Five for Silver: A John, the Lord Chamberlain Mystery (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Smoke lay along the Mese, emulating early morning fog on a river. John strode through the swirling gloom, deep in thought. He had not gone directly to his next interview. Instead he had walked in the opposite direction.

He needed time to gather his thoughts. More importantly, he urgently needed to return to his house.

Someone had died.

As he left Glykeria, that conviction had formed in his mind. Where it had come from, he could not say.

Sobs greeted him as he entered his atrium.

John’s footsteps slowed as he ascended the stairway. In the kitchen Europa sat beside Hypatia, a hand resting lightly on the young woman’s shaking shoulders. Tears shone on Hypatia’s cheeks.

Europa murmured to her as John entered. The words did nothing to abate Hypatia’s tears. She let her head fall forward to rest against her hands, folded together on the table.

Not folded in prayer, John realized, for the fists clenched spasmodically, as if trying to stave off unbearable pain.

Europa looked up at her father. “It’s that bastard Pamphilos.”

“Pamphilos?”

“Her special patient. He’s discarded her. That’s exactly what he said when she went to see him at the hospice this morning, that he was discarding her. He said he was to leave and he couldn’t very well be dragging back out all his dirty blankets and soiled clothing and sluts like her with him. How could anyone be so cruel to someone who cared about them?”

John’s mouth tightened. Evidently Hektor had taken his warning to heart. “It may not seem so at present, but ultimately the break will be for the best.”

Hypatia sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

“Do you know,” Europa informed John, “that young villain told her to keep the ring he’d given her. Called it payment for her services. Needless to say, it’s worth hardly anything. Pamphilos would probably have thrown it away eventually. A ring off a dead man’s finger. What sort of token of affection is that?”

Hypatia opened her fist to reveal the silver band she had been holding. “I shall get rid of it right now!”

Before she could throw the ring into the brazier, Europa grabbed her wrist and managed to extract the unwanted gift from her hand. “You shouldn’t…”

Glancing in the direction of Europa’s reproachful look, John observed a bowl containing several pieces of a clay cup sitting by the brazier.

“That ring was lucky, master. I believe it saved his life. He brought it out of the tower of the dead with him,” Hypatia said mournfully.

“He brought it out of the tower?” John took the ring from Europa and turned it around between his fingers.

Hypatia looked stricken. “Please don’t think Pamphilos is a thief, master. He was carried into the hospice clutching that ring. He said he’d grabbed it as he fought his way upwards, that it had came off some poor soul’s hand…”

“Don’t defend him, Hypatia,” snapped Europa. “Whether or not he’s a thief, he’s still a villain.”

John examined the ring closely. It was a strange piece of jewelry. A bent silver coin, to which a band had been attached.

Yet it was not surprising Hypatia had considered it a good luck charm since it bore a likeness of Fortuna.

“Hypatia, does this remind you of anything?” he asked.

The young woman shook her head.

The image was worn, but John had recognized it. If he were not mistaken, he had recently seen an identical portrait of Fortuna. “Is Peter…?”

As if conjured forth by the words, the elderly servant hobbled through the kitchen doorway. “Master! I thought I heard your voice. As you see, the Lord has decided to send me back to work.”

Hardly realizing he did so, John murmured thanks to Mithra.

“Well, master, if you choose to use that name, I am sure the Lord will not mind,” Peter observed mildly.

Europa stepped quickly to the servant’s side. “You’re too weak to be up and about. Didn’t I tell you to rest?”

Peter reddened. “Master, I did not mean to disobey your daughter, but you see…”

“Never mind, Peter. The household has become rather complicated of late.”

In John’s imagination Cornelia was looking on with satisfaction. “You see,” he could almost hear her say, “Europa is perfectly capable of taking charge. You could join me this very day with no fear for her well-being.”

He had had too little sleep, John told himself. The room felt very hot. A droplet of perspiration ran down his neck.

“Peter, the coin in your bedroom. The one from Derbe.” John held the ring out. “This was made from a very similar one.”

“Of course it is, master. Gregory had his made into a ring. Was it found on him?”

“Gregory wasn’t wearing the ring,” John replied. “It came off someone else’s hand. I have no doubt it was the hand of the thief who murdered your friend. I regret I cannot bring the man to justice, Peter. He was dead of the plague before I even began my search.”

“Peter, I’d like you to have it as a reminder of your friendship with Gregory,” Hypatia put in.

Peter accepted the ring gratefully. His weathered features tightened with perplexity. “Master, can you ever forgive me?” he finally said, his voice cracking. “I see now my error…the angel who visited me…its message…” He fell silent.

“What is it? You have nothing to apologize for as far as I’m concerned.”

“But I do, master. I misinterpreted the angel’s message. Now I see the truth of it. The heavenly messenger wasn’t instructing me to seek justice for Gregory. It was telling me that justice had already been done.”

