Murder in Megara (9 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The modest dwelling where Leonidas once lived with his parents was still standing. John glanced in both directions before approaching, making certain his stalker had not picked up his trail. John had had to be brusque with Matthew, for fear the man he had just shaken off in the alleys and byways would come upon him out in the open in front of the building housing the statue of Zeus. The last thing John wanted to do was to bring old friends and their families to the attention of whoever was following him.

John had some difficulty picking the house out in a row of homes of identical design but there it was, looking much as ever, the faded stucco seemingly in the same state of near, but not quite, disrepair. The staircase leading from the street to two floors of what he knew was rental housing was in similar condition.

He went up three steps to the tiny, columned porch fronting the entrance to the private residence on the ground floor. Yes, still there in a shadowed corner he could see his own initials, Leonidas', and those of a couple of other friends, traced surreptitiously in the wet concrete when Leonidas' father had had the porch replaced.

Emperors, generals, high officials, philosophers, and even charioteers were immortalized in stone, marble, and bronze in Constantinople. This was the only monument in the empire for John, former Lord Chamberlain.

Leonidas' father opened the door.

He gazed at John with the same air of gentle bemusement he seemed to carry through life. He was the sort of man who would not attract attention on the street. If asked for a description the person questioned would have a hard time thinking of any feature that might separate him from anyone else.

“John!” the man exclaimed, smiling broadly.

And then John realized he could not possibly be seeing Leonidas' father, unchanged by the years. This was his old friend Leonidas himself.

“Please come in. Helen and I lived elsewhere when we first married, but both my parents died years ago and so, as you see, we moved back here.”

John studied his friend. Leonidas looked as if he had been middle-aged for a long time and would remain middle-aged for quite a few years yet. His hair had not grayed much but was not so dark as to make him look any younger than he was. His face displayed wrinkles, but no more than might be expected with the passing of the years.

“Here is Helen now,” Leonidas said. He introduced a plump, matronly woman whose smiling face would not have launched a fishing boat.

“I'm so glad you came to visit, John,” Leonidas said. “I heard you had returned—who hasn't? But I thought it best not to intrude, knowing how…well, how you are about such matters.”

“I appreciate your consideration, Leonidas.”

The entrance opened onto the large familiar front room from which other doors led to bedrooms and a kitchen. There was still the faint odor of the strong fish sauce Leonidas' father had favored. Had Leonidas adopted his elder's taste as well as his looks, or had the aroma of so much cooking of fish over the years saturated the walls with an olfactory memory?

Leonidas invited John to sit down.

The dining table still sat by the row of windows lining the wall facing the street. Sunlight sparkled in through many small panes, illuminating the abstractly patterned floor tiles and the colorful but loosely rendered mythological scenes on the walls. The beaming sun, the beaming faces of the couple, gave the impression of a happy home.

With a slight smile John noticed the partridge, still occupying its wicker cage on a table in a corner, just as he remembered. But surely not the same partridge?

“That is Julius Caesar,” Leonidas told him. “Unlike his namesake, he can only dream of crossing the Rubicon, confined as he is.”

And never imagine a fatal dagger thrust through his feathers, John thought.

When Helen had gone for wine John said, “I am sorry to hear about your parents, Leonidas.”

“It was the Lord's will that they depart early. And you are no less an orphan than I am, my friend. I couldn't help noticing in the tax records years ago that Theophilus had sold the farm. Ah, I said to myself, so John's mother is gone now too.”

“Do you know the circumstances?” John asked, reluctant, not wanting to turn over the stones concealing the past but knowing it was what had to be done.

“No, John. I'm sorry. After you left the academy, I visited the farm more than once asking for news, but you didn't return and it finally became obvious you were never going to come back. Then, too, I disliked being anywhere near Theophilus. He made me feel unwelcome. I was afraid he was going to suddenly grab me and fling me out the door.”

“And my mother?” John's gaze met Leonidas'. They both knew what he meant. How many bruises did she have? How often were her eyes blackened?

“She was well, John. Truly.”

