Murder in Megara

Chapter Twenty-two

“You did not tell me the truth, Hypatia.” Peter said when she arrived back from the market with a full basket. His harsh greeting startled her.

She put her basket on the table and set down the small bunch of yellow wildflowers she carried.

“Did your young man pick those for you?” Peter asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you coming back with Philip. You told me you were going to go into town with the master.”

“He’d already gone. The mistress agreed Philip could accompany me. Ask her if you don’t believe me!”

“It isn’t fitting for us to question the mistress or the master.”

“Then you’ll have to take my word for it. Isn’t your wife’s word good enough for you?”

“I used to think I could trust you.”

Hypatia could not remember seeing Peter so furious with her. “I don’t like the way you are looking at me, Peter. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Peter looked pointedly at the flowers on the table. “That young man has been following you around like a cat after you’ve given it a bowl of milk, expecting more.”

“Oh, Peter! I certainly haven’t given Philip…anything!”

“Why should you be angry? I’m the one who has something to be angry about. Do you think I’m too old to be jealous? Is that it?”

“But you have nothing to be jealous about!”

“That’s the first thing everyone says.”

“If you need to be angry about something, then be angry about this. Philip told me that odious overseer Diocles didn’t leave the estate as soon as the master ordered. He stayed with Philip’s father for a while. Supposedly he’s gone now, but how can we be sure? The master should know, don’t you think?”

Peter fell silent. He looked as if he wanted to keep arguing. “Yes, you’re right. I had better tell him.”

After he limped out Hypatia tossed the flowers into the brazier, went into their bedroom, roughly pushed the cats off the bed, sat down, put her head in her hands, and cried.

She wasn’t even certain what she was crying about.

Perhaps everyone and everything.

***

On returning from Megara John searched the house and outbuildings until he found Cornelia in a gloomy, musty room attached to the barn. Covered ceramic jars, some pierced with numerous holes, filled shelves.

Cornelia leaned her broom in a corner, picked up a jar, and handed it to John. “Look at that!”

He brushed cobwebs away and looked inside. Delicate bones lay amid bits of walnut shells. “Someone forgot he was fattening dormice, or decided not to bother any longer.”

“Snails too. I’m sure we can guess who’s responsible.”

“Or irresponsible.”

“The overseer, of course. Too busy swindling the owner to care.” She picked up the broom and resumed cleaning.

“You should leave that for Hypatia or the farm workers.”

“I can’t sit around doing nothing, John. Besides, I enjoy exploring the place. You never know what you’ll find. And what did you find in Megara?”

He described his visit to her, sneezing more than once as dust whirled through the air. As he talked he watched her reaching, bending, stretching, admiring her lithe form and the unconscious grace with which she moved, even when performing a mundane and dirty task.

When he had finished telling her about his visit, her face was bemused. “I’m surprised Halmus can conduct any business at all, between going on pilgrimages and preaching and having visions.”

Before John could reply he heard shuffling footsteps and turning, saw Peter enter.

“Master, I am sorry to bother you but I have just heard something I think you should know. The former overseer was staying with the tenant farmer, Lucian.”

Cornelia banged the broom angrily against the floor. “Wretched man! He ought to be staying in a jar, starving like these poor dormice.”

“Where did you find this out, Peter?”

“Hypatia just told me. She got it from that young watchman who keeps bothering her.”

“Thank you. I will look into Diocles’ whereabouts.”

Peter hesitated in the doorway. “Master…about that story the merchant told you…I overheard…I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I didn’t want to interrupt you when you were talking to the mistress.” He looked at his feet nervously. “Well, to be honest, you know how I love to hear pilgrim tales.”

“I do, Peter. Halmus’ tale was certainly colorful. You have something to say about it?”

“He was lying to you, master.”

Cornelia gave a faint snort of derision. “Of course he was lying, he’s from Megara.”

“What do you mean, Peter?”

“His description of the burning bush was not correct. I know because I’ve seen it with my own eyes when I traveled through that country during my days in the military. It isn’t in the desert. Not at all, master. At the head of the valley, at the base of the mountains, the monks have built a church surrounded by cells in a beautiful garden. There is plenty of water, enough for a thriving orchard.”

“I see. Perhaps Halmus has difficulty recalling events?”

“It may be so, but it seems to me a person never forgets where he saw that bush.”

Cornelia waited until Peter was out of earshot before saying, “You know how these Christian pilgrims like to exaggerate.”

“Perhaps he had a vision, or thought he did,” John mused. “I’m not certain his humors aren’t deranged, or perhaps wants people to think they are. There would be advantages.”

Cornelia set aside her broom. “What about Diocles? You’re going to make certain he’s gone, aren’t you? The man might be dangerous.”

“Indeed. For now, if he’s still here, I like knowing where he is without him realizing.”