"He sounds vicious. No wonder you wanted Chremes to get rid of him."
As soon as I said it I realised that this could be taken as a suggestion that Chremes Chremes had drowned the playwright. Davos picked up the implication, but merely smiled grimly. I had a feeling that if Chremes was ever accused, Davos would cheerfully stand by and see him convicted - whether or not the charge was a just one. had drowned the playwright. Davos picked up the implication, but merely smiled grimly. I had a feeling that if Chremes was ever accused, Davos would cheerfully stand by and see him convicted - whether or not the charge was a just one.
Helena, ever quick to smooth over sensitivities, broke in. "Davos, if Heliodorus was always wounding people so painfully, surely the company manager had a good excuse -and a personal motive - to dismiss him when you asked for it?"
"Chremes is incapable of decisions, even when it"s easy. This," Davos told Helena heavily, "was difficult."
Before we could ask him why, he had left the tent.
Chapter XXI.
I was beginning to see the picture: Chremes, Phrygia, and where Davos himself fitted in as the old friend who had mourned for their mistakes and his own lost opportunities. When Helena caught my eye, I checked with her: "What do you think?"
"He"s not involved," she answered slowly. "I think he may have meant more to Phrygia in the past than he does now, but it was probably a long time ago. After knowing her and Chremes for twenty years, now he"s just a critical but loyal friend."
Helena had been warming some honey for me. She rose and fetched it from the fire. I took the beaker, settling down more comfortably and giving Musa a rea.s.suring smile. For a while none of us spoke. We sat in a close group, considering events.
I was aware of a change in the atmosphere. As soon as Davos left the tent, Musa had relaxed. His manner became more open. Instead of huddling under his blanket he ran his hands through his hair, which had started to dry and curl up at the ends ridiculously. It made him look young. His dark eyes had a thoughtful expression; the mere fact that I could judge his expression marked a change in him.
I realised what was up. I had seen Helena looking after him as if he belonged to us, while he accepted her anxious attentions with little trace of his old wariness. The truth was clear. We had been together for a couple of weeks. The worst had happened: the d.a.m.ned Nabataean hanger-on had joined the family.
"Falco," he said. I could not remember him addressing me by name before. I gave him a nod. It was not unfriendly. He had not yet attained the position of loathing I reserved for my natural relatives.
"Tell us what happened," Helena murmured. The conversation was taking place in low voices, as if we were afraid there might be lurking figures outside the tent. That seemed unlikely; it was still a filthy night.
"It was a ridiculous expedition, ill-conceived and ill-planned." It sounded as if Musa had viewed his jolly night on the town as some military manoeuvre. "People had not taken enough torches, and those we had were waning in the damp."
"Who asked you to go on this drinking spree?" I broke in.
Musa recollected. "Tranio, I think."
"I guessed it might have been!" Tranio was not my chief suspect - or at least not yet, because I had no evidence - but he was first choice as a general stirrer-up of trouble.
"Why did you agree to go?" Helena queried.
He flashed her an astonishing grin; it split his face apart. "I thought you and Falco were going to be quarrelling about the play." It was Musa"s first joke: one aimed at me.
"We never quarrel!" I growled.
"Then I beg your pardon!" He said it with the polite insincerity of a man who shared our tent and knew the truth.
"Tell us about the accident!" Helena urged him, smiling.
The priest smiled too, more wickedly than we were used to, but immediately grew intense as he told his story. "Walking was difficult. We were stumbling, our heads low. People were grumbling, but n.o.body wanted to suggest turning back. When we were on the cistern"s raised embankment, I felt somebody push me, like this - " He suddenly aimed a hard blow with the flat of his palm against the lower middle of my back. I braced my calves to avoid falling into the fire; he had quite a shove. "I fell down over the wall -"
"Jupiter! And of course you can"t swim!"
Unable to swim myself, I viewed his predicament with horror. However, Musa"s dark eyes looked amused. "Why do you say that?"
"It seemed a reasonable deduction, given that you live in a desert citadel -"
He raised a disapproving eyebrow, as if I had said something stupid. "We have water cisterns in Petra. Small boys always play in them. I can swim."
"Ah!" It had saved his life. But somebody else must have made the same mistake as me.
"It was very dark, however," Musa went on in his light, conversational way. "I was startled. The cold water made me gasp and lose my breath. I could not see any place to climb out. I was afraid." His admission was frank and straightforward, like everything he said or did. "I could tell that the water below me was deep. It felt many times deeper than a man. As soon as I could breathe, I shouted out very loudly."
Helena frowned angrily. "It"s terrifying! Did anyone help you?"
"Davos quickly found a way down to the water"s edge. He was roaring instructions, to me and to the other people. He was, I think..." Musa searched for the word in Greek. "Competent. Then everyone came - the clowns, the stagehands, Congrio. Hands pulled me out. I do not know whose hands." That meant nothing. As soon as it became obvious he hadn"t sunk and would be rescued, whoever tipped Musa into the water would help him out again to cover his own tracks.
