Five for Silver

by Mary Reed

  With the door open, the source of the overpowering smell of urine was apparent.

  It emanated from inside the building.

  Doing his best to ignore the odor, John stated his interest in talking to the seller of antiquities.

  “Aristotle’s not here. Haven’t seen him since this morning.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No.”

  John curbed his irritation. “You are a member of his household and know when he is expected to return?”

  “No, I’m not.” The short man spoke in an aggrieved tone. “I’m Anthemius. I’m a brickmaker by profession. Aristotle and I merely share these premises. Rentals in the city are outrageous, not to mention since this cursed plague arrived there hasn’t much call for bricks. Yet there seems to be plenty of money for antiquities and oracles. Aristotle brings back huge sums every day. I don’t know how he does it.”

  Evidently Anthemius had been waiting for an opportunity to air his grievances. He scarcely paused for breath as he rattled them off.

  “All day long I’m attending the door and it’s always Aristotle whose services are being sought. Nobody seems to have any use for a brickmaker any more. However, as I told you, Aristotle’s not here right now. Would you care to step in to take some refreshment and wait a while? I could show you some of my handiwork. You might well find it of interest. I do excellent work, sir, if I say it myself.”

  Declining wine, John followed the man inside. The atrium had been turned into a storage space and held piles of stacked bricks. In the inner garden patches of weeds alternated with areas of hard-packed earth.

  John noted the source of the smell. A concrete-lined pit almost filled with urine. A tethered donkey grazed contentedly nearby. Several long mounds of earth, some of them overgrown, testified this house too had seen losses.

  Anthemius intercepted his glance. “You get used to the smell, sir. Aristotle keeps talking about going into the leather business, but so far he hasn’t done much about it except collect one of what you might call the necessaries.”

  John commented on the pitiful mounds.

  Anthemius scratched his head. “Sad, isn’t it? Most of them were there when I arrived a few months back. Don’t know who they are, since Aristotle never spoke of his family. They’re all gone now. The last one was buried right after I arrived. It was a bit of a surprise to me since there was nobody in the house but us, or so I thought. Then, in the early hours one morning, something woke me up and I looked out of my window and what do you think I saw?”

  John indicated he could not guess.

  “Aristotle was burying the last member of his family. Well, I couldn’t see too well because it was so dark, but the departed was either wrapped in white or stark naked, but either way, it was tragic, sir, tragic. I didn’t like to observe such a private matter, so I closed the shutters as soon as I realized it wasn’t one of those stealthy nocturnal visitors who come to steal whatever they can run off with.”

  “Doubtless if it was your cudgel would soon have persuaded them otherwise.”

  Anthemius lifted the cudgel and tapped it lightly in the palm of his free hand. “Indeed it would and in fact it has done so on occasion.”

  “You’ve had to fight off intruders recently?”

  “Just a few rambunctious children, actually,” Anthemius admitted.

  “No one has attempted to break into this house?”

  “No. I’d know if anyone had tried to get in. I’m here most of the time right now, with so little call for my bricks. And that reminds me, sir, I was going to show you samples of my work.”

  He led his visitor across the malodorous garden and through a passage that emerged at the back of the house. A rambling, ramshackle shed occupied one corner of a patch of land surrounded by high stone walls.

  “That shed’s my workshop,” Anthemius explained. “My kiln’s been cold for some time, since as I said business is extremely scanty. I do have some very nice samples to show and I can easily produce more if needed. I’m very proud to put my mark on my work, I am, and that’s the truth, sir.”

  Anthemius pointed out sights of interest. Bricks were stacked neatly in straw-separated rows. Their sizes ranged from those that could be held in the hand to others that looked as if they would take a couple of strong men to lift. Some were triangular, while others were decorated or molded specimens.

  “I tell my patrons if they need only the common sort of inexpensive bricks to hide behind a marble facade, they can go elsewhere. My work is of the highest quality. In fact, I would venture to say that if the pharaohs had been able to use my bricks for their pyramids, those odd constructions would be in perfect condition today.”

  Anthemius tapped his cudgel gently on a pair of bricks sitting atop the nearest pile. Larger than average, they displayed a bas relief showing a woman between two beings which were obviously goddesses.

  “None of my patrons has ever guessed what these are, sir,” the brickmaker continued with a sly grin. “They’re Egyptian birth bricks. In the old days the ladies squatted on them to give birth. Sounds most uncomfortable, doesn’t it? These of course are replicas and I always make that plain when I show them. There’s not much call for them these days, of course, except perhaps as conversational pieces. I enjoy making them. They are much more creative than your typical brick, don’t you think?”

  John agreed. The brick’s bas relief was certainly well executed.

  “I give the ones damaged in the firing to Aristotle. He likes to give them as gifts to prospective patrons. They always catch their interest, he says.”

  John wondered whether the seller of antiquities might be less punctilious than the brickmaker in declaring the recent origin of the birth bricks, especially since damaged bricks would look a lot older than they actually were.

  “I see we have a visitor, Anthemius! I trust you’ve been keeping him entertained.” A big man with a mournful face and the bearing of an aristocrat strode into the brickyard. His dark robe was decorated with elaborate, multi-colored embroidery. A mantle studded with glass beads completed the guise of a courtier.

