by Eric Mayer
“And our business is…what?”
“According to you, it is iron.”
“That’s right. Theophilus hasn’t paid me for the assistance I gave him with his last shipment.” John repeated what he had been proclaiming in various taverns. “But then you said you didn’t believe I was a petty thief, so why would you believe I am telling the truth?”
“I don’t believe you’re a petty thief, but I might entertain the idea that you are involved in the iron trade, and as far as the matter of Theophilus cheating you—well, I would take that as a given. Which shipment was it?”
John related the details so far as he knew them, watching the other’s face. “Theophilus cheated you too, didn’t he? Being cheated is the price of working with him!”
The blade plunged into John’s bedding and ripped across it. Cloth tore with a high thin noise. “Wait until I find the swine! I’ve been waiting for him to get back for over a week. If he’s taken flight with my share I’ll be joining you in your search with the intention of slipping sharp metal, and not necessarily iron, between his ribs.”
“I could use a man who enjoys using a knife,” John said. “As for this iron…I’m not so much interested in the money as the principle. We businessmen need to maintain certain standards. What I want is to see the bastard brought to justice. If you can take care of that, you can have whatever money you can carve out of him, and I’ll throw in something for good measure.”
“You’ll admit to being more than a thief? But what of it? You don’t know where the swine went to any more than I do.”
“I have contacts in many fields of commerce, only I’m not sure who to ask. These are busy men, you understand. They don’t like being disturbed over nothing. So one of the things I want to know is what else was Theophilus involved in, besides this iron business?”
The man on the bed studied his knife and smiled faintly, as if he were imagining what it would look like in Theophilus’ throat. “Oh, he was a very busy man. Anything you could smuggle, he smuggled. Iron, silks, counterfeit coins, forged religious relics.”
“And you assisted him?”
“I’m not saying any more.”
“Good, because I don’t work with men with loose lips. I will make further inquiries. Come back in a few days.”
When the stranger had gone, John sat on the edge of the bed and ran his finger along the rent in the fabric. Mithra! He’d just more or less arranged to have his own stepfather killed as far as his visitor was concerned.
Did it matter that his stepfather was already dead?
Chapter Twenty-nine
The flames of hell snaked up Peter’s legs, reached his arms, and ran along the flesh, gobbling it as if it were parchment.
“Fire, Peter! Wake up!”
He became aware his arm was being shaken. By Hypatia.
He managed to get his eyes open and lifted himself up on one elbow in time to see her jump out of bed, drag on her tunic, and run into the courtyard.
Dazed and grumbling, he followed as fast as he could. He was too old for such terrible awakenings.
As he emerged, blinking, into what should have been darkness, he saw a red glow dancing across the buildings surrounding the courtyard. A dozen or more unfamiliar men shouted oaths and abuse at Hypatia, waving swords and spears, and promising a swift end to anyone who interfered with them. Several carried torches. They had set fire to straw piled against the workers’ quarters. Laborers began to emerge, half-asleep, confused and terrified. Some were driven back and knocked down by the arsonists.
It would only take a rising wind to set the entire collection of buildings ablaze.
Hypatia, fists clenched, looked ready to dash straight at the vandals. Peter rushed to restrain her. “Stay away from them! You’re not even armed!” The thought of Hypatia’s danger brought another fear into Peter’s mind. “The mistress? Have you seen her? What can she do with the master away?”
A man whose features were thrown into relief by the fire’s flickering shadows grinned demonically as he approached. “Don’t worry, old man. No doubt her pagan god will take care of her. If not, all it will take is another sacrifice in that ruined temple. Now…” his ugly gaze wandered over Hypatia. “Since the owner’s wife is hiding, this one will have to do. Grab her!”
Several followers started forward.
Peter pushed Hypatia behind him. “Run!”
Too late. Hypatia was struggling in the grasp of the ringleader. Desperately but ineffectually Peter tried to pull her back to his side.
“I’ve got the woman!” the ruffian shouted and dragged her toward the gateway. Then hesitated. A look of confusion crossed his face. Then he bellowed in pain.
As if by sorcery an arrow had appeared in his shoulder.
He looked around the courtyard furiously, cursing.
Another arrow hissed past. The man knocked Peter down and ordered the others to retreat.
Peter staggered to his feet, heart pounding. He had no idea where the arrows had come from. Nor did he care. They might as well have been thrown down from heaven itself. All Peter could think of was Hypatia’s safety.
He stumbled out of the gate into the darkness.
Just in time to see Philip arriving at a run and Hypatia standing alone, steadying herself against the outside wall.
“Sent my men after the villains,” he shouted. “As soon as they saw us coming they split up. I’m going after the ringleader.”
Peter watched him race off. He felt Hypatia’s hand on his arm and an overwhelming sense of shame. What use had he been to her when she needed help?
“I’m going to help him.”
“Oh, Peter! Don’t be foolish!”
He pulled away from her grasp and forced himself to run on legs that felt as unsteady as a ninety-year-old’s, or for that matter a two-year-old’s. As soon as he was out of Hypatia’s sight he slowed, gasping, his chest feeling as if it was on fire.
