Last Act In Palmyra mdf-6 Read online

  I crossed off one more possible destination for Sophrona and Habib (assuming he was the person she did the flit with), then took the long haul out of town to our camp. All the way back I kept looking over my shoulder to see if the people of Hippos were tailing me. I was growing as nervy as they were.

  Luckily my mind was taken off my unease when halfway along the trail I caught up with Ribes the lyre-player.

  Ribes was a pasty youth who believed his role as a musician was to sit around in a lopsided haircut describing plans for making vast sums of money with popular songs he had yet to compose. So far there was no sign of him being mobbed by Egyptian accountants keen to rob him of huge agency fees. He wore the sort of belt that said he was tough, with a facial expression that belonged on a moonstruck vole. I tried to avoid him, but he had seen me.

  'How's the music?' I asked politely.

  'Coming along…' He did not ask how the playwriting was.

  We strolled along together for a short time while I tried to twist my ankle so I could fall behind.

  'Have you been looking for clues?' he asked earnestly.

  'Just looking for a girl.' Perhaps because he knew Helena, this appeared to worry him. It was not a concept that had ever worried me.

  'I've been thinking about what you said to us,' Ribes offered after a few more strides. 'About what happened to Ione…' He tailed off. I forced myself to look interested, though talking to Ribes thrilled me about as much as trying to pick my teeth at a banquet without a toothpick and without the host's wife noticing.

  'Thought of anything to help me?' I encouraged gloomily.

  'I don't know.'

  'Nobody else has either,' I said.

  Ribes looked more cheerful. 'Well, I might know something.' Fortunately, six years as an informer had taught me how to wait patiently. 'Ione and I were friendly, actually. I don't mean – Well, I mean we never – But she used to talk to me.'

  This was the best news I had had for days. Men who had slept with the tambourinist would be useless; they had certainly proved slow to come forward. I welcomed this feeble reed with the bent stalk, in whom the girl could well have confided since he had so little else to offer.

  'And what did she say, Ribes, that now strikes you as possibly significant?'

  'Well, did you know that at one time she had dealings with Heliodorus?' This could be the link I was needing to find. Ione had implied to me that she knew more about the playwright than most people. 'He used to boast to her about what he'd got on other people – stories that would upset them, you know. He never told her much, just hints, and I don't remember much that she passed on.' Ribes was not exactly bursting with curiosity about the rest of the human race.

  'Tell me what you can,' I said.

  'Well…' Ribes ticked off some tantalising references: 'He reckoned he had Chremes in his power; he used to laugh about how Congrio hated his guts; he was supposed to be pals with Tranio, but there was something going on there -'

  'Anything about Byrria?'

  'No.'

  'Davos?'

  'No.'

  'Grumio?'

  'No. The only thing I really remember is that Ione said Heliodorus had been horrible to Phrygia. He found out she had once had a baby; she'd had to leave it behind somewhere and she was desperate to find out what had happened to it since. Heliodorus told her he knew somebody who had seen the child, but he wouldn't tell her who it was, or where. Ione said Phrygia had had to pretend that she didn't believe him. It was the only way to stop him tormenting her with it.'

  I was thinking hard. 'This is interesting, Ribes, but I'd be surprised if it relates to why Heliodorus died. Ione told me very definitely that he was killed for "purely professional" reasons. Can you say anything about that?'

  Ribes shook his head. We spent the rest of the walk with him trying to tell me about a dirge he had composed in Ione's memory, and me doing my best to avoid letting him sing it.

  Contrary to our expectations, Hippos offered a warm welcome to theatrical performers. We easily obtained a booking at the auditorium, although we could not attract a local sponsor so had to play on a directly ticketed basis; however, we did sell tickets. It was hard to say who was buying them, and we went into the opening night with some trepidation. Every good Roman has heard stories of riots in provincial theatres. Sooner or later our turn might arrive to become part of disreputable folklore. Hippos seemed the place.

  Our performance must have had a calming influence, however. We put on The Pirate Brothers. The townsfolk seemed to be genuinely informed critics. Villians were booed with gusto (no doubt on the assumption that they might come from Tiberias) and love scenes enthusiastically cheered.

