The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

He began with the Ecclesiastical History of Salamanes Hermeias Sozomen, which was dedicated to the emperor Theodosius the Younger. It began with the consulship of Crispus and his father, Constantine, and went down to the reign of Theodosius. Sozomen was at one time an advocate in Constantinople, and I thought his style better than that of Socrates. The work was nine books long, and took as many days to read. Philip was coming to the end of the final book, when I heard a commotion in the antechamber to the library. Someone was complaining loudly to George Theokrastos about the foreign merchants in Trebizond. I asked Philip to venture closer to the doorway, and see who was causing the disturbance. After a short while, when the raised voices had quietened down, he came back and told me what he had observed.

‘It is a portly gentleman dressed in the finest of robes, all encrusted with jewels, who looks as if he is a person of great importance at the Emperor’s court. His face is quite red, and he is practically foaming at the mouth. He was showing the librarian some parchment he had in his hand, and complaining bitterly about its contents.’

My curiosity was piqued.

‘Could you make out what it said?’

‘No,’ Philip replied. ‘But the fat man thought it outrageous, whatever it said. He said something had to be done about it, and stormed off.’

I smiled at the idea of investigating the matter. Reading books was getting boring, and I always did like a mystery. I resembled my father in that, for he had solved many seemingly impossible murders in his time. Of course this was not a murder, but I thought I could use it to ingratiate myself into the court. Just as I was wondering how to begin, Theokrastos came scurrying into the reading room. His leather-clad feet made a distinctive sound on the marble floor – small steps heralding his fussy efforts at interesting me in another tome. This time they were swifter than ever, and made me think he was agitated by the recent intruder. He did still come bearing a book, however. His tone of voice was tense, even as he attempted to sound unaffected.

‘This may afford you some light relief after Sozomen, Master Falconer. It is called the Adventures of Clitophon and Leucippe , written by a Greek named Achilles Tatius.’

In any other circumstances, I would have thought Theokrastos was seeking to make fun of young Philip’s monkish temperament. I knew of this work, and heard it described as a dramatic work with unseemly love episodes, the impurity of sentiment of which are prejudicial to seriousness. I would have liked to hear it, but I didn’t think Philip could bear to read it without his ears going red. I was just about to suggest that Theokrastos read it to me himself, when I heard him clicking his tongue.

‘Forgive me, sir. I am not thinking clearly. Such a work will not be appropriate for young ears to hear.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I have been distracted, and my judgement has been impaired.’

I took the opportunity afforded by the librarian’s admission.

‘I heard the commotion outside. Tell me, is there anything I can do?’

During our short acquaintance, I had told Theokrastos of my interest in recondite matters, so I did not have to convince him I was responding merely out of politeness. His reply was hesitant, as though he was reluctant to reveal a matter that might reflect badly on the Emperor and his retinue.

‘Perhaps it is only a trifling affair that would be beneath your consideration.’

I pressed the matter with him. ‘I would still like to help, if I can.’

He paused only momentarily, then began to explain. ‘The man you heard shouting is Johannes Panaretos. He is responsible for allocating trading licences to foreign merchants, and so holds a very important position in the Emperor’s court. Just recently, he has been pressed by the Genoans for greater concessions, and the Emperor has refused. Before you arrived here, Lord Alexios wished them to pay dues on goods they threatened to take away, if they pulled out of dealing with us entirely. The Genoans naturally refused and there was a small skirmish, with the Emperor calling on Georgian mercenaries to attack the Genoan warehouses. The Genoans retaliated and some house down by the harbour were set on fire. Now, Panaretos has received a threat.’

Theokrastos paused in his narrative, and I could tell he was unsure if he was saying too much. I nudged his natural loquaciousness.

‘A threat?’

Theokrastos licked his lips.

‘Yes. He has just showed me a scrap of parchment on which was written the words – “Death awaits he who hesitates.”’

I felt a frisson of excitement run up the back of my neck. Perhaps murder was lurking on the sidelines after all.

It took a day or two for Theokrastos to arrange a meeting for me with the recipient of the death threat. Apparently, Panaretos had laughed crudely at the thought of a blind man resolving the issue of the author of the note. But the librarian had convinced him to at least speak with me. When I did so, I believe that I convinced him that, being blind from birth, I had tuned my other senses to such a degree that they more than compensated for the lack of sight.

‘In fact,’ I said to him, ‘I believe the Chinese surgeon who plucked me from my mother’s womb in terrible circumstances, not only saved my life, but gave me a unique opportunity to do good in the world.’

I don’t think it was such platitudes that swayed his decision, but the fact that I could track him enough to appear to be always looking at him. I have been told my pale, blue-green eyes are quite riveting, and nothing can be more disconcerting than a blind man ‘looking’ at one. In truth, he was easy to follow using just my ears, for he was a fat man whose every movement was accompanied by wheezes and grunts. Even when he thought he was testing me by remaining silent, the whisper of his slippers on the marble floors of his abode was enough for me to locate him.

In the end, Philip and I were invited to a lavish dinner, where there would be present representatives of the major trading partners of the Empire of Trebizond. I was to share the meal with a Florentine, a Genoan, and a Venetian. It would be an interesting evening, especially as Panaretos suspected one of the men to be the author of the message. Which one it would turn out to be was why I was there. But first, I asked to be sent the offending message, so that I could examine it. It arrived on the morning of the fateful meal.

I took it in my hands and felt the quality and nature of the parchment. I immediately realised it was a piece of a bigger sheet, as one edge was crudely cut. It was also of medium quality, and not of the finest vellum. Probably of goatskin as that was the most easily available local material. The roughness of its surface felt to me as if it was a palimpsest – that is, a parchment sheet that had been used before and scoured of its original writing. If so, it might therefore be possible to discern the writing that has been obscured, and discover something from that. That would be a task for Philip, and I passed the parchment on to him.

‘Please read what you can see, Philip.’

‘Yes, sir. It says, “Death is waiting for him who hesitates.” Just as the librarian said.’

I waited, expecting more from him, but nothing came. I had hoped I had trained him better than that, so I had to prompt him.

‘And in what language is it written?’

Philip mumbled an anxious apology, and I could almost imagine his ears turning red as I had been told they did when he was embarrassed.

‘I am sorry, sir. It is written in Greek.’

‘And in what style of Greek, if you please?’

He paused, and I heard him puff out his cheeks.