  “Aristotle, this gentleman wishes to see you.”

  The seller of antiquities made a low bow. “Welcome, excellency. How may I assist? I can see you are a man of the world and therefore not too likely to be interested in oracles, but I can also offer a very fine collection of ancient statues and artifacts, including a few that would cause a lady to blush!”

  John introduced himself, wondering why Aristotle had formed the impression he was a man who would be interested in artifacts that would make ladies blush. “I regret that I cannot take advantage of your generous offer, Aristotle. In fact, I am here to ask you a few questions.”

  Aristotle colored angrily. “Has somebody been complaining to the authorities again about my donkey keeping them awake? Or the smell? Why shouldn’t I keep a donkey, excellency? They have worse in the palace menagerie! It’s a fine thing when an honest man cannot even try to make a living without some dainty-nosed insomniac causing trouble!”

  “Is it about the donkey, sir?” Anthemius looked chagrined. “You didn’t say it was about the donkey.”

  Before John could reply, Aristotle spoke again. “I intend to eventually go into selling fine leather goods. It will be a much steadier trade, at least when times are better. Meantime, my donkey will soon earn its living by hauling my larger antique pieces to clients. That’s a problem that’s caused some difficulties lately. I’m waiting to purchase a cart at a reasonable cost, so the beast is currently enjoying a holiday.”

  John assured Aristotle he had no questions concerning the donkey.

  “I’m pleased to hear it, excellency. Do you know, this lack of suitable transport is costing me money right now? You’d think carters would be glad to have something that never breathed to haul about, rather than someone that once lived. Less offensive to the nostrils, for a start. However, with all the work t
hey have right now, they charge such outrageous prices when heavy lifting is involved that it’s impossible to afford very much help. Some of my larger statues, now, I’ll gladly part with them for half of what they’re worth, if you’d provide your own transport.” He paused hopefully, then sighed at John’s obvious disinterest. “If it’s not about the donkey, what did you wish to question me about?”

  “It concerns a will you recently witnessed.”

  “Nereus’ will, you mean? He was one of my best patrons. A man of remarkable perspicacity. It was all most upsetting. It would have made an angel weep to see his departing, for little dignity and a lot of chaos saw him out of this world.”

  Aristotle frowned at the brickmaker, who was shamelessly eavesdropping. “His was only a small bedroom and for some reason he was fond of large pieces of furniture, so there wasn’t much space to begin with, even before we were assembled. Servants were coming in and out constantly for one reason or another and his oracular bull was bellowing as if it knew the master of the establishment was about to start climbing the ladder to heaven.”

  John observed he could understand how distressing the situation must have been.

  “Thank you, excellency. It was a terrible shock to find Nereus in such a dreadful state when I arrived that afternoon. Although, strange to say, the oracular head I had been asked to bring for his perusal seemed to grow exceedingly warm the nearer I got to his house.”

  John questioned Aristotle further.

  “No, I never met the wayward son,” he replied. “Even if I had, I doubt he would’ve been interested in my oracles. He was a man who never looked to the future, going by what I’ve heard about his behavior.”

  “Of the other witnesses, I understand Archdeacon Palamos is an acquaintance of yours?”

  Aristotle looked outraged. “I hope you pay no heed to anything he says about me, excellency. There are some, and I include certain churchmen among their number, who pretend to doubt the authenticity of my wares. However, that is because they’re merely trying to strike a better bargain.”

  A stray breeze carried the scent of donkey urine more strongly into the brickyard.

  Mithra! John thought. It was obvious that he was no further forward in unraveling the puzzle. He wondered if Cornelia had arrived, or if Peter was any worse. For all John knew, Peter might have died while John futilely tramped the streets. He realized his hand had strayed underneath the line of his jaw, where the swellings started.

  Nothing.

  An hour or two from now, he might not be so lucky.

  “Even so, I will admit,” Aristotle was saying, “I’d agree Palamos had reason to complain about the holy fool dancing with him while Nereus lay dying.”

  John forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I understand this holy fool was there only because he happened to pass by when time was of the essence, and also that the driver of the cart he was riding in was another witness. Do you—”

  “Byzos,” Aristotle answered immediately. “He agreed to carry out some work for me at a reasonable rate. He’s not one of your city dwellers, always willing to take more money the less work they do. He’s from somewhere out in the country where they deal with you in a fair fashion, or so he keeps telling me. I paid him for a ride back here after leaving Nereus’ house. I didn’t want to have to drag that oracular head the length of the Mese again.”

  John nodded tiredly. At least he had discovered the identity of another witness. “Can you tell me where I might find this Byzos?”

  “Indeed I can. He’s lodging with Scipio the bookseller. His emporium is not far from the—”

  John stopped Aristotle in mid-sentence. “I know the place.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As much as John wished to question the cart driver who had witnessed Nereus’ oral will, he needed to speak to Prudentius more urgently.

  The recent incident at Nereus’ house was worrisome. If someone had been looking for the last written will, then Nereus’ lawyer would be the obvious next victim, and he was a man who had not struck John as particularly Argus-eyed.

