Murder in Megara

Chapter Fifteen

John traversed almost the entire length of the estate on his way to interview the blacksmith Petrus. For the most part he kept to the ridge along the sea. As he passed within sight of what was known locally as the Rock of Deliverance, he suppressed a shudder. Here, it was said, those disappointed by life came to find deliverance from their woes in the sea.

He had heard the rumors about his father-his real father. He had been a child when his father had abruptly, shockingly, inexplicably simply ceased to be where he had always been. His mother told him that John-for he had been named after his father-had died. Only later, when he was old enough to go off alone with his friends out of his mother’s sight and hearing, had he heard the rumors. That his father, beset by financial difficulties, had escaped by way of the rock.

The boy who told him had merely been repeating what he’d heard his parents say. Neither he nor John were sure what “financial difficulties” were, except that from the tones with which older people said the words they guessed they must be very terrible indeed. John had imagined his father pursued up the rock by hideous dragon-like creatures. He had had many nightmares about it.

Later, when he learned more about people’s ways, he decided the story was probably nothing but malicious gossip.

He increased his pace and cut inland to visit the temple. There was no breath of wind and no sounds save for the occasional cry of a gull and the crunch of John’s boots in the grass. The drowsy peace of a day of honest work nearly completed seemed to be settling over the parched landscape. Theophilus’ murder seemed far away, a half-remembered dream.

John shook his shoulders in irritation. Not a dream, he told himself, a nightmare, and here he was mooning around as if he were a lovestruck youth attempting to write a poem to his beloved and had all the time in the world to wait for inspiration.

He stepped into the temple. He dared not kneel but stood facing east. “Lord Mithra, Lord of Light,” he prayed, “This was once a holy place. I have no other, despite its desecration by the body of Theophilus, in which to petition Thee that I be guided to the truth and so continue to serve Thee, slayer of the great bull.”

Afterward he inspected the ruins but could see nothing of interest aside from a small pink flower emerging from a crack in the marble floor. There were only the excavations and piles of dirt around the sides and back of the ruins. The dirt might have revealed footprints before it had been trampled over by the crowd that had gathered during the night. Now it was too late.

He continued on his journey and crossing a rise arrived at Petrus’ house. The blacksmith was unloading a wagon in the packed earth yard by his forge.

Petrus came toward John, slapping grime off his hands on the long leather apron that seemed attached to him as a second skin. “I’ve just come from your house, sir. I’d have given you a ride if I’d seen you along the road.”

“I walked along the ridge.”

“It offers a fine view of the sea but very hot on a day like today. Will you honor me by sharing a jug of wine? My throat feels as if I dined on rust this morning.”

John readily agreed and soon the two men were sitting on a green-stained marble bench under a large pine, surrounded by the fragrance of the fallen pine needles that cushioned their feet. It was near sunset. The shadow of the pine stretched away, impossibly elongated, across the dirt yard, over the wagon, over wagon wheels lying against a stack of metal rods, losing itself in a mass of dead weeds beyond.

“No, sir, I saw nothing,” Petrus said in response to John’s questions. “As you see, my house is shielded by the rise there, and I certainly heard nothing suspicious.”

It was true. Though nearby, the temple could not be seen. Neither could the monastery, which was even closer. The land had the peculiar characteristic that although mostly fields and meadows interspersed with small orchards and vineyards it did not offer many unobstructed vistas due to its low hills and depressions. It would be surprisingly easy to creep up on someone who felt safe because of the apparent openness of his surroundings.

“You live alone?”

“I do, sir. There was a girl, but she preferred to marry a rich man and so…but I hear she has grown shrill and is never satisfied with what he buys her. Perhaps I had a fortunate escape after all. A man who lives alone may boil his eggs as he wishes, as they say.” He spread big, calloused hands and smiled.

“It appears so, Petrus. What do you know about Theophilus?”

Petrus’ good-natured face clouded. “Too much, sir, and that’s a fact. I made a gate for him, a large gate. After it was installed, he refused to pay for it. Naturally I took my case to law. Bribery must have been involved since I lost. After that I refused to do any further work for him.” He paused and gave a wide smile. “I did however insure that Megara knew he couldn’t be trusted to pay his debts. It was the least I could do to protect others, but not, as I am sure you will agree, a reason to stab him in the back, even though that was what he had more or less done to me.”

“Indeed.” John did not add that in his opinion there were a number of valid reasons to put a blade into his stepfather even if he couldn’t condone such an act. It was not surprising his mother had allowed him to be sent off to Plato’s Academy. He might have been executed for murder if he had remained at home.

“This gate was made some time ago when Theophilus still lived near you?”

“That’s right, sir. Before he sold the farm.”

“Did you see him after he went away?”

Petrus’ expression turned as black as his apron. “Once. At the monastery. I was returning some cooking utensils I had repaired and Theophilus was there. He told me he had been doing odd jobs for the abbot. I asked him if he was being paid to carry them out and reminded him of his debt and he just laughed. Well, you know what they say, sir. Small debts make debtors, large ones make enemies.”

“I understand how you must have felt,” John told him. “Let me ask about another matter. The work being done at the temple. How did it come about?”

“Oh that, sir? It was begun by order of the previous owner. The foundations need shoring up before what remains of the building collapses, so I’ve been told.”

“It seems odd to spend money on such a task, considering how the rest of the estate has been neglected.”

“I gather the ruin is of interest as a monument to former beliefs. Apparently the former owner was interested in antiquities and after all, who can fathom the reasons for the fancies of rich men? They swim in a different sea from the poor, as they say.”

Senator Vinius interested in antiquities? So far as John knew, the late senator hadn’t taken an interest in anything older than race horses and nubile prostitutes. Then again, perhaps the gossips underestimated the range of his tastes.

John finished his wine, stood, and placed the cup on the bench.

Petrus rose also, somewhat unsteadily since he had drunk most of the contents of the jug. “Dusk is creeping in. May I respectfully suggest, sir, given recent events it may be folly on your part to be wandering around in the dark?”

“You are of the opinion I am not safe here?”

“You may not be, sir. Theophilus wasn’t.”