"It"s the hand that shoved you in that matters." I was thinking about our suspects list and trying to envisage who had been doing what on that embankment in the dark. "You haven"t mentioned Chremes or Philocrates. Were they with you?"
"No."
"It sounds as if we can eliminate Davos as perpetrator, but we"ll keep an open mind on all the rest. Do you know who had been walking closest to you beforehand?"
"I am not sure. I thought it was the Twins. A while before I had been talking to the bill-poster, Congrio. But he had fallen behind. Because of the height of the walkway and the wind, everyone had slowed up and strung out more. You could see figures, though not tell who they were."
"Were you in single file?"
"No. I was alone, others were in groups. The walkway was wide enough; it only seemed dangerous because it was high, and in darkness, and made slippery by the rain." When he did talk, Musa was extremely precise, an intelligent man talking in a language not his own. A man full of caution too. Not many people who have narrowly escaped death remain so calm.
There was a small silence. As usual it was Helena who faced up to asking the trickiest question: "Musa was pushed into the reservoir deliberately. So why", she enquired gently, "has he become a target?"
Musa"s reply to that was a precise one too: "People think I saw the man who murdered the previous playwright." I felt a slight jar. His phrasing made it sound as if merely being a playwright was dangerous.
I considered the suggestion slowly. "We have never told anybody that. I always call you an interpreter."
"The bill-poster may have overheard us talking about it yesterday," said Musa. I liked the way his mind worked. He had noticed Congrio lurking too close, just as I had, and had already marked him as suspicious.
"Or he may have told somebody else what he overheard." I swore quietly. "If my light-hearted suggestion that we made you a decoy brought this accident upon you, I apologise, Musa."
"People had been suspicious of us anyway," Helena reb.u.t.ted. "I know there are all sorts of rumours about all three of us."
"One thing is sure," I said. "It looks as if we have made the playwright"s murderer extremely jumpy merely by joining the group."
"He was there," Musa confirmed in a sombre tone. "I knew he was there on the embankment above me."
"How was that?"
"When I first fell into the water, no one seemed to hear the splash. I sank fast, then rose to the surface. I was trying to catch my breath; at first I could not shout. For a moment I felt entirely alone. The other people sounded far off. I could hear their voices growing fainter as they walked away." He paused, staring into the fire. Helena had reached for my hand; like me she was sharing Musa"s dreadful moment of solitude as he struggled to survive down in the black waters of the reservoir while most of his companions carried on oblivious.
Musa"s face stayed expressionless. His whole body was still. He did not rant or make wild threats about his future actions. Only his tone clearly told us that the playwright"s killer should be wary of meeting him again. "He is here," Musa said. "Among the voices that were going into the darkness, one man had started whistling."
Exactly like the man he had heard whistling as he came down from the High Place.
"I"m sorry, Musa." Apologising again I was terse. "I should have foreseen this. I should have protected you."
"I am unharmed. It is well."
"Do you own a dagger?" He was vulnerable; I was ready to give him mine.
"Yes." Davos and I had not found it when we stripped him.
"Then wear it."
"Yes, Falco."
"Next time you"ll use it," I commented.
"Oh yes." Again that commonplace tone, belying the compelling words. He was a priest of Dushara; I reckoned that Musa would know where to strike. There could be a swift, sticky fate awaiting the man who had whistled in the dark. "You and I will find this hill bandit, Falco." Musa stood up, keeping the blanket around him modestly. "Now I think we should all sleep."
"Quite right." I threw his own joke back at him: "Helena and I still have a lot of quarrelling quarrelling to do." to do."
There was a teasing glint in Musa"s eye. "Hah! Then until you have finished I must go back to the reservoir."
Helena scowled. "Go to bed, Musa!"
Next day we were setting off for the Decapolis. I made a vow to keep a watchful eye out for the safety of all of us.
ACT TWO: THE DECAPOLIS.
The next few weeks. The settings are various rocky roads and hillside cities with unwelcoming aspects. A number of camels are walking about watching the action curiously.
SYNOPSIS: Falco Falco, a jobbing playwright, and Helena Helena, his accomplice, together with Musa Musa, a priest who has left his temple for rather vague reasons, are travelling through the Decapolis in a search for Truth. Suspected of being imposters, they soon find themselves in danger from an anonymous Plotter Plotter who must be concealing himself amongst their new-found friends. Somebody needs to devise a sharp plan to penetrate his disguise... who must be concealing himself amongst their new-found friends. Somebody needs to devise a sharp plan to penetrate his disguise...
Chapter XII.
