Murder in Megara

Chapter Thirty-six

“Mithra!” John threw the covers back and sat up in bed, shading his eyes against the brilliant light streaming in. The sun was well up and the bucolic scene of fields and meadows, already awake while he was still half-asleep, irritated him.

“Don’t fret, John. If you hadn’t needed to sleep you wouldn’t have.” Cornelia appeared in the doorway, fully dressed, carrying a bundle of garments.

John glanced around. “Where are my clothes? I should be working by now.”

“Those vile rags you came in wearing last night are out in the courtyard. As soon as I came down to the kitchen this morning I could smell them.”

John remembered she had demanded he bathe before going upstairs to their rooms. “I apologize, Cornelia. I didn’t think it would be wise to look for a public bath in Megara.”

“No, you might have been mistaken for a plague carrier. Here’s fresh clothing.” She tossed the bundle to him. “As for your old clothes, they might serve as cleaning rags if the smell will come out.”

After he pulled on the tunic he followed Cornelia down to the kitchen. As in Constantinople, it had become the central gathering place of the house, quite inappropriately and particularly here where it was not even part of the owner’s quarters. But then John had grown up in a modest farmhouse, not a mansion or a country estate, and old habits, as Petrus would no doubt declare, die hard. This morning the sweet fragrance of the herbs Hypatia had hung up to dry mingled with the odors of cooking. The room was already coming to life. John’s mother used to say that the kitchen was the heart of a home and as soon as you walked into a kitchen you could tell what sort of life a family led.

He gulped the cup of wine waiting on the table. “Are there any boiled eggs? I can just take a couple with me and eat on the way.”

“Oh, John! You’re not going back to Megara?”

“No. I have business on the estate this morning.”

“You must rest. We haven’t had much peace since we got here, and before that-”

“That’s over with now.”

“You’re going to kill yourself!” Cornelia grimaced, obviously wishing the words back.

“You’re still convinced I was the intended victim, not Theophilus? If that were true, all the more reason for me not to be wasting time.”

She placed a plate of bread and cheese on the table. “Neither of us are as young as we used to be, and who knows what we’re facing. The City Defender suspects you or at least has indicated in no uncertain terms that he does. Perhaps he killed Theophilus and hopes to convict you of the crime.”

“I’m more concerned about you than myself, not to mention Peter and Hypatia. They chose to accompany us here. They could have remained in Constantinople. I am indebted to them.”

“You won’t be able to defend anyone, including yourself, if you succumb to exhaustion. Promise me you’ll take a few hours off and soon.”

“When I’m done with this visit I have to make.”

He spotted a bowl of eggs, reached into it, and grabbed one. The shell broke in his hand, spraying yellow yolk on his clean tunic.

***

By the time he had eaten a breakfast of bread, cheese, and olives, and walked to Lucian’s farm, the wet spot on his tunic where Cornelia had cleaned off the egg yolk was almost dry. Not that his destination was a place where he needed to look presentable. Long before he reached the farmhouse the warm breeze wafted to his nostrils the distinctive aroma of swine.

The house seemed deserted. He knocked at the open door and receiving no response went into the kitchen and called out for Lucian. There was no sound except for the flies buzzing around dirty dishes on the table. The room smelled of grease. The whitewashed wall behind the brazier was stained an unhealthy yellow.

John pushed open the door leading to a back room with an unmade bed. The window was open and he leaned out.

Diocles was not fleeing across the fields.

He stamped around the house, to alert anyone who might be sleeping.

There was nothing unusual to be seen and no sign that Diocles had been in residence, although John wasn’t certain what indication of his presence there could have been. The overseer might well have made off with valuable items from the estate, but John had no idea what exactly had been on the estate to begin with, given Diocles had been careful not to keep an inventory.

On his way out he took another look at the kitchen table but there was no chance of noticing extra tableware. There must have been a week’s worth of plates and bowls carelessly piled up, enough for the two men who lived there-or a handful of visitors.

Didn’t Lucian employ even a single servant? It seemed not.

