Murder in Megara

by Eric Mayer

  Cornelia smiled. “Good!”

  John looked at her in perplexity. “What do you mean, good?”

  “I mean I would far rather think he was murdered because of a dispute between criminals than that you were the real target.”

  Chapter Forty

  Helen fumbled noisily at the door until Leonidas let her in. She was pale and breathless and burdened with a brimming basket topped with vegetables and a headless chicken.

  “You took long enough,” she told him. “I might have dropped the basket. I’ve just seen someone across the street staring at our house.”

  “Sorry, I was working on my temple to Zeus. You see, I suddenly thought why should Constantinople and Rome have all the glory? That’s why I’m building this model of our own claim to fame, and—”

  Helen stamped her foot. “Will you listen? There is a man across the street keeping us under observation!”

  Leonidas looked out. “I don’t see anyone…oh, yes I do. A short fellow. Looks familiar. Now where have I seen him before?”

  “I don’t care where you saw him, I want to know what he’s doing over there!”

  “Perhaps he followed you home, hoping that chicken would fall off the top of your overloaded basket? Surely he has the right to stand anywhere he likes? Really, you must not fly away with these notions, Helen. Have you seen him there before?”

  She admitted she had not. “But he seemed to be staring so intently.”

  “Perhaps he can still see that chicken he was hoping to get.”

  “It isn’t funny. There’s a look about him I don’t like. What if he’s one of the City Defender’s informants?”

  Leonidas continued to stare outside. “We haven’t done anything worth informing about, Helen. He’s leaving now.”

  Helen left also, disappearing into the kitchen, emerging before long to flourish a large ladle at Leonidas.

  “I told you it was not wise to get involved with your old friend John, and I was right,” she continued. “You always laugh, but I have a sense for these matters. John is a different man now than he was when you knew him, Leonidas.”

  He sighed. “He does not seem so very different from the boy I remember.”

  “Nonsense!” Helen smacked his arm lightly with the ladle. “He served as Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain for years. Men that high up might as well live on Olympus with the old pagan deities. Who knows what enemies he’s made or what problems he’s brought with him? Problems that could very well come to roost on our roof.”

  “I don’t see how that can be. I took great care to copy the records when no one else was in the archives, if that’s what you’re fretting about.”

  “You see? You are being dragged into doing things in secret. Secrecy is almost always connected with dark deeds. Have you forgotten your responsibility to me so that you run off to help a man exiled here? A man you don’t even know anymore?”

  “I certainly do know my old friend John.”

  “Do you? What crime was he exiled for? Did he tell you? You have no notion what he might have been involved in. Satan can see Constantinople from his windows and no doubt enjoys its display of sin and murder!”

  “Justinian can do what he wants for any reason or no reason. I can’t imagine John doing anything illegal—”

  “You’re thinking of the boy, not the man!” Helen pivoted and stalked off into the kitchen, only to reappear a moment later, a small cloth bag in her hand. “And then there’s this!”

  She threw the bag at Leonidas’ feet. Several gold coins fell out and rolled under the table. “I found it when I went to put the fish sauce I purchased away. What do you think you’re doing, hiding money where we keep the fish sauce?”

  “I…I…usually I keep it inside the Great Church,” Leonidas stammered in confusion.

  “A fine place to keep such a sum,” she said bitterly, “And you never even mentioned you had it either. Who gave it to you and why?”

  Before Leonidas could reply there was a burst of knocking on their door, following by a loud demand to open in the name of the City Defender.

  ***

  There was a knock on John’s door also, although it came in the middle of the night. In Constantinople he might have expected it. Here he was taken by surprise. Warning Cornelia not to follow, he dressed and went out into the tiny entrance hall. He had neglected to pull on his boots and the marble tiles were cold underfoot.

  In Constantinople the caller would have been a messenger summoning him to see the emperor, or a pair of excubitors with swords, arriving to escort him to less salubrious quarters.

  Here the knocker turned out to be a man with a long sharpened stave.

  Philip, escorting a surprising trio: Abbot Alexis, the monk Stephen, and Stephen’s mother Helen, the latter red-faced and sobbing.

  “My apologies, John,” the abbot said. “But Helen came to me for help because I am, if I may say so without appearing boastful, her husband’s most powerful and trustworthy friend.”

  “Indeed,” John said.

  “That may be,” interjected Stephen, “but as Mother explained to me, my father’s predicament involves you.”

  “I will surely help if I can. What sort of predicament is Leonidas in?”

  “Ah! As if you didn’t know!” Helen cried.

  Alexis put his hand on her shoulder. “There, now. Leonidas is an upstanding man. The Lord will look after him.” He turned to John. “Our friend has been arrested as being in possession of counterfeit coins.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Stephen guided his mother into the stark anteroom of the City Defender’s office. Helen, sobbing inconsolably, hands over her face, allowed herself to be led to the wooden bench along the wall.

  Stephen sat beside her. There was no one else in the room. A bust of Emperor Justinian stared from a corner pedestal, not seeing them. The single window looked out into a featureless gray underworld.

