke, he motioned expansively with his muscular right arm, displaying a wrist ridged with scars.

Just as children playing at shaking rain-soaked trees are showered with the dense load of droplets hanging from the branches, the icy realisation of what had happened fell upon Heracles.

It was a large cave. The golden gleam was a torch hanging from a hook fixed to the rock. It lit a sinuous central corridor running between two walls; the torch hung on one; and Heracles, arms raised above his head, was bound by thick, serpentine ropes to golden nails hammered into the other. To his left, the corridor formed a bend that appeared to have a light of its own, though dimmer than the golden torchlight. The Decipherer deduced that it led to the cave entrance and that the greater part of the day must have elapsed. To his right, the corridor disappeared between sheer rock walls into complete darkness. In front of him stood a brazier with a poker
protruding from its glowing, blood-red embers. In the brazier, a bowl of golden liquid bubbled noisily. Cerberus was circling, barking equally at the brazier and Heracles' motionless body. Wrapped in a shabby grey cloak, his master was stirring the liquid in the bowl with a twig. He looked endearingly proud, like a cook admiring the push of a golden apple pie.
¹³²
Other objects that might have been of interest lay beyond the brazier, but Heracles couldn't see what they were.

¹³²
'Apples,' I complained. 'How vulgar to mention them!' 'True,' admitted Montalo. 'It is in rather bad taste to specify the
subject of the eidesis in a metaphor. The two most frequently repeated words, "hanging" and "golden", should have been enough here.'

'To evoke the Apples of the Hesperides, which were made of gold and hung from trees,' I said, 'I know. That's why I think it's a vulgar metaphor. And I'm not sure that apple pies push.'

'Shut up and carry on translating.' (T.'s
N.)

Humming a tune, Crantor stopped stirring for a moment. He took a golden ladle that hung from the brazier, scooped up some of the liquid and held it to his nose. The sinuous column of steam that enveloped his face seemed to issue from his own mouth. 'Hm. A little hot, but... Here. It'll make you feel better.' He held it to Heracles's lips, unleashing Cerberus' fury, for the dog seemed outraged that his master should offer something to the fat man before him. Reflecting that he had little choice and was thirsty anyway, Heracles took a sip. It tasted sickly-sweet, with a hint of spiciness. Crantor tilted the ladle and most of the contents spilled down Heracles' beard and tunic. 'Come on, drink.'

Heracles drank.
¹³²

¹³²
'Can I have a drink?' I've just asked Montalo.

'Wait. I'll bring you some water. I'm thirsty, too. I'll be back in the
time it takes you to write a note about this interruption, so don't for one second think you can escape.'

The fact is, it hadn't occurred to me. He's kept his word: he's back now
with a jug and two glasses. (T
.'s
N
.)

'It's
kyon,
isn't it?' he said afterwards, gasping.

Crantor nodded and returned to the brazier. 'It'll take effect soon. You'll feel it.'

'My arms are as cold as snakes,' complained Heracles. 'Untie me.'

'Once the
kyon
is working, you'll be able to free yourself. We possess incredible hidden strength which our reason stops us using.'

'What's happened to me?'

'I'm afraid we beat you and brought you here in a cart. By the way, some of us found it extremely difficult to get out of the City, because the soldiers had already been alerted by the archon.' He raised his black gaze from the bowl and directed it at Heracles. 'You've hurt us quite badly'

'You like being hurt,' retorted the Decipherer contemptuously. 'I take it you've all fled?'

'Oh, yes, all of us. I've stayed behind to treat you to a
kyon
symposium and to have a little chat. The others have sought pastures new.'

'Have you always been their leader?'

'I'm no one's leader.' Crantor gently tapped the bowl with the twig, as if it had asked the question. 'I'm an important sect member, that's all. I came forward when we found out that Tramachus' death was being investigated. We were surprised because we didn't expect it to arouse suspicion. The fact that you were the principal investigator made my job trickier, if more pleasant. Actually, I agreed to deal with the matter
because J knew you.
My task consisted in trying to mislead you. To your credit, you made it very difficult.'

He approached Heracles, holding the twig, like a schoolmaster swinging a cane to inspire respect in his pupils. He went on: 'My problem was how to fool someone who notices
everything.
How to deceive a Decipherer of Enigmas like you, for whom the complexity of things holds no secrets? I came to the conclusion that your main advant
age was also your biggest fault
. You reason
everything
out, my friend. So I thought I would use this peculiarity of yours to distract you. I said to myself: 'If Heracles' mind can solve even the most complex problem, then why not stuff his mind full of them?' If you'll excuse the vulgar expression.'

Apparently amused by his own words, Crantor went back to stirring the liquid. He bent down occasionally to click his tongue at Cerberus, particularly when the shrill barking became more insistent than usual. The light from the bend in the corridor was growing ever dimmer.

'So I set out, quite simply, to make sure that
you never stopped reasoning.
It's easy to fool the mind by feeding it plenty of reasons - you all do it every day in the courts, at the Assembly, the Academy . . . The fact is, Heracles, I got a great deal of enjoyment out of it.'

'And out of mutilating Euneos and Antisus.'

