Murder in Megara

Chapter Twenty-nine

The flames of hell snaked up Peter’s legs, reached his arms, and ran along the flesh, gobbling it as if it were parchment.

“Fire, Peter! Wake up!”

He became aware his arm was being shaken. By Hypatia.

He managed to get his eyes open and lifted himself up on one elbow in time to see her jump out of bed, drag on her tunic, and run into the courtyard.

Dazed and grumbling, he followed as fast as he could. He was too old for such terrible awakenings.

As he emerged, blinking, into what should have been darkness, he saw a red glow dancing across the buildings surrounding the courtyard. A dozen or more unfamiliar men shouted oaths and abuse at Hypatia, waving swords and spears, and promising a swift end to anyone who interfered with them. Several carried torches. They had set fire to straw piled against the workers’ quarters. Laborers began to emerge, half-asleep, confused and terrified. Some were driven back and knocked down by the arsonists.

It would only take a rising wind to set the entire collection of buildings ablaze.

Hypatia, fists clenched, looked ready to dash straight at the vandals. Peter rushed to restrain her. “Stay away from them! You’re not even armed!” The thought of Hypatia’s danger brought another fear into Peter’s mind. “The mistress? Have you seen her? What can she do with the master away?”

A man whose features were thrown into relief by the fire’s flickering shadows grinned demonically as he approached. “Don’t worry, old man. No doubt her pagan god will take care of her. If not, all it will take is another sacrifice in that ruined temple. Now…” his ugly gaze wandered over Hypatia. “Since the owner’s wife is hiding, this one will have to do. Grab her!”

Several followers started forward.

Peter pushed Hypatia behind him. “Run!”

Too late. Hypatia was struggling in the grasp of the ringleader. Desperately but ineffectually Peter tried to pull her back to his side.

“I’ve got the woman!” the ruffian shouted and dragged her toward the gateway. Then hesitated. A look of confusion crossed his face. Then he bellowed in pain.

As if by sorcery an arrow had appeared in his shoulder.

He looked around the courtyard furiously, cursing.

Another arrow hissed past. The man knocked Peter down and ordered the others to retreat.

Peter staggered to his feet, heart pounding. He had no idea where the arrows had come from. Nor did he care. They might as well have been thrown down from heaven itself. All Peter could think of was Hypatia’s safety.

He stumbled out of the gate into the darkness.

Just in time to see Philip arriving at a run and Hypatia standing alone, steadying herself against the outside wall.

“Sent my men after the villains,” he shouted. “As soon as they saw us coming they split up. I’m going after the ringleader.”

Peter watched him race off. He felt Hypatia’s hand on his arm and an overwhelming sense of shame. What use had he been to her when she needed help?

“I’m going to help him.”

“Oh, Peter! Don’t be foolish!”

He pulled away from her grasp and forced himself to run on legs that felt as unsteady as a ninety-year-old’s, or for that matter a two-year-old’s. As soon as he was out of Hypatia’s sight he slowed, gasping, his chest feeling as if it was on fire.

Glancing back over the nearest hill he could see only a sullen glow in the sky. Without interference, the estate laborers would be able to douse the flames with water from the fishpond.

Dizziness made him bend over, hands on knees. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow and every breath hurt. He’d shown Hypatia he was eager to assist her young admirer. Perhaps now he should just sit down and rest.

But no. He had a task and he would do it. The former military man asserted himself and he straightened up and marched on across the dark, uneven ground, scuffling and stumbling. The leg he had injured falling into the pit protested at inclines too slight for him to make out.

As he hobbled past the temple, he spotted movement. Ignoring the jagged pains in his leg, he got down on hands and knees to crawl closer without exposing his silhouette against the sky. The master would be proud of him recalling that maneuver from his military days.

If only the master hadn’t been gone tonight.

Straining his eyes, he had to get very close to the ruined building before he recognized the leader of the arsonists, standing at the corner of the temple, scanning the landscape. How had he eluded Philip? Or-the idea struck him like a blade to the back-perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps Philip had caught up to him and…

Better not to think about that. Peter clung to the ground, the smell of earth filling his nostrils. He felt himself trembling uncontrollably.

He had expected to catch up to Philip after Philip had caught up to the leader of the mob. At least Peter would be able to say he’d been on hand for the capture, which shouldn’t have given Philip much difficulty, considering the arrow in his opponent’s shoulder. Running the man down, by himself, unarmed as he was, hadn’t been in his plans at all.

What he needed to do was slip away and notify whomever he could find. He began to turn, keeping low. His calf cramped. The pain was so sudden and excruciating he cried out involuntarily.

Peter tried to rise but before he could get back on his feet a face loomed over him, a grinning moon, and a sword appeared, poised for a killing blow.

However, it did not descend in a powerful arc. Instead it dropped sideways harmlessly, as its owner crumpled to the ground, revealing behind him a figure holding a jagged rock.

“Bastard,” remarked Peter’s savior in a casual manner, tossing down the stone, one side of which was dark with blood. “You’re lucky the arrow got him in his sword arm or he’d probably have split your skull before I cracked his.”