The Athenian Murders

  There was a shadow and a sound at the same time. The shadow was an irregular, elongated shape that detached itself from the bend in the road closest to where they stood, and headed swiftly away, outlined by the moonlight. The sound was first panting, then hurried steps.

  'Who ...' asked Diagoras.

  Heracles was the first to realise what had happened. 'Somebody was watching us!' he shouted.

  He set his fat body in motion, forcing himself to run. Diagoras quickly overtook him. The figure - man or woman -seemed to roll down the street and disappear into the darkness. Snorting and puffing, the Decipherer stopped. 'Pah, it's no use!'

  They came level with each other. Diagoras' cheeks were flushed and his girlish lips looked painted; he delicately rearranged his hair, raised his prominent bust as he breathed in and said, in a sweet nymph-like voice:101 'He's got away. Who could it have been?'

  1011 would ask the reader to ignore Diagoras's sudden hermaphroditism, since it is purely eidetic. The sexual ambiguity dominating the descriptions of secondary characters in this chapter is now affecting one of the protagonists. It would seem to hint at the Ninth Labour, the Girdle of Hippolyta, in which the hero must face the Amazons (warrior maidens - in other words, women-men) and steal Queen Hippolyta's girdle. Still, I think the author has allowed himself a rather malicious joke at the expense of one of the most 'serious' characters in the novel (picturing Diagoras in such a guise made me start laughing again). In many ways, his bizarre sense of humour resembles my masked jailer's. (T.'s N.)

  Heracles replied gravely: 'If it was one of them, and I believe it was, our lives won't be worth an obol come daybreak. The members of this cult are cunning and quite unscrupulous. I told you, they didn't hesitate to use Antisus and Euneos as a distraction .. . I'm certain they were both members of the sect, like Tramachus. I understand everything now. The fear 1 saw in Antisus' face was due, not to Menaechmus, but to us. His superiors must have told him to get an army posting away from Athens so that we wouldn't be able to question him. But as we proceeded with our investigation, the sect decided to sacrifice him anyway, to divert our attention towards Menaechmus. I can still see Antisus' expression as he stood naked in the pantry the other night . . . How that wretched young man deceived me! As for Eumarchus, I don't believe he was one of them. Perhaps he witnessed Antisus' murder, and when he tried to stop them, they killed him, too.'

  'But then Menaechmus . . .'

  'A cult member of some importance. He played the part of the guilty man to perfection when we went to see him.' Heracles frowned. 'And I've no doubt he recruited your students.'

  'But Menaechmus has been condemned to death! He's going to be thrown into the barathrum'.'

  Heracles nodded gloomily. 'I know. It's what he wanted. Oh, don't think I understand it, Diagoras! You should read some of the texts I found in your library. The members of some Dionysian cults long to be tortured or to die dismembered. They rush eagerly to the sacrifice, like a maiden into the arms of her husband on her wedding night . . . Do you remember what I said about Tramachus? His arms were unscathed! He didn't defend himself! That must have been what you saw in his eyes that day. You thought it was terror, but it was pleasure! The terror was in your eyes, Diagoras!'

  'No!' Diagoras shouted, shrieked almost. 'That's not what pleasure looks like!'

  'Maybe this kind of pleasure does. What do you know? Have you ever felt it? Don't look at me like that, I don't understand either! Why did those taking part in the ritual tonight eat chunks of rotting viscera? I don't know, Diagoras! I can't understand it! Perhaps the entire City has gone mad without us knowing!'

  Heracles almost jumped when he saw his companion's face - a combination of horror, anger and shame distorting his muscles in a grotesque manner. The Decipherer had never seen him look like that. When Diagoras spoke, his voice suited the mask he now wore. 'Heracles Pontor, you're talking about a student at the Academy! About my students! I knew them to the very depths of their souls! I—'

  Heracles, usually so calm, suddenly felt overcome with rage. 'What does your damned Academy matter now? What did it ever matter?'

