Five for Silver

by Mary Reed

  She nodded wordlessly

  John explained the solution had became evident by a slow accumulation of small pieces of information, none very striking by themselves, but together forming a clear picture.

  “The woman who rented lodgings to Triton described his living with a young woman practicing a questionable profession,” John began. “Your master said that Nereus had confided his fear that just such a woman would become involved with his son.”

  Xanthe was silent.

  “Then I discovered someone with a similar past living in the household of a lawyer with whom Nereus had had correspondence, even though he was not his customary legal advisor. And this moreover was a lawyer whom the son had threatened over his supposed theft of something belonging to him. That was extremely suggestive.”

  He paused. “Then too I couldn’t find any trace of the actress with whom Triton had been living, one who apparently hadn’t returned to her former profession after leaving him. A bear trainer told me he thought he had seen her, but where had she gone?”

  Xanthe knuckled a tear away from the corner of her eye.

  “Recently, for no apparent reason, I suddenly became convinced there was some link between the missing Sappho and Neptune. But what could it be, apart from the names of two of the parties involved and the fact that Nereus made his fortune from the sea? Then, as I reconsidered my conversation with Triton’s landlady, I suddenly grasped the importance of something she had mentioned in passing,”

  He went on. “It was connected with Neptune’s horses. They have golden manes. Your name means golden or yellow. If you had not had the pretty conceit of always wearing saffron-colored garments during the time you went by the name of Sappho, it’s possible I would never have made the final leap, connecting the sordid life of a brutal man to a young servant with an infant.”

  Xanthe looked at her sleeping son. “Triton thought I should support him. It was the final straw. But Nereus did not tell Prudentius the entire story, Lord Chamberlain. What he feared would happen had already taken place. He somehow found out about me. He hated me. After all, I wasn’t a suitable companion for his useless drunkard of a son, was I?” She smiled wanly.

  “Nereus discovered your background and demanded your former employer intercede?”

  Xanthe drew herself up proudly. “Not at all. I left Triton and returned to Prudentius’ service by my own choice. Afterwards, Nereus came here, asking Prudentius to keep me away from Triton. Then Triton showed up at the house door demanding Prudentius return what he had stolen. He thought he owned me because I’d married him, you see.”

  “And you bore his child.”

  “The marriage was a mistake.”

  “Was it? Considering he was the only son of an extremely wealthy man?”

  Xanthe made no reply.

  “On my first visit here, one of the beggars remarked that you are Prudentius’ favorite,” John finally said. “I couldn’t help noticing Prudentius has a special fondness for you, and such conversations between you as I witnessed tended to support the notion. Is it possible Prudentius wishes to marry you?”

  Xanthe’s mouth trembled. “Prudentius is dying.”

  ***

  John followed Xanthe through the garden. Above them, Ezra the stylite mumbled a mournful hymn. John could distinguish occasional phrases. Christ the physician, come to treat ailing mankind. A spear and nails for surgical instruments, vinegar to treat its wounds. His robe for a dressing. By suffering He will end all suffering.

  John thought that if suffering could really end suffering there would have long since been no pain left in the world.

  “Here he is.” Xanthe stopped beside Prudentius’ door, which faced into the garden peristyle.

  Yet another door, John thought.

  The last door.

  “The sickness came upon him suddenly. It is the worst sort.” Tears rolled down her face.

  John stepped alone into Prudentius’ darkened room.

  Its smell overwhelmed the senses, a heavy sweetness overlaid with the ripe odor of decay.

  Prudentius lay propped up on his narrow pallet. The elongated rectangle of bright light falling through the open door lay across a figure which appeared to have already collapsed in on itself. The lawyer’s hands lay motionless at his sides. Only glittering eyes under bristling brows gave any hint of life.

  Prudentius blinked, dazzled, at the tall, elegant figure silhouetted in the nimbus of light streaming in from outside.

  When John shut the door, the only illumination was from bars of light filtering in through cracks in the closed shutters.

  “I knew you would come for me,” Prudentius gasped, his voice as distant as a whisper from the grave. “I am ready.”

  John stepped forward until he stood by the dying man’s bedside. “You murdered Triton.”

  Prudentius released a long whistling breath that carried a faint denial.

  “Why wasn’t Triton suspicious of the smoked cheese you gave him, considering the enmity he’d shown you? Was it presented as being a gift of reconciliation from his father? Its unusual taste would have masked whatever poison you used,” John continued. “Naturally people took the cause of his death to be the plague. When Cador delivered Nereus’ letter and with it the news that Nereus had died, you questioned him closely.”

  The dying man stared wordlessly at him.

  “You asked Cador the things a lawyer would need to know, and so discovered he was among the witnesses to Nereus’ final will,” John went on. “He didn’t need to tell you he could not hear since it became obvious during your conversation, at which point you realized at once Nereus’ oral will was invalid. Since his intent was to disinherit Triton, obviously this meant under the original will the estate would pass to Triton, or through him to his heir, Nereus’ grandson. Who just happened to be living here with his mother under your protection.”

  Prudentius remained silent.

