One for Sorrow

Chapter Twenty-three

“Five!”

“Six!”

Felix swore across the table at the young charioteer who had opened his fist to display four fingers. Added to the two gnarled fingers raised by Felix, that made six. The other man’s quick hand closed over the last few coins on the table.

“You’re too quick for an old soldier, Gregorius. I don’t know if it’s your eye or your tongue,” Felix grumbled.

“It’s strategy.”Gregorius dropped the coins into his pouch.

“Another try?”

Gregorius shook his head. “Don’t worry, Felix. I’ll win the money back for you at my next race if you place your wager on me. But I must be off. I still have that appointment to keep.”

“Very well.” Felix affixed his official seal to the parchment the young man had come to his office to request. “If anyone stops you, show them this. It’s a pass.”

“I can read, you know.”

“You’d be surprised how many can’t.”

A third voice broke into the conversation. “Ironic, isn’t it? Some possess the keys to the palace, but not to knowledge. Which do you think would be preferable?”

It was Anatolius, accompanied by John.

“Lord Chamberlain,” Gregorius muttered. “I’m on my way to an urgent appointment, otherwise….” He slid around the two visitors and was out the doorway and off down the hall before John had a chance to speak.

“John!” greeted Felix. “And Anatolius. Since you ask, I’d say anyone who has keys either to knowledge or to the palace can’t complain, since few have access to either. Anyway, a sword always knows more than a pen when you come down to it.”

“Very sensible viewpoint,” Anatolius put in blandly.

“Do you know that young charioteer who just left, Felix?” John asked.

“Gregorius? Not very well. Only that he races for the Blues.”

“Needless to say you keep track of all the charioteers,” Anatolius said.

“If you mean I follow the racing, who doesn’t? Except, perhaps, for poets?” Felix pushed his seat back and walked round the table to stand in front of the room’s one window, which gave a narrow view of a courtyard and dry fountain. On the fountain there perched a single raven.

“What can I do for you, John? Is it official or…” his gaze moved in the direction of Anatolius “…about the matter of the ceremony?”

John raised a tanned hand to halt Felix. “No, I expect we’ll see you there later. Nothing has changed. We’ve come back from Leukos’ funeral. Since your office is on our way I stopped to ask about someone you may have seen the day before Leukos’ death.”

“Who is that?”

“A traveler called Thomas.”

“Yes, I did see the man that morning. He came looking for a pass to see Leukos.”

“You granted him access?”

“Well, yes.”

“And what did you make of Thomas?”

“Seemed genuine enough. He had a soldier’s bearing. Honest and straightforward.”

“The sort you’d trust to play at micatio in the dark?” suggested Anatolius.

Felix scowled, unhappy to be reminded of his very recent losses at that game.

“With my luck, I might as well play it in the dark,” he muttered. “Here, John. Give it a try.” He offered a closed fist. “Ready? On three.”

John shook his own fist twice, then held up three slender fingers.

His softly spoken “Four” was almost drowned by Felix’s booming “Six!” But Felix had raised only his first finger, which made him lose yet again.

“Once is mostly luck,” John soothed the soldier’s ruffled pride. “The strategy only applies if you play long enough. Show me your right hand, Felix.”

Mystified, Felix displayed his gnarled hand. The fingers were strong and stubby. A livid scar ran along the knuckles and the third finger was hump-backed as the result of an old injury.

“I’ll wager you have a little less movement in that third finger, my friend?” John remarked.

“Nothing to complain about.”

“But if you can’t straighten it quite as readily as the others, you see, you might just be inclined, without thinking, to show one or two fingers more often than three or four.”

Felix considered the suggestion. “I never thought of that.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn some of your opponents had come to the same conclusion. It tips the odds in their favor, does it not?”

“Now don’t race off to test this theory,” cautioned Anatolius. “At least not until you’ve been paid! Besides, you know you should be saving up to see that little blonde at Isis’ place again, shouldn’t you?”

“Berta?”

“The same. One can’t help hearing tales.”

“You mean you can’t help hearing tales,” sneered Felix. “And, as a matter of fact, I haven’t caught a glimpse of her since that affair at the palace the night of the celebrations.”

“You were invited to the empress’ gathering?” John was surprised Felix hadn’t mentioned it to him before.

“Of course not! I meant I was there in my official capacity. And I thank Mithra that it was only in my official capacity, because I can tell you that I didn’t like what I saw. Especially the way they had Berta done up, and wriggling about on the table. Everyone was pawing her. She ended up in the lap of some filthy old man who plied her with…well, I don’t know what it was, but she was enjoying it. I had to remain at my post, of course, and lucky for him, the dirty old bastard!”

“We all have to do what’s expected of us, despite our personal feelings,” sympathized John. “You must have seen the sun up?”

“It was a long night. At least Berta stayed where I could keep an eye on her, unlike some of the other girls.”

“Let me know if you hear anything, will you? I rely on your discretion.”

“Of course.” Felix flexed his big hand. He noticed, again, the deformed finger John had brought to his attention. “You might be right,” he said, changing the subject. “Perhaps that’s why I always lose the game.”

John wished he could see the cause of Leukos’ death as easily.