  The philosopher stared at him bitterly. Heracles went on more gently, recovering his composure: 'We have to accept that people find your Academy a very boring place, Diagoras. They go there, listen to your lectures and then . . . then they go off and eat one another. That's all.' He'll accept it eventually, he thought, moved by the look on the tutor's haggard face, visible in the moonlight.

  After an uncomfortable silence, Diagoras said: 'There has to be an explanation. A key. If what you say is true, there must be some final key that we still haven't found.'

  'Perhaps there is a key to this strange text,' agreed Heracles,

  'but I'm not the right translator for it... Maybe we need to see things from a distance to understand them better.102 Anyway, let's proceed cautiously. If they've been watching us, and I suspect they have, they'll know what we've discovered. And that's what they least like. We have to move quickly.' 'What are we going to do?'

  'We need proof. All the cult members we know of have been, or are about to be, killed: Tramachus, Euneos, Antisus, Menaechmus. Their plan was very clever. But we may have a chance ... If only we could get Menaechmus to confess!'

  'I could try to talk to him,' suggested Diagoras.

  Heracles thought a moment. 'Very well. Go and see Menaechmus tomorrow. I'm going to see what information I can get from a certain other person.'

  'Who?'

  'The person who may constitute the only mistake they've made! I'll see you tomorrow, good Diagoras. Be prudent!'

  The moon was a woman's breast, with a finger of cloud approaching its nipple. The moon was a vulva, which the pointed cloud tried to penetrate.103

  102 From what kind of distance? From down here? (T.'s N.)

  103 I’ve been locked up in here for too long. For a moment I thought these two sentences could perhaps be rendered less crudely:

  'The moon was a breast lightly brushed by the finger of cloud. The moon was a hollow in which a cloud of pointed outline sought refuge ', or something. Something much more poetic than what I've produced, anyway. It's just that . . . Oh, Helena, I need you and miss you! I've always believed that physical desires were merely servants of our noble intellect... but now ... What I wouldn't give for a good tumble! (I put it like that, without beating around the bush, because let’s be honest, Who’s going to read this?) Oh translating, translating a mindless Labour of Hercules imposed by a mad Eurystheos! So be it! Here in this dark cubbyhole, am I not the master of what I write? Well then, that is my version of the sentence, however shocking! (T.s N)

  But Heracles Pontor was not watching all this celestial activity. He crossed the garden, laid out beneath Selene's watchful gaze, and opened his front door. The dark, silent hollow of the hall resembled a watchful eye. Heracles watched out in case his slave Ponsica had left a lamp on a shelf by the door, but Ponsica had obviously not watched out for such a possibility.104 So he entered the dark house, like a knife cutting into flesh, and closed the door.

  104 What's going on? The verb 'to watch' is springing up eidetically all over the place,

  'Yasintra?' he called. There was no answer.

  His gaze stabbed the darkness, to no avail. He made slowly for the rooms at the centre of the house. His feet seemed to step on the points of knives. The icy cold of the dark house pierced his cloak like a knife.

  'Yasintra?' he called again.

  'Here,' came the reply, cutting through the silence.105 He came to the bedroom. She had

  her back to him, in the darkness. She turned.

  'What are you doing here, in the dark?' asked Heracles. 'Waiting for you.'

  105Knives! The eidesis is spreading like poison ivy! What image is being conjured up here? 'Watchfulness' . . . 'Knife' . . . Oh, Heracles, Heracles, look out, you're in danger!

  Yasintra hurried to light the lamp. He observed her back as she did so. The brightness grew, hesitantly, and s
pread up the wall. Yasintra didn't turn around immediately and Heracles continued to observe the strong lines of her back. She wore a smooth, floor-length peplos, pinned with a fibula at each shoulder, forming folds down her back. 'Where is my slave woman?'

