One for Sorrow

Chapter Forty

“So it’s over?” Anatolius said.

He sat talking with John in John’s garden. He had come to the house hoping for a glimpse of Europa but aside from a hint of exotic perfume, possibly imagined, as he crossed the entrance hall lit by a single lamp there was no evidence of her.

“As far as Justinian and the patriarch are concerned it is over.”

“And as for you?”

John’s lips tightened. “I instructed the prefect to inform me of any bodies recovered from the sea.”

“For what purpose?”

“For one thing, he might have had something on his person that would offer a clue to why Leukos was murdered.”

Anatolius was almost sorry he had asked John about his investigation. He had listened with one ear while staying alert for the sound of light footsteps on the garden path.

A few rays of dying sunlight straggled over the house roof to coruscate off a pool fed by a soothing trickle from the mouth of some unidentifiable, time-worn creature. John sat on a bench and Anatolius perched on the smooth edge of the fountain basin.

“You say Justinian instructed you not to pursue the matter further, even before those incriminating daggers were found in Ahasuerus’ possession?” Anatolius continued. “Doesn’t that suggest he knew then that Ahasuerus was about to be arrested for the crime?”

“It might have been nothing more than one of his whims,” John said. “There also remains unexplained the disappearance of Xiphias, who worked with Leukos.”

Anatolius shrugged. “From what you’ve told me about Xiphias, John, there’s no mystery there. He was a cruel and vengeful man. Had he been in your position, seeing an opportunity to exact revenge on an old tormentor, he would have leaped on the chance gleefully. Men like that always believe the hearts of others are as black as their own.”

“I’ve been Lord Chamberlain for a long time. Had I wanted to relegate Xiphias to the dungeons or deprive him of his head, I could have done so at any time, and for no reason at all.”

“Reasonable men make the mistake of thinking everyone else is reasonable.”

John directed his gaze toward the eroded creature in the middle of the fountain. “Look at that poor beast,” he mused. “The elements are sending him back to the lump of stone from which the sculptor coaxed him.”

“Are you unwell, John?”

“Tired. My mind wanders when I’m tired.”

“Mine just lies down and sleeps.” Anatolius’ attempt at levity was apparently lost on John. His friend, who always had the look of an ascetic, appeared even more drawn and hollow-eyed than usual. It was not surprising. Being reunited with a lost love might not be a joyful experience, considering the circumstances.

“Anatolius, you remember I mentioned I had visited a stylite a couple of evenings ago? I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you much about that.”

“It must have been harrowing to be out in that terrible storm.”

“Worse yet trying to climb up an exceedingly narrow and slippery ladder in order to converse with a taciturn holy man ringed in his own filth and not in the best of tempers. Especially with the wind plucking at my cloak and plunging cold fingers into my tunic.”

“Reminds me of some wild actresses of my acquaintance,” Anatolius remarked, still hoping to elicit some sign of good humor from his friend.

John frowned. “This young religion has acquired some strange encrustations. I wonder what the patriarch thinks about having this pious beggar sitting up there in his crow’s nest, communing with the Lord, not a stone’s throw from that great church filled with gold and silver?”

“The stylite might not be looking at the church. Perhaps he watches the chariot races.”

John smiled at last, if wearily.

“I’ve only seen the fellow from the ground. What was he like?” asked Anatolius.

John wrinkled his nose at the recollection. “It would be difficult to guess his age. He is bearded and dressed in rags. At least he isn’t the sort who stands there semi-naked, wearing just chains.”

“You make him sound like someone who’s managed to get on the bad side of the empress. Or perhaps the good side.”

John shook his head in mock disapproval. “You must watch your tongue, my friend.”

Anatolius made an even more scurrilous joke.

“You shock me,” John was stern-faced but faint lines of amusement were blossoming around his mouth and eyes. “I hope you will not be a bad influence on Europa.” The admonition went home.

“No, of course not.”

“Do you think I haven’t noticed you sitting there with your head cocked to one side, only half hearing what I’m saying, glancing around every time a bird rustles a branch? Or guessed why?”

