One for Sorrow

Chapter Forty-one

While one friend continued to seek vengeance for Leukos’ death, two sought to make sense of Berta’s. Felix and Thomas arrived separately at Isis’ private rooms to offer their condolences but their expressions of sorrow soon turned to anger.

“Berta might have been popular, Isis, as you say, but what about the misbegotten bastard who strangled her?” Felix tossed down another mouthful of wine.

Isis studied the two callers seated opposite. The big, bearded men were alike so many ways they might have been a peculiar pair of brothers. The one was shaggy and dark, the other red haired. Felix was bulkier, built like a great bear. Thomas had the broad shoulders of the gladiators depicted in ancient sculptures. Tears streamed down Felix’s face and his mouth trembled. Thomas’ expression was rigid, his cold gaze a contrast to his fiery hair.

“We’ve never had such a thing happen before,” Isis said. “And what I can’t understand is who it could have been. So far as I know, only our regular guests were here.” Her dark eyes were somber. “Is no one to be trusted these days? I do believe I shall have some wine myself. Thomas?”

The knight shook his head. Felix banged down his goblet. Isis scowled. In her house, displays of anger led to a swift and oft-times undignified exit aided by the brawny Darius. Murder was-or had been-unthinkable. For the first time in the years since she had arrived from Alexandria alone and afraid, she felt unsafe.

Shuddering, she poured more wine.

“She had a fine funeral, my Berta,” Felix said. “I am paying for it myself.” Despite the wine he had imbibed, his words were carefully formed and clearly spoken, but shaped by that terrible frozen grief of the newly and suddenly bereaved.

Isis dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Berta. Only a few days ago, dancing at the palace, and now the only people she will be dancing for are the dead, and that after her heart is balanced on the scales against the feather of truth.”

“I spit upon your feathers!” Felix snarled.

Thomas, who had been largely silent since arriving to find the morose Felix with Isis, inquired about the feather, less from real interest than to calm a situation which might turn ugly.

“Oh, yes,” Isis replied, “yes, when we die, our hearts are weighed against the feather of truth. It is an ostrich feather, such as is worn by our goddess Maat. She represents truth and justice, you know. If the scales of judgment balance evenly, then the departed are judged worthy. If not, they are destroyed.”

Felix rose ponderously from the couch. “That may well be, Isis. But Mithra will surely aid me, and a veritable tribunal of judges of the dead, a whole milling herd of ostriches, none of these things will hide the truth of it, for I shall find out who did this thing, and I shall….” He paused, wiping tears from his face. “Let me repeat this, as Mithra is my lord, I shall personally ensure that justice is meted out. I shall take great pleasure in squeezing the miserable dregs of life out of the bastard who took my Berta away from me. But slowly, very slowly, you understand? I want his agony to be long, and when he dies, the only prayer over his body will be mine, that Mithra will continue his agony in the next life for all of eternity.” His words were the more terrible for being spoken in a gently conversational tone of voice. “And now, I must go.”

Neither Thomas nor Isis spoke for a while after the bereaved man staggered out. Finally, Thomas broke the heavy silence by wondering if Felix would ever find the man he sought.

“I wouldn’t lay a wager on it. Felix has made a lot of bad wagers.”

“Perhaps Felix would like a memento of Berta,” mused Thomas. “Didn’t she have some jewelry? I recollect some barbaric bracelets. I would be happy to deliver them to him if you would trust me.”

“That’s kind of you, Thomas. As it happens, I already gave him some of her small pieces as remembrances. If I didn’t know that my girls’ all have hiding places for their valuables I would never have found them.”

Thomas nodded. “Excellent, excellent. She was very fond of green, wasn’t she?” He sounded wistful.

Isis stared at him with surprise. She heard genuine emotion in his voice. “You were fond of her?”

He blushed. “Yes.”

Isis knew that men could quickly form attachments if they met a girl at the right time. It was the source of no small amount of trouble in her business. “You only saw Berta once, as I recall?”

“That’s true but she had something about her…I think she took a liking to me too, although I wouldn’t say so to Felix. She was fascinated by my travels.”

Isis did not point out that being fascinated by clients was part of Berta’s job. What an innocent the man was. But then what could you expect of someone from the far edge of the empire? “I’ve done some traveling myself, Thomas. Have you been to Alexandria? That’s where I’m from.”

“There are few places I have not been.”

“The Lord Chamberlain lived there for a while.” A soft smile briefly illuminated her plump face. “You know, he is a good man. He has suffered much, and yet remains kind.”

“No higher praise can any man, or woman for that matter, have bestowed upon them. I would be proud to have that said of me.”

“I think, Thomas, that your heart is true and you need not fear the weighing of it when the time comes. What a strange and terrible city this is! I shall be glad to return home eventually. I daresay you feel the same way? Do you think it will be a long time before you return home?”

He shrugged. “It’s been too long since I’ve walked under the gray skies of Bretania, yet I can’t say when I’ll feel its kindly rain on my face again.”

“You are quite the poet, Thomas!”

“All men wax poetical about that which they love.”

“And there is no doubt that Felix loved Berta.” Isis, having drunk too much, had put aside her goblet and was peeling an apple. “If only we knew who murdered her. Here is an apple for knowledge, as the Christians say. Perhaps it will work for you.”

Thomas chewed the proffered fruit thoughtfully. “In the northern part of Bretania where I was born, apple-cores are called gowks. Yet you could put apples in huge piles and ask a man from the south to find the gowks, and he would look forever. They would be there, in plain view right in front of him, yet hidden, so he would not find them. Well, not unless he asked someone from the north, I suppose!”

“It seems that the moral of your tale is that with good will and many eyes the hidden cannot remain so forever.” In her current state of inebriation it struck Isis as a profound insight.

Thomas nodded solemnly. “Let us hope so, for I fear Felix is going to be a dangerous man until he exacts his revenge for Berta.”