Murder in Megara

Chapter Thirty-three

John shrugged as he listened to the oaths Cornelia lavished on the heads of the City Defender and seller of fish.

They were an unwelcome contrast to the peaceful olive grove he had purposely sought out after his frustrating trip into Megara. He had never quite become used to the remarkable repertoire of curses Cornelia had learned during her years on the road.

“So it was all our own fault,” she concluded. “We forced those poor souls to attempt to burn down our home. I’m surprised Georgios didn’t fine us for releasing demons. And I thought Constantinople was corrupt.”

“Nowhere is free from corruption, no matter how small. In the meanest village you’ll find men every bit as corrupt as any at the emperor’s court, only fewer of them, with less wealth and power within their greedy reach.”

“And not dressed in silks,” Cornelia said.

John gave her a questioning look, then recalled he had said something similar to her before and probably more than once. “A sign of age. I’m repeating myself.”

“Perhaps it bears repeating. What kind of place have we come to?”

John had recounted his experiences at Corinth’s port during their walk to the grove. They took a long, circuitous stroll, purposefully avoiding the ruined temple. Their destination grew on the part of the estate that had once been his family’s farm.

The grove looked much as he remembered it, scattered clusters of gnarled trees. It was obvious they had not received much care.

John scowled in disapproval. “Harvest time is fast approaching and look at them! My father-my real father-kept these trees well pruned,”

He made his way across the small grove. There were larger olive groves elsewhere on the land he now owned, planted on a scale to serve an estate rather than a farming family. He stopped at an enormously wide-boled tree, a gnarled patriarch with branches twisting out above chest level.

“You see how there’s a natural nest up there? My father used to lift me up and I’d sit and watch during the harvest. It was a memorable day when I was able to climb up myself.”

Cornelia ran a hand along the bark. “Going by its size, it must be very old.”

“My friends and I convinced each other it was thousands of years old. There were broken branches at the top and Alexis claimed they’d been clipped off by Noah’s ark sailing over it.”

“But a grain of truth perhaps? After all, olive trees can live for centuries.”

“Several in the grove at Plato’s Academy were ancient too. Plato taught in their shade.”

Cornelia was silent but John could read her puzzled expression.

In truth he had been drawn here by the memory of the grove, which had surfaced suddenly for no apparent reason on his way back from the city. Had his unaccustomed feeling of helplessness during the City Defender’s ridiculous hearing reminded him of being a toddler, lifted up into the tree by strong hands? Later in his childhood, when he could reach the nest himself, it had been a secret place where he came to think and observe the world. He had not thought of the secret places of his boyhood for many years.

He had an urge to climb back into his old perch. He resisted. What a sight that would make!

“You were telling me you asked Leonidas to look into the tax records,” Cornelia prompted.

“Yes. I’m going to visit him tomorrow evening to see what he discovers, if anything.”

“Surely Anatolius investigated very carefully? I would have thought we could be certain there are no outstanding amounts to be paid.”

“I agree, but in addition I was hoping there might be something to assist me in finding my way out of the labyrinth we have been thrust into.”

“When you arrived back from Lechaion you told me you thought you’d located a thread there, before I persuaded you it wasn’t the time to discuss murder.”

“That’s right. And you were right. It was much too late to speak of murder.”

John felt he had lost an entire day. His further inquiries following his interview with Maritza and the informer with the knife had yielded no new possibilities for investigation. He had not reached home until well after dark, only to be greeted with the story of the attack on the house and the news that the City Defender had delayed the arsonist’s arraignment until that morning, to give John the chance to attend as the owner of the damaged property.

John pointed out that Georgios had made certain the travesty of a hearing was technically fair. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “the thread I found in Lechaion involved my stepfather’s doings, so I disliked touching it. I haven’t had an opportunity to examine the mysterious scrap of parchment yet. It’s going to take some care and good light.”

“It’s that difficult to make out?”

“Not the writing on top, but what’s underneath. Theophilus or someone associated with him hid that message about the iron shipment under the writing on the wax. The same general method may have been used.”

“What are the words you can read about?”

“That legend I related to you. The usual nonsense. Alexis, who studies that sort of thing, told me he had never seen any reliable accounts.”

Cornelia looked thoughtful. “Are you sure it’s nonsense? Julius, one of the slaves you freed, told me that Diocles had the slaves digging around the temple.”

“Preparing to repair the foundation.”

“Julius claimed that was a pretext. The slaves knew very well Diocles was hoping they would find valuables.”

“This fantasy is spreading through Megara like a plague. Everyone’s infected.” John let his gaze climb up through the branches of the olive tree. “And yet…the priests passed what they rescued into the care of she who wails her daughter, the unwilling bride.”

Cornelia gave him a questioning look.

“It’s part of what is visible on Theophilus’ document,” John explained. “‘She who wails her daughter’ would be Demeter, whose daughter Persephone was kidnapped by Hades.”

“So Theophilus must have thought the treasure was buried at the temple of Demeter on the estate?”

“He might have, but Demeter was popular in this area. There must be hundreds of ancient shrines and places associated with her around here. I believe it explains how he happened to be at the temple when he was killed.”

“Do you suppose Theophilus told Diocles about the possibility of the cache being buried at our temple?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Theophilus was involved in all manner of activities.”

“You think it likely Theophilus was killed in connection with the illicit business dealings you learned about while you were away?”

“It’s a risk criminals always take.” He saw the doubt in her face. “I’m certain I wasn’t the target, Cornelia. I know you’re worried about that.”

“He was killed at the temple on your estate. Why here? Why not in Lechaion?”

“His murderer may well live locally. It seems likely Theophilus had dealings in Megara. Until we arrived, the ruined temple would have made a good meeting place, isolated as it is, and considering how little attention Diocles paid to what was happening on the estate. A meeting might have been scheduled weeks ago, with no time to notify anyone else concerned of our suddenly taking up residence. Fellow criminals don’t necessarily want to tell each other where they live.”

Cornelia still looked displeased. “I can tell you’ve been thinking about the situation at length, but I still can’t help wondering if the murderer was trying to harm you. Even if he didn’t mistake Theophilus for you, he may have killed him on your land to cast suspicion on you, which, I may add, he’s clearly accomplished.”

“Suspicion is one thing, but-”

“Suspicion may be all that’s necessary, given the quality of justice you’ve just witnessed in Megara, John!”

She was right, which was one reason John disliked the feeling of having lost a day. He needed to locate the culprit while he still had a chance. “Theophilus was involved in smuggling. It’s not like simple robbery. Quite a number of people have to cooperate and those deals often fall apart for one reason or another. I have to make inquiries locally.”

“You mentioned counterfeiting. There’s a blacksmith on the estate not far from where we are, nor the temple ruins for that matter.”

John had hoped she wouldn’t have realized Petrus, living so close by, was a natural suspect. “Let’s not leap to conclusions. There are other blacksmiths in Megara and an endless variety of goods to smuggle. Another possibility is the man responsible might not be from the area. He might live in Lechaion too, but arranged to kill Theophilus away from the scene of their work together, so as to attract less attention there.”

“Illegal activities, murderers on the loose, townspeople possessed by demons! Not the quiet country life we envisioned, is it?”

“Cornelia…”

She held her arms out. “Don’t say anything John. Help me up into this tree so I can see the view of the world you had as a boy.”