  “You were right to come to the monastery, Mother. Abbot Alexis will have everything set to rights before long.”

  “Your father looked so pale, so worn. Do you think they are starving him?” Helen snuffled.

  “He’s only been in custody a couple of hours. He told you he hasn’t been mistreated.”

  “Do you think I will ever see him again? What will I do?”

  “Of course you will see him again, and before too long. It’s all a mistake, I’m sure. Father involved in counterfeiting? It’s preposterous.”

  “It’s punished by death. That’s what the laws say. Death by burning. Your father told me that himself, years ago. If…if…oh, how could I manage on my own?”

  “Well, Mother, hadn’t you better think of Father first?” Though his father and the others were nearby there was that peculiarly strong feeling of emptiness that pervades work spaces after business hours.

  Helen turned glassy eyes toward him. “You believe I am not thinking of your father, Stephen? How can you say that? It is bad enough that you have no house for me to come to if I am widowed.”

  “The Lord cares for widows, Mother. You could enter a religious order.”

  Helen sniffed. “That is your answer to everything. You only joined the church to spite your father. Isn’t that true?”

  “Mother! You’re distraught. Perhaps we should pray together.”

  Helen ignored the suggestion. “Some sons follow in their fathers’ footsteps,” she continued, “others do everything they can not to be like them at all. Just because he worked as a tax collector, you had to go into the church where love of money is condemned as evil.”

  “One of the apostles was a tax collector,” Stephen reminded her.

  “Your father isn’t an apostle. If only he had been firmer with you, then a destitute old widow might have a loving son’s home to go to.”

  “You are not destitute, old, n
or a widow, Mother. This is Satan talking, not you.”

  Helen fell silent. Stephen said a prayer in which she did not join.

  “You tried to be so different from your father,” Helen continued abruptly. “But you are so very like him. He never kept his mind on his job. His thoughts were always flying off to distant corners of the world. And you, Stephen, your thoughts have flown right out of this world completely. You have locked yourself away from it.”

  “I thought you approved of my vocation, Mother. As a matter of fact, I would like to see some distant corners of the world myself someday. I intend to undertake a pilgrimage to the Holy Land when the time comes. Halmus dines often with the abbot and I have been occasionally invited to hear him tell remarkable stories about his travels.”

  “Halmus is a rich man. It’s easy for him to travel. How would a poor monk afford it? It takes more than dreaming to live in this world. Look at your father, if he had worked more diligently we would have been able to actually see those places he continually dreamed about.”

  “Mother! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not at all like father, pottering away at his miniature world, lost in dreams, and nothing but a glorified clerk all his life. Do you think I don’t have responsibilities at the monastery? I’m in charge of the hospice. Abbot Alexis considers me his right-hand man. In fact, he has hinted that I may succeed him when he moves on to a higher office.”

  Helen began to cry again. In the silence her sobbing sounded very loud. One could almost imagine the mournful wail echoing through the dim, empty corridors and offices beyond. “Perhaps it is the Lord’s will I end up in your hospice, a broken old woman, not leading the quiet life your father and I had planned.”

  ***

  “Thank you for permitting John and myself to speak with Leonidas.” Abbot Alexis addressed the City Defender.

  The four men had drawn up chairs facing each other in the same whitewashed hearing room John had seen before. In the uncertain illumination of a single oil lamp it looked even drabber than it had in daylight, a commentary perhaps on the quality of justice maintained in Megara.

  “You answer to a higher authority than I do,” Georgios replied. “I would never refuse a reasonable request. Feel free to ask the prisoner whatever you wish as if I were not present.”

  Georgios had not offered to absent himself.

  Leonidas’ chair creaked as he shifted nervously. Had he heard the muffled sobs from the anteroom?

  “We know you’ve explained everything to the City Defender, but Alexis and I would like to hear it for ourselves,” John began.

  Leonidas avoided looking at him.

  “What about this bag of counterfeit coins? What were you doing with them?” John asked.

  “Working in tax collection, I have a keen interest in counterfeiting. Over the years I’ve saved examples that have turned up at the tax offices.”

  “Quite understandable,” put in Alexis. “It is part of your responsibilities.”

  “How is that?” Georgios’ tone was curt.

  Leonidas swallowed visibly. “I use them to compare to any suspected counterfeits I come across.”

  “Why would that be necessary?” Georgios asked. “Certainly you are aware of the general characteristics of counterfeit coins. And one counterfeit would not have precisely the same flaw as another.”

  “That may be. Nevertheless it is…uh…my method.”

  “One not officially sanctioned,” Georgios snapped. “Otherwise counterfeits would be kept at the administrative offices.”

  “You told us you had already questioned him, Georgios,” John said.

  “So, one suspect wants to instruct me on how to interrogate another suspect!”

  “I am hoping we can clear this up informally. You can’t really believe Leonidas is involved with counterfeiters, can you?”

  Georgios shrugged. “He’s just admitted he stole the coins.”

