Murder in Megara

by Eric Mayer

  “Hello,” the man said in a monotone. “Hello. Hello.”

  Stephen made shushing noises and removed the hand. “Our greeter,” he explained to John.

  He proceeded between the beds to the far end of the room, where he set his lantern down on a small table. John followed past the gray faces, hearing an occasional groan, an unintelligible word. The air was heavy with incense that did not quite mask the smell of incipient death.

  The ancient woman in the last bed was sitting up, head bowed as she fumbled with cruelly twisted fingers to fasten a red strip of cloth in her white hair.

  “I try to give our ladies something to adorn themselves with,” Stephen said. “It makes them happy.”

  Her hair, thinned to a mist, was ornamented with every color. John had the impression of a rainbow rising up from a cloud.

  Then she looked up.

  The weight of all the years he had not seen her slammed into his chest like a fatal blow on the battlefield, stopping his breathing and almost his heart.

  He recognized her looking out at him from beneath her age.

  “Mother,” he said. “It’s John. I’ve come to see you, as you knew I would.”

  There was no recognition in the clouded eyes that stared back at him. More like the eyes of a frightened and bewildered animal than the sparkling eyes he remembered.

  “She never recognizes anyone,” Stephen said in a low tone. “She hasn’t for many months now.”

  John spoke again. “Don’t you know me, Mother?”

  She gave no sign that she did. The clouded gaze moved away from him, toward Stephen, perhaps looking for reassurance.

  “I am too late,” John said.

  Stephen picked up the lantern. “Perhaps another time, sir. I can tell she is agitated.”

  John turned to go, determined to walk away without looking back, but he did stop and look around.

  Was there a change in her face? She seemed to be gazing at him more intently. Her thin lips twitched, then she said, almost in a whisper, “Mine.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  It was one of those late-season nights when summer reasserts herself and insists in hot and humid tones she is going to prolong her stay indefinitely. Cornelia lay beside John on the bed, the covers down, waiting hopefully for any hint of a breeze from the open window. His skin next to hers was cool. It was always so. On the hottest days his hands felt cold. He described his visit to Saint Stephen’s.

  “Why would Alexis conceal your mother’s presence?” Cornelia asked. “He should have taken you to her immediately when you arrived the first time. And Stephen must have known who she was, even if nobody else did.” Her voice trailed away.

  “It was not for Stephen to disobey his superior by revealing she was there. Alexis was extremely upset and begged me to forgive him. He told me he realized it was wrong but he had fallen into the snares of ambition and could not extricate himself.”

  “Ambition?” Cornelia was incredulous. Churchmen were not supposed to be ambitious, were they?

  “Not only for himself, you understand, but also for the monastery.” John replied. “The account of the sack of Corinth that Theophilus possessed must have been taken from Alexis’ collection of documents. Valuables buried at the temple of Demeter would enrich the monastery, and therefore the church, and would enhance Alexis’ hopes of being appointed bishop in due course.”

  “How did Theophilus find out about this document?”

  “As I just learned, he visited my mother at the hospice and not only that, he carried out occasional tasks for Alexis, according to Petrus. No doubt on one occasion he was working in the library, came across the document looking into boxes he should not have been examining, and took it.”

  “Then Alexis must have read it before Theophilus stole it?”

  “Yes. It seemed to him, as well as to Theophilus, the writer was saying the treasure was buried at the temple, so his plan was to wait until my mother died and then produce her will and claim the farm, for that was where the temple was located. For it seems she went to him for advice when she received the letter from my father and realized her second marriage was not legal. He advised her to be penitent and do good works, but meantime to say nothing about what was essentially a private matter. At that time she gave her will into his care. The document I possess is a copy.”

  Cornelia speculated on whether this advice had caused Sophia to begin preaching in the streets.

  “It may have been. I understand she was failing even then,” John replied. “When she was reported as dead by Theophilus, she was actually alive and living in the hospice. I suppose it was not exactly a lie, for she was dead to the world and never left the monastery grounds again. But Theophilus had to claim she had died in order to inherit the farm and sell it. The main point is that since Alexis knew the marriage was not valid and the sale of the farm was therefore illegal, the provisions of the will still applied, and if I did not return before my mother died, the monastery would inherit the farm. So he was willing to bide his time.”

  “Was he? What about the excavations your overseer was making at the temple? According to the slave Julius, Diocles was seeking the treasure but trying to hide the fact by claiming it was necessary work on the foundations. Is it possible Alexis engaged him to direct the estate slaves to carry out that work, given an abbot can hardly go out digging in the middle of the night? It seems to me Alexis has not revealed the entire story.”

  “There again, Theophilus knew about the treasure and he and Diocles were cooperating in at least one other criminal enterprise. I am thinking here of the shipment of iron.”