Philadelphia: a pretty Greek name for a pretty Greek town, rather knocked about at present. It had been pillaged a few years earlier by the rebelling Jews. The inward-looking fanatics of Judaea had always hated the h.e.l.lenistic settlements across the Jordan in the Decapolis, places where good citizenship - which could be learned by anybody at a decent Greek city school - counted for more than inheriting a stern religion in the blood. The marauders from Judaea had made it plain with vicious damage to property what they thought of such airy tolerance. Then a Roman army under Vespasian had made it plain to the Judaeans what we we thought about damage to property by heavily damaging theirs. Judaea was pretty quiet these days, and the Decapolis was enjoying a new period of stability. thought about damage to property by heavily damaging theirs. Judaea was pretty quiet these days, and the Decapolis was enjoying a new period of stability.
Philadelphia was enclosed by steep-sided hills, seven in number, though far more parched than the founding hills of Rome. There was a well-placed precipitous citadel, with the town spilling outwards and downwards on to a broad valley floor where a stream wandered attractively, doing away with any obvious need for cisterns, I was glad to see. We made camp, and sat down in our tents for what I gathered was likely to be a long wait while Chremes tried to negotiate terms for performing a play.
We had now entered Roman Syria. On our original journey between Petra and Bostra I had been working through the company play box, but on the way here to the Decapolis I had been able to give more attention to our surroundings. The road from Bostra to Philadelphia was supposed to be a good one. That meant a lot of people used it: not the same thing.
To be a travelling theatre group was not easy in these parts. The country people hated us because they identified us with the Greekified towns where we played, yet the townsfolk all thought we were uncivilised nomads because we travelled on; you have to beware of exhaustion when you are unused to desert conditions. I was all ready for a long snooze, but as I drowsed on the verge of it, I heard Helena call out "h.e.l.lo there!" to a pa.s.ser-by.
I might have taken no notice, had not the masculine voice that answered her been laden with self-satisfaction. It was a handsome rich-toned tenor with seductive modulations, and I knew to whom it belonged: Philocrates, who thought himself the idol of all the girls.
Chapter XXIII.
"Well, h.e.l.lo!" he responded, evidently overjoyed to find he had attracted the attention of my highly superior bloom. Men didn"t need an exploratory chat with her banker before they found Helena Justina worth talking to.
I stayed put. But I had sat up.
From my dim hiding place I heard him tramp closer, the smart leather boots that always showed off his manly calves crunching on the stony ground. Footwear was his one extravagance, though he wore the rest of his threadbare outfit as if he were in regal robes. (Actually, Philocrates wore all his clothes like a man who was just about to shrug them off for indecent purposes.) From a theatre seat he was extravagantly good-looking; stupid to pretend otherwise. But he turned into a ripe damson if you peered into the punnet closely: too soft, and browning under the skin. Also, though his physique was all in proportion, he was extremely small. I could look right over his neatly combed locks, and most of his scenes with Phrygia had to be played with her sitting down.
I imagined him striking a pose in front of Helena - and tried not not to imagine Helena being impressed by the haughty good looks. to imagine Helena being impressed by the haughty good looks.
"May I join you?" He didn"t mess about.
"Of course." I was all set to thunder out and defend her, though Helena seemed to be making a brave effort to cope. I could hear from her voice that she was smiling, a sleepy, happy smile. Then I heard Philocrates stretching out at her feet, where instead of looking like a smug dwarf he would simply look well honed.
"What"s a beautiful woman like you doing here all on her own?" Dear G.o.ds, his chat line was so old it was positively rancid. Next thing he would be flaring his nostrils and asking her if she would like to see his war wounds.
"I"m enjoying this lovely day," replied Helena, with more serenity than she had ever shown with me when I first tried getting to know her. She used to swat me like a hornet on a honey-jar.
"What are you reading, Helena?"
"Plato." It put a quick stop to the intellectual discussion.
"Well, well!" said Philocrates. This seemed to be his pause-filler.
"Well, well," echoed Helena placidly. She could be very unhelpful to men who were trying to impress her.
"That"s a beautiful dress." She was in white. White had never suited Helena; I repeatedly told her so.
"Thank you," she answered modestly.
"I"ll bet you look even better with it off..." Mars blast his b.a.l.l.s! Wide awake now, I was expecting my young lady to call out to me for protection.
"It"s a paradox of science," stated Helena Justina calmly, "but when the weather gets as hot as this, people are more comfortable covered up."
"Fascinating!" Philocrates knew how to sound as if he meant it, though somehow I thought science was not his strong point. "I"ve been noticing you. You"re an interesting woman." Helena was more interesting than this facile b.a.s.t.a.r.d knew, but if he started to investigate her finer qualities he would be sent on his way with my boot. "What"s your star sign?" he mused, one of those pea-brained types who drought astrology was the straight route to a quick seduction. "A Leo, I should say..."
Jupiter! I hadn"t used "What"s your horoscope?" since I was eleven. He ought to have guessed Virgo; that would always get them giggling, after which you could cruise home.
"Virgo," stated Helena herself crisply, which should put a blight on astrology.