Murder in Megara

Chapter Ten

Torchlight did its corybantic dance around the ruins. Light and shadows gamboled on the crumpled body of Theophilus, attracting moths to flirt with a fiery fate.

A small group had gathered at the temple. Armed men, some holding torches, were stationed near the corpse. Uncaring and intent on their own business, unseen crickets trilled the same ancient chorus they had sung hundreds of years before during rites to the goddess Demeter. The murmur of hushed voices joined the crickets’ song and the hiss and pop of the torches.

John stood against a column, staring in the direction of his stepfather. The flickering light continually revealed the corpse for an instant and then veiled it in shadow. It might have been a dream rather than something that added a hint of copper to the night smells of earth piled nearby. Perhaps no one else noticed the subtle odor but John was only too familiar with the smell of blood.

Glancing around, John saw all eyes were focused on the City Defender, squatting on his haunches beside the body to examine it.

Georgios stood up and looked at John. “The dark patch on his back tells its own tale,” he observed. “And now you tell me yours. First, you doubtless carry a blade. Show it to me.”

John didn’t like the man’s tone. It had been a long time since he had taken orders from anyone but the emperor. Unfortunately, he reminded himself, those days were over. He handed his dagger over for examination without comment.

Georgios gave it a perfunctory glance and smiled. “Clean. But then it would be, wouldn’t it? You had plenty of time to clean it before we arrived.”

There had been no reason for the City Defender to bother examining the dagger, except to make a show of ordering John around in front of the small crowd at the temple. Philip and the other watchmen were ranged behind Cornelia and Hypatia a few paces away. The blacksmith and tenant farmer, along with a couple of estate workers, stood nearby. Behind them several of Georgios’ men stood ready to take appropriate action if anyone attempted to flee.

John took his blade back, careful to betray none of the anger he felt.

Georgios turned the corpse over with his boot and regarded the dead man with distaste. A pool of blood, black in the torchlight, had spread in front of the bench from where he and Cornelia often admired the sea. Had Theophilus been sitting there when the murderer crept up behind him and struck?

The City Defender rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I wager it’s been hundreds of years since anyone performed a sacrifice in this temple. Do you suppose Demeter still protects her adherents?”

Was he speaking metaphorically or did he suspect Theophilus had been slaughtered during a pagan ritual of the kind John and his family were rumored to be carrying out?

“Not much is known about her mysteries but it is certain Demeter never demanded human sacrifices,” John informed him. “Pigs, certainly.”

“Oh? You are an authority on what were our local deities?”

“Any educated person would say the same. I am certainly no authority on Demeter, let alone an adherent.”

Georgios stepped away from the body, sliding his boots along the marble floor with a squeaking noise to rub blood off their soles. He took counsel of the star-pocked sky and then continued. “Is it true you visit this ruin at night?”

“I do. I find it restful. Your informants will also doubtless be able to confirm the truth of my statement that I have also sat here in full view of anyone passing by during the hottest part of the day.”

“Informants? I don’t have that many men at my disposal, which is why I cannot guarantee your safety. Or the safety of those on your estate, as you can see.” He nodded toward the corpse. “You overestimate me.”

John doubted it. It would be difficult to overestimate Georgios’ power in Megara. The City Defender not only had responsibility for keeping civic order, he also oversaw the city’s courts. His power was backed by those who appointed him: the local bishop, the largest landholders, and the curials, the first citizens on whom the administration and finances of cities had depended before certain of Justinian’s endless reforms.

“Do you know the dead man?” Georgios asked.

“Yes. He was my stepfather. I ordered him off my estate.”

“It was not a happy relationship?”

“No. He was here earlier today asking for money.” He glanced toward Cornelia and saw her frown. He had no intention of allowing her to lie for him and risk getting herself into difficulties.

“Going by his begging and the threadbare garments he’s wearing it would appear that prosperity and Theophilus were not on speaking terms. And yet his son was a rich and powerful man,” Georgios observed.

“His stepson.”

“If you insist on legalisms, his stepson. What do you know of his movements of late, what he has been doing?”

“Nothing. Before this week I had not seen him since I was a young man.”

“Indeed.” Georgios’ expression clearly showed his disbelief.

John was acutely aware that whereas the City Defender held an important post in Megara, he himself was in the unfamiliar position of being, essentially, an ordinary citizen. It was a strange sensation, as if the world had been turned inside out. Was this how those he had questioned in his own investigations felt? Furthermore, it was obvious Georgios did not like John. He shared all the basest prejudices of his fellow townspeople. John was a stranger, a man with an unusual family, one who was out of favor with the emperor and fortunate to have retained his head. In short, he was a suspicious character.

“Didn’t you inquire about your family?” Georgios pressed on. “I understand you grew up on a farm nearby.”

“Why were you investigating me before any crime was committed?” John parried.

“Do you think I am accusing you of murdering your stepfather?”

“You seem inclined to detain me here with irrelevant inquiries rather than searching the area. The farm forming part of this estate passed out of my family’s possession many years ago, after I had gone.”

“In the course of making the purchase, you must have been curious about where your relatives were.”

Why did everyone assume one had to maintain an interest in their family, no matter how little connection remained to them?

“The purchase was made by an agent, and my curiosity or lack of it is irrelevant,” John snapped. “I would suggest you turn yours into ways of catching the murderer.” He realized immediately he had overstepped his unaccustomed boundaries.

The City Defender didn’t bother to reproach him but there was cold warning in his glare. “I doubt any criminal would linger nearby after my men and I arrived. He or them will be long gone by now.” He took a torch from one of his men and held it, sizzling and spitting sparks, near Theophilus’ face. “I anticipate you will not know how he received that scar either?”

Before John could answer, he felt a hand on his arm. It was Cornelia. Did she really fear he was about to elaborate on the brawls he had with his stepfather as a boy?

“Peter!” she whispered. “Peter’s missing. He might be in danger. We’ve got to find him. We can’t stand around here doing nothing.”

Georgios looked up. “A member of your household? Missing? I ordered you and your servants to accompany us to this temple.”

“I thought his wife would bring him with her.” John turned, seeking out Hypatia.

She stood at the edge of the shifting pool of light, her face drawn and terrified in the flickering illumination. “I couldn’t find him at the house, master.”

Philip stepped toward Hypatia. John thought the young man was about to put his arm around her but he didn’t. “Don’t worry about Peter,” Philip told Georgios. “He’s just an old man”

“Even old men can commit murders,” Georgios replied. He turned to his armed torchbearers. “Find him.”