Perhaps she had given up the fight, John thought, or they had stopped quarreling over him once he had gone. Or was Leonidas trying to spare John's feeling? “There's something you aren't telling me?”

Leonidas looked sheepish. “Your mother was well when you first left but in more recent years…age wears us all down eventually. I met her in the marketplace from time to time and some years ago she suddenly couldn't remember who I was. I heard that the City Defender's men sometimes found her wandering around lost in parts of the city she shouldn't have ventured into. Finally, several years ago she stopped coming into town and a year or so later word got back to the city that she had died. Given her condition no one was surprised. Probably it was a blessing. This was right before Theophilus sold the farm.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me.” John had realized she was dead, but the manner of her passing distressed him. “What about Theophilus? I understand he fell on hard times after he sold the place.”

“I couldn't say. I am sorry I can't tell you more.” Leonidas' face darkened, as much as possible given its plain, good-natured features. “I suppose I should commiserate with you over the death of your stepfather.…” Leonidas took one of the cups Helen provided and poured wine. “I also know that however you felt about him, you would never have taken his life.”

John took a sip of wine without tasting it. “You have heard the rumors.”

“All nonsense.”

John took another sip. Not Falernian, but not what might be sold in a tavern either. “I went to the house where Alexis lived, but the family had gone.”

“You haven't visited him yet? He went into the church. He's the abbot at Saint Stephen's Monastery, next to your estate. The local bishop is of advanced age and it is said Alexis could well be considered as a replacement. Our son, Stephen, decided to enter the church. He is presently a monk there.”

John reflected that the church was more and more becoming a favored career path. He asked Leonidas how his own fortunes had fared.

“Very well, John. I followed my father and work on tax collection records. Of course, compared to what you've accomplished…”

“You mean managing to be exiled with the emperor liable any day to change his mind about the wisdom of leaving my head attached to my shoulders?”

“There it is, you see. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, John. I am perfectly happy with the life I have. I've never wished for what some would call a big life. A big life often means big tribulations.”

“You always spoke of seeing the world. Were you ever able to travel?”

Leonidas shrugged and blushed slightly. “Well, I have seen Athens!”

“We're going to visit the Holy Land someday,” Helen put in.

“Oh, yes,” Leonidas' eyes lit up. “I study every travel account I can find. As soon as there's time and money, we'll go. Well, as soon as there's time. I suppose I've spent as much on studying as several trips would have cost.”

“He knows Strabo by heart,” Helen said. “He can tell you how long it should take to ride between every way station from here to Jerusalem, along five different routes.”

“Six now, and I'm starting to plan a seventh—” He broke off. “But I will not bore you, my friend. You have seen the world. Rather than prattling on about my plans I should be asking you about the adventures you've had.”

“My travels have not always been pleasant.”

“I suppose not. Of course, everyone in Megara knows of you. When a native of a place such as this rises to the post of Lord Chamberlain, news soon reaches us.”

“From the attitudes I've encountered so far, I would rather they didn't know who I was or what post I held.”

Leonidas waved a hand in dismissive fashion. “We don't all share the same attitude. There are troublemakers everywhere. Diocles, for instance. The rascal's been spreading rumors since he left your employment. There is great deal of enmity toward you in Megara. I happened to be in the marketplace the other day when your servants were attacked. I had been doing my best to defend your reputation. Little good it did. Are they all right?”

“Yes. Fortunately.”

“Leonidas,” said Helen. “Show your old friend your work.”

Leonidas reddened again. “Helen, I'm sure he doesn't—”

“Of course I should like to see it!”

“I'll light the lamp.” Helen hurried through the doorway in the wall opposite the row of windows. By the time John and Leonidas had stepped into the tiny windowless room it was illuminated brightly.

“You remember my bedroom?” Leonidas asked.

“How would I forget a room painted with scenes from the Odyssey?” The Cyclops, the cannibalistic Laestrygonians, Aeolus and his winds, shades from the underworld, but not the sirens or Circe or Calypso. It was a room for a young boy.

“It was our son's too. But now it is mine again.”

