Murder in Megara

Chapter Thirty-two

Helen’s face clouded briefly as she opened the door to John. Then she smiled and welcomed him. “You may have a difficult time getting Leonidas’ attention. When he’s engrossed in one of his models well…”

Her husband sat hunched over the table. A miniature tower, a cylindrical construction circled by a rising stairway, stood partly finished, surrounded by thin curls of wood. “Can you guess what this is meant to be?” He pointed a small, thin-bladed knife at the model.

John examined the construction briefly. “A very fair rendering of the Tower of Babel?”

Leonidas smiled broadly, obviously pleased. “That’s right. I’ve begun working on a series of important buildings from the scriptures. Many interesting structures, to say the least. Solomon’s palace will present a real challenge. It’ll take a vast amount of gilding for a start. And here is the wine.”

Helen set cups and a wine jug on the table. “Other men boast of their large houses and vast estates. But none have anything like the vast holdings of my husband here, even if they are just small re-creations. Still, so long as he is happy why complain?” She gave Leonidas a fond smile, patted him on his shoulder, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Of course you will stay for a meal?” Leonidas said, putting down his knife and pouring wine. “I heard about the fire. Helen tells me the wag-tongues in the marketplace have it only one of the culprits was caught.”

John confirmed the truth of the rumor, adding he had just come from seeing the seller of fish released and that no compensation had been ordered by the City Defender.

Leonidas swore and gulped down a mouthful of wine. “May those demons bite his backside and that of the seller of fish also! I wish I could do more than just offer sympathy, John. If there is anything I could do…?”

“I think you can assist me. I spoke to the City Defender concerning the land records for my estate and learned they had been lost in a fire sometime since. You work in the tax office and so would know, is it true records were destroyed by fire after an earthquake?”

“You must think Megara is a city swarming with arsonists, but in fact it is true many records did vanish at that time. I suspect officials, who better remain nameless, used the disaster as a pretext to destroy documents they would prefer not to exist, although I have also heard others claim citizens actually set the records office on fire to escape unpaid taxes.”

John pointed out that the administration in Constantinople kept records for tax collection, but he could hardly travel there to consult them personally, and as for any remaining in Megara, it seemed to him if he requested from the City Defender particular records he did not wish John to have, they would doubtless be among those said to have been destroyed. “But what if someone else, someone whose work involved taxes, so had every right to scrutinize the records, were to quietly consult them?”

“You are asking me to copy anything I can find relating to your estate? But why, John? Is there some question of ownership?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. However, I am beginning to fear the authorities will use any excuse to get rid of me, and what easier way than administratively, by confiscating the estate for non payment of taxes?”

“Yes, you’re right. There are endless ways tax assessments and payments can be found to be in error. Occasionally the mistakes are actually honest ones. Certainly, I’ll look into this.”

John could see his old friend’s gaze return to the tower and left shortly thereafter with a plea of business needing attention.

Leonidas picked up his knife and gently poked at his creation. “The problem with this is that I can’t be certain where to stop,” he told himself. “It never reached heaven, but how close did it come, and how high is heaven? I’m assuming for this little tower heaven is the ceiling. Still, one prefers to see a clear end to a thing.”

It was a sentiment with which John would have agreed.

***

After John left, Helen came to the table where Leonidas was working. Instead of taking away the cups and jug she sat down next to him and put a hand on his wrist, stopping the motion of the knife with which he was paring a section of stairway.

“Is it wise, do you think, to be searching through tax records?”

“Why wouldn’t I do John a favor? He’s an old friend.”

“Which is bad enough as it is.”

Leonidas set the knife down. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Leonidas. It isn’t good to have a friend everyone hates.”

“He’s not hated by me. Or you. Is he?”

“Oh, Leonidas. You’re a good man. Too good. What if it’s discovered you’ve been snooping through city records on John’s behalf? People may think you’re involved.”

“Involved with what?”

Helen gave him a cross look. “With whatever they’re involved with out on that estate.”

“But they aren’t involved with anything.”

“Does it matter whether they are or not? It’s what people will think, what the City Defender thinks. We have a nice life here. A little home that suits us. Our son has taken up an admirable calling. We’re comfortable. We’re happy. Why risk ruining everything?”

Leonidas shut his eyes as if that might make the discussion go away. “If I supposed there was any real risk-”

“Of course there’s a risk.” Helen’s voice grew sharp. “John isn’t the boy you knew. He’s a former Lord Chamberlain to the emperor. Men of his sort are like the wind from the north, they bring storms with them.”

“It seems to me trouble was already waiting here in Megara for him.”

“He chose to be ambitious. He wanted wealth and power. He decided to take the risks. We didn’t travel that path, Leonidas. We’ve been content with our quiet life.”

Leonidas squeezed her hand, bent, and kissed her forehead lightly. “Please don’t worry. I won’t do anything to draw attention to myself. No harm will come to us, I promise.”

***

Peter completed chopping vegetables for the evening meal and left Hypatia in the kitchen hanging up bundles of herbs to dry. She was safe for the time being. Safe from arsonists and kidnappers and stone-throwing mobs. And safe from temptation. Perhaps.

He had thought the two of them could be happy with a simple life. But he had served the master long enough to have learned that the master’s life, and the lives of those around him, would never be simple.

As Peter entered the rooms he and Hypatia shared with two felines he would prefer to be elsewhere, he saw the large black cat sitting on a stool watching disdainfully as its smaller, mottled brown companion, batted something around the floor.

“No! No!” Peter shouted. “Wretched creatures!” First they brought fleas in, now it was larger vermin. He looked around for the broom to sweep it out.

The small cat knocked its prey against a table leg, leapt back, hissing, then crouched and crawled forward warily.

Not seeing the broom he sought, Peter used his foot to move the cat aside, gently for Hypatia’s sake, and leaned over, putting a hand on the table to steady himself. “What did you drag in, you nasty beast?”

It was the size and color of a large rat. Peter had to crouch down almost to the floor before he brought the thing into focus.

There were too many legs for a rat. And rats didn’t have long tails with stingers at the end.

It was the biggest scorpion he’d ever seen.

He tried to jump up and out of the way, but lost his balance. Twisting, grabbing at the table, he realized he was about to come right down on the poisonous horror.

His knee hit the curled tail.

It disintegrated under his weight, bits of mud skittering across the floor, sending both cats to flight.

It was only one of Hypatia’s protective charms. It had been some time since she’d made any. Peter had nearly forgotten about them.

He hobbled into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, noting another clay scorpion on the chest against the wall, directly below the simple wooden cross he had hung there.

The monk Stephen had suggested he and Hypatia pray together. That would be difficult. Long ago, Peter had tried to convince Hypatia she should convert to Christianity, to give up worshiping her Egyptian deities. He knew it was better not to attempt it again.

And what difference did it make what a person chose to call the God of All? Or whether, like the master and mistress and Hypatia, they called Him by different names? It was simply what a person was born into, like the language they spoke, and who would condemn anyone for having been born speaking Coptic rather than Greek?

Peter did not pride himself on being a theologian, but it struck him as simple enough. He read the scriptures and he could think and ponder such matters. He didn’t need anyone to explain such matters to him.

So whatever their problems, they would not pray together. Hypatia prayed to the gods of Egypt and constructed charms of clay. Peter prayed to the Lord and read verses from the psalms.

Peter’s prayers had one advantage. The cats couldn’t stalk them and frighten him half to death by doing so.