One for Sorrow

Chapter Nineteen

John winced at the sunlight that shouted through the kitchen window. His head pounded and he could feel a vein in his temple squirming. Nevertheless he couldn’t stomach Peter’s proffered cure which sat untouched in a large goblet on the scarred wooden table in front of him.

Anatolius, newly arrived, gave John a concerned look and inquired about his health.

“Too much wine,” John groaned, and proceeded to describe his evening, including a description of Thomas and his supposed mission. “I’m afraid I had very loose lips last night. A dangerous practice for a Lord Chamberlain.”

“You had a shock yesterday, John. Meeting Cornelia again after so long. Not to mention Leukos’ death and this peculiar foreigner showing up.”

“I should know how to control myself.”

“You’re only human, even if you sometimes pretend otherwise.” Anatolius glanced at the goblet on the table. “What’s that odd concoction?”

“Owls’ eggs and wine, the traditional cure for over-indulgence of the grape, as Peter put it. I’m not sure which is more unpleasant, that mixture or the look of disapproval Peter had when he put it down in front of me.”

Anatolius smiled. “Perhaps he intends it as your punishment. You should carry an amethyst. It’s said they’re a marvelous antidote to intoxication.”

“Do you carry one?”

“I tried but it didn’t help. You know the way it is with these cures, they always work, but only for someone else.”

“True enough.”

“And what about this scoundrel Thomas?”

“Peter saw him out. Unceremoniously, I gather. Peter has taken a dislike to him.”

“I’m not surprised. Some barbarian trying to pass himself off as a knight from Bretania in search of a holy relic. You can’t believe a tale like that! I wonder what he’s really up to?”

“I don’t know what to believe when it comes to Thomas. He presents a problem.”

“And to think he’s staying where Leukos and I visited the soothsayer. I never knew the Inn of the Centaurs was such a popular place. You should have told me about him yesterday.”

“I would have, but when you told me about Cornelia….”

“Yes, I would have forgotten everything else myself.” He reached out and tapped the leather pouch lying on the table. “Is this Leukos’ pouch, the one you told me about?”

“Yes. A messenger from the prefect delivered it last night, but Peter only told me this morning. I was waiting for my head to stop throbbing before examining it. No point in putting it off longer, I suppose. But I must request that you tell no one I have it.” As he spoke, John picked up the pouch, loosened its drawstring, and poured the contents out into the painfully bright sunlight lying across the table.

Something rolled across the table top, fell over the edge, and ticked down on the tiled floor. Anatolius retrieved a tiny, polished green stone. John frowned, puzzled.

“I have one like that,” Anatolius offered. “The soothsayer gave it to me after he told my future. It was one of the pebbles he used to do it. He said I should keep it for good fortune.”

John could hardly believe his own good fortune. “So we’ve learned something already! Leukos must have kept his appointment with the soothsayer. The old man said he had, but objects are not so prone to lie as people.”

The other contents of the pouch were more commonplace. There were four coins, three of silver and one gold, the gold coin having been clipped, which John theorized might indicate that Leukos had made a purchase on the last afternoon or evening of his life. But on the other hand, it might also indicate that he, or the coin’s previous owner, had purchased something earlier.

“Nothing to be learned from the coins, then?” queried Anatolius.

“Actually they tell us quite a bit. For one thing, it confirms what we had already surmised from the fact that Leukos still had the pouch. It wasn’t robbery.”

“You mean because they weren’t taken? Perhaps the thieves stole something Leukos had just purchased. Perhaps they were scared away as they were in the process of robbing him. That could have happened if they were interrupted by a passerby. Someone might even have come out of Isis’ house and disturbed them.”

“Yes, something like that could easily have happened but I don’t think it’s what occurred. We must look for some other motive for Leukos’ murder.”

The other contents of Leukos’ pouch were less instructive. What could be made of a square of linen embroidered with the palace mark and a silver necklace?

“What do you suppose Leukos used this for?” Anatolius said, picking up the cloth. “Surely he wasn’t raiding the imperial storerooms?”

“Hardly.” John’s tone quelled the young man, who had the grace to look ashamed at making such a remark so soon after the man’s death.

“He was such a perfectionist perhaps he used it to wipe stray spots off the silver?” Anatolius mumbled lamely.

John said nothing, but picked up the necklace. It was heavy. At the end of its thick silver chain hung two intertwined fish. Both men knew that the fish was a Christian symbol, and that Leukos had been a Christian.

“A trinket for a lady friend?” suggested Anatolius. “Surely it is for a woman?”

“Not necessarily. And do you ever recall seeing him with a lady friend?”

Anatolius shook his head. “No, now that you mention it.”

“Don’t forget Leukos and I were always interested in finding accomplished craftsmen to carry out palace commissions,” said John. “We often collected samples of their creations. I’d have assumed it was something like that, but consider the workmanship. Crude, don’t you think? I would have said it isn’t anything that would normally have attracted Leukos’ attention.”

“You think too hard, John. Even with wine-hags in your head, you’re concocting explanations just so you can demolish them. And most of them are ideas that would never occur to anyone else.”

John agreed it was possible.

“I’m sure there is a simple solution,” Anatolius offered.

“Probably, probably.”

John carefully replaced the objects in the pouch. Had it really been a bungled attempt at robbery which had ended in murder? People died on the streets every day. People who had taken a wrong turn at the wrong hour. One moment on their way home to their families, looking forward to all the joys and trials of the years ahead. The next, dead. And for no reason. It was nothing to do with them or the lives they had led, except that a cutthroat thought they might be carrying something valuable. But strangers died for no reason. Not friends, and certainly not John’s friend Leukos.

“I don’t know,” John worried away at it. “Something’s wrong. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does it have to?”

“Yes,” John snapped, regretting his tone even as he spoke. “Yes, it does.”