Four for a Boy

Chapter Six

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.

“You’re a faction member, aren’t you?” Felix barked anyway.

The youngster looked confused. “Yes, sir. Not the Blues though. And not when I’m on the street.”

Felix gave the arm a shake. “Explain.”

“I…I’m a Green, sir. Or rather I used to be. We don’t dare venture out any more. The Blues would kill a Green as soon as look at him. I was sent to buy a few things for my employer.”

Felix sent the young man on his way. He and John stood in front of a grocer’s emporium, identified as such by a brass plaque engraved with a steelyard.

“We might as well ask in this shop, just like all the rest,” said Felix. “Or maybe we should find a large stone to roll up a hill instead.”

Stepping inside, they found an impressive array of household necessaries including pottery and glassware displayed amid barrels of salted fish. Baskets of vegetables and bowls of honeycombs leaned conspiratorially cheek by jowl on shelves attached to roughly plastered walls. The atmosphere was redolent of cheese, vinegar, and sawdust. Beside the door stacked amphorae held wine and the various types of oils needed for cooking or lighting. They reminded John uncomfortably of the very recent attempt to set the oil warehouses on fire.

“And how may I assist you, masters?” A short, thin man emerged from behind a stack of crates piled near the back of the cramped, rectangular room. He bowed very low while simultaneously contriving to examine his visitors from under a fringe of lank, black hair.

It would be difficult to steal anything from under this man’s narrow, pinched nose, John thought, as Felix began his questioning.

Unlike earlier interviewees, the man looked neither impressed nor terrified by their quest. “I regret that the owner of this establishment is temporarily absent,” he said smoothly, “but I will naturally be glad to help you as best I can.”

“We’ll talk to him later,” Felix replied curtly. “First, his name and yours?”

“The master is Timothy and I am Alkabaides. I am his assistant.”

Felix looked around the well-stocked interior. “Your master’s trade appears to prosper.”

“Indeed it does, sir. We charge a fair price for what we sell, unlike many others in this street.” A jocular smile crossed the man’s face. “While our competitors fill our ears with complaints about taxes and the high costs of doing business, we ourselves have just opened another shop. It sells nothing but the finest perfumes. Being situated near the booksellers’ quarter and very close to court, we’re privileged to count many of the great among our clients. I think we can guarantee you’re certain to find something there to please your ladies, should you favor us with your custom.”

Felix looked nonplussed, as if he couldn’t decide whether the man was jesting or not. “I shall bear that in mind.” He proceeded to question Alkabaides closely, not about fragrances or vegetables, but about whether he had noticed anything the day Hypatius died? Nothing at all? Nothing unusual? What about a large young man affecting the sartorial style of the Blues?

The assistant screwed up his face in thought but, like everyone else to whom they had spoken that morning, was unable to offer any information.

“If I’d actually seen such a man as you describe, I’m certain I would have remembered him. However, I must admit that a company of demons could have been racing each other right past the door and I wouldn’t have seen them. I don’t go out into the street when I’m working. Those poor unfortunates living in the gutter would be in and out behind my back in the wink of an eye and a wheel of cheese or a handful of fish gone with them.”

“In which case for a day at least they would not be quite so unfortunate.”

Alkabaides looked offended. “The master often gives them coins. He is a kind man despite losing a wife to a fever and his son in an accident. Never mind that in my opinion such charity just encourages beggars to further boldness. They repay kindness with trouble, fighting and keeping decent citizens awake half the night with their running around screaming at all hours. Not that I am criticizing my master, sirs, he is a good Christian.”

“Sounds like some of those wild palace banquets one hears about. Does your master ever provide delicacies for any of those?”

The grocer’s assistant shook his head. “I doubt that courtiers would care to dine on salt fish, although our vegetables are much remarked upon.”

It appeared that Alkabaides had more to tell John and Felix about the grocery business than about the business that interested them. They left the shop.

As they retraced their footsteps along the Mese, John noticed that the beggar who had unsuccessfully asked them for alms had now moved to the other side of the street. John was suddenly struck by a thought.

“Felix, with respect, since none of the merchants have seen anything or anyone even remotely suspicious, may I suggest that those that nobody sees might possibly be more forthcoming?”

The other regarded him with a tired frown. “What do you mean?”

“The people who live on the streets. They’re so much part of the scenery that most of the time we don’t see them unless they hold a hand out. However, they always see us. And since they see us, who else might they have seen?”

“Not a bad idea, I suppose. You think well on your feet.” He gave John an appraising look. “I noticed that last night. And when you borrowed my sword, I could swear you handled it as if you’d used a blade to better purpose than slicing a bit of pork off a haunch. You’re in excellent condition too. Visit the gymnasium much?”

John did not take Felix’s interest as a sign of friendliness. That the other was trying to draw him out about his past was obvious.

“I exercise daily at the baths.” He didn’t mention that he found such bodily exertion helped still the furies that bedeviled him and thus enabled him to present at least a nominally calm face to the world.

“And a cautious man too. You occasionally have an almost military look about you. If I didn’t know what sort of man you were…” Felix appeared hopeful of further revelations.

John said nothing, but instead pointed to the beggar in the doorway. “I saw that man sitting right there the day Hypatius was murdered.”

“I don’t know how you can tell one bag of rags from the next. But if you saw him in the same place he might know something. There’s a good view of the Augustaion from this part of the street.” Felix started across the Mese. “He must at least have seen where that enormous Blue went.”

The beggar appeared to be less a bag of rags than a disorganized pile of them with a pair of incongruously newish boots protruding from it. Strangely, he did not jump up and run off, as most did when they realized they were about to become the objects of official attention. On the contrary, the eyes set in a web of wrinkles brightened with anticipation. As John and Felix approached, he held out a dirty, three-fingered hand.

Felix ignored it. Anxious to get back indoors, he began to question the mendicant brusquely.

The man looked up, his face fixed in a grimace that mixed a vacant smile with an expression of bafflement. Again he waved his open hand at Felix and then at John.

Felix roughly slapped the hand down. “We’re looking into a death! You will answer me or answer for it!”

The beggar shook his head, grunted and pointed to his throat and finally extended his hand hopefully again.

Felix looked puzzled. “What do you mean? You’re hungry? So are we. And cold. So for the final time…”

The man grunted even more loudly. A panic-stricken note entered his strangled noises.

John stepped to Felix’s side. “Your questions are fruitless. The man cannot speak.”

With an oath, Felix turned away. “Naturally! How can I be surprised when everyone else around here is blind and deaf?”

“There is one person we can be sure saw something.”

“Is that so? Who would that be?”

“The church doorkeeper who was stabbed just after Hypatius was murdered.”