***

Justice had not quite been done regarding another matter, John told himself as he left his house and set off. Undertaking the task the angel’s message had appeared to place before him had not been futile.

Not that John believed in such heavenly messengers any more than he believed in the pronouncements of oracles.

Yet what of the conviction that had sent him home, expecting the worst, only to find Peter recovered and an unexpected solution to Gregory’s murder?

Although, he thought, not so much the solution as confirmation of the conclusion he had already reached, that Gregory’s death had been nothing more than a random street crime.

Nevertheless, like Peter, John still had work to do.

Rounding the corner of the excubitor barracks across the square from his house, he met a figure shuffling slowly along, head down.

“Anatolius!”

His friend’s face was ashen and when he looked up his eyes were as lifeless as those of the statues adorning the baths.

“Anatolius, what is it? You’ve not been taken ill?”

The younger man said nothing. He gave no indication he’d even heard the question.

John had the impression that had he not been in his path, Anatolius would have continued past without even acknowledging him.

He laid his hand on Anatolius’ arm. “Senator Balbinus has died, is that it?”

“No, John,” Anatolius choked out. “Not Balbinus. Lucretia. Lucretia has died.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Xanthe opened Nereus’ door, her sleeping baby draped like a sack over one shoulder. “Prudentius can’t see anyone.”

John stepped past the girl. “You are Sappho,” he told her.

The girl stared in amazement, lips slightly parted.

“Those teeth you’re missing. That’s Triton’s work, isn’t it? A violent man. What is his son’s name?”

The girl shut the door quietly.

John looked around the semi-deserted atrium. The few residents in evidence sat or lay quietly. It was as if a great storm had swept through the building, blowing most of the household away, leaving the rest stunned and silent.

“I called myself Sappho once,” the girl admitted. “Xanthe is my real name.” She gently stroked her baby’s back. “He doesn’t have a name yet. Or, rather, he did, but Prudentius said he wouldn’t allow him to bear the one Triton wanted. But how could you guess I was Sappho?”

“You completed the pattern, Xanthe. I realized there was some connection between Prudentius and Nereus. I originally thought he was the man’s lawyer, but it transpired he wasn’t. You’re the link. You mentioned you’d worked for Prudentius for some time. That was before you moved in with Triton, wasn’t it?”

She nodded wordlessly

John explained the solution had became evident by a slow accumulation of small pieces of information, none very striking by themselves, but together forming a clear picture.

“The woman who rented lodgings to Triton described his living with a young woman practicing a questionable profession,” John began. “Your master said that Nereus had confided his fear that just such a woman would become involved with his son.”

Xanthe was silent.

“Then I discovered someone with a similar past living in the household of a lawyer with whom Nereus had had correspondence, even though he was not his customary legal advisor. And this moreover was a lawyer whom the son had threatened over his supposed theft of something belonging to him. That was extremely suggestive.”

He paused. “Then too I couldn’t find any trace of the actress with whom Triton had been living, one who apparently hadn’t returned to her former profession after leaving him. A bear trainer told me he thought he had seen her, but where had she gone?”

Xanthe knuckled a tear away from the corner of her eye.

“Recently, for no apparent reason, I suddenly became convinced there was some link between the missing Sappho and Neptune. But what could it be, apart from the names of two of the parties involved and the fact that Nereus made his fortune from the sea? Then, as I reconsidered my conversation with Triton’s landlady, I suddenly grasped the importance of something she had mentioned in passing,”

He went on. “It was connected with Neptune’s horses. They have golden manes. Your name means golden or yellow. If you had not had the pretty conceit of always wearing saffron-colored garments during the time you went by the name of Sappho, it’s possible I would never have made the final leap, connecting the sordid life of a brutal man to a young servant with an infant.”

Xanthe looked at her sleeping son. “Triton thought I should support him. It was the final straw. But Nereus did not tell Prudentius the entire story, Lord Chamberlain. What he feared would happen had already taken place. He somehow found out about me. He hated me. After all, I wasn’t a suitable companion for his useless drunkard of a son, was I?” She smiled wanly.

“Nereus discovered your background and demanded your former employer intercede?”

Xanthe drew herself up proudly. “Not at all. I left Triton and returned to Prudentius’ service by my own choice. Afterwards, Nereus came here, asking Prudentius to keep me away from Triton. Then Triton showed up at the house door demanding Prudentius return what he had stolen. He thought he owned me because I’d married him, you see.”

“And you bore his child.”

“The marriage was a mistake.”

“Was it? Considering he was the only son of an extremely wealthy man?”

Xanthe made no reply.

“On my first visit here, one of the beggars remarked that you are Prudentius’ favorite,” John finally said. “I couldn’t help noticing Prudentius has a special fondness for you, and such conversations between you as I witnessed tended to support the notion. Is it possible Prudentius wishes to marry you?”