  “So simple, isn’t it?” John went on. “Even if Cador died, any of the other servants, Sylvanus for example, would testify to the fact the man was deaf.”

  “It was Nereus’ wish to disinherit his son…” Prudentius protested feebly. “I exerted no influence on him regarding the matter…Nereus agreed to assist me with my philanthropy…The letter Cador brought concerned certain…financial arrangements to this end…”

  “Whatever you choose to call them, those payments were to ensure you kept Xanthe well away from Triton. However, once you realized the will under which Triton inherited his father’s wealth was still valid, you murdered Triton so that his son, his legitimate and only child, would inherit instead. In the end, the real key to this final door was Triton’s murder, which was not directly connected with the witnesses I sought so hard to find, and yet everything to do with the will.”

  John paused for an instant. “Tell me, would Xanthe and the boy have long survived her marriage to you, Prudentius?”

  Prudentius made a sound that was a sigh or a murmured prayer. One of his hands twitched weakly, unable to rise from the coverlet.

  “I care deeply about them both…but surely you have come to take me to heaven, holy one? I have given all I can in charity. I could have done so much more with Nereus’ wealth…You understand, I am certain…Hurry! The others are coming. Don’t you hear them scratching? Their wings beating? Don’t let them drag me away!”

  The frail body trembled.

  Understanding dawned on John.

  “Who do you suppose I am, Prudentius?”

  “Why, you are an angel, of course, a messenger from heaven…which ordained Cador should serve as a witness and then sent him to me…The Lord knew how difficult it has been for me to continue my good works, to care for all my charges…It was a miracle.”

  The rasping, fading voice trailed away. The lawyer’s lips continued to form words without enough breath to animate them.

  John bent and put his face next to the dying man’s.

&nb
sp; “…deserved to die,” Prudentius was whispering. “The plague might have taken him soon enough anyway. He would have squandered everything and what would my poor family have done then? I was heaven’s tool, nothing more.”

  His head jerked to one side and he stared into the shadows. “They’re here…please, holy one…they’re here! No! Let go!”

  Prudentius let out a strangled shriek.

  John took a step away.

  Prudentius’ hand shot out and clutched John’s garment.

  “Don’t go! Take me with you! I had to kill him, don’t you see? To help my family…I was merely serving the Lord as best I could.”

  The hand on John’s robe lost its grip and fell away.

  Prudentius stared fixedly at John. “I beg you, holy one. Tell me whether or not heaven has forgiven me…”

  John looked down at the tormented face.

  He did not reply.

  Epilogue

  John stood in his atrium and gazed out into the brightly illuminated garden.

  He imagined its green expanse as a pool of brightness set amid largely darkened city streets beneath a sky veiled by acrid smoke. At this hour lamplight would be spilling from the windows of the Great Church to join with the lurid glow of burning vessels, silhouetting the roofs of dwellings under which no living person lay. Few were abroad now except carters transporting the departed to their final earthly destinations or the faithful attending church services, adding their pleas to those praying for the plague to pass.

  There was a matter that would not wait for the plague to leave, if indeed it intended to depart at all.

  Singing tunelessly to himself, Peter bustled past bearing a large platter of fruit. Hypatia followed, carrying an enormous silver wine jug. Rarely used, it was engraved with bunches of grapes and vine tendrils, appropriate decorations for the forthcoming celebration.

  John could not smell smoke tonight. Rather he was aware of the sweet scents from garlands of flowers decorating the atrium, mixed with the odor of rich sauces wafting down from the kitchen.

  Anatolius arrived, wringing his hands.

  No, John realized as they exchanged greetings, not wringing his hands, but rather absently rubbing badly swollen knuckles. He gave him a questioning look.

  “I’ve had a disagreement with Crinagoras,” Anatolius spat out angrily. “I don’t expect to see him again. He came around this evening and started to recite an ode to Lucretia. He claimed it was what I needed to comfort me, not to mention it would keep her memory alive at court. Needless to say, I knocked him down immediately and kicked him out of my house. Then I gathered up all my poems and fed them to the kitchen brazier. My servants must have thought I’d lost my senses. Lucretia…Lucretia I will mourn in private. There are no words…the world is very empty now.”

  “I understand. I had to tell Europa her mother was gone, yet tonight how can I not be happy? My daughter is to be married in less than an hour.”

  “Of course. We must try not to let our sorrows mar the joys of others, it’s just that…well…”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  They strolled out into the garden.

  There they found Thomas fidgeting beside the pool. He barely acknowledged their arrival.

  “Have you solved the knotty problem of the form of the ceremony, John?” Anatolius asked. “I gather the Patriarch was otherwise engaged tonight.”

  John smiled. “Don’t worry about that. Peter was bold enough to observe to me earlier this evening that while this would not be a traditional wedding in any sense of the word, what mattered was it was being entered into with sincere intent and that being so, surely heaven would bless it.”

  Thomas nodded solemnly. “A wise man, that servant of yours.” He took a few nervous steps away and back again and then glanced at the sky. “Mithra, it’s worse than waiting to go into battle.”

  “Hours drag like chains while we wait and fly away like eagles when we wish them to stay,” Anatolius agreed. “However, few go into combat dressed in such fine garments. Silk, I see.”

