Murder in Megara

by Eric Mayer

  The younger monk retrieved the box with a deferential nod to John.

  “What is the situation with the hospice?” Alexis asked Stephen. “Are you able to accept Crassus’ father yet?”

  “We are still short of spaces. You know how it is. I would not wish to overcrowd the charges we already have.”

  “Certainly not. But Crassus has been a generous benefactor. Couldn’t we use one of the temporary beds we keep for our own brothers when they fall ill?”

  “I suppose so, but we’ve already turned most of them over to hospice residents.” Stephen replied. “We have one or two poor souls who seem to be failing. Perhaps the Lord in his wisdom and mercy will make room for Crassus’ father soon.”

  After the young man left Alexis said, “An exemplary young man. When I learned that the son of our old friend Leonidas had decided to devote his life to the Lord, naturally I invited him to join us at Saint Stephen’s. And I have not regretted it. I don’t know what I would do without him. All the unfortunates he cares for, the sick and elderly, arrive and depart faster than I can keep track. I depend on him to do so.”

  John couldn’t help wondering if he detected a glimmer of young Alexis, always ready to desert his responsibilities for some mischief. “I am sorry if my servant further strained your resources. I hope you will accept a small payment.”

  “Thank you, John, but I would not expect to be compensated for kindness. To tell the truth, the hospice has enlarged our treasury considerably. Those who enter into our care often turn their worldly possessions over to us and families give us generous donations. It would be better if they showed their gratitude by doing the work of the Lord, but they mean well. We simply need to build an addition. But let us not become bogged down in business. We were speaking about old religions? You inquired about the temple on your estate. I’m happy to see you share some of my interest in such antiquities.”

  John murmured his assent, hoping the abbot would not inquire too closely about his personal religious beliefs.

  “I showed you that fragment because it is rare, as originating locally, but there is a certain amount of information regarding Demeter worship, generally. But nothing too detailed or reliable since it was a secret cult.”

  “I understand,” John said truthfully, since his own religion, Mithraism, kept its rites secret from all but initiates.

  “She is an agricultural goddess. In this area, in particular, she was known as the giver of sheep and worshiped as the one who inspired the raising of sheep.”

  “I can appreciate the importance of that. I have never seen so many sheep as hereabouts.”

  “It is also said our thriving pig-raising industry resulted originally from the use of sacrificial swine in her worship.”

  John observed that the goddess had certainly left her impression on Megara.

  Alexis nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. Very much so. You’ll doubtless remember the rock known as Recall where the goddess is said to have sat, calling her daughter to come back from the underworld?”

  “Near the marketplace, yes. The one Leonidas fell off.” John replied. “Though in those days you were more curious about, shall we say, more earthy rites?”

  Alexis laughed quietly. “But of course. Were we then not boys as yet uninitiated into the mysteries of women?”

  “Given this long-held interest, I confess to some surprise you entered the church.”

  “You’re not the only one, John. My library is famous—or should I say notorious?—and a number of local residents have made it plain they consider my studies to be not quite proper. My reply is always to say it is wise know thy enemy.”

  “I found that to be true in Constantinople, although there it is hard to know who your enemy might be.”

  “In my line of endeavor I have no such problems. But as to this pagan enemy I have made it my business to know: Demeter. Your surmise on the significance of the sacred basket found by Theophilus’ body would seem to be correct.”

  Shadows had begun to advance across the high-ceilinged room, fingering their blind way along the floor, gathering in corners as the light began to soften and turn gray.

  “Peter said he was told that the pit he fell into may have been dug by treasure hunters. It occurred to me that I might have dug the pit myself when I was a boy. Has that old legend come back to life again?”

  “Yes, it seems to have caught people’s imaginations lately.”

  “It certainly caught our imaginations, but we were only children. And what is your opinion now? Have your studies revealed anything?”

  “A foolish legend. You know the story. In fact, Alaric and the Goths did loot Corinth and burn it down so there would have been reason for someone to want to smuggle valuables away. But there is no evidence it happened.”

  “But if there was such an attempt, what would have been hidden?”

  “The church treasury, or priceless icons, or perhaps a hoard of Corinthian bronze which would be worth more than the other two combined, given the very process by which it was made has been lost. What few references I’ve run across are nothing but rumors. The authors obviously didn’t know anything more than we did when we searched.”

  John smiled. “I do remember that time in the woods when we were digging under the ledge and Leonidas broke through into a kind of hole. We were excited.”

  “And even more excited when the fox burst out! And nothing has changed. No one knows where the treasure is, most likely because there never was one. From time to time a hopeful hunter asks permission to dig on the monastery grounds. Naturally I refuse. Sometimes they return and dig after dark anyway. I also take the opportunity to explain that the wish to locate it is caused by the desire to obtain riches without work. However, it does not seem to stop people from digging here and there. If only they put as much energy into their spiritual lives, they would be much happier, if less wealthy!”