  We gave them two more performances. The Rope was rather quietly received, up to the scene with the tug of war, which went down superbly. This brought increased crowds the following day for The Birds. After much silly debate of the kind he loved and we all hated, Chremes had risked this as a gamble, since piquant satire was not obvious fare for an audience who spent their time seething with pent-up suspicions and fingering their daggers. However, the costumes swayed them. Hippos took to The Birds so well that at the end we were mobbed by members of the audience. After a moment of panic as they came swarming on to the stage, we realised they all wanted to join in. Then ensued the fascinating spectacle of sombre men in long flowing robes all losing their inhibitions with joyous glee and hopping about for half an hour, flapping their elbows as imitation wings, like chickens who had eaten fermented grain. We, meanwhile, stood about rather stiffly, unsure what to make of it.

  Exhausted, we crept away that night, before Hippos could demand even more excitement from our repertoire.

  Chapter XLI

  Approaching Dium we were told there was a plague. We retreated very fast.

  Chapter XLII

  Abila was not officially one of the fabled ten in the region of the Ten Towns. Like other places, this one claimed to belong in order to acquire prestige and the sense of mutual protection against raiders that was enjoyed amongst the true federation. If raiders turned up and asked to see their certificate of membership, presumably the claim failed and they had to submit to pillage meekly.

  It did have all the qualifying features of the best of the Decapolis: a beautiful location, a rippling stream, good defensive walls, a Greek acropolis plus a more Romanised settlement, a huge temple complex honouring deities to suit every palate, and a theatre. The local architecture was a rich mixture of marble, basalt and grey granite. Abila was set on a high rolling plateau where a restless wind eerily seethed. There was something remote and lonely about it. The people looked at us thoughtfully; they were not directly hostile but we found the atmosphere unsettling.

  Our thwarted trip to Dium, leading to an unexpectedly lengthened journey, had caused us to arrive at an awkward time of day. Normally we travelled through the night to avoid the worst heat, and tried to enter cities in the morning. Then Chremes could investigate the possibilities for a booking at an early stage while we others rested and complained about him among ourselves.

  Having come on a poor track, we reached Abila well after noon. No one was happy. One of the waggons had had a broken axle, which held us up on a road that had seemed likely to be patrolled by brigands, and we were all shaken to bits by the roughness of the ground. On arrival we threw up tents, then straight away retired into them without wanting to make plans.

  Outside our tent, Musa doggedly lit a fire. However tired we were, he always did this, and also always fetched water, before he would relax. I forced myself to co-operate and fed the ox, having my foot stepped on by the ridiculous beast in return for my act of duty. Helena found food for us, though no one was hungry.

  It was too hot, and we were too ill-tempered to sleep. Instead we all sat cross-legged and talked restlessly.

  'I feel depressed,' Helena exclaimed. 'We're running out of cities but not solving anything. What are the places we have left to visit? Just Capitolias, Canatha, and Damascus.'
She was in a brisk mood again, answering her own questions as if she expected Musa and me to stare into space lethargically. We did that for a while, not deliberately intending to annoy her but because it seemed natural.

  'Damascus is big,' I offered eventually. 'There seems a good hope of finding Sophrona.'

  'But what if she was at Dium?'

  'Then she's probably caught the plague. Thalia wouldn't want her back.'

  'Meanwhile we go on searching for her, though, Marcus.' Helena hated wasted effort. I was an informer; I was used to it.

  'We have to do something, fruit. We're trapped at the ends of the Empire, and we need to earn our keep. Look, we'll go to the last three cities with the company and if Sophrona doesn't turn up then we'll know we should have tried Dium. If it happens, we can decide what we think about this plague.'

  It was one of those moments that hit travellers, a moment when I reckoned our decision would be to take a fast ship home. I didn't say it, because we were both so frustrated and gloomy that even mentioning a retreat would have had us packing our bags that minute. These moods pass. If they don't, then you can suggest going home.