  “Borrowed,” Thomas muttered, looking uncomfortable. “In honor of the occasion.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll soon be back in that barbaric clothing you prefer, and I see you kept your own boots,” Anatolius observed.

  Thomas turned to John. “About Nereus’ bull, John, the one you told me about. I’ve obtained a loan from Isis and purchased it as a wedding gift for Europa. She doesn’t know yet.”

  “What strange notions barbarians harbor about suitable gifts,” Anatolius commented with a grin. “Though I suspect you could scarcely have chosen a better one.”

  Thomas looked gratified.

  “It appears Anatolius’ metaphorical chains have begun to change into birds,” John observed, glancing over his shoulder.

  Europa, crowned with a chaplet of spring flowers and dressed in a simple, white tunic, had just emerged from the house and was now making her way down the neatly graveled path toward them, accompanied by Hypatia and Peter.

  The small group took up their places beside the pool.

  Thomas and Europa stepped forward to stand in front of John.

  John looked down at his daughter’s sunburnt face. How much she resembled her mother, he thought.

  A mosaic of memories passed rapidly through his mind’s eye. The torchlit garden fell away as he recalled the bright and open skies of Crete and Egypt, Cornelia’s saucy smile and sharp-tongued response the day he, then still a young mercenary, had first dared to ask for her companionship, the clay cup broken one amorous night, the cup whose twin he had ordered made and from which he had habitually drunk the raw Egyptian wine he favored until he had deliberately destroyed it, the years of slavery and then regaining his freedom, the even longer period he had spent living in the palace, rising to his present high office…

  All those years had disappeared as swiftly as water passing along an aqueduct, babbling swiftly past never to return, flowing ceaselessly along the channel of time, bearing with it all who lived.

  And those who had died.

  Cornelia, if you can, be here tonight, he silently prayed.

  Holding Thomas and Europa’s clasped hands between his, he addressed the couple. His voice was low, but clearly audible in the strangely quiet night air.

  “Europa and Thomas, you have stated your intentions to me in private. You will now declare them openly before those assembled here. Europa, do you freely confirm it is your desire to be wife to this man, Thomas?”

  “It is,” Europa responded in a determined tone that drew smiles from those present.

  “Thomas, do you freely confirm it is your desire to be husband to this woman, Europa?”

  “That is what I wish,” Thomas replied.

  “Very well. Thomas, do you swear by Lord Mithra and all you hold sacred that you will treat Europa honorably and be true to her always?” John continued.

  “I swear by Lord Mithra and by the Sacred Bull it will be so!” Thomas stated firmly, smiling at Europa.

  Europa made the same affirmation, making her oath by the Mother Goddess and all that she held holy.

  “Then I formally ask Lord Mithra and the Mother Goddess for their blessings upon this marriage,” John concluded, “for by freely confirming your intent and giving oaths below heaven and before witnesses you have taken each other as man and wife. Thus I declare you to be so joined.”

  Thomas turned to Europa and kissed her.

  As the women hugged each other and Peter, Anatolius offered awkward congratulations to Thomas. “And you had better treat her well, Thomas,” he added, “because if I should hear anything different…”

  “Oh, she’ll keep me in line, don’t you worry about that,” Thomas remarked as Peter bustled forward to announce the wedding feast was waiting.

  “And what culinary delights have you concocted for us, Peter?” Anatolius asked the elderly servant.

  “The master felt it would be in
appropriate to offer anything too lavish given the circumstances, but since he agreed a small repast would be suitable to mark this joyous occasion, Hypatia and I have baked honey cakes and there is also roast fowl with a special sauce I invented this very day, and fruit, not to mention plenty of the master’s best wine, and I don’t mean the Egyptian vintage either,” Peter replied in a rush of words.

  “Excellent!” Thomas grinned. “Shall we go and sample this excellent wine, Anatolius?”

  The party made its way back indoors and went noisily upstairs.

  Last to cross the atrium, Peter and John had just arrived at the foot of the stairway when there came a loud rap at the house door.

  Peter opened it warily and stepped quickly back, away from a shape swathed in a dark cloak.

  “It’s the demon I saw in the alleyway just before I fell ill!” he cried in panic. “Don’t allow it in the house, master, it’ll bring the pestilence!”

  The shape let out a croaking laugh. “Not so! I merely saved you from a thief and your own hallucinations, Peter.”

  It was Ahaseurus, the holy fool, still dressed in rags yet now festooned with gold necklaces and sporting gem-encrusted rings on every finger.

  “What sort of greeting is this, Lord Chamberlain?” the nocturnal visitor went on severely. “No matter. I am here because you saved my life and I always pay my debt. However, while there are rich pickings to be had in every alley in the city right now and I’ve certainly gathered my share, to settle this particular debt I had to travel a very long way, so I’m arriving somewhat later than I’d anticipated.”

  Before John could reply, a brief gust of wind swirled into the atrium. Torches guttered, sending dark shapes spinning around its walls.

  When the shadows stopped dancing, the fool was gone.

  Another figure had appeared from the blackness beyond the doorstep.

  A woman holding a pomegranate.