  “But, sir, it was no loss to anyone.” Leonidas’ voice trembled. “They would simply have been destroyed.”

  “No loss to anyone perhaps but a nice gain for yourself.” Georgios leaned toward Leonidas in a threatening manner and his voice rose. “What did you do, pass them off on unsuspecting merchants? A small purchase here and there, who would notice? And quite a nice little side income it must have added up to over the years. Or was it more than that? A lot of money goes through the tax collector’s offices. There would be plenty of opportunities to swap your counterfeits for real coins. I’m sure you could describe more sophisticated frauds to me.”

  “Please,” Alexis said, “there is no need to sound so harsh, Georgios. You are not talking to a criminal.”

  “I’m not?”

  Leonidas slumped and folded his arms, as if he were trying to make himself small enough to become invisible. Finally, he raised his face to John and spoke directly to him, avoiding looking at the others. “I suppose I thought of it as a bit of an adventure, collecting all those coins. I mean, who could say where they had been made, in what disreputable places in dangerous neighborhoods or what kind of men might have handled them? The basest criminals, men who prefer to walk in the shadows. When I picked up one of those coins I felt a thrill, my fingers tingled, I could feel the heat of the forge where it had been minted by a swarthy Egyptian, could smell the sea from the deck of the pirate ship transporting it. You understand don’t you, John?”

  “Of course. Even one who chooses a simple life can still long for a little adventure.”

  “Longing for adventure is not a legal defense,” Georgios pointed out. “A lot of criminals are seeking adventures.”

  “But as Leonidas has already explained, he was also employing the coins in his work,” John replied. He glanced at Leonidas for confirmation.

  His friend squirmed and stammered. “Well…I said so…but I was ashamed to admit…well…”

  “How did Helen happen to find the counterfeits?”

  Leonidas nodded almost imperceptibly. “I became so engrossed looking at them she surprised me when she arrived home. I tried to hide the bag, too hastily. I…I should have guessed she’d buy more fish sauce and put it with the rest.” His eyes filled and he shook his head hopelessly. “If only I did not have a taste for fish sauce. What a fate—to have one’s life destroyed by fish sauce!”

  “Be honest,” John continued. “You were looking over those counterfeits to compare them to the one I gave you. Isn’t that so?”

  Leonidas’ eyes widened. “The coin you gave me? What…I don’t know.…”

  “I appreciate you trying to protect me but there’s no need.” John turned to Georgios. “When I talked to Leonidas in the marketplace after my last visit here, I gave him a coin I suspected to be counterfeit and asked him if he could examine it and let me know if I was right. Was I right, Leonidas?”

  “Yes,” he said miserably. “The coin is a counterfeit. A very good one.”

  “And why,” John fixed his gaze on Georgios, “did your men happen to barge into Leonidas’ home? You couldn’t have suspected him. You had someone following me, didn’t you? Your man saw me hand the coin to Leonidas.”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Someone must have told you to go to Leonidas’ house.”

  “We had an anonymous tip. It’s no business of yours.” There was a threatening undertone to Georgios’ voice.

  “A man was watching the house,” Leonidas said. “Helen told me. I saw him myself.”

  “That’s enough!” Georgios stood abruptly and sent his chair clattering backward. “We’ve wasted enough time. Guard, escort the prisoner out.” He turned his attention back to John. “I shall be interested to hear more about this counterfeit coin of yours.”

  “You certainly will. Especially where I found it.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  “But you turned my house upsi
de down after you took Diocles’ body away,” protested Petrus. “I’ve just managed to get things back in order. Do you really think you missed something the last time you searched?”

  “We’re not looking for the same sort of evidence this time, as I have already explained.” The stark morning sunlight showed dark pouches under the City Defender’s eyes. It was obvious he was getting as little sleep as John.

  Petrus rubbed his hands on his leather apron. He had already been at work when Georgios and a half dozen of his men, accompanied by John, had arrived. The blacksmith led them across the dirt courtyard and showed them a pile of iron rods. In places weeds had straggled up between them. “Is this a supply fit for an armory?”

  “Hardly,” John told him. “But it was time for a new shipment, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know anything about shipments of iron. I keep enough metal on hand for normal blacksmithing work.” He gave John a glare of resentment. “I must protest, sir. You know what they say, if you’re capable of submitting to an insult you certainly should be insulted, but I am surprised you would suspect me of wrongdoing to say the least.”

  “Try not to take it personally, Petrus,” John told him. “We’re all suspects lately. If you are innocent you don’t need to worry about your tenancy.”

  Petrus merely grunted.

  “Your landlord may be in more danger than you are,” Georgios told him. “Under the law the estate owner is liable for any illegal activities on his land.”

  “Not if he reports it as soon as he finds out, which I have done,” John pointed out.

  “I’m not putting my own neck on the chopping block in order to cost someone else his head,” Petrus said. “There’s nothing illegal going on here. Search again, if you want. Search twice. I shall continue here in the forge. You’re interrupting my work.”