  Prudentius immediately dismissed John’s fears as he settled into a chair behind the lacquered table in his office. “Strangely enough, though, there was a curious commotion early this morning.” He gestured to the waiting servant girl. “Xanthe, my dear, wine for our visitor, if you’d be so kind, and bring along a small snack as well.”

  A breeze from the garden blew several sheets of parchment off the table. Prudentius shifted the ivory box at the table’s side to the top of the pile, weighing it down. The freed sheets drifted around the room.

  “The wind has shifted, I see. Perhaps we will have rain.” Prudentius glanced outside. “That might serve to temper the terrible smell somewhat. I find it troublesome.”

  “This commotion you mentioned. What was it about?”

  “The commotion? Oh yes. It awakened the entire household. You’ve probably noticed my guests are quieter than usual? Most of them are still asleep. The sun wasn’t even up when Ezra began running around the roof exhorting all and sundry to repent. One thing I’ll say about our current affliction is it’s certainly turned men’s attention toward heaven.”

  Looking across the garden to the roof that sloped down opposite, John could make out what appeared to be a bag of rags near its ridge. Evidently Ezra the stylite was also resting.

  Xanthe reappeared with the wine and a platter bearing a tiny chunk of cheese.

  Prudentius frowned and ran a hand over his severely cropped hair. “Is that all there is?”

  “I warned you it was almost gone,” Xanthe said.

  “You’re right, my dear. You said so, just last night.” Prudentius shook his head as the servant departed to wait just outside the room, in case, as Prudentius put it, the household’s esteemed guest needed anything.

  The lawyer eyed the platter disconsolately and his long face grew melancholy. “My apologies, Lord Chamberlain. Since I am unable to reenact the miracle of the loaves and fishes, I fear that this is all I can offer you.”

  John declined and the lawyer popped the scrap into his mouth and then continued. “When shall I taste the like again? I went around to the merchant who sells it just the other day. His shop was closed and none of the neighbors appeared to know where its owner had gone. I wonder if it will ever reopen?”

  John took a hearty gulp of wine, temporarily cleansing his throat of the acrid taste of the smoke of funeral pyres. “Does Ezra often have these shouting fits?”

  “Yes, but not usually at such an hour.”

  “Perhaps something disturbed him? Did you notice anything amiss? Anything that might indicate someone had tried to get into the house?”

  “No, I haven’t. Why do you suppose anyone would want to do that?”

  John explained that it appeared an unknown person might want Nereus’ last written will.

  “What good would it do them, Lord Chamberlain?”

  “I thought you might provide the answer.”

  Prudentius nodded thoughtfully. “People often steal wills in order to destroy them. However, Nereus’ oral will immediately destroyed his written one. Anyone who stole his last written will would possess nothing more than a piece of useless parchment.”

  “On the other hand, whoever intended to forge a will would need a sample of Nereus’ signature.”

  “Forgery? Well, that has certainly been attempted on more than one occasion.”

  “Then again, supposing the intent was not to make an entirely new will but rather to alter the existing one?”

  Prudentius pondered the matter briefly. “Alteration of such a document would be difficult, although not impossible. However, I should point out that this hypothetical person is obviously not well versed in the law, because if they were they’d realize neither plan would serve their purpose. They can produce any will they like, but it would still be a fruitless endeavor because, as I just said, Nereus’ oral will su
percedes everything. Which is not to say I wouldn’t put that sort of knavery past Triton, except that he is dead.”

  The lawyer offered John a frosty smile. “You really should have told me about that, Lord Chamberlain. After all, a lawyer is not instantly privy to everything that happens in the family of someone who consults him.”

  “Have you met the son?”

  “Xanthe! Another jug of wine, please! The better sort, if there’s any left.” Prudentius turned his attention back to John. “Although I’ve heard much about Triton, I met him only once. He came here not long ago and demanded I immediately return something of his I had allegedly stolen. He went so far as to make threats against my life, I may add. I instructed the house steward to remove him from the premises and, further, that he was never to be admitted again.”

  “Something he owned? What was that?”

  “Perhaps he thought I might have his father’s will in my custody? He was intoxicated, a regular occurrence with him, I’ve been told. A violent man too, by all accounts.”

  Xanthe returned with more wine. Prudentius reached toward the jug, then seemed to think better of it, and set his cup beside the mountain of documents on his table.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more about the man, Lord Chamberlain. He wasn’t my client and I wouldn’t have worked for him even if he had asked me to.”

  John gazed outside. The ragged stylite lying on the roof remained motionless. “I believe you were brought up by the church, Prudentius?”

  “Indeed I was. My parents died when I was only a few months old. I don’t even know what caused their deaths. I am told I was found lying in the Augustaion. In any event, the church has been my mother and father. I do my best to pass along the charity I received, for kindness can only be repaid that way.”

  “Let me add a kindness or two of my own in return for the time I have taken from your work.” John stood and placed several coins on the table. “I will arrange for regular deliveries of food from the palace until the city has returned to normal. We must all do what we can. Meanwhile, however, if my theory is correct, I would strongly advise you to post guards here. Your charitably open door makes it very easy for someone to gain access to your office.”