Mary Reed - Five for Silver

Crinagoras looked puzzled. “Calligenes was the first witness your master specifically requested?”

“Actually, sir, as you know from being present, there were already-”

“He must have trusted this Calligenes fellow then,” Crinagoras mused. “Unduly, perhaps. What do you make of that, Anatolius? Something doesn’t seem quite right. A fascinating problem, one to consider carefully, over a few cups of wine, in the shade of my garden.”

“Excuse me,” Cador interrupted, “but Calligenes was a loyal employee who had served Nereus well for many years. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

Crinagoras glanced at Anatolius and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

“I know how valuable he was to the master,” Cador went on. “I’ve been trying to complete all the work he left unfinished. The correspondence alone…well, before traveling here I trudged around half the city, delivering missives Calligenes had drawn up. He left a mountain of them on his desk, sirs. Letters, contracts, who knows what, all addressed in the fine hand on which he prided himself so much. In the course of carrying this out, I met bakers and bankers, importers and exporters, shopkeepers of various sorts, a perfumer, a lawyer, a bookseller-”

Anatolius broke in. “A lawyer? Can you tell us who this was?”

“Well…if I can remember…yes, it was one Prudentius to whom I delivered a letter.”

Crinagoras clapped his hands. “There! You’ve discovered what we need to know, Anatolius. The murder has to do with the will. Where there’s a will, there’s a lawyer. This particular lawyer will settle it. Just in time, too. I’m famished and we still have our homeward odyssey ahead of us.”

Anatolius had the impression that Crinagoras might begin to tug at his tunic and whimper if they didn’t soon leave. Besides, he was right. Nereus’ lawyer would certainly be able to shed light on the shipper’s affairs. He thanked Cador for his help. “One last thing. Did you notice anyone following Gregory when he left?”

Cador shook his head. “I don’t recall seeing him leave, sir.”

As they walked back to their horses, Crinagoras suddenly spoke. “I wish I’d continued to escort Gregory after he left Nereus’ house. If I had, he might still be alive.”

“Or you might also be dead.”

Crinagoras came to an abrupt halt. His eyes widened with alarm. “Why, I hadn’t even considered that. You don’t think we could have been followed here, do you?”

“What I think is Gregory was killed during a robbery. If not, John will surely find the culprit. Now we’ve discovered the name of Nereus’ lawyer, once John has the information, he’ll know best what to do next.”

The mud-spattered apparition arrived at John’s door well after dark. Peter, who had answered its frantic knocking, stepped backwards with a cry of horror.

“Anatolius!” John called from the top of the stairway. “You look as if you’ve been-”

“Buried and dug up,” Anatolius said ruefully. He stepped into the atrium, dripping on the tiles.

Peter returned upstairs, looking reproachfully back over his shoulder.

Anatolius’ gaze followed the elderly servant. “I know I’m not exactly a sight for innocent eyes, but surely Peter knows me well enough not to take fright at my appearance?”

“He’s not himself right now. Come up to my study.”

Anatolius looked down at his waterlogged garments and shook his head. “I think I’d better not. I’m making enough of a mess as it is. Besides, I need to get home and change.”

John came down to the atrium. Heavy rain rattled impatiently into the impluvium.

“Crinagoras and I rode out to the countryside today. We were only half way back when the skies opened,” Anatolius explained. “Crinagoras had composed ten new epitaphs for himself by the time we’d reached the city.”

“I can imagine, but frankly I’d rather not. Be careful, Anatolius, you’re dripping water on one of Hypatia’s pets.”

Anatolius stepped away from the clay scorpion stationed near the door.

“They make Hypatia happy,” John said in reply to the unspoken question. “I consider myself fortunate my servants haven’t deserted me for the safety of the countryside.”

“Speaking of those who flee the city, Crinagoras and I were searching for just such a household. We made a discovery you might find interesting.”

“That explains this late-night visit. I was afraid someone had died. Senator Balbinus, perhaps? Usually only bad news comes calling well after dark.”

“No, there’s no such bad news.” Anatolius ran a hand through his sodden curls. “Have you learnt anything further about Gregory?”

“Nothing that would help me find the person I seek.” John had not mentioned Peter’s misconceptions about his friend to Anatolius. The younger man had a loose tongue and might let the knowledge slip. John was more guarded or possibly less straightforward, a thought that made him uneasy.

“Then I’m having more success than you are! I’ve found out the name of Nereus’ legal advisor.”

***

Prudentius’ house sat behind the Hippodrome, just beyond the row of dilapidated wooden tenements piled at the base of the arena, like shipwrecks against a line of rocks.

John knocked and waited.

He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time standing on doorsteps of late.

The house front presented the anonymous facade common to Constantinople’s dwellings. Its door displayed the usual nail studding and metal strapping. Here in the city, even the homes of the well-to-do resembled crates stacked in a ship’s hold, all identical from the outside, but each holding…what?

Which door would open to the solution he sought?

This particular door opened on an unexpected cacophony-shouts, the buzz of conversation, a snatch of laughter, the clatter of a pan, the thump of a heavy basket. It was as if Constantinople had been turned inside out. The quiet of home lay in the street, while the bustle of the byways had come into Prudentius’ house.

The young servant girl who opened the door carried a squalling infant in her arms. The girl ineffectually tried to shush the child. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said in reply to John’s inquiry. “Hurry up and come inside. Otherwise the geese’ll get out.”

John followed her into the atrium. She was short, her brown hair pinned up securely. A loose, undyed tunic revealed a slightly built frame which was nevertheless broad in the hips. Her face was an attractive amalgam. She had the aquiline nose of a Roman, but full lips and dusky skin spoke of the empire’s eastern fringes. The exotic effect was somewhat diminished by the number of teeth her smile revealed as missing. John could see no geese, but stepped carefully around the evidence on the atrium tiles that proved their presence in the house.

Inexplicably, the atrium resembled nothing so much as a public square. An assortment of people wandered through it or stood about talking. Others sat leaning against its walls. They could hardly all be servants.

“Your master’s given shelter to his family?” John ventured.

“You might say so. Prudentius says everyone is his family.” The infant in her arms seemed to find this information highly disturbing to judge by the increased strength of its cries. Answering wails from elsewhere revealed that the girl was not alone in her efforts to increase the population of the house.

John followed her past two men squabbling over a basket filled with vegetables. The house might almost be termed the Forum Prudentius, he thought.

As he went up three wide steps leading into Prudentius’ office, John felt a tug at his cloak.

The beggar squatting on the bottom step looked up at him. “Please, excellency, a nummus or two. My family is hungry.”