Five for Silver

by Mary Reed

  “Anatolius mentioned you were from Bretania. I imagine you had difficulty learning to interpret Greek since it is not your native tongue?”

  “It took more than a little time. The master was never impatient. There were those who laughed at him because of his great interest in oracles, and though he will never admit it, Sylvanus more than once got into fisticuffs with the other servants, although he never told the master why he had been fighting. Some would have dismissed him immediately, but not Nereus. He treated us all very well. He had a kind heart, sir, and did not deserve to have such an ungrateful son.”

  “Indeed. You mentioned all of Nereus’ possessions are to be sold. Is Prudentius handling that?”

  Cador looked puzzled. John wondered if he were having trouble reading his lips in the dim torchlight flickering into the garden from the kitchen windows.

  “Is Prudentius, his lawyer, handling the sale of your master’s possessions?” John tried to form the words clearly.

  “Oh, no, sir. Prudentius is not the master’s lawyer. He employed a young fellow with offices not far from the Great Palace.”

  “I understood that you had delivered a missive to Prudentius.”

  “That’s true, sir. I don’t know what it was about. After Nereus and his steward died, it was my duty to do what I could to put the master’s affairs in order, so I did what I’d seen Calligenes doing, sorted through the papers on his desk, put aside bills waiting to be paid, that type of thing. There was a letter addressed to Prudentius, so I delivered it when I took a number of other missives here and there.”

  John stared into Apis’ pen.

  The bull lay in the shadows, a darker shape identifiable by the odor of dung and hay.

  John wasn’t looking at Apis.

  It was Prudentius he saw, sitting at his ornate office table, explaining to John the law of wills.

  A person who could not hear was among those legally barred from serving as a witness to a will.

  Nereus’ oral will was therefore invalid.

  Chapter Thirty

  John let himself into his house in the middle of the night.

  He had instructed Hypatia not to attend to the door. She would be asleep, exhausted after another day helping at the hospice. Peter and Europa must be sleeping also, while Thomas was no doubt performing guard duty for Isis.

  Perhaps Anatolius was correct and John should engage a few more servants. It was unseemly for a Lord Chamberlain to carry a key, not to mention dangerous to maintain a residence so unguarded.

  He trod lightly up to Peter’s room.

  From behind its closed door came the ragged sound of labored breathing.

  John turned away and visited the kitchen.

  Having filled a plate with bread and olives, he went to his study, lit the lamp, filled his cracked cup with wine, and sat down to his frugal repast.

  No one in the house had stirred. If he’d been a thief he would have come and gone unchallenged.

  He stared at his mosaic confidante, Zoe.

  Tonight her normally expressive eyes appeared nothing more than polished glass.

  If he’d been able to seek out Cornelia at once, perhaps Gaius could have saved her.

  The thought he had failed his lover was unbearably painful.

  On the other hand, his practical side argued, had he not been heavily distracted by the upheaval all around?

  Still, the thought of Cornelia dying alone beat at the edge of his thoughts, a black-winged demon tearing at his vitals.

  Wiping away tears, he forced himself to focus his thoughts on the puzzle confronting him.

  Why had he so readily accepted Anatolius’ account of his interview with Cador? How could Anatolius have failed to realize the man could not hear?

  More importantly, if the oral will was invalid, then Nereus’ estate had passed to his wayward son, Triton, since he was no longer disinherited.

  Very well. Then how did this relate to the labyrinth he was attempting to navigate?

  Well, since Triton was dead, the estate would have devolved to his heir or heirs.

  That was John’s understanding of the position.

  But did Triton have any heirs?

  It was a question John had not hitherto pondered at length since he had believed from the beginning that Triton had been disinherited by Nereus’ oral will.

  “No wonder you appear so uncommunicative tonight, Zoe,” John muttered into his cup. “These endlessly complicated legalities…”

  Was there any reason to pursue Triton’s connection to the will further, now that that young man was beyond questioning and further had died with no apparent family?

  Yes, John concluded, it seemed he had taken the correct course in concentrating on those connected to the will who were still alive and able to divulge information about its provisions and each other.

  Although, he ruefully admitted, they’d failed to do much of either.

  Then too, John had been ever mindful of Peter’s request and the limited time that appeared available to honor it.

  Perhaps it was that realization that had caused John to make the wrong deductions.

  Cador had mentioned delivering a letter from Nereus to Prudentius, leading Anatolius to leap to the conclusion that Prudentius was Nereus’ lawyer.

  On the other hand, Prudentius had not disabused John of the misconception. Had Prudentius realized that John was under the impression he was Nereus’ lawyer, or had he decided to be circumspect when confronted by a high-ranking official from the palace?

  Or had Prudentius lied?

  If Prudentius did not serve Nereus in a legal capacity, what exactly was the connection between the two?

  Anatolius had been guilty of making an unwarranted assumption, but as John thought back over his interviews he wondered whether he had not unknowingly committed the same mistake.

  There was someone he should speak to again as soon as possible.

  He slumped back wearily in his chair.

  His gaze went to Zoe again, but all the life seemed to have gone from her.