Xanthe’s mouth trembled. “Prudentius is dying.”

***

John followed Xanthe through the garden. Above them, Ezra the stylite mumbled a mournful hymn. John could distinguish occasional phrases. Christ the physician, come to treat ailing mankind. A spear and nails for surgical instruments, vinegar to treat its wounds. His robe for a dressing. By suffering He will end all suffering.

John thought that if suffering could really end suffering there would have long since been no pain left in the world.

“Here he is.” Xanthe stopped beside Prudentius’ door, which faced into the garden peristyle.

Yet another door, John thought.

The last door.

“The sickness came upon him suddenly. It is the worst sort.” Tears rolled down her face.

John stepped alone into Prudentius’ darkened room.

Its smell overwhelmed the senses, a heavy sweetness overlaid with the ripe odor of decay.

Prudentius lay propped up on his narrow pallet. The elongated rectangle of bright light falling through the open door lay across a figure which appeared to have already collapsed in on itself. The lawyer’s hands lay motionless at his sides. Only glittering eyes under bristling brows gave any hint of life.

Prudentius blinked, dazzled, at the tall, elegant figure silhouetted in the nimbus of light streaming in from outside.

When John shut the door, the only illumination was from bars of light filtering in through cracks in the closed shutters.

“I knew you would come for me,” Prudentius gasped, his voice as distant as a whisper from the grave. “I am ready.”

John stepped forward until he stood by the dying man’s bedside. “You murdered Triton.”

Prudentius released a long whistling breath that carried a faint denial.

“Why wasn’t Triton suspicious of the smoked cheese you gave him, considering the enmity he’d shown you? Was it presented as being a gift of reconciliation from his father? Its unusual taste would have masked whatever poison you used,” John continued. “Naturally people took the cause of his death to be the plague. When Cador delivered Nereus’ letter and with it the news that Nereus had died, you questioned him closely.”

The dying man stared wordlessly at him.

“You asked Cador the things a lawyer would need to know, and so discovered he was among the witnesses to Nereus’ final will,” John went on. “He didn’t need to tell you he could not hear since it became obvious during your conversation, at which point you realized at once Nereus’ oral will was invalid. Since his intent was to disinherit Triton, obviously this meant under the original will the estate would pass to Triton, or through him to his heir, Nereus’ grandson. Who just happened to be living here with his mother under your protection.”

Prudentius remained silent.

“So simple, isn’t it?” John went on. “Even if Cador died, any of the other servants, Sylvanus for example, would testify to the fact the man was deaf.”

“It was Nereus’ wish to disinherit his son…” Prudentius protested feebly. “I exerted no influence on him regarding the matter…Nereus agreed to assist me with my philanthropy…The letter Cador brought concerned certain…financial arrangements to this end…”

“Whatever you choose to call them, those payments were to ensure you kept Xanthe well away from Triton. However, once you realized the will under which Triton inherited his father’s wealth was still valid, you murdered Triton so that his son, his legitimate and only child, would inherit instead. In the end, the real key to this final door was Triton’s murder, which was not directly connected with the witnesses I sought so hard to find, and yet everything to do with the will.”

John paused for an instant. “Tell me, would Xanthe and the boy have long survived her marriage to you, Prudentius?”

Prudentius made a sound that was a sigh or a murmured prayer. One of his hands twitched weakly, unable to rise from the coverlet.

“I care deeply about them both…but surely you have come to take me to heaven, holy one? I have given all I can in charity. I could have done so much more with Nereus’ wealth…You understand, I am certain…Hurry! The others are coming. Don’t you hear them scratching? Their wings beating? Don’t let them drag me away!”

The frail body trembled.

Understanding dawned on John.

“Who do you suppose I am, Prudentius?”

“Why, you are an angel, of course, a messenger from heaven…which ordained Cador should serve as a witness and then sent him to me…The Lord knew how difficult it has been for me to continue my good works, to care for all my charges…It was a miracle.”

The rasping, fading voice trailed away. The lawyer’s lips continued to form words without enough breath to animate them.

John bent and put his face next to the dying man’s.

“…deserved to die,” Prudentius was whispering. “The plague might have taken him soon enough anyway. He would have squandered everything and what would my poor family have done then? I was heaven’s tool, nothing more.”

His head jerked to one side and he stared into the shadows. “They’re here…please, holy one…they’re here! No! Let go!”

Prudentius let out a strangled shriek.

John took a step away.

Prudentius’ hand shot out and clutched John’s garment.

“Don’t go! Take me with you! I had to kill him, don’t you see? To help my family…I was merely serving the Lord as best I could.”

The hand on John’s robe lost its grip and fell away.

Prudentius stared fixedly at John. “I beg you, holy one. Tell me whether or not heaven has forgiven me…”

John looked down at the tormented face.

He did not reply.