  Cornelia rolled over, putting her arm across John’s chest. She could feel his heart beating. “But supposing Alexis was involved and visited the site occasionally to see how the work was proceeding. On one particular night he finds Theophilus investigating the temple. In the darkness he thinks it is you looking around. You stand between him and what he wants, so—”

  “You are still afraid I was the intended victim? If I were dead Alexis would still need to sue the estate for the farm on the grounds it had been obtained through an illegal sale, hoping the authorities would side with the monastery, which is not a certainty. That hardly seems a basis to put a knife into someone’s back.”

  “Oh, John! Alexis wasn’t thinking as if he was in a courtroom! He wasn’t thinking at all! Don’t you ever stop thinking?”

  “It is true Alexis has extremely bad eyesight,” John admitted. “He may have mistaken Theophilus for me, if only because he wouldn’t have expected him to be there at that time of night.”

  “How can you know? How many years is it since you knew him?”

  And even then, Cornelia thought, how well do we ever know anyone? She was not even certain what John was thinking most of the time, what turmoil lay behind his tightly controlled demeanor. Why was he lying in bed pondering his investigation when he had just unexpectedly seen his mother, a shade emerged from the underworld? Why, except to avoid thinking about his mother and his past?

  “Besides,” John said, “my reappearance in Megara might not be permanent. Alexis wouldn’t need to kill me. He could hope Justinian changes his mind and has me executed or that the City Defender succeeded in convicting me of killing Theophilus.”

  “What comforting thoughts! So much more pleasant to contemplate than worrying about you being killed! And it’s all very well for you to be searching for a murderer in all this tangle of illegality you’ve discovered, but who will bring him to justice? Not the City Defender!”

  “I am not certain what he would do if he were confronted with inescapable evidence,” John admitted.

  “John, you simply don’t want to admit your old boyhood friend has grown up to be a cold-blooded murderer. You’ve all but proved Alexis is the culprit. He had a lot to gain, he knew about the hoard, he was already plotting to take own
ership of the farm, the monastery is not too far from the temple, and he blatantly lied to you to further his schemes.”

  “I am afraid you may be right, and yet it’s difficult for me to accept that Alexis intended to kill me.”

  Cornelia leaned over and kissed John’s cheek. “So much crime and misery caused by the anonymous writing on that scrap of parchment. Perhaps it is as well your mother has retreated into her girlhood, decorating her hair and knowing nothing of terrible events happening not far from her.”

  “She is happy, and that is all I would ever wish for her,” John replied.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  “Peter and Hypatia don’t seem to be around.” Cornelia came back upstairs from the kitchen with a bowl of boiled eggs.

  “Is something wrong?” John wondered. “Peter never fails to have breakfast ready.” He rubbed at the crick in his neck. Eventually he and Cornelia had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, which was good for the soul but hard on the neck, at least at their ages.

  Cornelia put the bowl on the table and sat down beside John. “Everything seems quiet. Nothing’s on fire. The City Defender isn’t at the gate. Maybe Peter mistook the time. It’s easy enough out here in the country with nothing going on and no water clock.”

  “We’re fortunate nothing is going on…”John shelled an egg slowly and took a bite.

  Cornelia placed her hand over his. “I know this is difficult, John.”

  “It shouldn’t be hard to bring a murderer to justice. You’re right, I no longer know this Alexis.” He shook his head. “An abbot…then again, the City Defender might not be so ready to see justice done.”

  “Surely when you explain it all to him…?”

  “Unfortunately, I have explanations but little evidence. Granted, once Georgios knows what happened, he could probably find the evidence easily enough with the resources he has, if he wanted to.”

  “What about the basket, John? Alexis wanted to make the murder look as if it had pagan overtones by leaving that basket at the temple. That’s something you could take with you.”

  “Yes, the sacred basket. Thinking about it reminds me—”

  Cornelia interrupted his thought by leaping up and running to the window. “Goddess!” she cried. “I spoke too soon! The City Defender just arrived!”

  John met Georgios and a contingent of armed guards in the courtyard. The City Defender looked tired. There were bags under the eyes of the big square-jawed face, and when he spoke it was with bemusement more than bluster.

  “You are taxing my patience and my resources,” Georgios said. “I don’t have enough prison cells for you and your friends and your servants.”

  “Why are you here this morning?” John demanded.

  “According to the confessions I have just heard, that elderly servant of yours, who is apparently more spry than he looks, is responsible for the murders of both Theophilus and Diocles. Your female servant, however, only killed Diocles.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Now Georgios looked pained now as well as tired. “In part, perhaps, but not all of it certainly. I realize the emperor sent you into exile here but did he order you to bring the crime in Constantinople with you?”

  “That’s what people feared, so naturally that’s what they see. Isn’t it obvious my servants are trying to protect me?”

  “Or trying to protect each other. The real question is which of you needs protecting? One, or two, or possibly all three?”

  “None of us. Neither Peter nor Hypatia is a murderer.”

  “In the grip of passion we can all become murderers if only for an instant, but an instant is all it takes to drive a blade into a man’s back. It is perfectly plausible the old man killed Theophilus. He tells me he was out by the temple that night, and likewise the woman was on the spot when Diocles was killed. Perhaps you ordered these deaths? At any rate, as owner of the estate you are equally responsible.”