  'Maybe there was nothing really wrong at Dium,' Helena fretted. 'We only have the word of a caravan we met. The men who told us may have been lying for some reason. Or it could be no more than one child with spots. People panic too easily.'

  I tried myself not to sound panicky. 'Risking our own lives would be stupid – and I'm not going to be responsible for extracting a runaway musician from Dium if taking her to Rome might bring an epidemic there. It's too high a price for a water-organ fugue, however brilliant a player she is.'

  'All right.' After a moment Helena added, 'I hate you when you're sensible.'

  'The caravanners looked pretty grim when they waved us away,' I insisted.

  'I said, all right!'

  I saw Musa smile faintly. As usual he was sitting there saying nothing. It was the kind of irritating day when I could easily have lost my temper with him for this silence, so I covered by taking charge: 'Maybe we need to take stock.' If I thought this would perk up my companions, I was disappointed. They both remained listless and glum. Still, I pressed on: 'Looking for Sophrona may be pointless, I agree. I know the girl could be anywhere by now. We're not even certain she ever left Italy.' This was verging on too much pessimism. 'All we can do is to be as thorough as possible. Sometimes these jobs are impossible. Or you may run across a piece of luck and solve the case after all.'

  Helena and Musa looked as impressed as a desert vulture who had flown down to an intriguing carcase only to find it was a piece of old tunic blowing against a broken amphora. I try to stay cheerful. However, I gave up on the girl musician. We had been looking for her for too long. She had ceased to seem real. Our interest in the creature had waned, along with any chances we had ever had of finding her out here.

  Suddenly Helena rallied. 'So what about the murderer?'

  Once again I tried to liven us up with a review of the facts. 'Well what do we know? He's a man, one who can whistle, who must be fairly strong, who wears a hat sometimes -'

  'His nerve holds,' contributed Musa. 'He has been with us for weeks. He knows we are looking for him, yet he makes no mistake.'

  'Yes, he's confident – although he does jump sometimes. He panicked and tried to put you out of action, Musa, then he soon silenced Ione.'

  'He's ruthless,' said Helena. 'And also persuasive: he did make both Heliodorus and Ione agree to go somewhere alone with him. Ione even suspected he was a killer, though I presume that didn't apply in the playwright's case.'

  'Let's think about Petra again,' I suggested. 'The chief players went there and came back without the playwright. What have we found out about them? Who hated Heliodorus enough to turn his walk into a swim?'

  'Most of them.' Helena ticked them off on her fingers: 'Chremes and Phrygia, because he plagued them about their unhappy marriage and Phrygia's lost baby. Philocrates because they were unsuccessful rivals for Byrria. Byrria, too, because he tried to rape her. Davos partly because of his loyalty to Phrygia, but also because he thought the man was…' She hesitated.

  'A shit,' I supplied.

  'Worse: a bad writer!' We all grinned briefly, then Helena carried on. 'Congrio loathed Heliodorus because he was bullied, but Congrio is let off because he can't whistle.'

  'We'd better check that,' I said.

  'I asked Chremes,' she whipped back crisply. 'As for the Twins, they have told us they disliked Heliodorus. But do they have a particular reason? A strong enough motive to kill him?'

  I agreed: 'If there was one, we haven't unearthed it yet. They told me that Heliodorus couldn't succeed in doing them down on the stage. If he tried to write poor parts, they could improvise. Well, we know that's true.'

  'So they were not in his power,' Helena mused. 'Yet they do say they despised him.'

  'Right. And if we come forward in time, one at least -Tranio -has an unsatisfactory alibi for the night Ione died. Everyone else seems to be accounted for that night. Poor Congrio was running around Gerasa writing wrongly spelt playbills. Grumio was joking his heart out in the street. Chremes, Davos and Philocrates were all dining together – '

  'Apart from when Philocrates says he left to bed his cheese-maker,' scowled Helena. She seemed to have developed an antipathy for her admirer.

  I grinned. 'He showed me the cheese!'

  Musa openly chortled too. 'I think the handsome one is too busy to find time for killing people.'

  'Eating cheese!' I laughed abusively.

