Mary Reed: Six for Gold

The captain stared over Anatolius’ shoulder for a short time as if considering the question, then slammed his cup down, splashing wine on the scantily clad women dancing lewdly in the fresco beside them.

“That’s it, Anatolius!” he roared. “I know what you’re going to complain about. You’re going to complain that I’ve taken up gambling again even though it’s my business, not yours! Not to mention just a small wager now and then doesn’t hurt anyone…”

“I was going to say you’re intoxicated-”

“Now there you’re totally wrong! Totally! Totally, totally wrong…”

Anatolius decided Felix could not possibly have got so inebriated in the short time he’d been inside the tavern. He must have begun drinking not long after he rolled out of bed.

“Who was that man who just left? Someone you’ve been placing bets with, I’ll wager!”

A huge grin parted Felix’s unkempt beard. “You’ll wager? You criticize me for betting, but you’ll wager?” He started to laugh.

“Proprietor!” he yelled. “Listen to this jest! The gentleman here questions my wagering yet he bets himself! Did you ever hear anything more comical?”

“Yes, I have,” replied the man from the other end of the tavern. “Mostly concerning the empress!”

Anatolius waited for the captain’s mirth to subside. “Felix, you can’t become involved in wagering again. You know you swore you were finished with that years ago.”

Felix grunted. “Shows what you know. The man I was speaking to isn’t a gambler. He’s a horse trainer. How could I wager with the races cancelled thanks to this pestilence? But I am keeping informed. I am an informed man. Very, very informed.”

He took another gulp of what remained of his wine. “I know the Greens lost their best horses last week. I wager you didn’t know that! That’s how informed I am. The owner sold them, you see. Race horses are worth more to butchers than bettors these days.”

Anatolius suddenly felt queasy. He couldn’t help wondering whether Francio, the universal gourmet, might not have taken the opportunity to sample the flesh of a Hippodrome champion.

“More than one person has remarked to me that fewer people seem to be dying,” he replied. “The emperor and empress have returned to the palace, as you know well enough. Would they put themselves in danger if it were not true?”

“Fewer people are dying because there’s hardly anyone left to die,” Felix pointed out.

It was possibly true, Anatolius thought uneasily. The plague seemed determined to linger until Constantinople was deserted.

“Felix, I know there is no official investigation, but have you found anything out about the murder of Senator Symacchus? Anything to free John of suspicion?”

Felix tugged at his beard. “No. Not a thing. What could there be? John was there when we arrived. I saw him myself. He was standing over the body.”

“But he denied killing the senator.”

“He didn’t deny it when we arrived at the Hippodrome. Took one look at us and ran. It’s not like John at all. What in Mithra’s name does it all mean? That’s what I want to know. It’s a puzzle. A puzzling puzzle.”

Felix attempted to pick up his partly filled cup and knocked it over. The proprietor lumbered over with a rag almost before the rosy stream hit the straw on the floor. Anatolius’ glare forced him away again.

“And why did you happen to be at the Hippodrome with so many men at that specific time, Felix?”

“I’ve explained already.”

“You haven’t.”

“I haven’t?” Felix frowned. He looked genuinely perplexed. “But why was that?”

“Felix, I can’t tell you why you didn’t tell me. Just tell me now, would you? Why were you there?”

“A fellow came and told me,” Felix explained. “Said a senator was being murdered in the Hippodrome.”

“A fellow?”

“A man. A stranger. Came into my office. And he was right. I raced over with my men, but Symacchus was already dead.”

“Wasn’t that a bit unusual?”

“I wouldn’t say so. Once the cord was around his neck he didn’t have a chance.”

“I meant wasn’t it unusual for someone to go to your office to report an impending murder? Most people would rush to the nearest barracks, don’t you think? Or stop a guard on the street?”

“Perhaps he worked at the palace and naturally thought of the excubitors first?”

Anatolius nodded eagerly. “Good! Now we’re on the track of something useful. What makes you say that? Think? Was it the way he dressed? Was the face familiar because you’d passed by him in a hallway or seen him on the palace grounds?”

Felix shook his big head like a petulant child. “I can’t say how he was dressed. What do you take me for, one of Theodora’s ladies-in-waiting? An expert on sartorial elegance? Yet sometimes I wonder at that, considering the type of tasks Justinian orders me to carry out.”

Anatolius stood. It was obvious he wouldn’t get anything useful out of Felix in his current state. His immediate problem now was seeing the captain home in one piece. “Come on, Felix.”

The dim room darkened further. He noticed the proprietor had blocked the doorway with his considerable girth. He flipped him a coin and the man moved aside.

Felix remained seated. “You go ahead. I need another cup of wine. Or two. Or even more.”

Anatolius sighed. Trying to shift the big excubitor from his chair would be like trying to move a boulder with a twig.

“Here’s something you’ll like, Felix,” he said with a grin. “I’ll wager you can’t get from here to your house without falling into the gutter.”

“The next thing I knew I was lying in the alley and…” Peter’s voice cracked as he forced the words out. “…The last few coins were gone, master.”

The servant hid his anguished face in his hands.

Peter, Cornelia, and John sat in a wide doorway on a street not far from the hostelry where they had spent the night.

The sun had passed its zenith, but heat still lay honey-like upon Alexandria. The city seemed quiet, John thought. Had they already become accustomed to its raucous patchwork of sounds-the rattle of carts, the cries of hawkers, the screams of dusty children who wore amulet necklaces and little else?

John looked at Peter appraisingly. “You’re not hurt?”

Peter picked a flat, oval seed from his scanty hair and tossed it into a rut nearby. “Fortunately I fell into a heap of rotten melons.”

A brown bird dropped from nowhere and flew off with the discarded seed.

“It was better than I deserved for my carelessness,” Peter went on. “I don’t think the thief meant to harm me, and he left my satchel. Except…” His voice trailed off again.

“Never mind, Peter. It was an excellent idea to bring silks to sell. Let’s see them,” Cornelia told him.

With obvious reluctance Peter pulled the satchel open.

The shriveled head of a mummified cat glowered out.

“The thief took them, mistress, and left this as payment. I was going to throw the nasty thing away, but somehow the way it seemed to look at me…”

Cornelia chuckled. “It’s adorable, Peter. I won’t let you abandon the poor thing. What should I call him? How about Cheops?”

“It’s clear who’s responsible,” John said. “Show me this emporium, Peter. I will resolve the matter with Pedibastet quickly enough.”

John began to stand. Cornelia placed a hand on his arm. “This isn’t Constantinople, John. You have no authority here.”

“I’m certain I can do a good enough impersonation of a high official to frighten Pedibastet into returning Peter’s coins!”