Murder in Megara (20 page)

Chapter Forty-two

“But you turned my house upside 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.”

“Another commission from Halmus?” John asked.

“No. I'm repairing chamber pots for the hospice at Saint Stephen's. I do work for Halmus from time to time. If your craftsmanship is the best, naturally he hires you. Is it now a crime to work for Halmus?”

“John claims he found an allegedly counterfeit coin while he was trespassing on Halmus' property,” Georgios said.

“So I am a counterfeiter now? As if there aren't other blacksmiths in Megara or close by.”

“Leonidas confirmed the coin was counterfeit,” John observed.

Georgios grimaced. “He's accused of crimes himself. Who could be more reliable? And yet here I am conducting a search at the behest of a murder suspect whose servant is also a suspect in criminal activities, not to mention Leonidas, and all three running loose. Never tell me I am not a fair man.”

“How could you keep Leonidas imprisoned when the abbot vouched for him personally?”

“Ah, I had forgotten the abbot. Petrus is doing work for him at present. Does that make Alexis a suspect as well?”

Petrus had a copper pot on an anvil and was whacking it resoundingly with a hammer, working out dents and his own anger.

John noticed the motif on its sides was a columned temple. “That's an odd design for a monastery.”

Petrus threw his hammer down. “What do you expect on a chamber pot?”

“Do you do much work for the monastery?” Georgios asked.

“A little. I work for churches also. In fact, Halmus occasionally hires me to do church work as a form of charity. Then again there was the birdcage I made to specifications supplied by a woman who did not seem the sort of lady one would expect to keep birds. Some of the iron figures applied to it were remarkably lascivious. I had to instruct the younger estate workers to keep away from my forge while I was working. And what sort of bird goes in a cage so large it needs to be hauled away on a wagon?”

“You've made your point, Petrus. You do a varied business,” Georgios replied.

The blacksmith shrugged and sighed. “Mostly it's various farm tools, occasionally plows.”

“Is James the fish merchant a client?” Georgios asked.

Petrus rubbed his chin. “I may have done a few little commissions for him long ago. He's a rich man though he doesn't look it, does he?”

“The arsonists who attacked the other night were led by the fish seller, and they were armed with illegal weapons,” John said to Georgios. “I realize the law in its vast wisdom has decreed they were all possessed by demons but demons don't supply swords or conjure them out of thin air.”

“Demons!” Petrus exclaimed. “They say demons dance in that pagan temple. Oh, I've seen strange lights and weird shadows myself over there at night. Perhaps the weapons James and his criminal friends displayed were forged in the fires of hell?”

“It is about as likely as them being forged by you, Petrus.” Georgios said. Turning to John he added, “Just because something is possible doesn't make it so. I don't see what leads you to believe manufacture of illegal weapons is taking place on your estate.”

John again outlined how the concealed message concerning the iron shipment had led him, eventually, to suspect such activity.

“You told me this on our way here, but it doesn't strike me as sufficient grounds for suspicion.”

John wondered whether the additional information he had learned during his visit to Lechaion would strengthen the case in Georgios' eyes, but thought it prudent to say nothing.

“It all sounds the sort of tale spun by poets and other rogues,” said Petrus.

Georgios' men began to straggle back from their assigned search areas, reporting that, as on their previous visit, they had found nothing incriminating.

Petrus had abandoned his work and begun to pace impatiently. “If I had crates of swords hidden away don't you think you would have stumbled across them the first time? Now why don't you tell me you believe I killed Diocles as well as my other crimes?”

A guard appeared and gestured to Georgios, who went over, conferred with him, and returned holding a clay jar he set on the workbench. “What are you doing with these?” he asked, lifting the lid to reveal a veritable hoard of small bronze coins.

Petrus looked puzzled. “Oh, that's just some coins I keep on hand. I clear them out of my money pouch every so often. The whole jarful's practically worthless.”

Georgios replaced the lid. He looked thoughtful. “Worthless for buying much, I agree, but useful for making coin molds.”

Chapter Forty-three

The City Defender and his men had departed empty-handed and John, returning from the futile search, mulled over the lack of evidence concerning what he was convinced was a web of illegal activities taking place on his estate.

There was certainly a traceable chain of connections between its various residents and criminal activity, he thought as he walked slowly home, but proving it was the difficulty. A jar of bronze coins, like so much of what John had discovered, was suggestive but did not qualify as proof of anything. How could he describe his theories to Georgios if he were asked to do so?