  'She hasn't returned from Eleusis,' she replied, still with her back to him.106

  Then she turned. Her face was beautifully painted - eyes outlined with pigments, cheeks whitened with ceruse and lips stained very red; her breasts hung freely beneath the blue peplos; a gold link belt cinched her already narrow waist; her toenails were painted two different colours, as was the custom of Egyptian women. As she turned, a light perfumed dew spread through the air.

  106And now the word 'back'! It's a warning! Maybe: 'Watch your back, because .. . there's a knife.' Oh, Heracles, Heracles! How can I warn you? How? Keep away from her! (T.'s N.)

  [1] The repetition, in this paragraph, of the three eidetic words emphasises the image. Watch your back, Heracles, she's got a knife! ('I.'sN.)

  'Why are you dressed like that?' asked Heracles.

  'I thought you'd like it,' she said, eyes watchful. From each small earlobe hung an earring - as sharp as a knife - shaped like a naked woman with her back turned.107

  107 The repetition, in this paragraph, of the three eidetic words emphasises the image. Watch your back, Heracles, she's got a knife! (T.'sN.)

  The Decipherer said nothing. Yasintra stood still, surrounded by a halo of lamplight. A twisted column of shadow stretched from her forehead to the pubic confluence of the folds of her peplos, neatly dividing her body in half. She said: 'I've prepared some food.'

  'I'm not hungry.'

  'Are you going to bed?'

  'Yes.' Heracles rubbed his eyes. 'I'm exhausted.'

  She went to the door. Her bracelets jangled as she moved. Watching her, Heracles said: 'Yasintra.' She stopped and turned. 'I need to talk to you.' She nodded in silence and came to stand in front of him. 'You told me that some slaves, claiming to have been sent by Menaechmus, threatened to kill you.' She nodded again, more quickly this time. 'Have you seen them again?'

  'No.'

  'What did they look like?'

  Yasintra hesitated a moment. 'They were very tall. With Athenian accents.'

  'What exactly did they say?' 'What I told you.' 'Remind me.'

  Yasintra blinked. Her pale, almost limpid eyes, avoided Heracles'. The pink tip of her tongue slowly ran over her red lips. 'They said that I should tell no one of my relations with Tramachus, or I'd be sorry. And they swore by the Styx and by all the gods.'

  'I understand.' Heracles stroked his silver beard. He began pacing quickly to and fro in front of Yasintra: left, right, left, right. . ,108 He murmured, thinking aloud: 'I'm sure they, too, must have been members of...'

  108Don't turn your back to her! (T.'s N.)

  He turned his back to the girl.109 On the wall in front of him, Yasintra's shadow appeared to grow. A sudden thought made

  109 no, damn it, no! (T.'s N.)

  Heracles turn back to the hetaera. She seemed to have moved a few steps closer, but he thought nothing of it. 'Wait. Do you remember if there was anything distinctive about them? I mean, such as tattoos, bracelets

  Yasintra frowned and averted her gaze. 'No.'

  'But they were definitely grown men, not boys. You're sure of that?'

  She nodded and said: 'What is it, Heracles? You told me I no longer had anything to fear from Menaechmus.'

  'You don't,' he reassured her. 'But I'd like to catch those two men. Would you recognise them if you saw them again?'

  'I think so.'

  'Good.' Heracles suddenly felt tired. He glanced at the tempting prospect of his bed and sighed. 'I'm going to rest now. It's been a difficult day. If you can, call me at daybreak.'

  'I will.'

  He dismissed her with indifference and laid his large back on the bed. Gradually his watchful mind closed its eyes and sleep cut through his consciousness like a knife.110

  110The danger isn't past - the three words recur like eidetic warnings! (T.'sN.)

  The fingers gripped the beating heart. There were shadows all around, and Heracles could hear a voice. He turned to look at the soldier - he was speaking. What was he saying? He must find out! Enclosed in a trembling grey cloud, the soldier was moving his lips, but the booming heartbeats drowned his words. Heracles could see him clearly - he was wearing a cuirasse, skirt, greaves and a helmet with a brightly coloured plume. He could tell his rank. He thought he understood a few words. The heartbeats grew louder; they sounded like approaching footsteps. Naked women crawled from the tunnel. Menaechmus was there, smiling, of course. But the most important thing was to remember what he had just forgotten. Only then... 'No!' he moaned.

