David Wishart - The Lydian Baker

'You're sure? Not even for the Baker?'

That got me a hesitation. 'You are perhaps familiar with Heraclitus's declaration that unity is achieved in any organism only through a balance of the opposites contained within its nature?'

'Uh…well…'

'That declaration may be relevant here, I'm afraid. I hope and pray that it is not, but Heraclitus's view is quite a valid one in respect of the human psyche. A month ago I would have answered your question with a categorical "no", but now… well, I can only hope that in this case the rule does not apply and that my friend is still the man he was.'

Uh-huh. Interesting, right? And in more ways than one. Food for thought, certainly. I thanked the guy and went back to Lysias and the coach.

I'd have to remember that crack about Heraclitus, too. One-liners like that are worth their weight in gold at parties.

Alciphron had been right about Melanthus not being rich: the house by the Temple of Aphrodite was middle-bracket standard but no more, a two-storey building round a small central courtyard. I knocked at the door and an elderly slave opened it.

'The master at home?' I asked.

The slave shook his head. 'No, lord. I'm afraid not.'

Hell. 'So when do you expect him back?'

'That I couldn't say.' He hesitated. 'Was your business urgent?'

'The name's Valerius Corvinus. He was doing a favour for my stepfather. Authenticating a statue. Perhaps there's someone else I could talk to? One of the family, maybe?'

'The master isn't married, lord. He lives alone.' Another hesitation. 'But if you'd like to come in I'm sure Timon would be pleased to help if he can.'

'Timon?'

'Our head slave.'

'Oh, right. Yeah, sure. Thanks.' I stepped past him into the hall.

'If you'd care to wait a moment I'll fetch him for you.'

The slave padded off and I sat down on a convenient chair and looked around the room. If he didn't have money, Melanthus had taste, although by my standards it was pretty high-brow. There weren't many ornaments visible but having met the guy they were what I'd have expected: an antique bronze head of a bearded god that was either an original or a good copy, a small statuette of a man with almond-shaped eyes carrying a ram on his shoulders and a black-figure pottery mixing bowl that had been broken and carefully glued back together again. Weird, but maybe the thing had some sentimental value. The chair I was sitting in was old, too. I couldn't place it, but the decoration wasn't Greek or Egyptian. Carian, maybe, or from somewhere even further away. All I knew was that it was uncomfortable as hell.

'Valerius Corvinus.' The man had come from the inner part of the house. 'Welcome. I'm Timon, sir.'

Gods alive! He was speaking Latin: good Latin, at that! If the door slave hadn't said he was the major-domo I would've taken him for Melanthus's secretary, or even a colleague, even allowing for the slave's tunic. We were moving in high intellectual circles here. I made to stand up but he waved me down.

'No, please. Be comfortable. I've told them to bring you some wine. You wanted to see the master, I understand?'

'Yeah. Yeah, that's right. When do you expect him back?'

'He didn't say, sir. Perhaps he's gone directly to the Academy.'

'No, I've just come from there. I got the address from Alciphron. Although if Melanthus isn't long gone I may've passed him on the road.'

Timon hesitated. 'That's possible, sir,' he said. 'Although not likely. The master spent the night away.'

My interest sharpened. 'Yeah? Whereabouts?'

'Again he didn't say.' I noticed that a cagey tone had crept into the major-domo's voice.

'This happen often, pal?'

A pause that said very clearly that it was none of my business. Nevertheless, he gave me an answer.

'Quite often, sir. Once or twice a month, perhaps.'

'Without giving you any details?'

'It isn't my place to ask.' Timon's lips set. A fair point; although if he'd been Bathyllus he would've found out anyway, for his own satisfaction. Knowing where the master is, even when he'd rather keep it a secret, is a point of honour with head slaves. There again, for all I knew philosophers' households were run differently from ordinary people's. From what I'd seen of this ménage I'd believe it.

The wine came, in a plain pottery cup that looked antique, foreign and very fragile. It was good stuff, top-of-the-range Rhodian, ten years old at least. Maybe I'd misjudged the guy after all. Even so, a paid-up member of the Academy who knew his wines well enough to take that amount of trouble over choosing and serving them, let alone pay Labrus's hefty prices for what were part of life's very physical pleasures, was unusual. Very unusual…

Which, taken along with what Timon had just told me, suggested another interesting possibility. Maybe being single Melanthus had other unphilosophical tastes. Ones that would explain regular overnight stays, for example.

'You remember what time he left exactly?' I asked.

Another pause. Sure, I was pushing it, but I had to get all I could now, even if Timon did put me down as a Roman boor.

'An hour or so before sunset, sir,' he said at last.

'That's his usual time? For these expeditions?'

'More or less.' The guy was looking distinctly peeved, and the pauses between question and answer were getting longer. 'Although "expeditions" is not a word I would use myself.'

'Yeah? And what word would you use?' That got no answer; this time I'd pushed too far. I tried another tack. 'You mind if I have a word with your coachman? I really do have to see Melanthus pretty urgently. Maybe the coachman can tell me where he went.'

'I'm sorry, sir, but that's impossible.' I could hear the relief in the guy's voice. 'We haven't got one, sir. Nor litter slaves. The household is a very small one.'

Bugger. 'You mean he went on foot?'

'No. Not necessarily. If he were going any distance he would normally hire a coach or a litter from the public rank at the Piraeus Gate.'

'I see.' I sipped my wine. That complicated matters, as Timon knew, and it also explained the major-domo's sudden cheeriness. 'You have no idea where he went? None at all?'

'That, sir, I'm afraid I can't say.'

Sure he couldn't. But I appreciated the intentional ambiguity of the answer all the same. Even Bathyllus couldn't have done it better.

I left Melanthus's place and set out along Piraeus Road for the coach rank by the City gate, my brain buzzing all the way.

Okay, so we had three possible scenarios here. First was that Perilla was right and the whole thing was a mare's nest, in which case Melanthus's disappearance was pure coincidence. In support of that, Timon had said that the guy was in the habit of slipping off for the night regularly without telling anyone where he was going, and this could simply be one of those times. I could guess why: academic high-flyer or not, Melanthus hadn't struck me particularly as the unworldly type. There was good red blood there, he was in the prime of life, and Athens offered plenty of opportunities for the confirmed bachelor to let his hair down in private. Beard. Whatever. And although the academic community was pretty tolerant about individual freedom he might not like it to get around that he spent his free time pressing the sheets with a bit of female company. That would explain Timon's reticence: sure, he was an upmarket slave, but for any slave, upmarket or not, not to make it an issue of personal pride to know what his master was doing every hour of the day and night wasn't natural. If Melanthus was in the habit of visiting one of the City whorehouses or comforting someone else's lonely wife his major-domo would know about it. Sure he would. And, like Timon had implied, it was no business of mine, and there was an end of it.