The echoes of Crantor's noisy laughter seemed to hang from the walls of the cave and glow, golden, in the corners. 'You still don't understand, do you? I set you
false
puzzles! Euneos and Antisus weren't murdered - they just agreed to be sacrificed before their time. After all, their turn would come sooner or later. All your investigation did was precipitate things.'

'When did you recruit those poor boys?'

Crantor shook his head, smiling. 'We never "recruit" anyone, Heracles. People hear of our cult and want to know more. In this particular case, Tramachus' mother, Itys, found out about us at Eleusis shortly after her husband was executed. She attended secret meetings at the cave and in the forest, and took part in some of the first rituals that my companions held in Attica. Later on, as her children grew up, she made them followers of our faith. But, intelligent woman that she is, she knew she wouldn't want Tramachus to reproach her for not having given him the choice, so she didn't neglect his education. She encouraged him to attend Plato's school of philosophy and learn all that reason can teach, so that once he came of age, he could decide which path to follow. And Tramachus chose us. What's more, he got his friends Antisus and Euneos from the Academy to join in the rituals, too. They both came from ancient Athenian families, and it didn't take much to convince them. And Antisus knew Menaechmus who, by happy coincidence, was also a member of our brotherhood. They found Menaechmus' "teachings" much more useful than Plato's. They learned the pleasures of the body, the mystery of art, the enjoyment of ecstasy, the exaltation inspired by the gods.'

Crantor did not look at Heracles as he spoke, keeping his gaze fixed on a vague point in the growing darkness. But now he turned suddenly towards the Decipherer and added, still smiling: 'There was no jealousy between them! That was
your
idea! We happily used it to mislead you, making you suspect Menaechmus, who wanted to be sacrificed as soon as possible, as did Antisus and Euneos. It didn't take much to contrive a plan involving the three of them ... Euneos stabbed himself in a most beautiful ritual at Menaechmus' workshop. Then we dressed him in a
peplos
slashed
in the wrong places
so that you would think exactly as you did - that somebody had murdered him. Antisus did what he had to when his turn came. I did everything possible to make you think
they had been murdered,
don't you see? And, to that end, nothing better than making it
look
like suicides, which is what it really
was.
You would take care, later on, of
making up your own version
of the crime and catching the perpetrator.' And, opening his arms, Crantor boomed: 'Therein lies the weakness of your all-powerful Reason, Heracles Pontor - it so easily imagines the problems that it believes it is solving!'

'And Eumarchus? Did he drink
kyon,
too?'

'Of course. The poor old slave was very keen to liberate his urges. He mutilated himself with his own hands. Incidentally, you suspected that we used a drug ... Why?'

'I smelt it on Antisus' and Eumarchus' breath and, later, on Ponsica's . .. And by the way, Crantor, could you clarify something: was my slave a member of your sect before this all started?'

Despite the gloom, the look on Heracles' face must have been quite obvious, because Crantor raised his eyebrows and replied, looking into his eyes: 'Don't tell me you're surprised! Oh, by Zeus and Aphrodite, Heracles! Do you think it would have been hard to persuade her?' There was even a little compassion in his voice. He moved closer to his enfeebled prisoner, adding: 'My friend, for once in your life try to see things as they are and not as your reason presents them to you. That poor girl, maimed as a child, then forced by you to endure the humiliation of that mask ... Do you think she needed anyone to unleash her
rage?
Heracles,
Heracles! How long have you sur
rounded yourself with
masks
so that you don't have to see real, naked human beings?'

He paused, and shrugged. 'In fact, Ponsica joined us soon after you bought her.' He frowned and added with displeasure: 'She should have killed you when I ordered her to. It would have saved us a lot of trouble.'

'I assume using Yasintra was your idea, too.'

'Yes. I thought of it when we heard you'd spoken to her. She doesn't belong to our sect, but we were keeping an eye on her. We threatened her when we found out that Tramachus had revealed some of our secrets, wishing to convert her to our faith. Getting her into your house was doubly useful: on the one hand, it helped to distract and confuse you; on the other ... let's say it served an instructive purpose, proving to you in practice that physical pleasure, to which you believe yourself so indifferent, is more powerful than the will to live.'

'By Athena, what a useful lesson,' said Heracles sarcastically 'Tell me, Crantor, and make me laugh at least, is this how you spent your time away from Athens? Devising tricks to protect this sect of madmen?'

'I travelled for many years, as I told you,' replied Crantor calmly 'But I returned to Greece much earlier than I said, and journeyed around Thrace and Macedonia, which is when I came into contact with the sect. It's known by different names, but the most common is Lykaion. I was so surprised to find such wild ideas on Greek soil that I immediately became a member - Cerberus, Cerberus, that's enough now, stop barking. I assure you we're not madmen, Heracles. We don't do anyone any harm, unless our own safety is threatened. We perform rituals in the forest and drink
kyon.
We give ourselves up completely to an age-old force now known as Dionysus, but which isn't a god, and cannot be represented in images or expressed in words. So what is it? We don't know ourselves! All we know is that it lies buried deep within men and causes rage, desire, pain, pleasure. Such is the power we worship, Heracles, and we sacrifice ourselves to it. Does that surprise you? Wars also demand sacrifices, yet no one is surprised. The difference is that we choose when, how, and why we sacrifice ourselves!'