  Helena stayed serious: 'He could have acquired the cheese at any time – '

  'So long as the shop had a low counter!'

  'Oh shut up, Marcus!'

  'Right.' I pulled myself together. 'Everyone has an alibi except Tranio. Tranio ducks out by claiming he was with Afrania; I don't believe him though.'

  'So we really suspect Tranio?' said Helena, pushing for a decision.

  I still felt uneasy. 'There's a worrying lack of evidence. Musa, could Tranio be your whistling man?'

  'Oh yes.' He too was troubled though. 'But the night I was pushed off the embankment at Bostra – ' If I ever forgot that incident, Musa never did. He thought about it again now, cautious as ever. 'That night, I am sure Tranio was walking up ahead of me. Congrio, Grumio, Davos – they were all behind. It could have been any one of them, but not Tranio.'

  'You're quite certain?'

  'Oh yes.'

  'When I asked you about it straight after the incident -'

  'I have thought about it a lot more since. Tranio was in front.'

  I considered this. 'Are we still sure what happened to you that night was deliberate? Nothing else has been done to you.'

  'I stay near you – I have perfect protection!' He said it deadpan, though I was trying to decide if there was a trace of irony. 'I felt the hard push,' he reminded me. 'Whoever did that must have known we had collided. He made no call for help when I fell.'

  Helena weighed in thoughtfully. 'Marcus, they all know that you are trying to find the killer. Perhaps he is being more careful. He has not attacked you.' Nor had he attacked Helena herself, which at one time had been my unspoken fear.

  'I wish he'd try,' I murmured. 'Then I'd have the creep!'

  In my head I carried on thinking. This had a bad taste. Either we had missed something crucial, or it would be difficult ever to expose this villain. The vital proof was eluding us. The more time passed, the less chance we stood of solving the mystery.

  'We have never seen anybody wearing the hat again,' Helena pointed out. She must have been dunking hard, like me.

  'And he has stopped whistling,' Musa added.

  He seemed to have stopped killing too. He must know I was utterly stumped. If he did nothing else he would be safe. I would have to make him do something.

  Refusing to give up, I nagged at the problem: 'We have a situation where all the suspects are ruled out on at least one of the attacks. That cannot be rig
ht. I still feel one person is responsible for everything, even what happened to Musa.'

  'But there can be other possibilities?' asked Helena. 'An accomplice?'

  'Oh yes. Perhaps a general conspiracy, with people providing false alibis. Heliodorus was universally loathed, after all. It is possible more than one of them was actively involved.'

  'You don't believe that though?' Musa tackled me.

  'No. A man was killed, for a reason we don't know, but we'll assume it made sense at the time. Then a possible witness was attacked, and another who intended to name him was strangled. This is a logical progression. To me, it fits one killer acting alone, and then reacting alone as he tries to escape discovery.'

  'It's very confusing,' Helena complained.

  'No, it's simple,' I corrected her, suddenly sure of myself. 'There is a lie somewhere. There must be. It cannot be obvious, or one of us would have spotted a discrepancy.'

  'So what can we do?' Helena demanded. 'How can we find out?'

  Musa shared her despondency. 'This man is too clever to change the lie just because we ask the same questions a second time.'

  'We'll test everything,' I said. 'Make no assumptions, recheck every story, but asking somebody different whenever we can. We may jog a memory. We may drag more information to the surface just by putting pressure on. Then, if that fails, we'll have to force the issue.'

  'How?'

  'I'll think of something.'

  As usual it had a futile ring, yet the others did not question my claim. Maybe I would think of a way to break this man. The more I remembered what he had done, the more I was determined to better him.

  Chapter XLIII

  For Abila, Chremes came up with another new play, an unfunny farce about Hercules sent down to earth on a mission from the other gods. It was deep Greek myth rendered as crass Roman satire. Davos played Hercules. The actors all seemed to know the work and there was nothing required of me beforehand. At rehearsal, while Davos, in a ridiculous rolling baritone, sailed confidently through his stuff needing no direction from Chremes, I took the opportunity to ask the manager for a private word some time. He invited me to dinner that evening.