  'Was it the same dream as before?' asked the shadow, leaning over him.

  The bedroom was dimly lit. Fully dressed and with painted face, Yasintra lay down beside him, watching him tensely.

  'Yes,' said Heracles. He ran his hand over his damp forehead. 'What are you doing here?'

  'I heard you, like last time. You were talking in your sleep, moaning ... I couldn't bear it, so I came to wake you. The gods have sent you the dream, I'm sure of it.'

  'I don't know . . .' Heracles licked his dry lips. 'I think it's a message.'

  'A prophecy?'

  'No, a message from the past. Something I have to remember.'

  She replied, softening her mannish voice: 'You haven't attained peace. You do too much thinking. You don't give yourself up to sensations. When my mother taught me to dance she said: "Yasintra, don't think. Don't use your body. Let it use you. Your body belongs not to you, but to the gods. They manifest themselves through your movements. Let your body give the orders - its voice is desire, its language is gesture. Don't translate the language. Listen to it. Don't translate. Don't translate. Don't translate .. .111

  111These hypnotic words make my eyes close. (T.'s N.)

  'Your mother may have been right,' said Heracles. 'But I feel I cannot stop thinking.' And he added proudly: Tin a Decipherer in the purest sense.'

  'Maybe I can help you.'

  And with that, she lifted the sheet, leaned over meekly and placed her mouth over the area of tunic covering Heracles's flaccid member.

  He was dumbfounded. He sat up abruptly. Barely parting her thick lips, Yasintra said: 'Let me.'

  She kissed and kneaded the docile, malleable thing beneath his tunic, the long soft bulge of which he'd hardly been aware since Hagesikora's death. But then, during her meticulous exploration, her mouth found a small rim. He felt it, as if his flesh had cried out, perceived it suddenly, piercingly. He moaned with pleasure, fell back on the bed, and closed his eyes.

  The feeling spread to cover a patch of his lower abdomen. It grew in breadth, volume, intensity, until it was no longer merely an area of his body, but a rebellion. Heracles couldn't tell from where in the pleasurable mystery of his member it proceeded. The rebellion was now a movement of tacit disobedience that had become a separate entity with a form and will of its own. And all she'd used was her mouth! He moaned again.

  Without warning, the feeling stopped. He was left with a stinging emptiness, as if he'd been slapped. He realised that the girl's caresses had ceased. He opened his eyes and saw her lift her peplos and sit astride his legs. Her firm dancer's belly pressed against the rigid sculpture she had created and which now stood up urgently. He questioned her with his moans. She began moving her hips . . . No, not exactly; she was dancing, using only her torso. Her thighs gripped Heracles's fat legs and her hands rested on the bed, but her torso moved in time to the music of the flesh.

  A shoulder appeared, then, slowly, deliberately, the peplos began to slide over its shapely edge, down her arm. Yasintra turned her head and freed the other shoulder. The cloth clung to it a little longer, and Heracles thought this might even have been calculated. In a single, practised move, the hetaera drew in her arms and freed them from the tunic. It slipped down and hung from her er
ect breasts.

  Undressing without using your hands must be tricky, Heracles reflected, and this slow difficulty was one of the pleasures that she was offering him; the other - more unruly, less immediate - was the continuous, increasing pressure of her pubis on his reddened shaft.

  With a precise sway of her torso, Yasintra made the tunic slide like oil down over the convex surface of one of her breasts and, clearing the obstacle of her nipple, it floated as lightly as a feather down her stomach. Heracles gazed at the newly bared breast: dark-skinned, round, within reach of his hand. He felt the urge to squeeze the hard, dark embellishment trembling atop the hemisphere of flesh, but he held back. The peplos began to spill down the other breast.