  His thoughts returned to Cornelia. Why did the world seem so empty now that he knew she was no longer part of it?

  He drained his cup and his fingertip found the familiar crack in its rim.

  Drawing back his arm, he threw the cup against the wall.

  ***

  Glykeria’s wizened visage peeked around her half-opened door.

  She peered at John with sightless eyes. “Ah, the man from the palace who favors vulgar wines has honored me with another visit. Out and about early, aren’t you, excellency? Still looking for new accommodations?” She let out a thin cackle, akin to the squawk of a sick crow.

  “I wish to question you further about your tenant Triton,” John replied.

  “Come inside, then. There seems to be a bit of a chill in the air today.”

  To John, the weather felt oppressively humid, but he was happy to escape the ripe stench emanating from the rotting heap of pelts still lying across the street.

  Inside, the kitchen sweltered. The only light came from a dusty slit of a window and a glowing brazier on which a pot bubbled and steamed.

  Glykeria made her way without hesitation to a bench beside the brazier. John sat down next to her, wiping away the sweat already beading on his forehead.

  “In case you’re wondering, I’ve heard nothing further about the so-called actress friend of his either,” Glykeria informed him.

  Whatever was boiling in the pot carried a strong odor of herbs, bundles of which hung haphazardly from nails in the walls. Herbs were a perfect decoration for someone who lived largely by her sense of smell, John thought.

  “I’ve been trying to recall the details of what you told me about Triton’s death,” John began, “and there are one or two points I would like you to clarify.”

  “If it’s the exact day you want, I can’t remember. As I said, so many of my tenants have died…”


  “You mentioned you thought Triton’s death was the most terrible of them all,” John prompted.

  Glykeria nodded. “It was heaven’s justice, excellency.”

  “You also mentioned he suffered a great deal of pain, in fact, more than most plague victims.”

  “A lot more, yes. However, that’s not surprising since he didn’t die of the plague.”

  John patiently asked her what had caused Triton’s death.

  “That I can’t say. I’m not a physician.”

  “Then how do you know it wasn’t the plague?”

  Glykeria tapped her nose. “Didn’t I explain? I can smell the pestilence on them. Be happy you’ve not been blessed with such a talent. No, Triton most certainly did not die of the plague.”

  She leaned forward and reached unerringly for the handle of a ladle propped up in the bubbling pot and stirred the mixture briskly, sending a fragrant cloud into the dim air.

  “You mentioned Triton had a number of visitors?”

  Glykeria emitted another grating chuckle. “A steady stream of bill collectors. He was never lonely.”

  “Could you identify any of them? I’m particularly interested in those who visited him during his final few days.”

  “Now there I can be of assistance, excellency, strange though that may seem. The very last visitor he entertained was a cheesemaker. I remember the fellow very well, because the smell wasn’t just faintly clinging on his clothing. He must have had a whole basket of his wares. I only hope he obtained payment before handing it over.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  Glykeria shook her head. “No, excellency, but if I passed by his shop I could identify it right away. The cheese was most unusual. Smoky with a more than a hint of herbs.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Smoke lay along the Mese, emulating early morning fog on a river. John strode through the swirling gloom, deep in thought. He had not gone directly to his next interview. Instead he had walked in the opposite direction.

  He needed time to gather his thoughts. More importantly, he urgently needed to return to his house.

  Someone had died.

  As he left Glykeria, that conviction had formed in his mind. Where it had come from, he could not say.

  Sobs greeted him as he entered his atrium.

  John’s footsteps slowed as he ascended the stairway. In the kitchen Europa sat beside Hypatia, a hand resting lightly on the young woman’s shaking shoulders. Tears shone on Hypatia’s cheeks.

  Europa murmured to her as John entered. The words did nothing to abate Hypatia’s tears. She let her head fall forward to rest against her hands, folded together on the table.

  Not folded in prayer, John realized, for the fists clenched spasmodically, as if trying to stave off unbearable pain.

  Europa looked up at her father. “It’s that bastard Pamphilos.”

  “Pamphilos?”

  “Her special patient. He’s discarded her. That’s exactly what he said when she went to see him at the hospice this morning, that he was discarding her. He said he was to leave and he couldn’t very well be dragging back out all his dirty blankets and soiled clothing and sluts like her with him. How could anyone be so cruel to someone who cared about them?”

  John’s mouth tightened. Evidently Hektor had taken his warning to heart. “It may not seem so at present, but ultimately the break will be for the best.”

  Hypatia sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

  “Do you know,” Europa informed John, “that young villain told her to keep the ring he’d given her. Called it payment for her services. Needless to say, it’s worth hardly anything. Pamphilos would probably have thrown it away eventually. A ring off a dead man’s finger. What sort of token of affection is that?”

  Hypatia opened her fist to reveal the silver band she had been holding. “I shall get rid of it right now!”

  Before she could throw the ring into the brazier, Europa grabbed her wrist and managed to extract the unwanted gift from her hand. “You shouldn’t…”

  Glancing in the direction of Europa’s reproachful look, John observed a bowl containing several pieces of a clay cup sitting by the brazier.

