Murder in Megara

Chapter Twenty-three

John ran a finger along a row of numbers in the codex lying open on the triclinium table, shaking his head now and again and frowning. He had returned to the overseer’s books. The mundane task made less of a change from listening to Halmus’ heavenly visions than he would have guessed. Diocles’ figures appeared to be little more than visions themselves. After less than an hour, John’s fingertip was black with ink from tracing the malfeasance of the so-called overseer.

Whereas one might expect entries that supported each other in the manner of the blocks forming the walls of a city, with each expenditure entered against income and the resulting sum transferred onward, they revealed nothing approaching such an ordered arrangement.

It was obvious Senator Vinius had never sent an agent to check the accounts. John continued reading. He came to an entry recording the purchase of a herd of goats a few months before. There were no subsequent references relating to the sale of the herd, yet John had seen no goats on the estate.

He was about to make a note of the discrepancy when he found, farther down, an entry for a large sum spent on “remedies for sick goats” and then another for “disposal of goat carcasses.”

It seemed amazing an entire herd of goats would die within such a short time and given John was already suspicious of what he could only call Diocles’ unusual accounting methods, it seemed highly unlikely. It was not to be wondered the former overseer dressed well. When it came to the estate’s books, the overseer could produce goats out of thin air, send them straight back, and make money off the herd in the process.

What was Diocles doing now, John wondered, apart from spreading malicious rumors about the new owner of the estate? In addition to worrying about whoever killed Theophilus, should he also be worried about any vindictive actions the former overseer might take? Was Diocles capable of violence as well as fraud?

He was contemplating the question when Peter limped into the room accompanied by a dusty rustic and announced: “A messenger seeking to speak to you, master.”

“Are you the person in charge, sir?” his visitor inquired.

When John confirmed that he was, the messenger handed over a writing tablet, bowed, and was escorted out.

John watched Peter’s obviously painful exit. The servant shouldn’t be up and about, but it was useless to tell him so.

He cut the thin cord tying the tablet’s two beechwood frames together and opened them. The wax surface within bore a confirmation relating to the purchase of a large flock of sheep. More of Diocles’ imaginary livestock? Unlike goats, there certainly were plenty of sheep on the estate.

John consulted the codex in front of him. He wasn’t surprised to find no mention of any such transaction on the date given in the tablet, nor for a week before or after.

Was this some peculiarity of business in Megara? Or business as conducted by Diocles?

The message must have been intended for the overseer. The messenger hadn’t asked for John or the owner of the estate but for whoever was in charge, which for years had been Diocles. No doubt the rustic bearer of the tablet was unfamiliar with Diocles and had naturally assumed John’s answer meant he was the estate overseer.

What could the purpose be? Diocles didn’t need such a message delivered to him to falsify the accounts. Unless he was being instructed to make a false entry?

No doubt Diocles would have understood what it meant.

Was it in code perhaps?

Having just spent time talking with people who seemed to be concealing information and now being immersed in Diocles’ duplicitous accounts, the idea of artful concealment was not far from his thoughts.

John muttered an oath and picked up the tablet again. He pondered what the reference to sheep could possibly mean. The world was full of things the gentle-faced animals could represent.

As he reread the message he noticed a mark on the wooden frame around the wax. A deep gouge marred one of the raised borders of the right hand leaf. Similar marks on the outer leaves were to be expected, but an inner location seemed peculiar given that, when closed, the two inner surfaces lay together, protecting both frame and wax.

During his years of imperial service John had learned of many ingenious methods for secret communications.

He gently scraped the wax from its shallow rectangular tray.

“Mithra!” he muttered.

Carved into the wood under the wax was a short message. Evidently written in great haste, as witnessed by the uneven depth of its lines, one of which ended with a deep scratch stretching to the gouge which had alerted him to investigate further.

The secret message was as cryptic as the original in that it appeared to be too innocent to require concealment:

“Per July agreement. Delivered to Nisaea iron in agreed quantity.”