To begin with, during John's visit to Corinth's port he learned Theophilus had been regularly involved in activities that would not bear close scrutiny. His stepfather's criminal associate, during his visit to John's rented room, had indicated Theophilus, among other things, smuggled many goods, including iron. Which would not need to be kept secret unless for the purpose to which it was to be put by the recipient, in this case the man in charge, or in other words, the overseer Diocles. Where could Diocles have sent iron, except to Petrus who worked with it? And Lucian the tenant farmer had been willing to hide Diocles despite John's order the latter should leave the estate immediately. So there were links between all four men, given Lucian would not run the risk of losing his tenancy unless for a very good reason.

Looking further afield, there was what had been established as a counterfeit coin brought back by John from Halmus' artificial cave. Was that only a coincidence? Such coins circulated and this one could have come from anywhere in the district—Leonidas had handled enough at the tax office to have made a modest collection of counterfeits—but it was suggestive one such would have been found in the possession of a man who had business dealings with Diocles.

Admittedly, that was not a strong link, but let it stand for now. John came to a halt at the top of a rise and scanned the glistening sea below. Like his musings, the waters washing at the shore were always in motion, but moved back and forth over the same place.

John thought of Halmus gazing down from his pillar at the citizens of Megara flowing into the marketplace to eddy around its shops and merchants' carts. Strange predilections for a businessman, haranguing the world from atop a column and retreating to an artificial cave to meditate. Denouncing the wickedness of the world might not be considered suspicious, but wouldn't residing in his cave permit him to be in two places at once? While all of Megara thought he was secluded in his garden, he would be free to do business elsewhere without anyone being tempted to pry into his activities.

Was it a fantastic notion? Peter had disputed Halmus' description of the burning bush supposedly seen during a pilgrimage he claimed to have taken. Why lie about such a matter? Unless he had never gone on that pilgrimage, but had been doing something else during his absence?

John resumed walking. The waves whispered on the shore, their message unintelligible.

He considered the mob that had attacked the estate in his absence. Where had their illegal weapons come from? Could the seller of fish have obtained them from the estate or even from Halmus, who as a fellow businessman he must know well? It was possible in Halmus' absences he was making secret sales of weapons, manufactured perhaps by Petrus.

So the circle of suspects returned to the estate, yet the only evidence John had of any of these deductions was a single counterfeit coin, a secret message regarding a shipment of iron, and fraudulent estate accounts.

And none of his theories explained why his stepfather and Diocles had been murdered or if Lucian was indeed also involved and, if so, what assistance he had been contributing.

As he neared home and saw lights glimmering from the windows a thought came to mind. The mysterious criminal web might be hidden in darkness at present but morning would inevitably come and all be revealed in due course in the burning light of Mithra's sun.

There must be more evidence. But with no assistance as would have been the case in Constantinople, finding it would mean another nocturnal journey around the estate.

***

What John mistook for a puddle in the darkness was a water-filled depression. He suppressed a curse at the shock of cold water rising over his knee as his foot plunged into mud below. Then, thankfully, he stopped sinking. He stood motionless, listening for any sign that someone had heard his blundering. There were only the rasping songs of insects.

Around him, in the hollow, he could dimly make out grassy hummocks and scattered trees interspersed with the shining, featureless black glass of water. Shallow surely? Lucian wouldn't let his pigs wallow where they might drown. Despite the dry conditions there remained a considerable amount of water here, doubtless due to the location containing springs.

He tried to raise his imprisoned foot. The mud resisted. He pulled harder and his foot came loose, leaving its boot behind. He had to dig into the mire to retrieve it.

The air was ripe with the scent of decay and swine. A cloud of mosquitoes followed him as he searched. A lean Greek mostly covered in a tunic was no substitute for a fat, naked hog, but tonight John was all that was available. He waved at the swarming fog, tried to avoid the droning fliers.

Only a fool would search this pestilent pig wallow, which was exactly why John was here. What better hiding spot than a place where no one but pigs would bother to venture?

A cluster of sickly trees visible against the night sky marked a patch of solid ground near the middle of the boggy area. He made his way to it, clambering over rotting logs, some moss-furred and others slimy. It would be safer but inconvenient to submerge what one wished to conceal hereabouts.

On the island, thorny bushes filled the spaces between stunted trees. John wondered where Lucian kept his pigs at night. Swine could be aggressive, another reason why no one was likely to be trespassing into the wallow.

He didn't relish the idea of waking a monstrous sleeping hog. He took out his knife, though the blade was not long enough to penetrate far into the flesh of a good-sized hog.