Tables of all kinds and shapes and every number and arrangement of legs stood against the walls. For an embarrassed instant John was afraid Leonidas was going to tell him he collected tables. Then he noticed displayed on a single-legged stand a model of the pyramids, and next to it, on a marble slab supported by four lion's legs, the Parthenon.

“You see this?” Leonidas directed John's attention to a miniature re-creation of a high wall featuring a wide gate. “This is Troy, or the walls, at least. More accurately, improved walls. For several years now I have been pondering how the city might have been better defended and making adjustments to my model as they come to me. What I wanted to show you first, though, was my Constantinople.”

Helen moved away from the largest table, allowing John the view gulls enjoy looking down on the Great Palace and its tiered gardens, the Great Church, part of the Mese.

“It's nothing but clay and paint, a little marble, plenty of wood, brick. Just bits of everything.” Leonidas' voice rose with excitement.

“It is remarkable,” John said and meant it. “And amazingly accurate so far as I can tell. Though I have never flown over the capital to be able to look down on it. Where did you find your descriptions?”

“I'm always on the lookout for any kind of travel writing or history or treatise on architecture. And I've arranged interviews with visitors from the capital and people who have journeyed there. I hope that you will be able to assist me. I would like to try my hand at the Great Palace.”

“I can describe the grounds and buildings to you in detail, when there's time.”

Helen smiled with evident pride. “Any emperor can expand the empire but how many men could shrink it to this size?”

Seeing the couple standing there looking down on the tiny city, John recalled the statue of Zeus he still had to inspect, and couldn't help comparing Leonidas and Helen to Zeus and Hera gazing down from Olympus.

“Who could want anything more?” Leonidas observed, displaying the uncanny ability he'd always had of seeming to read John's thoughts. “From our little home, Helen and I can see to the ends of the world. And I actually know the emperor's Lord Chamberlain and a man who will, one day soon I wager, be raised to bishop. I have been blessed.”

Chapter Nineteen

Alexis led John into the monastery library. John could hardly recognize him. The unruly hair of the impulsive young prankster John remembered had receded, revealing the broad forehead of one who thinks deeply. The perpetually flushed cheeks had grown hollow, the full lips, spouting every kind of juvenile outrage, were narrowed. What struck John most were the eyes, once gleaming with mischief, now vague and staring as if focused on some distant vision. The face might have been formed by years of living on prayer under a desert sun, but so far as John was aware, Alexis had never left the comforts of Megara.

“And so you have returned after all these years,” Alexis said. “When we were boys, who would have thought we would take such different journeys?”

They sat at a long table piled with codices and many scrolls, most of obvious antiquity. There was as much papyrus as parchment. The sun, near setting, had tinted the walls of the whitewashed room gold, now gradually turning to orange.

“Some of our holdings have taken equally long journeys, and I think you will find looking at a few of great interest.” Alexis turned to address the young monk who had entered bearing a polished wood box. “There you are, Stephen. Yes, that's the box I want. Some of the greatest rarities I keep under lock and key,” he explained to John. “And this is Leonidas' son. Stephen, our visitor is an old friend of your father's and has just come from his house.”

“I am honored to meet you.”

At Alexis' instruction, Stephen began to light lamps in the wall niches.

Alexis pulled a ragged sheet of parchment from the box, holding it to catch the last light from the windows.

“Yes, this is the document I mentioned. A few lines on the worship of Demeter in this area, written by an anonymous monk some centuries ago. There is nothing left but this badly decayed piece of parchment. Nevertheless, it is fascinating if fragmentary. Perhaps you could read it aloud to refresh my memory?”

John took the brittle sheet and began to read. “The goddess' daughter stolen by…pigs driven into a chasm…remains later retrieved for certain rites…initiation…torchlit procession…sacred basket an important ritualistic artifact…little is known of mysteries of the higher grades…”

Fragmentary was a charitable description, John thought.

“There is great antiquarian interest in these old religions,” Alexis tucked the sheet gently back into the box. “Though spending so much time poring over ancient texts has made my eyes dimmer than they should be at my age. Stephen, you may return this to my study now.”

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.”