Glancing back over the nearest hill he could see only a sullen glow in the sky. Without interference, the estate laborers would be able to douse the flames with water from the fishpond.
Dizziness made him bend over, hands on knees. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow and every breath hurt. He’d shown Hypatia he was eager to assist her young admirer. Perhaps now he should just sit down and rest.
But no. He had a task and he would do it. The former military man asserted himself and he straightened up and marched on across the dark, uneven ground, scuffling and stumbling. The leg he had injured falling into the pit protested at inclines too slight for him to make out.
As he hobbled past the temple, he spotted movement. Ignoring the jagged pains in his leg, he got down on hands and knees to crawl closer without exposing his silhouette against the sky. The master would be proud of him recalling that maneuver from his military days.
If only the master hadn’t been gone tonight.
Straining his eyes, he had to get very close to the ruined building before he recognized the leader of the arsonists, standing at the corner of the temple, scanning the landscape. How had he eluded Philip? Or—the idea struck him like a blade to the back—perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps Philip had caught up to him and…
Better not to think about that. Peter clung to the ground, the smell of earth filling his nostrils. He felt himself trembling uncontrollably.
He had expected to catch up to Philip after Philip had caught up to the leader of the mob. At least Peter would be able to say he’d been on hand for the capture, which shouldn’t have given Philip much difficulty, considering the arrow in his opponent’s shoulder. Running the man down, by himself, unarmed as he was, hadn’t been in his plans at all.
What he needed to do was slip away and notify whomever he could find. He began to turn, keeping low. His calf cramped. The pain was so sudden and excruciating he cried out involuntari
ly.
Peter tried to rise but before he could get back on his feet a face loomed over him, a grinning moon, and a sword appeared, poised for a killing blow.
However, it did not descend in a powerful arc. Instead it dropped sideways harmlessly, as its owner crumpled to the ground, revealing behind him a figure holding a jagged rock.
“Bastard,” remarked Peter’s savior in a casual manner, tossing down the stone, one side of which was dark with blood. “You’re lucky the arrow got him in his sword arm or he’d probably have split your skull before I cracked his.”
Chapter Thirty
“I should have gone after Peter, mistress.” Hypatia paced across the kitchen and peered out the doorway yet again. The estate workers continued to haul buckets of water from the fishpond to pour on smoldering straw. Not much damage had been done. The house and surrounding buildings were safe. Was Peter? “He made me so angry, running off like a stupid boy, and I was so upset already. I didn’t know what to do.”
“What could you have done for him? Unarmed? As like as not you’d have run into one of the arsonists.” Cornelia came to stand beside her and survey the damage. There was little to see since the flames had died down. The courtyard had fallen back into night. Plumes of pale smoke billowed up into the darker sky. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Philip caught up with the ringleader. The fellow wasn’t in any shape to put up much of a fight. Sit down for a while.”
Reluctantly Hypatia seated herself beside the table on which a hunting bow and a handful of arrows lay. “I know hunting is popular with the aristocrats at the emperor’s court but I didn’t realize you had taken part, mistress,” she observed.
“Oh, I didn’t learn to use a bow in the imperial parks. The troupe I traveled with had an archer, a Persian by birth, whose specialty was a display of marksmanship. Called himself Xerxes. I learned enough of the art to play Artemis from time to time, when I wasn’t leaping from bulls.”
Hypatia had never been sure whether the mistress intended to be taken seriously when she spoke of her days as a performer. Was it a jest, or had she really entertained crowds in dusty city squares with reenactments of the lost art of Cretan bull leaping? Well, the late empress had worked as a circus performer in her youth, and her performances had been of a much lower sort. “The arsonists must have thought they were under siege when arrows started raining down from who knows where.”
“The second-floor windows offer a perfect shot at anyone in the courtyard. And I’ve never forgotten my skill.”
“I’m grateful you remembered.”
“Barely remembered. Xerxes would have been greatly displeased with me. I meant to put the arrow in that rogue’s ear.”
There was a commotion in the courtyard. Philip came in, closely followed by Peter and a stranger in a dirt-encrusted tunic.
Hypatia started toward Peter. Philip stepped in front of her, grasping her shoulders. “Thank heavens you’re safe,” he whispered, then in a louder tone, addressed Cornelia. “Mistress, we captured the ringleader and brought him back. I’ve ordered him bound. The City Defender will have a nice neat package waiting when he gets here. My men will be back soon with the rest, I’m certain.”
Hypatia removed Philip’s hands from her shoulders, shrugged out of his grasp, and went and put her arms around Peter. “Don’t run off like that again, Peter. I was afraid for your safety.”
“You shouldn’t have been. You keep forgetting I have military experience. I caught up with the villain. Julius here gave me some help. I insisted he have a cup of wine and something to eat.”
“It’s fortunate I found you when I did,” Philip said.
“Yes,” Peter shot back. “Our prisoner was getting heavy to carry.”
The dirty stranger, Julius, stood silent, looking uneasy.