  Alexis made a sweeping gesture indicating the codices and scrolls in their wall niches and on tables and shelves. “Ignore all these pagan gods and goddesses. The most evil of all idols, and the most worshiped, is wealth. But, then, you aren’t here to listen to me preach, John. Truthfully, this monastery would benefit from any windfall. For one thing we could enlarge the hospice and for another—but no, I must not continue. I am falling into a different sort of pit, if you’ll pardon my pun!”

  “I should not keep you away from your duties.” John stood.

  “We’ll have ample opportunity to renew our acquaintance. Being nearby, the monastery does quite a bit of business with the estate. We used to rely on it for much of our olive oil, but the groves have been neglected. Stephen generally dealt with your overseer, but perhaps we could deal personally?”

  “Certainly. However, before leaving I must ask about the monk who rescued Peter. I would like to question him, in case he observed anything in the vicinity of the temple that night.”

  “As it happens it was Stephen who found your servant.”

  ***

  Stephen was gathering herbs. Their delicate scents filled the twilight in the inner courtyard.

  “I should not have ventured out without permission,” he told John. “Abbot Alexis reprimanded me, with justification. I couldn’t contain my curiosity. I have prayed for the strength to control my impulses in the future.”

  “In this instance, it is fortunate for Peter that you failed to do so,” John said. “I must thank you for bringing him back here and caring for him.”

  “Anyone would have done the same, sir.”

  The young man shared the bland family features. The older Leonidas had reminded John of Leonidas’ father, the son reminded him of the boy who had been John’s friend. The overlapping of past and present was unnerving. The similarities were not entirely physical either, for while Stephen’s father devoted much of his time to recreating far corners of the world which remained
invisible to him from Megara, Stephen had sworn allegiance to something that was invisible to everyone.

  “We have often seen lights at the temple during the night these past few months,” Stephen continued. “But that night the place was ablaze. I could see the sky lit up over the hill, as if there were a great fire.”

  “The City Defender’s men were out in force. What time did you go to investigate?”

  “After evening devotions. I was curious to see what was going on.”

  “What did you suppose might be going on?”

  Stephen snapped twigs off a low bush and transferred them to his basket, enveloping both John and himself in a cloud of fragrance, which, John thought, Hypatia would be able to identify. Or his mother, in the old days, for that matter.

  “I don’t know. There’s been talk of rituals. Not that I believe the stories about you and your family, sir. You can’t know everything that goes on everywhere on your land at every hour.”

  “It seems not. How did you find Peter?”

  “I heard him cry out.”

  “He had just fallen into the pit then?”

  “I would think so, but he couldn’t remember how he’d got into the pit, let alone when. He could have been crying out in pain.”

  “You went straight from the monastery in the direction of the temple?”

  “That’s right, sir. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be roaming around. I didn’t want to be caught outside the monastery so I took the quickest path.”

  As the two spoke, Stephen moved from one planting to the next, selecting herbs. For potions used in the hospice, he had explained when Alexis escorted John to the courtyard and left him there.

  “Did you see or hear anything before finding Peter?”

  “I heard nothing. I noticed a figure up on the ridge, I think. But we’ve become used to seeing your watchmen patrolling along your border. The whole estate was generally unguarded before you arrived.”

  “You’re certain it was one of my men?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Was that all you saw?”

  Finished with his gathering, Stephen made his way back to the covered walkway around the courtyard where torches burned at intervals, spreading a weak glow along the periphery of the garden. “I’m not sure. What I mean is, I may have caught a glimpse of another person. Nothing more than a shadow, and possibly literally a shadow. For an instant I thought I saw someone moving just beyond the temple but whoever it was vanished before I could be certain. All these hills and hollows make it hard to see.”

  Stephen used a torch to light a lantern he removed from a niche and when the flame came to life John was surprised to see that Stephen carried a clay replica of a church, reminiscent of the miniature Great Church Leonidas had constructed. The perforations in the lantern sent bright crosses of light around the dark corridor they entered. They passed a door. From within John heard faint sounds, rustlings and groaning, suggesting the winter wind in the dry branches of ancient trees. Human noises from the hospice.

  Alexis rose from a bench in the shadows. He had been waiting.

  “I hope Stephen has been able to answer your questions, John. Now let me show you out.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “You can’t go into town with an injured ankle, Peter.”

  Hypatia knelt by the side of their bed, gently prodding the purpling, bloated mass of flesh where an ankle should have been.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Peter insisted. He grimaced as her fingers examined the injury. “Not much. Nothing I can’t stand. A walk to the marketplace is nothing like a forced march through the Isaurian mountains.”

  Hypatia stood. “You’re not in the military now. There’s no need for you to go.”

  “I must have landed on that foot when I fell into the pit,” Peter said. “I wish I could remember. I’ll be better once I start moving around if you’d give me a hand to get up. “

  Hypatia sighed inwardly. She was rarely aware of Peter’s age. With harsh morning light highlighting his cuts and bruises, the time-weathered face, the last vestiges of gray hair, his thin limbs, she saw, for an instant, an old man. “No, Peter. Lie back down and rest. I heard the master and mistress speaking at breakfast. He’s going into Megara and I’m certain he’ll allow me to accompany him.”

