The Athenian Murders Read Free

it well. And your face. Yet it is so easy to forget, even seeing each other often
    'But we don't meet often,' said Heracles.
    'That's true. Though your house is nearby, you are a man and I am a woman. I have my position as a despoina, a husbandless mistress of a house, and you yours as a man who discusses matters in the Agora and speaks at the Assembly . . . I am a mere widow. You are a widower. We both do our duty as Athenians.'
    The mouth closed, the pale lips forming into a curve so fine it was almost invisible. A smile perhaps? Heracles found it impossible to tell. Two slavewomen appeared behind Itys' shadow; both wept, or sobbed, or intoned a single choking note, like the wail of an oboe. I must endure her cruelty, he thought, for she has just lost her only son. 'Please accept my condolences,' he said.
    'Thank you.'
    'And my help. In anything you might need.'
    He knew immediately that he shouldn't have added it. He had gone beyond the limits of his visit, attempted to bridge the infinite distance, to sum up in a few words all their years of silence. The mouth opened - a small but dangerous animal suddenly sensing prey.
    'You are thus repaid for your friendship with Meragrus,' she said drily. 'You need not say anything more.'
    'This has nothing to do with my friendship with Meragrus ... I consider it my duty.'
    'Oh, a duty.' This time the mouth formed into a faint smile. 'A sacred duty, of course. You talk as you always have, Heracles Pontor!'
    She stepped forward and the light revealed the pyramid of her nose, her cheeks - marked with recent scratches - and the black embers of her eyes. She hadn't aged as much as Heracles had expected; the hand of the artist who made her was still apparent, he thought. The colpos of her dark peplos spilled in slow waves over her breast. One hand was hidden beneath her shawl; she clutched both edges of the garment with the other, and it was in the hand that Heracles saw signs of age, as if the years had flowed down her arms, blackening the ends. There, and only there, in the enlarged knuckles and crooked fingers, Itys was old.
    'I am grateful for your sense of duty,' she murmured. There was deep sincerity in her voice for the first time, and it shook him. 'How did you find out so soon?'
    'There was a great commotion in the street when they brought the body. It woke the neighbourhood.'
    There was a scream. Then another. For a moment, absurdly,
     
    Heracles thought they came from Itys' mouth, which was shut; as if she had roared internally, and her thin body were shuddering and resonating with this sound produced in her throat.
     
    But then the scream, deafening, entered the room; clad in black, it pushed the slaves away, crawled from one side of the room to the other, then collapsed in a corner, writhing, as if seized by a holy madness. At last it dissolved into an endless lamentation.
    'It's much worse for Elea,' said Itys apologetically, as if to excuse her daughter's conduct. Tramachus was more than a brother, he was her kyrios, her legal guardian, the only man Elea has ever known and loved ...'
    Itys turned towards the girl, who was crouching in a dark corner, her legs gathered tightly to her as if she wanted to take up as little space as possible, or to disappear into the shadows like a black cobweb, her hands raised in front of her face, her eyes and mouth wide open (her features were three black circles filling her entire countenance), as she shook with violent sobs. Itys said: 'That's enough, Elea. You are not to leave the gynaeceum, you know that, particularly in such a state. Displaying your grief before a guest. . . Such behaviour does not befit an honourable woman! Return to your chamber!' But the girl's weeping grew louder. Raising her hand, Itys exclaimed: 'I will not repeat my order!'
    'Allow me, mistress,' said one of the slaves. She kneeled hurriedly beside Elea and murmured something to her that Heracles could not make out. Soon, the girl's sobs became incomprehensible