Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

John was no longer certain why he had come here. He continued walking, glancing through the archways toward circular baths in which bathers sat or stood, in steamy waist-high water, sluicing themselves, laughing, talking.

He stopped abruptly and moved closer to the nearest opening.

A shaft of light dropped through the roiling steam from a window in the dome, providing illumination. On the steps up to the bath, a few busts and the sculptured figure of a nymph sat on pedestals, partly obscuring the bathers. John recognized one.

Trenico.

There were six men in all, three of whom John did not know. Two others, however, were familiar to him. One was Senator Opimius. Joking with him was the merchant he and Felix had interviewed- Tryphon, who had only recently told his interrogators that he was unacquainted with Opimius.

“I wouldn’t be quick to draw conclusions,” said Felix. “Why should a rich man like Tryphon be truthful with the likes of us, anyway? I would be more surprised if there were two rich and powerful men in this city who never met at the baths.”

“You’re right,” John replied. “Yet it still makes me uneasy.”

At John’s suggestion they had returned to the Hospice of Samsun. Victor had not claimed his father’s body. John was not surprised. Now he and Felix followed Gaius, allowing him to clear a path through the teeming corridors.

“Those assassins the Gourd sent after us, John, they’re what should make you uneasy,” Felix said quietly as they trailed some distance behind Gaius.

“I agree, but I’m not so certain they were the Gourd’s men.”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s tired of having us strapped to his back. We may just be in his way, but, then again, he might have designs on the throne. He might be formulating a plan to take over, at the appropriate time. He’s popular with many. He has a force of men in the city. He wouldn’t want either Justin or Justinian to know.“

“Consider this,” John countered. “Justinian learned that Opimius had dismissed me before I told him.”

“Is that surprising? But what are you saying? You think Justinian wants to do away with you because you’re of no real use anymore? Or perhaps because Opimius suspects you were a spy?”

“Was I a spy?”

Felix laughed bitterly. “Who can say for certain? We’re actors in someone else’s play. We’re reading our lines, but we haven’t yet seen the last page. Let’s hope it isn’t a tragedy.”

Gaius interrupted. “There he is.”

The doorkeeper they sought was spooning porridge into the toothless mouth of another patient, a being so ancient and withered it appeared as sexless as an infant.

“Demetrios is leaving this afternoon.” Gaius gestured for the doorkeeper to join them in the corridor. “He’s as tough as an old leather boot. He wanted to help out for a while before he left.”

“And happy to do so,” Demetrios said. “My own small contribution to the hospice. I wish I could do more.”

“So do I,” muttered Gaius, who hurried away, as overworked as ever. At least on this day, John noticed, he looked steady on his feet.

“Perhaps you can assist us also.” Felix looked sternly at Demetrios.

“I’ll try, sir, but I don’t think I have anything more to tell you even though I’ve thought about it a fair bit since we spoke.”

“If you could describe once more exactly what happened before Hypatius’ murder?”

The man obliged, relating again the scene he had witnessed in the Great Church, the screaming and confusion, how the Blues had rushed out, wounding him on their way. In the end, he added nothing useful to what he had said during their previous conversation.

They were turning to leave when Demetrios laid a skeletal hand on John’s arm.

“Sir, I have offered prayers that those murderers are brought to justice, but I begin to wonder if they will ever pay for their crime. After my stay here, ashamed as I am to admit it, I have begun to question whether there is justice in this life at all.”

John observed that while the thought might be shocking it was perfectly understandable. “Yet isn’t the justice we all seek more likely to be found in the next life rather than this one?”

“Spoken like a good Christian, sir. No, it isn’t for us to question the ways of the Lord and yet…Did the physician mention that poor cart driver? Isaakios? He helped to rescue a couple of courtiers, so it’s said. What men from the palace were doing out on the streets at dawn…something unmentionable I suppose. He was stabbed for his pains, so he was, and died only this morning.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” John glanced at Felix, who muttered something under his breath.

“And,” continued Demetrios, “I must tell you that the man’s last words were for his family. He was afraid his cart would not be given to them and they would starve in the streets. If you could-”

“I will ask Gaius to make certain that it is sent to them immediately, if it has not already gone,” John promised. It struck him that when the Lord was not quick enough to grant the wishes of His followers they were quick to turn their eyes to anyone from the palace. “You seem to have spent a lot of time talking to people during your stay here, Demetrios.”

“Not talking. Listening. It is a skill I have learned in my regular work. A doorkeeper’s job is not boring at all if he learns to listen well.”

The man stopped abruptly, then blurted out, “There’s evil abroad in this city. Pure evil. This Isaakios was a regular worshipper at the Great Church. A humble cart driver, but generous in his way. When Hypatius presented the church with his gift, it was Isaakios who hauled it from the sculptor’s studio to the church free of charge. As a charitable gesture, you understand, even though he was one who could ill afford to give his labor for nothing, what with a large family to support. The family he has left behind. You will see about his cart?”

John reassured Demetrios that he would do so, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Thank you, sirs. I was hoping that you would help. Those from the palace wield much more power than the common person. They say that even the slaves there eat from gold plates.”

John thanked the old man absently.

On the way out of the hospice he remained silent. At Felix’s suggestion they stopped at the first tavern they saw. When the two had settled themselves at a table set against the back wall, the owner ladled wine into their cups from one of the open vats set in the counter.

“What is it, John?” Felix asked. “What are you thinking?”

John’s gaze was directed toward the mosaic on the wall, a succession of triumphant gladiators and charioteers. His thoughts were elsewhere. “We have approached this investigation the wrong way.”

“What? You mean tramping all over the city interviewing beggars too frightened of us to talk? You don’t think that’s a useful approach? Or do you mean our appearing in the doorways of aristocrats too contemptuous of us to cooperate?”

John ignored the excubitor’s sarcasm. “The doorkeeper said that the cart driver who died had delivered that statue to the church. Doesn’t it seem strange to you?”

“He was a carter, John. That was his living. What’s strange about it?”

“I mean this. Hypatius commissioned the sculpture, Viator imported the marble to be used. Now we learn that the cart driver delivered the finished work to the church. All three are dead.”

“The driver was fatally injured in a street brawl, we saw that ourselves. Viator was likely robbed. Hypatius, it is true, was murdered for a reason we have not yet been able to discover.”

“Certainly it would appear they all died for different reasons, but perhaps the fact that they are all dead is more important than the apparent causes.”