Exploring the brush turned out to be noisier than he would have preferred. Finally he came upon the sort of structure he had expected, a crude lean-to, built against a low earth bank. Ducking inside he could make out straw, which on investigation covered shallow pits.

Clearing away straw, his hand encountered iron rods of the kind used as raw material by blacksmiths. Another pit held a bundle of swords wrapped in rags. Most of the swords were of double-edged military quality.

Lucian's role then was to conceal both the weapons Petrus manufactured and the raw materials he used. He had doubtless profited from his cooperation. Diocles had after all allowed Lucian to expand his farm beyond its agreed limits, and he also probably shared in the profits.

Philip was waiting for John when he emerged from the structure.

Placing the fire-sharpened tip of his staff against John's chest to keep him at arm's length and away from John's drawn blade, the young man waited until he was recognized and then lowered his weapon. “I could easily have killed you.”

“For inspecting my own estate? I'm pleased to see you are doing the job you are paid for.”

“You made a lot of noise, sir. Certainly you have the right to be here, although it puts me in an awkward position.”

“You know there are illegal weapons stored here?”

“Of course not. And even if I did I am not going to betray my father.”

“You have just betrayed him, Philip. If there was nothing to betray why would you say you would refuse to do it?”

Philip pointed his staff again. “I won't be dragged in as a witness against him, sir. If I should be, I shall deny all knowledge of anything illegal occurring on your land. Besides, I believe the City Defender is being bribed to turn a blind eye.”

“Explain.”

“Why do you think he released your servant and you are still a free man? Why has so little been done in the matter of Theophilus' murder? I predict the death of Diocles will not be investigated to any great extent either. The City Defender wants as little attention as possible directed at this estate.”

“Perhaps your father should not have hidden Diocles.”

“Only temporarily. He ordered him to leave. The City Defender is corrupt and also he is not to be trusted.”

John realized the allegation also shed light on the release of James, the seller of fish, caught red-handed with an illegal weapon and in the company of arsonists, and his only defense that of possession by a demon. “Your accusation suggests there is something to be discovered.”

“I am not clever with words, sir, but I can tell you that it's fortunate the City Defender is corrupt. If it were not so I would kill you to protect my father.” Despite the threat, Philip's voice shook.

“And you would no doubt have a story ready to explain my death. After all, you are my head watchman. A mistaken identity on a dark night and an unfortunate accident suggests itself as an easy way to ensure my silence.”

Philip shifted his staff. “Not everyone in Megara takes murder lightly, sir. If I were inclined to kill you I would have done it when you told me Hypatia was married to that ancient servant of yours. Please consider, wouldn't it be best for everyone if it was agreed you would not interfere in what is going on?”

John pointed out as owner he was legally responsible for any criminal activities on the estate.

“Indeed,” came the reply. “But if nobody knows about any so-called misdeeds, where is the responsibility? You don't have to contribute anything but your silence. That's the only assistance I give. I told father I would not join him and his associates. He therefore tells me nothing.”

“Nevertheless, the emperor's laws are being broken.”

“I am surprised you would care about the emperor who has exiled you, sir. But as a matter of fact, the City Defender is the law in Megara, not the emperor.”

“Only if the emperor allows Georgios to have free rein.”

“Besides, I am more concerned with your welfare than the emperor. It would suit us all for you to remain here and for the whole situation to be stable.”

“And Peter is very old and may soon leave Hypatia a widow,” John suggested.

“I am not ashamed to admit I recognize the truth of that, sir. But, think, your silence would change nothing. Matters would simply go on as they always have, which is what everyone wants. Leave us to live our lives and we will leave you to live yours.”

***

“Stop right there, John. Don't take another step. Turn around. Now,” Cornelia continued crossly, “straight to the bath. I'll bring you fresh clothes.”

He was sluicing muck off himself when she arrived with a fresh tunic and boots. Cornelia dropped the clothing on a bench and stood by the side of the basin. “You're even filthier than you were after your visit to Halmus. I don't even like to think where you've been this time, although from the smell I would guess a cesspool.”

John described his search of Lucian's farm and his encounter with Philip, all the while scrubbing himself diligently.

“Do you think Philip intends to try to reconcile his father and the others with you?”

“Just empty talk, I hope. If he tells Lucian about finding me at the weapons cache…well…” John dipped his head into the water gingerly, to wet his hair and avoid saying anything further.

“It's all very well, unraveling these criminal enterprises, but who killed Theophilus and Diocles? Do you have any notion?”