The tinny blast of a horn greeted him as he left the house. Climbing the low rise in the direction of the sound, he saw, descending into the boggy depression below, a herd of swine, followed by their immensely fat master, Lucian, wobbling along merrily, now and then blowing his horn.

A muddy, sluggish stream wound through reeds and willows in the bottom of the depression. The swine lumbered forward, each dropping into the first mud it found.

“Good afternoon,” Lucian called out sonorously, coming toward John. “The sun is going to be particularly fierce today so I have brought my friends to their afternoon pasture early. Oh, for a hog’s life, to gorge ourselves and wallow in the warm mud without a care in the world!”

“And have our throats cut in our youth,” John observed.

“Might it be better then to enjoy our youth and not have to endure the rest?”

John noticed the farmer’s face was bright scarlet with exertion. “Tell me, Lucian, have you been wallowing in the mud and neglecting your duties?”

“What do you mean? Is it the fences? I did set my son to righting the matter, but you know how lazy youngsters can be.”

“Since Philip is on night duty, he needs to rest during the day so has little time to do the task. I realize correcting the boundaries will take some time, but that’s not what I wished to speak about. Where is Diocles? Where are you hiding him?”

“Diocles? But he’s gone, has he not? Has someone been lying to you? Who accused me of hiding Diocles?”

“Has he been staying with you?”

“I haven’t seen him since he was discharged. You told him to leave the estate immediately.”

“You know about that? Then you must have spoken to him before he left. Did he give any indication of where he intended to go?”

The tenant farmer looked around as if seeking advice from his swine. They snuffled and grunted contentedly but had none to offer. “Oh, yes, of course. He was naturally in a hurry. Said he would go to Megara, seek work there. I told him it was unlikely he would be offered any, given nobody wants a dishonest man working for him. Especially one who keeps suspicious accounts.”

“A fine sentiment, Lucian, but I happen to know Diocles stayed here after I ordered him to leave. What other activity has he been involved in, apart from robbing the estate?”

“I couldn’t say. Isn’t that enough? I mean…” He lifted his horn and sent a sour bleat in the direction of several smallish pigs climbing the far side of the depression. As if they understood his message, they trotted back down to their companions.

“Young ones,” Lucian said. “Almost time to separate them from their mothers.” He lumbered over to a huge hog covered in mud. If its massive sides hadn’t moved, John might almost have taken it for a small knoll. Lucian slapped the monster. “Goliath, this is. There’s some meals fit for the emperor on him, you can be sure of that.”

John decided it would be no use pressing the farmer for information. It was better to give him time to think, and something to think about. “You realize you are a tenant here, Lucian. If I find out you know more than you’re saying, or have been involved in some scheme with Diocles, I’ll have you evicted.”

“Evicted?” The other paled.

“I am not Senator Vinius, nor do I live far off in Constantinople where I can’t see what’s going on here. I am willing to forgive any transgressions, given how out of control matters were here, provided you make a confession. I am not as interested in theft right now as in finding Theophilus’ murderer.”

“But surely you can’t suppose Diocles was involved, sir? Or myself?”

“Think about what I have said, unless you want to find a new home for yourself and your swine.”

John strode away, furious. Lucian was certainly lying. But then, what had he expected? Perhaps Cornelia was right, he needed to rest, needed to clear his mind.

What had he discovered? He wasn’t certain the dead man had been the intended victim or who might have wanted him dead or why. His stepfather’s illegal activities might offer a clue.

And what if Cornelia’s fears were correct and John had been the target?

Now some way from the farmhouse, he was startled to hear running steps behind him.

When he pivoted, Philip was close enough to have stabbed him in the back with the sharpened stave he was waving. “Sir, please, a word with you!”

John’s hand had already gone to his blade. He kept it there. “What is it?”

Philip cleared his throat, obviously uneasy. “Sir, I wish to ask a question.”

“Ask.”

The other looked around and lowered his voice. “It’s…it’s about your servant Hypatia, sir. I request permission to marry her.”