Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

Anatolius snuffled miserably, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

The trio made their way through the darkness.

The Prefect’s men had turned their attention elsewhere.

A small mound of bodies had been piled at the bottom of the street that ran into the Strategion. Theodotus’ guests, their ranks no doubt swelled by the curious, had been permitted to come closer and now stood not far off.

The unmistakable figure of Theodotus strode toward the pile of corpses. A rising murmur came from the onlookers as he kicked at the bodies. He raised his arms over his head and thundered to his audience or perhaps to the heavens.

“Let this be a lesson to the vermin who would terrorize our streets! They can expect no mercy!”

John took hold of Anatolius’ hand and tried to pull him away. The boy resisted. He stared back at the obelisk in the middle of the Strategion.

A man had been bound to its base. He was illuminated by a ring of lamps set on the ground around him.

Theodotus paced back and forth as he continued his diatribe.

John tugged at Anatolius’ hand.

“No, let him watch if he wants,” Felix said quietly. “Sometimes a lesson needs repeating.”

Theodotus’ voice boomed through the cold air. “That was their plot, to set fire to the oil warehouses.

The flames would spread quickly. By sunrise the city would be ashes with no one’s property spared. This is why I have eyes and ears everywhere. My own, those of my men, and many belonging to other, unseen, helpers. Before you think to harm this sacred seven-hilled city, remember, I have ways of knowing your thoughts almost before you form them.” The bound man squirmed as Theodotus grasped a large clay pot sitting beside the obelisk and hefted it up as easily as if it were a small cup.

“Your plan failed,” he told the man tied to the obelisk. “But since you were looking forward to a fire, I don’t want to disappoint.”

Upending the pot he doused the Blue with lamp oil. The man began to struggle frantically as the viscous liquid soaked into his clothing and trickled down, forming a puddle.

Theodotus stepped away and casually kicked one of the lamps illuminating the scene toward the obelisk. The lamp skittered on its side, rolling in a tiny wheel of flames to come to rest against the man’s oil-sodden cloak. A thin line of red snaked slowly along it and began climbing up the man’s chest.

Then the oil exploded into a ball of flame, inside which a dark figure writhed and screamed.

His agonized cries were drowned out almost immediately by a roar of approval from the onlookers.

***

Felix, John, and Anatolius had placed many streets between themselves and the Strategion before any of them spoke.

It was Felix who finally broke the silence. “Do you really have a home, Anatolius, or are you just playing games and leading us all over the city?”

Anatolius looked around the forum they were crossing. In its center a statue of an emperor, or some lesser, forgotten luminary, appeared to be wading in a fountain basin.

“We’re almost there,” he replied.

“I’ll wager a nummus your father’s a shopkeeper,” said Felix.

Anatolius ignored him. He turned down what appeared at first glance to be an alley, but whose narrow way ended at an enormous gate set in a wall protecting a massive villa. Orange lamp light poured from a window.

Anatolius sprinted forward and the gate swung open as if someone had been awaiting his return. For an instant his slight frame was silhouetted in the gateway, then he was inside the grounds and the gate had banged shut.

John’s ruined cloak lay in front of the gate and as he retrieved it, Felix gazed at the villa beyond, amazement plain on his face.

Felix squinted down the Mese where wan morning light slanted into the colonnades. He spoke without looking at John. “That boy we rescued last night…he’s the son of Senator Aurelius. A couple of my colleagues knew the villa immediately when I described it to them. They’d escorted Quaestor Proclus there for some meeting or other a few weeks ago. The senator’s known to be a staunch supporter of Justinian. It appears you’ve done your master a service. Maybe we can work together after all without you getting either of us killed.”

“I appreciate your confidence.”

“Yes, well, in such a situation as last night I would have expected you to be more…shall we say…excitable.”

Excitable? Like a woman? Because he was a eunuch? John’s cheekbones darkened with a flush of anger. He pulled his cloak closer around his lean frame and quickened his steps to match the excubitor’s steady pace. He managed to remain silent.

“There may be riots in the streets and murders in churches,” Felix continued, “but it seems that commerce carries on regardless. And begging.” He inclined his head in the direction of a man squatting against a wall. The man extended a dirty hand toward them as a biting wind came rushing down the wide street like icy water through an aqueduct.

“Neither enterprise appears to be receiving much custom,” John observed. He wished he had a coin to give. The beggar pulled his hand back into the scant protection of his threadbare tunic as the two men strode past.

They had not had much sleep after the previous night’s hectic events. When they met the Gourd in his office that morning, he seemed perfectly fresh, even invigorated. The orders he gave them were vague. They were to investigate Hypatius’ murder, as the emperor and his nephew desired. Talk to people living or working near the Great Church and so forth. His men had already covered the ground, but since the emperor had so ordered, it must be done again.

It wasn’t clear to what extent the orders were Justin’s or Justinian’s, or for that matter which were the Gourd’s interpretation of whatever had been said to him. At any rate, investigating the area near the scene of the crime seemed a sensible start.

Thus most of the morning had been spent interviewing those residents and merchants whose homes and commercial premises clustered along the Mese. In particular, they had questioned those near its intersection with the Augustaion on which stood the Great Church where Hypatius had died.

“So what have we learnt these past few hours?” Felix grumbled irritably. “That merchants keep a close eye on their goods. Those indoors keep their windows shut against the cold. Naturally no one sees or hears anything. All of which we could have easily guessed while sitting in a warm tavern with a cup of wine instead of tramping about in the cold.”

“Nevertheless, you can’t solve a murder just sitting in a warm corner. You have to go out and gather information.”

Felix said nothing.

Each interview had followed the same pattern, suggested by John and accepted, grudgingly, but accepted nevertheless, by Felix. First they inquired whether the person to whom they were speaking had noticed anything on the day Hypatius was killed. Next, whether he might have seen something unusual. Finally if he had observed a very large, broad-shouldered Blue running by. It seemed to John that even if someone had noticed nothing else, he could not have missed a man of that size in full flight.

But that was indeed the case. At least if all those to whom they spoke were to be believed. He remarked on this to his companion.

Felix smiled. “These people wouldn’t have noticed if Emperor Constantine had leaped down off his column, jumped on a horse, and galloped up the Mese. Not if a pair from the palace was asking about it. Perhaps-” Felix broke off. “You!” he shouted at a figure emerging from a shop in front of them. “Wait!”

The young man he addressed began to run. Felix caught up to him in a few strides and grabbed a skinny arm. It was the hair hanging down the back of the tunic that had caught Felix’s eye, but when he spun his captive around John saw no evidence of the shaved hair so many Blues had adopted.