Mary Reed: Murder in Megara

“Would not this history be more effective given before the sculpture?”

“Its custodians refused me further entrance some time ago because my fee to recite the history is less than theirs,” his would-be guide confessed. “Even though they knew I had five children crying for bread, a sick wife, and elderly parents to support! Fortunately, those who make their way to Megara to see this wonder are generous, sir, always generous.”

John handed him a couple of coins. He had read of the history of the colossus but hoped to gather more useful information about the city and its residents by questioning the short man with the large family after he concluded his remarks.

Matthew plunged into his lecture immediately. “The image is work of Theocosmos, a native of this region. The god’s visage, as soon you will see, is of ivory and gold but the rest remains nothing but clay and gypsum. The work remained unfinished because the Peloponnesian War so reduced public revenues.”

John decided Matthew’s knowledge of the statue came not from a lifetime of study but rather from a quick perusal of Pausanias or some other ancient travel writer, although where he would have found such a source in Megara was hard to say. However, it was better to listen to the man chatter on than go back to the marketplace and subject himself to Halmus.

John glanced toward Zeus’ knee as Matthew rattled on. Perhaps he should stop the lecture and go in to get a better look at this wonder.

His guide stopped in mid-sentence, muttered “It’s Georgios, the City Defender,” and had slipped away as unobtrusively as a shadow fleeing the sun by the time a contingent of men armed with spears reached the temple steps.

John took stock of their leader, a tall, broad-shouldered man. Georgios’ strong, square-jawed face would have looked well on a nomisma. From his expression and the way he carried himself, he struck John as a man who demanded immediate obedience. A formidable opponent, if that is what he was destined to be.

Ordering his men to a halt, Georgios strode up the steps alone, hand on the sword at his side. “You are the newcomer known as John,” he stated rather than asked. “I intended to visit your estate, but since you are here in my city I will seize the opportunity to warn you now.”

“Warn me? Do I have something to fear?”

Georgios ignored the question. His lips were locked into the taut smile of a man looking forward to a grim task. “I am aware of a certain incident involving your servants. I am concerned for their safety as well as that of you and your family if you continue to visit Megara.”

“That is necessary, given where we live.”

“I hope it will not be necessary in the future. I have been advised by prominent citizens that public sentiment is against you. I do not have a palace guard at my disposal and I cannot offer you special protection. My men cannot be everywhere or see everything.”

“It appears you are expecting trouble.”

“It is my duty to anticipate the worst, and also to keep public order. Incidents such as the one caused by the presence of your servants here threaten the public welfare.”

“I appreciate your concerns for my family, but if you are suggesting we stay out of Megara…that is not possible.”

“Not as long as you live nearby. Which is why you might consider whether you should eliminate the necessity for putting yourself and your family in danger.”

“You mean leave the area?”

Georgios looked thoughtful, as if considering the question, before responding. “Regrettably, that may be the wisest course. It is difficult enough that I cannot protect you adequately within Megara’s walls, but remember that your estate lies entirely beyond my oversight yet is still within easy reach of anyone who takes a disliking to you, or any of your family. It would be best if you left the area entirely while you are still able.”

“You aren’t considering bowing to threats.” Cornelia was not asking but stating the obvious. She and John sat on a length of ruined stone wall resembling a bad tooth jutting out behind the house. They watched chickens scratch in the gravel of an empty area that should have held farm wagons.

“Not that I am at liberty to flee, even if I were inclined to do so.”

“What could the emperor do if you departed for Egypt or Bretania?”

John pointed out Justinian’s reach extended to the borders of the empire and beyond.

“But he isn’t as vindictive as Theodora, and she’s dead now and can’t influence him,” Cornelia argued.

“You said I shouldn’t bow to threats. Do you think I should consider leaving?”

Cornelia frowned and kicked irritably at a hen pecking near her sandals. “No, it’s just the situation. It’s maddening being…well…”

“Being in prison, essentially. Which is what exile amounts to, though it is a very large prison to be sure, unlike the one where Diocles had those men chained up.”

“They’re gone?”

“Peter said they took to their heels as soon as the blacksmith struck off their shackles. They were free to stay on as hired men and continue working here but they must have feared the overseer would return or I would change my mind. I can’t blame them.”

“That’s what enrages me, John. We’re don’t have as much freedom as slaves.”

“They were freed slaves.”

“Yes. I know you refuse to employ slaves.”

“As were Hypatia and Peter once. And I was one myself, remember. After the Persians captured-”

She placed her hand on his where it pressed lightly against the warm stone. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“It’s hard to avoid the past when you’re forced to look at its landscapes every day.”

“You’ve managed to avoid much of it, John. We haven’t visited the farmhouse where you grew up yet and you’ve told me nothing about your stepfather. You’ve been no more forthcoming than you were during our years in Constantinople.”

John lifted his gaze to the sky above the distant hills, not staring into the past but looking away from the farmyard that reminded him too much of the past. “He treated our slaves cruelly.”

“Boys always hate their stepfathers, John.”

“It was more than that.”

“Theophilus came back looking for you while you were in Megara.”

John jerked his gaze away from the sky to look with unconcealed concern at Cornelia. “What did he want? I clearly ordered him to stay away! Did me make any threats?”

“No. He just said he wished to see you.”

“About what? Did he say why?”

Cornelia’s expression clouded. “Well, he did mention he’s fallen on hard times. He wondered if he could borrow some money to-”

John offered her a bitter smile. “You see? I have the measure of the man, don’t I? He dared come around here begging, from me of all people!”

“You are his son by marriage, John, and I suppose he was hoping to trade on that.”

John squeezed her hand. “Doubtless you noticed that scar on his cheek? I put it there, during a fight-our last fight-before I went to Plato’s Academy. I was sent to Athens largely to get me away from Theophilus.”

“But surely your mother wanted you to have an education?”

“She did, but Theophilus wouldn’t have paid for it if he hadn’t been afraid of me. I should never have gone. I don’t know how my mother managed to deal with him on her own afterward.”

“He mistreated her?”

John released her hand and stood abruptly. “Enjoyable as it is sitting here with you, I’ve lingered too long. I must continue going over the estate records.”

Cornelia got up slowly, smoothing her tunic. A couple of wispy chicken feathers wafted into the air. “You’ve always been mysterious about your family. Perhaps it would be helpful to talk about it.”