himself for hours. His companion simply walked along, grunting from time to time and working through the figs in his knapsack. 'You have a gift for dialogue, by Zeus.' He stopped and looked round, but only the echo of their footsteps followed them. He exclaimed in disgust: 'These revolting, foul-smelling alleys, piled with rubbish. Where is the "well-constructed" city, as Piraeus is always described? Is this the famous "gridiron" layout of streets designed, it is claimed, by Hippodamus of Miletus? By Hera, I haven't even seen any district inspectors, astynomi, or slaves or soldiers, not like in Athens! I feel I am not among Greeks but in a world of barbarians . . . And this is more than my impression - this really is a dangerous place. I can smell Danger as distinctly as the sea.' He glanced at Heracles again and added drily: 'Of course, I'm reassured by your animated chatter . . . Your conversation is so comforting, it makes me quite forget where I am.'
'You're not paying me to chat, Diagoras,' said Heracles, with absolute indifference.
'Thanks be to Apollo, I hear your voice!' said the philosopher sarcastically. 'Pygmalion could not have been as astonished when Galatea spoke! I will sacrifice a goat tomorrow in honour of—'
'Be quiet,' interrupted the Decipherer abruptly. 'That's the house.'
A cracked grey wall stood precariously on one side of the street, with a conclave of shadows gathered by the door.
'The seventh house, you mean,' grumbled Diagoras. 'I've asked after her in six previous houses, to no avail.'
'Well, with your great experience, you should have no difficulty in questioning these women.'
The dark shawls concealing their features swiftly revealed gazes and smiles when Diagoras approached. A blush coloured the philosopher's cheeks. He began clumsily: 'Excuse me. My friend and I seek the dancer Yasintra. We were told . . .'
Just as the careless foot of a hunter crunching on a branch causes his prey to disappear in a flash into the undergrowth, Diagoras' words had an unexpected effect on the women: one ran off down the street at great speed, while the rest hurried into the house.
'Wait!' Diagoras shouted after the fleeing shadow. 'Is that Yasintra?' he asked the other women. 'Wait, by Zeus! We just want to ...'
The door slammed shut. The street was now deserted. Heracles walked away slowly and Diagoras followed him reluctantly. A moment later he said: 'Now what are we to do? Why are we still walking? She's gone. Run away! Do you imagine you can catch her at this pace?' Heracles grunted and calmly took another fig from his knapsack. Utterly exasperated, the philosopher stopped and shouted angrily: 'Listen to me! We've spent all day searching for the hetaera, in the streets on the seafront and inland, in houses of ill-repute, in the upper district and in the lower. We've rushed here, there and everywhere, trusting the false word of mediocre souls, uncultured spirits, coarse procuresses and wicked women! And now that Zeus seems to have allowed us to find her, we've lost her again! Yet you plod on, like a contented dog, while—'
Heracles interrupted placidly: 'Calm down, Diagoras. Have a fig. It'll give you the strength to—'
'I've had enough of your figs! I want to know why we're still walking! I think we should try to talk to the women who went into the house and—'
'No. The woman who ran away is the one we want,' said the Decipherer calmly.
'So why aren't we chasing her?'
'Because we're very tired. At least, I am. Aren't you?'
'If we're so tired,' said Diagoras, growing yet more irritable, 'why don't we stop?'
Heracles trudged on, eating his fig in silence. 'You're so Socratic, Diagoras,' he said at last.
They walked on for a while in the smoothly approaching Night. The street rolled on uninterrupted between two rows of dilapidated houses. Very soon, they would be in absolute darkness, unable even to make out the surrounding buildings.
'Athena knows where that woman has got to!' muttered