Mary Reed: Four for a Boy

A woman screamed and made the sign of her religion. Some men began shouting virulent curses at Timothy. Curious spectators were filling the vestibule, a number of them drawn from the church itself by the commotion. A group of Blues, sensing the anger in the air, appeared from the street to add their vulgar jeers.

John caught bits of panicked conversations.

“What is it? What’s happening?”

“…dead. Murdered!”

“…treachery, so they say.”

Suddenly several more Blues, obviously intoxicated, burst into the vestibule. “Beware the Gourd!” They surged unsteadily through the crowd to join their companions. “We’re in for some sport now!”

“Justinian’s dead!” one of the new arrivals screamed. His shrill, slurred cry cut through the clamor echoing in the vestibule.

“No!” another shouted even more loudly. “Justin was murdered! His bodyguards have all been executed! Justinian has proclaimed himself emperor!”

Archdeacon Palamos appeared from the body of the church, shooing away several small boys who sought to follow him. “Someone remove that blasphemer immediately!” he shouted in thunderous outrage, pointing at Timothy.

Felix grabbed the grocer’s legs and got a boot in the face for his pains.

“Archdeacon,” John said swiftly. “You must hear what this man has to say.”

Palamos stared at Timothy in horror. Wild haired, his eyes glaring, the grocer resembled a demon.

“Yes, listen to me, archdeacon!” Timothy demanded. “I executed the cart driver and others too, all of them connected with this blasphemous statue. I started with Hypatius, one of those who sponsored it. That was as quickly done as it was with the cart driver. Yes, I wept tears of joy over the carter. It’s amazing what you can do in the middle of a rioting crowd without being noticed.”

“Come down and speak to us privately,” Palamos coaxed.

Timothy simply laughed and continued. “The sculptor, Dio, he was another.”

“You were outside the monastery and overheard Fortunatus tell me where Dio could be found?” John guessed.

“You are clever, Excellency,” Timothy said, “but not half as clever as I am. I already knew where Dio lived. Hadn’t Hypatius bragged all over the city about the expensive sculptor he had employed? No, Dio would have died sooner had he not been away the day I first visited his studio. However, when I overheard Fortunatus say he would shortly be back, I was there first thing next morning to warm his homecoming.”

“And to set the Prefect’s men on me,” John said.

“A marvelous stroke of good fortune, that was. I noticed you coming up the Domninus as I was leaving. I’d been keeping my eye on you as much as I could anyway, ever since my assistant told me you’d been asking about Hypatius. So I helpfully alerted the first of the Gourd’s men I could find.”

“You wouldn’t have to look far,” Felix growled. “They’re everywhere. What’s more, they’re sure to be here soon to deal with this disturbance. John, we’d better grab him and make our escape while we can,” he muttered in an undertone.

John shook his head. “We must make certain of the facts, my friend, while we have the archdeacon as a witness. Tell me about Viator, Timothy.”

“Viator! Wasn’t that a wonder? I asked for the Lord’s help in finding all the people who were involved with this disgusting sculpture, and was granted heavenly aid! It was a true miracle! To begin with, at least. Even you and your friend were part of it,” he said to John. “I hadn’t yet been able to find out from whose warehouse the marble had come. Then you obligingly led me to it. Not only that, you also frightened the importer so badly that he ran away practically unguarded. I soon stopped his flight with a blade in the ribs!”

“So Dominica and Fortunatus were spared because they chose not to talk publicly about their co-sponsoring the sculpture with Hypatius?”

“Again you are wrong! I knew them for the murderers they were. I own a perfume shop too, you know. My wealthy clients tell me many things. They might have thought nobody knew, but their contributions were common knowledge among the high born.”

Timothy’s gloating grin turned into a sorrowful scowl. “The problem was they were too well protected. The widow never stirs without a small army of guards. As for Fortunatus, it’s true he has a name of good omen, yet he does well to skulk in the monastery. I had planned to climb over the wall one night and see if I could catch him at his devotions.”

Palamos shuddered. “I’ve heard enough. This man is Satan himself.”

“You think I’m Satan?” screeched Timothy. “Think it then. I’m just doing the Lord’s job since He wouldn’t do it Himself.”

“Satan walks among us all right,” bellowed a nearby Blue, a young man with a spotty face. His voice was thickened by wine. “It’s not the madman perched up there, though. It’s the King of the Demons who’s just mounted the throne, not to mention the new empress!”

A portly, middle-aged man with the look of a clerk in his stooped shoulders and pale face pointed an accusing finger at the younger man and yelled furiously at him.

“Whoever rules, the populace is going to suffer! You should be on your knees asking for forgiveness instead of stirring up trouble!”

The young man he addressed replied with an exaggerated low bow. “Such fine talk from one about to die!”

“Not at your hand, you idiotic fop!”

“Is that so?” The Blue drew his blade. “I think you are wrong!”

The Blue grabbed the man’s throat, but before he could make another move a familiar voice cut through the tumult.

“No, my young friend. I believe he is right.”

It was the Gourd. He strode through the crowd, which shrank away from him, clearing his path as if by magick.

“No indeed,” he remarked in a conversational tone. “He’s not going to die at your hand. In fact, it is you who will die at mine. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?” The Gourd hardly paused before casually running his blade through the Blue’s stomach.

Felix stepped between John and the Gourd.

The Gourd nudged the lifeless body at his feet with the toe of his boot, then addressed the stunned and silent onlookers. He tilted his monstrous head toward a knot of Blues. “Quite a few of you may soon be joining this fellow in the afterlife. As I have warned, riots will be crushed without mercy. I do believe that one was brewing here.”

Archdeacon Palamos stepped toward the Gourd. “More killing won’t resolve anything. In the name of the Lord, I command you to leave this holy place immediately!”

Dozens of the Gourd’s men poured into the vestibule, herding terrified people before them. Another contingent emerged from the nave, having entered through a side door.

The operation was well planned. It would not be long before troublemakers, real and imagined, would be hauled off to the dungeons. Nor would it be long before the Gourd’s men, methodically examining the crowd, discovered the tall thin Greek whom their master wanted dead.

John glanced at Timothy. The grocer still embraced the marble figure. Though no longer the center of attention, he grinned with apparent delight at the incipient slaughter.

Then John turned his gaze on the Gourd and drew his sword. He could do some good before he was discovered.

Felix caught his wrist in a crushing grip and shook his head slightly.

The Gourd’s men had closed their ring around the crowd, forcing it into a tight mass. The portly man cursed as he was crushed against the statue, and again as more men were forced against him by the tightening circle. A number of the crowd sought safety by clambering up onto the pedestal next to Timothy.