David Wishart - The Lydian Baker

'Very well, sir.' Bathyllus hesitated. 'About tonight's dinner. Meton has a suggestion.'

'Yeah?' I was interested: touchy at times though he might be, unlike Mother's cook Meton was a culinary artist, and so to be encouraged.

'Yes, sir. He has a recipe for braised flamingo which he says he could adapt, if you so wish. He seemed quite keen to try it.'

'Yum! Sounds great!' I paused. 'Hang on, sunshine. As you were. "Adapt"? Adapt to what?' Silence. The penny dropped. 'Look, just go away, Bathyllus. And make it clear to Meton that parrots are off the menu. Permanently. You get that?'

'Yes, sir. Just passing the message on, sir. But the bird did bite him this morning.'

'Is that right?' I grinned: maybe Nestor was showing signs of improvement after all. A certain selectivity, at least. 'Give the bastard my condolences.'

'Certainly, sir. I'm sure he'll be very gratified.' Bathyllus sniffed and closed the door carefully behind him.

Business. I bagged Harpalus's passage money and locked the safe. Well, at least by this time tomorrow he'd be on his way to Rhodes. I was glad of that: when I'd warned him he was in danger of ending up in an urn I hadn't been exaggerating, and I didn't want any more corpses on my conscience. Anyway, the guy deserved a break.

Someone knocked on the door. Alexis. I gave him the money and his instructions.

'So how's Nestor's training going?' I said.

'Not bad, sir.'

'That wasn't the impression I got, pal.'

'He's a quick learner. It's just that he can be' — he hesitated — 'difficult.'

I grinned. Difficult. Yeah, well, that was one word. 'I hear he bit Meton.'

'Only slightly, sir. And it wasn't altogether Nestor's fault.'

'That so?'

'Meton was trying to force-feed him almond ginger stuffing, sir. The ginger was all right but Nestor's not very fond of almonds.'

'I see.' Almond ginger stuffing, eh? There ain't nothing more single-minded than an experimental chef. Still, for Nestor it could've been worse: he was lucky Meton's a top-end man. 'Maybe you'd better keep the bird out of the kitchen from now on, okay?'

'Yes, sir.'

There was another knock on the door. Bathyllus this time.

'Don't tell me,' I said. 'Nestor's making ornithological history by screwing the kitchen-maid.'

'No, sir.' He had on his disapproving look. 'A visitor. A carriage driver. He says you wanted to see him personally.'

Hey! Dida! 'Sure! Show him in!' I turned to Alexis. 'You know what you're doing?'

'Of course.' He held up the bag. 'I give this to the captain of the Thetis at Piraeus, with your compliments, and bring back a receipt.'

'Right. Hang on.' I opened the desk and took out a second, smaller purse. 'See Harpalus gets this, will you? Give it to him direct if you can, otherwise leave it with the harbourmaster.'

Alexis nodded, tucked the purse into his belt and left just as Bathyllus came back.

'The carriage driver, sir,' he said.

'Great. Go polish the spoons.'

Bathyllus exited with a sniff. I turned to Dida. Polycleitus material he wasn't: a little runt of a guy as wide as he was long with brown teeth and a rheumy left eye. No wonder Bathyllus had practically ushered him in with a pole.

'Stichus down the Piraeus Gate rank said you wanted to talk to me, lord,' he said. 'About one of my regulars.'

'Yeah.' I lay down on the reading couch and waved him into a chair. 'Melanthus of Abdera.'

He shook his head. 'The name wouldn't mean anything. Big florid man, middle aged, neat beard, going grey. Good talker.'

'That's him,' I said. I reached for the wine jug. 'You want some, by the way?'

He looked surprised. 'Sure. If you're offering.'

I poured two cups and handed him one. He sipped.

'Good stuff,' he said. 'Italian?'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Yeah. Setinian.'

'Thought so. From Latium, near the Pomptine Marshes, right?'

My eyebrows went up a notch or two more. 'Uh…yeah. Right.'

He sipped again. 'Don't see it much here. They use a different grape. Not better, just different. Puts people off.'

Well, it just shows you can't go by appearances. I was beginning to like this guy. 'You know your wines, pal,' I said.

'Some of them. I'm from Kyrenia originally. Father was a wine-shipper before he went bust. He had a few Roman customers.' He set the cup on the table. 'I'd've come before, lord, but this eye laid me up. I didn't get the message until this morning.'

'That's okay.' I took a swig from my own cup. 'So. Only one question, but that's the big one. You took Melanthus somewhere three nights ago. Where was it?'

'Simple. Where I usually take him. Aphrodite's Scallop.' I must've looked blank, because he grinned. 'You married, lord?'

'Yeah, I'm married. So what?'

'That explains it. A bachelor wouldn't need telling. The Scallop's a brothel near Ptolemy's Gym. Very select, and pricey as hell, but you get what you pay for. Or so they tell me.'

'You say it's where you usually take the guy?'

'Sure. Twice a month, maybe three times.'

Uh-huh. That squared with what Timon had said. 'And this has been going on for how long?'

'Four years. Maybe five. Ever since the place started up, in fact.'

So. My first scenario had been right after all, and Melanthus had been doing a bit of innocent tomcatting. Hell. There went the theory. Still, it didn't explain why the guy had disappeared. And Melanthus was too good a bet to give up on that easy.

'You pick him up when he's finished?' I said.

'Sometimes. Mostly, though, he stays the night. Like I say, the Scallop's upmarket. They don't throw their customers out in the street until they want to go.'

'But this time he stayed?'

'That I can't tell you, lord. All I know is he didn't tell me to wait.'

I drummed my fingers on the edge of the couch. It would probably turn out to be a wild goose chase, but at present it was the only lead I'd got. And, like I say, tomcat or not Melanthus was still my number one suspect. 'You bring your coach with you, pal?' I said.

'Sure. I had a lucky fare to Dionysus Theatre.'

'Fine.' I stood up, opened the desk and took out my remaining petty cash. What there was of it: this business was costing me an arm and a leg. It would have to be the safe again for Dida. I unlocked it and handed him a gold piece. 'Here. Thanks.'

His jaw dropped. 'That's too generous, lord.'

'Part of it takes me to the Scallop and back. Fair?'

That got me a brown-toothed grin. 'More than fair.'

'Okay.' I opened the study door. Bathyllus was dusting the bronzes, but carefully out of earshot. Not that he'd dream of listening at keyholes, anyway. Eavesdropping was outwith Bathyllus's moral code. 'Hey, little guy!' I said. 'Bring my cloak, will you?'

'You're going out, sir?' Bathyllus cast a jaundiced eye over Dida.

'You have a problem with that?'

'Of course not.' A careful sniff: no fighting in front of the lower classes. 'What about dinner?'

'We agreed late, right? I should be back.'

'And the mistress? What should I tell her?'

Bugger. Perilla. She'd be back long before I was, and she'd want to know where I'd gone. Saying I'd taken a public coach to an upmarket city cathouse was not an option. Or not one I cared to contemplate, anyway. 'Just tell her it's business, Bathyllus. She'll understand.'

'Business.' You could've used Bathyllus's tone to pickle radishes. 'Very well, sir. Have a nice time.'

Bastard! Perspicatious bastard! I collected the cloak myself, and we left.

Aphrodite's Scallop was in a side street just short of the Hill of Ares: a good district, although we weren't in its best part, and like Dida had said definitely upmarket. Jupiter knew what a brothel was doing there in the first place, mind, because like with most cities Athenian brothels tended to cluster round the main gates or in the less salubrious districts. The neighbours were either more than usually tolerant or the place catered for a very select clientele.