  “That ring was lucky, master. I believe it saved his life. He brought it out of the tower of the dead with him,” Hypatia said mournfully.

  “He brought it out of the tower?” John took the ring from Europa and turned it around between his fingers.

  Hypatia looked stricken. “Please don’t think Pamphilos is a thief, master. He was carried into the hospice clutching that ring. He said he’d grabbed it as he fought his way upwards, that it had came off some poor soul’s hand…”

  “Don’t defend him, Hypatia,” snapped Europa. “Whether or not he’s a thief, he’s still a villain.”

  John examined the ring closely. It was a strange piece of jewelry. A bent silver coin, to which a band had been attached.

  Yet it was not surprising Hypatia had considered it a good luck charm since it bore a likeness of Fortuna.

  “Hypatia, does this remind you of anything?” he asked.

  The young woman shook her head.

  The image was worn, but John had recognized it. If he were not mistaken, he had recently seen an identical portrait of Fortuna. “Is Peter…?”

  As if conjured forth by the words, the elderly servant hobbled through the kitchen doorway. “Master! I thought I heard your voice. As you see, the Lord has decided to send me back to work.”

  Hardly realizing he did so, John murmured thanks to Mithra.

  “Well, master, if you choose to use that name, I am sure the Lord will not mind,” Peter observed mildly.

  Europa stepped quickly to the servant’s side. “You’re too weak to be up and about. Didn’t I tell you to rest?”

  Peter reddened. “Master, I did not mean to disobey your daughter, but you see…”

  “Never mind, Peter. The household has become rather complicated of late.”

  In John’s imagination Cornelia was looking on with satisfaction. “You see,” he could almost hear her say, “Europa is perfectly capable of taking charge. You could join me this very day with no fear for her well-being.”

  He had had too little sleep, John told himself. The room felt very hot. A droplet of perspiration ran down his neck.

  “Peter, the coin in your bedroom. The one from Derbe.” John held the ring out. “This was made from a very similar one.”

  “Of course it is, master. Gregory had his made into a ring. Was it found on him?”

  “Gregory wasn’t wearing the ring,” John replied. “It came off someone else’s hand. I have no doubt it was the hand of the thief who murdered your friend. I regret I cannot bring the man to justice, Peter. He was dead of the plague before I even began my search.”

  “Peter, I’d like you to have it as a reminder of your friendship with Gregory,” Hypatia put in.

  Peter accepted the ring gratefully. His weathered features tightened with perplexity. “Master, can you ever forgive me?” he finally said, his voice cracking. “I see now my error…the angel who visited me…its message…” He fell silent.

  “What is it? You have nothing to apologize for as far as I’m concerned.”

  “But I do, master. I misinterpreted the angel’s message. Now I see the truth of it. The heavenly messenger wasn’t instructing me to seek justice for Gregory. It was telling me that justice had already been done.”

  ***

  Justice had not quite been done regarding another matter, John told himself as he left his house and set off. Undertaking the task the angel’s message had appeared to place before him had not been futile.

  Not that John believed in such heavenly messengers any more than he believed in the pronouncements of oracles.

  Yet what of the conviction that had sent him home, expecting the worst, only to find Peter recovered and an unexpected solution to Gregory’s mu
rder?

  Although, he thought, not so much the solution as confirmation of the conclusion he had already reached, that Gregory’s death had been nothing more than a random street crime.

  Nevertheless, like Peter, John still had work to do.

  Rounding the corner of the excubitor barracks across the square from his house, he met a figure shuffling slowly along, head down.

  “Anatolius!”

  His friend’s face was ashen and when he looked up his eyes were as lifeless as those of the statues adorning the baths.

  “Anatolius, what is it? You’ve not been taken ill?”

  The younger man said nothing. He gave no indication he’d even heard the question.

  John had the impression that had he not been in his path, Anatolius would have continued past without even acknowledging him.

  He laid his hand on Anatolius’ arm. “Senator Balbinus has died, is that it?”

  “No, John,” Anatolius choked out. “Not Balbinus. Lucretia. Lucretia has died.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Xanthe opened Nereus’ door, her sleeping baby draped like a sack over one shoulder. “Prudentius can’t see anyone.”

  John stepped past the girl. “You are Sappho,” he told her.

  The girl stared in amazement, lips slightly parted.

  “Those teeth you’re missing. That’s Triton’s work, isn’t it? A violent man. What is his son’s name?”

  The girl shut the door quietly.

  John looked around the semi-deserted atrium. The few residents in evidence sat or lay quietly. It was as if a great storm had swept through the building, blowing most of the household away, leaving the rest stunned and silent.

  “I called myself Sappho once,” the girl admitted. “Xanthe is my real name.” She gently stroked her baby’s back. “He doesn’t have a name yet. Or, rather, he did, but Prudentius said he wouldn’t allow him to bear the one Triton wanted. But how could you guess I was Sappho?”

  “You completed the pattern, Xanthe. I realized there was some connection between Prudentius and Nereus. I originally thought he was the man’s lawyer, but it transpired he wasn’t. You’re the link. You mentioned you’d worked for Prudentius for some time. That was before you moved in with Triton, wasn’t it?”