Cornelia frowned at the man. “Aren’t you one of the men kept as slaves? I’ve seen you working in the fields.”
“Yes, mistress. I have been staying nearby since the master freed us. Not to sound ungrateful, but it is one thing to tell a man that he free and another to make that freedom legal.”
“Indeed. The documents are being drawn up in Megara and the master will sign them as soon as he returns. Not that we really expected any of you to come back for them.” She looked him up and down. “But why are you covered in dirt? Did you also fight?”
“No, mistress.”
Philip broke in. “And why were you on the estate in the middle of the night in the first place?”
Hypatia flared up. “Philip! What sort of question is that, considering what he’s just done for us?”
“Why are you so quick to trust him, when you know the whole city’s against you?” Philip snapped back. “He was obviously up to no good and now he’s trying to protect himself.”
“I’m sorry, Julius,” said Cornelia, “but Philip is right. No matter how helpful you’ve been I really must ask you to explain why you were on the estate, and covered with dirt no less, at this time of night.”
“And the answer had better be convincing,” Philip added, “because the City Defender will be here very soon and he can take you back to Megara along with the other wrongdoers.”
Julius shifted his feet, started to brush dried earth from his clothes, and stopped when he realized all he was doing was making the kitchen floor dirty. “Mistress, freedom is more valuable than wealth, so I will answer truthfully. I returned to the temple, secretly, to look for the valuables buried there. The overseer Diocles ordered us to dig there day after day. He claimed it was to prepare for reconstruction work, but we all knew better. Everyone’s been talking about the treasure from Corinth, and he kept warning us to dig carefully, in case we happened on anything of historical value.”
Cornelia shook her head. “Is there anyone in Megara who isn’t busy hating us or searching for riches? Goddess help us!”
Hypatia knew the mistress was not addressing Demeter. Whether the goddess could make this city full of Christians stop hating them, she couldn’t say. But at least Peter was safe and the arsonists would be brought to justice.
Chapter Thirty-one
“It was because of the demons, sir! Released swarms of demons, they did, what with all their digging round that pagan temple! Should have been destroyed a long time ago, if you ask me.”
The City Defender glared at the captured arsonist, a man named James. “Demons, is it? Explain yourself.”
“Sir, I am a law-abiding seller of fish. Well-known for the excellence of my wares, landed fresh each day. Don’t sell anything over a day old. Work hard, pay my taxes, attend church faithfully, and—”
“Yes, yes, a pillar of the community. But what has this to do with your criminal behavior last night?”
John, newly returned from Lechaion, was present as injured party as the City Defender conducted an arraignment interview. The arsonist was a rough-looking man, his upper arm and shoulder wrapped in bandages. The door of the whitewashed room stood open, allowing the mixed odors of the city to enter on the rectangle of strong sunlight lying across a mosaic floor depicting a pastoral scene.
But not enough sunlight to dispel the darkness of Megaran justice unfolding before him, John thought.
“And then there was those unspeakable rites they was doing in that ruin,” the seller of fish continued. “Orgies, sir. Blood. Torture. Bound to free demons. And as we all know, they can take over a man, hook their sharpened claws into our souls, cause us to do terrible things we would not dream of, could not dream of, as sober and responsible citizens.”
The man appeared ready to burst into tears at the thought of what acts he might be capable of doing while in his possessed state.
“And so those others with you, companions you say you cannot identify, were all possessed by demons, leading to the crimes committed last night?”
The accused man nodded violently. “And my wife is worried about what
I might do next. What if I get up at night and murder everyone in their beds? What if I start selling fish I know to be unfit to eat? What if I suddenly attack Halmus, who has done so much for Megara?”
The City Defender raised his hand for silence. “So your defense boils down to the fact you and your fellow conspirators were possessed by demons forcing you to set fire to this man’s property and assault his servant?”
The fish seller nodded.
“I see,” the City Defender went on. “I have heard this defense before and there is much in what you say. Given your sterling character, I find it to be acceptable. I am accepting it on condition you consult your church on appropriate ways to free yourself of the demon possessing you. In addition I order you to make a large donation to the church. No compensation is due to the owner of the property under the circumstances. If he can collect it from demons, he is free to do so. You may go.”
The seller of fish bowed, mumbled his gratitude, and scuttled away.
John hid his consternation.
“Now,” said the City Defender, “about the charges levied against you.”
“Charges against me? For raising demons?”
“For illegal weapons. Specifically a bow and arrows. As you are aware, private individuals are forbidden from making or purchasing weapons, including bows and arrows.”
“They are also banned from purchasing spears and swords, yet the arsonists had both.”
“This is the first I have heard about it. Do you have proof? You could see James was wounded. Do you have an explanation?”
“Yes. You may examine the bow if you wish. You will see it was not privately manufactured but rather bears the imperial seal from the armory at the Great Palace. Nor was it purchased illegally. Justinian authorized Senator Vinius to hunt with it in the parks beyond the city walls. It is a common aristocratic pastime. The senator must have brought the bow to Megara in case he wanted to hunt here. We found it in his residence.”