  “I suppose that would be all right if he doesn’t feel inconvenienced,” Peter allowed himself to fall back. “It is my duty—”

  “Your duty is to recover from your accident.” Hypatia bent and kissed his forehead before leaving the room.

  Crossing the courtyard she realized she felt a maternal solicitude toward her elderly husband. Was that appropriate? They had only been married a few months. Should she feel differently toward Peter now they were wed than she had beforehand? They had grown closer during all the time they had worked together in the Lord Chamberlain’s household until finally it had seemed only natural that they should marry. But was that a good reason to marry?

  The master and mistress weren’t married in the legal sense but they might as well have been. Theirs was not what anyone would call a traditional marriage. John was not yet old, but in a sense he was. He and Cornelia had had a child together before his terrible mutilation. That was long ago, however. Did Cornelia feel her marriage to John was what it should be? Did she ever see him as…what he was? But no, Hypatia told herself, she shouldn’t even be having such thoughts.

  What most distressed her about Peter’s age was how little time they might have together. She tried to keep it out of her mind.

  She took a basket from the alcove off the kitchen. Lying in its bottom was the paring knife with the cracked handle she’d been using to cut herbs during her forays into the meadows. Considering how she and Peter had been attacked it might not be a bad idea to take it into Megara with her or to keep it with her in case Theophilus’ murderer was still slinking around the estate. She tucked it away in her tunic, out of sight.

  In the kitchen, Cornelia was still lingering at the table, contemplating a plate holding a few crumbs and olive pits. When Hypatia inquired about John, she said he was already on his way to Megara.

  “I told Peter I’d go with him,” Hypatia said. “Do you think I could run and catch up?”

  “Why bother?” came the reply in a masculine voice. “I’ll be glad to accompany you. And my companion here will gladly come along for safety.” It was Philip, standing in the doorway, hefting his sharpened stake.

  “Shouldn’t you and your friend be keeping an eye on the property rather than…than the pots on the brazier?” Hypatia had almost blurted out “keeping an eye on me.”

  “If the mistress doesn’t mind…” said Philip.

  “I don’t mind,” Cornelia replied. “It would be an excellent arrangement. If you can catch up to the master you can provide protection to him as well.”

  “There, Hypatia, you’ve had your orders. Let’s not delay.”

  ***

  Philip told himself that Hypatia wasn’t as cross as she pretended. He showed her a shortcut through the fields, all the while admiring her out of the corner of his eye. A bronze-skinned, black-haired beauty. Nothing like the farmers’ daughters he saw outside Megara.

  They did not see John. When they reached the track leading to Megara he wasn’t in sight.

  “The master always walks at a fast pace,” Hypatia said. “We won’t catch up.”

  “Why should we try? I’m here to look after you if necessary.”

  “You aren’t watching the estate while you’re watching me.”

  Did she emphasize the word “watching” or was that his imagination? Surely an attractive woman would not object to being watched politely?

  “You must have some time off from your work,” Philip said. “There’s more to see in Megara than the marketplace. It may not be Constantinople but I could show you some sig
hts.”

  “It’s not a good idea for any of us from the estate to be spending time in town, the way everyone feels. If you’re seen with me too often, Philip, they’ll think you’re in league with me.”

  “Don’t worry. No one in Megara is going to turn against me. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  Walking casually close to her, he managed from time to time to brush his hip against hers as if by accident.

  “Why aren’t you married at your age?” Hypatia asked.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he grinned and watched for her reaction. Consternation, on the outside, but masking what? Did he see a flush of pleasure creep into her cheeks?

  “You’ve lived with your father all your life?” She was trying to change the subject, he thought.

  “On our farm, yes.”

  “Just you and your father?”

  Philip paused. Why would she be wondering whether he lived alone? He had to restrain his eager imagination.

  “It’s just my father and I. Except when Diocles was staying there. An unpleasant man, not suited to be overseer, in my opinion. But he’s gone now. If you would like to visit sometime, I could show you our house. I am sure it is much grander than a servant’s room. My father is out often, tending to his pigs.”

  She glared at him and fell silent. Now she was obviously blushing.

  It’s true, Philip told himself. She’s definitely attracted to me.

  ***

  To an observer they might have been a married couple walking together. The dark-haired, sunburnt man protectively hovered near the dark-haired, tawny-skinned woman. Occasionally he would touch her arm, as if ready to steady her. When she sorted through the melons on sale, lifting them to her face to inhale their aroma, then passing them over for his opinion, their fingers brushed.

  Did they see the sellers looking at them with hostile eyes, or notice their curtness? Did they feel the subtle pressure of a multitude of stares directed at their backs?

  The man kept glancing around, as if alert for danger. One hand moved nervously, causing the wickedly pointed end of the stake he carried to waggle back and forth.