  “You are therefore here to arrest me?” John had noted the guards were blocking his path to the gate. The courtyard penned him in on all sides.

  “It is necessary.” Georgios’ tone was curt.

  “I think not. I know who killed Theophilus and Diocles.”

  Georgios smiled in weary fashion. “If you killed them, of course you would know.”

  At his gesture a couple of his men drew their swords and stepped toward John.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Georgios. But were I to reveal the culprit’s identity would you believe me on the evidence I have and act on it?”

  “My interest is in maintaining public order in Megara. What is good for Megara is good for me. You have my attention.”

  “Then allow me to continue my investigations. There is more to be done to ensure justice will be carried out.”

  The guards who had stationed themselves on either side of John looked away from the man they were supposed to seize and looked toward the City Defender.

  “I will allow you one day,” Georgios said, “and will leave a few men here with your lady to keep her safe while you continue to look into the matter. Meantime, your servants will remain my reluctant guests.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  John sensed a chill in Leonidas’ house as soon as he stepped through the doorway. It seemed to radiate from the walls themselves. One might imagine that, were Leonidas and Helen to leave, the house itself would remain unhappy in their absence.

  Helen, holding a cleaning rag, had stood stolidly in the doorway as if she intended to block John from entering. But she stepped aside and followed him into the room where Leonidas fussed at his work. He was attempting to reattach a small piece of gold leaf to what John recognized as the dome from the Great Church model—only barely recognized, since one side of the dome had been crushed.

  Leonidas looked up and gave John a bleak smile. “Earthquake.”

  Helen snapped her cleaning rag. “A dusting accident,” she declared.

  John suddenly pitied his old friend. “I apologize for intruding. Do you recall telling me a man was watching the house from across the street before the City Defender’s men arrived?”

  “Yes. I found it innocent enough at the time but in retrospect I suppose the City Defender was having me watched.”

  Helen sniffed. “Thanks to you suddenly having high-ranking officials from the emperor’s court visiting, since no one paid any attention to you before. Why would they?”

  John was silent. Responding to Helen would simply embarrass Leonidas further. Instead he continued to address his friend. “Can you tell me what the fellow looked like?”

  “Short. That I remember.” Leonidas turned the gilded dome upside down and stared into it as if he might find a memory hidden there. “That’s all, John.”

  He looked so defeated, gazing into the ruined dome of his carefully constructed church, that John regretted ever coming back into his old friend’s life, and beneath that regret another, even darker thought tried to force its way forward against John’s resistance.

  “A gap in his teeth?” John asked. “Does that jar your memory?”

  “He was standing on the other side of the street.”

  “He did have a gap in his teeth,” Helen said. “You could see it clearly across the street if you were looking. Well, perhaps not exactly, but there was something wrong with his mouth. I was keeping a close eye on him to remember the face in case it was necessary.”

  “Thank you. I won’t disturb you further.”

  Leonidas set the dome on the table and started to rise. “You aren’t disturbing us, John.”

  But Helen was already opening the door for his departure.

  ***

  At the entrance to the Temple of Zeus John found Matthew lurking as usual.

  “Back for further enlightenment?” The self-styled guide greeted John with a gap-toothed
smile.

  “Indeed. I expect to learn quite a lot from you. Let us go inside this time.”

  “Alas, I have been barred from—”

  John cut him off by showing his blade. “Luckily I have a very sharp pass.”

  “I would never have taken you for a robber,” Matthew grumbled as John escorted him past the towering pillars and into the presence of the god.

  Looking down from an enormous height, Zeus’ ivory-skinned face shone and his golden hair sparkled in the sunlight against a sky bluer and deeper than the sea. From his neck down to his feet, however, he was a chunk of half-formed hardened clay and gypsum.

  John folded his arms, concealing his blade from any who entered the temple. “For a man who has been standing around waiting to regale visitors, Matthew, you seem oddly out of breath. Are you certain you weren’t running to get here before me?”

  “If you want my money ask for it. Don’t mock me first. Perhaps you think learned men such as myself get rich educating travelers? You will see you are mistaken.” He started to reach into the folds of his tunic beside his belt.

  “Stop!” John ordered. “I know how to use a blade and mine is already out.”

  Mathew raised his arms slightly from his sides and showed John his palms. “My purse is in my belt.”

  “I also know you are not a guide,” John told him. “You are an imperial spy sent by Justinian to watch me, and perhaps deal with me, if we might put it that way, if and when it suits the emperor’s purpose.”

  Matthew showed John the gap in his teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself. Justinian didn’t send me to Megara to keep an eye on his former Lord Chamberlain. Naturally, when you arrived, I was ordered to check on you now and then. It was only prudent. My task here is to look into corruption. How the locals divide the spoils isn’t typically a matter of imperial concern, but when the malfeasance becomes so widespread that it reaches all the way to the provincial governor, as I believe it does, then the emperor begins feeling it in the treasury.”