Anatolius looked at his feet. “You are observant, John. You must surely have learned something from the stylite.”

“I learned that Constantinople is a small city full of twisting alleys. We live here in such close proximity, each to all. Leukos’ murder was the sort of tragedy that happens in the poorer byways of the city all the time, but they are practically as close to the palace as to the tenements.”

“You’ve lived here long enough to know that.”

John ignored the comment. “And as for you, my friend, you judged Ahasuerus to be an honorable man.”

Anatolius looked uneasy. “It seems I am a poor judge. We know Leukos met the soothsayer. He had that green pebble in his pouch, just like the one that Ahasuerus gave me.” A look of alarm crossed Anatolius’ face. “It occurs to me that I’m fortunate the old villain didn’t follow me into an alley instead.”

“You’ve changed your opinion of him?”

“When he’s found to have had daggers matching the murder weapon in his possession, what choice do I have? I suppose I trusted his prediction for me because I wanted Europa to believe it also,” Anatolius concluded.

“Do you mean because a young lady is not likely to accept the word of a murderer that her admirer will be lucky in love?”

Anatolius flushed but remained silent.

“Do you think the soothsayer followed Leukos and stabbed him to death?” John asked.

“I don’t know if he followed him. Perhaps they arranged to meet later for some reason. A longer reading, for example. Or Leukos might have been talking too freely about the valuable imperial plate in his charge, and Ahasuerus got the notion he was carrying a lot of money. Perhaps he just happened to see Leukos on his way to somewhere else.” Anatolius was becoming exasperated. Although he knew it was unfair, he was angry at John for dampening his own good spirits.

“Why did Leukos seem so distracted at the Hippodrome?”

“He did, didn’t he? I suppose he was anticipating his visit to the soothsayer. It wasn’t the kind of thing he did every day.”

“And what about Berta’s death? Do you suppose that was unrelated? The alley where Leukos was murdered runs behind Isis’ house. Berta was at the same palace celebration Ahasuerus attended. Now I fear Europa and Cornelia are in danger. After all, they were at the same accursed gathering.”

“You think too much, John. It’s just coincidence. And after all, in Berta’s line of work, such things happen. As for Leukos, he visited the soothsayer. A few hours later the old man’s dagger is in Leukos’ ribs. Even a theologian would have to agree his murderer was the soothsayer. Ahasuerus was drowned when he tried to flee, pulled to the bottom of the sea. What better vengeance could you want? As I’ve already said, it is over.”

“You’re right, Anatolius. I do want revenge. I admit it. But drowning, no, I wouldn’t wish that.”

John fell silent. The setting sun had disappeared behind the roof. “It isn’t reason that leads me to believe the soothsayer wasn’t the murderer,” he finally said. “It is a feeling. If Leukos’ murderer were dead, it would be gone. If he were really avenged, this black creature inside me would have taken wing. But it has not, and I feel that if I don’t bring his murderer to justice, it will gnaw at me for the rest of my life.”

“But John, what has happened has happened. Leukos’ death was unfair. But even if Ahasuerus were not the murderer, and I can’t see who else could be, would finding the murderer make it any fairer?”

John did not answer the question. He looked grim. There were times when, even though he was a personal friend, Anatolius almost feared the Lord Chamberlain.

“I can’t help feeling Cornelia and Europa may in some way be involved,” John said. “and that makes it imperative that this mystery is unraveled. Until it is I am convinced their lives are in danger, and we can’t guess which direction the danger will be coming from.”

Anatolius was silent. In the gathering darkness the scent of the garden’s spring flowers seemed stronger. He wondered what went on in his maimed friend’s mind when he lay alone at night. What other demons that could never be exorcised raged inside John? What agonies that dared not be remembered hammered at the flimsy door of suppression?

And it occurred to Anatolius, perhaps because he was of a poetic turn of mind, that John’s controlled and rational exterior might be no more than a thin varnish over madness and despair.