Six for Gold

Chapter Twenty-four

You can deduce much about a man by studying his will.

The realization came to Anatolius as he labored in John’s study, attempting to reduce to legacies and legal phrases the personal and business relationships in the life of Little Nero, owner of bakeries.

His thoughts had been wandering. That notion was the first useful one he had had all day. He laid down his kalamos, picked up the wax tablet he used for taking notes, and went in search of Senator Symacchus’ will.

The Quaestor maintained a depository of legal records in a converted warehouse just off the Forum Constantine. Despite extensive renovations and whitewash, the building still smelled faintly of the wine that had once been stored there.

A pallid shade of a fellow by the name of Perigenes, an assistant to the Quaestor, escorted Anatolius up four flights of stairs to a cavernous space filled with shelves burdened by scrolls, codexes, boxes, and bundles of parchment.

“We keep the testamentary materials up here so they’re closer to heaven,” Perigenes remarked, with such a marked lack of enthusiasm Anatolius guessed he’d repeated the jest a hundred times.

Perigenes climbed on a stool and brought down a box whose contents proved to be a large number of loose sheets of parchment and several small scrolls tied together with red ribbon. Handing the box to Anatolius, he remarked there appeared to be more reading contained in it than the entire Odyssey.

A displaced scroll on a shelf near the floor caught Perigenes’ eye. Examining the document, he saw the parchment had been badly gnawed.

“Look at that,” he grumbled, unrolling its remains. “A rat’s eaten some poor heir’s villa. See, right there’s the description and location of the bequest, but the rest of the line’s gone. Even the best legal efforts are no match for a hungry rat.”

He showed Anatolius to a marble table set against a wall. “You can study the documents there, but you can’t take them away with you. As you know, the Quaestor’s handling the administration of the senator’s estate. Or, rather, I am. It’s a difficult task, with so many legacies involved. I expect you’re used to these matters?”

“Actually, I’ve just recently taken up the legal profession.”

Perigenes’ face brightened. “How would you like to be an assistant to the Quaestor? I’d be happy to sell you my job for ninety nomismata. It’s a bargain. I could ask for one hundred. It’s a privileged position.”

“I’m afraid I’m not interested. I just left an administrative position.”

Perigenes’ expression settled back into gloom. He left, muttering about working one’s whole life and all it took was a single ravenous rat to cheat half your heirs out of their inheritances.

Anatolius sat down, placed his wax tablet and stylus on the table, and spread the documents out in front of him.

He began to read.

Senator Symacchus’ will was that of a man who had not been expecting death. To the original document, drawn up decades earlier, shortly after his marriage, there was appended a long succession of carelessly drafted codicils. Evidently the senator had been in the habit of bestowing legacies whenever the fancy took him, which going by the dates seemed to be every other month.

Thus his cook was given a set of pots, a favorite reader his copy of Virgil; the crosses adorning the garden were reserved for a monastery. The doctor who’d treated his fever during the last year of Justin’s reign could expect a silver platter he’d admired during his visits to the ailing senator, if the doctor was still alive.

There were grants of property as well as various sums of money. As far as Anatolius could tell, Symacchus had never revoked any of the codicils. It would be a nightmare untangling the bequests, not to mention tracing beneficiaries mentioned only once, and that years before.

Anatolius read on, scratching occasional notes.

Following the death of Symacchus’ wife, he had bequeathed the bulk of his estate to the church, but it appeared there would be little left by the time the legacies were distributed, meaning that litigation was sure to follow. The church would not be content to pray for what it was to have inherited.

According to what Francio had told him, the senator had surviving relatives, and doubtless in turn they would challenge the church.

It was a legal labyrinth.

What seemed like hours later he was again speaking to the glum Perigenes in his cubicle of an office on the ground floor.

“And what about this man?” Anatolius paused to consult his tablet. “Bishop Crispin. Senator Symacchus refers to him as his good friend and esteemed colleague. He left him a collection of pilgrim flasks, whatever they might be.”

“I’ve had to search out as many as I could find of those listed in the will. Such a vexatious task! I recall the bishop, of course. He resides in the Hormisdas.”

“A monophysite?”

“I suppose he must be, if he’s living there. Everyone knows Senator Symacchus was among those sent by Justinian to preach orthodoxy to Theodora’s crowd. Don’t be surprised that the senator left something to a heretic. I believe he left a bequest to every soul in Constantinople.”

“Except for yourself?”

“Not at all. To me he left the hellish task of administering his damnably generous will! Do you know, he left a jeweled cross to a one-legged beggar with a residence whose address is given as somewhere along the Mese not far from the Augustaion?”

Perigenes sounded on the verge of tears.

“I can help you out with one task at least,” Anatolius said.

“Do you think so? Then I’ll lower the cost of my position to eighty-five nomismata. You won’t find a better legal job, not at that price.”

“I can’t accept your offer, but I’d be happy to deliver the pilgrim flasks to Bishop Crispin.”

Perigenes drooped. “I suppose at least that would be one less thing to worry about. I’ll draw up the appropriate authorization to obtain them from his servants. Do you know where to find the senator’s house?”

Before Anatolius could reply, a ruddy-faced young man strolled into the office.

“Working early, Perigenes? I just got in myself. I’m afraid Bacchus kicked me in the head again last night. Have you heard the dreadful news? It’s all over the-” Noticing Anatolius, the newcomer stopped abruptly.

“Never mind him, he’s just a lawyer,” said Perigenes. “What dreadful news?”

“Oh, well, if you say so. It’s dreadfully dreadful. You know Francio and his recreation of Trimalchio’s feast? The one everybody’s been invited to?”

“I wasn’t!” Perigenes sounded hurt.

“Never mind. You won’t be missing anything. No one will be missing anything, except poor Francio, that is.”

“What do you mean? What will Francio be missing?”

“No, no. I meant we’ll all be missing Francio, but now that you mention it, Francio will be missing everything too.”

“What are you talking about?” Anatolius demanded. His tone was sharp. “What’s happened?”

The visitor looked startled. “Then you have not heard? Francio’s been murdered! Strangled with an eel!”

***

“Soup?” said Anatolius.

“That’s right, eel soup. If you spill a bowl, don’t step in it. It’s slippery stuff, especially after you’ve had a cup or three of wine.”

Francio gingerly patted the bandages swathing his head. He sat on his bed, propped up on huge cushions embroidered with pictures of the geese whose feathers filled them. Compared to his usual finery, his plain, pale green tunic made him appear more naked than he did at the baths.

Felix stood beside the bed. He had been at the house to question Francio when Anatolius arrived. The servant Vedrix lurked at the doorway, looking distraught.

Anatolius explained he had been given to expect much worse.

Francio laughed, then grimaced in pain. “Amazing how these rumors grow, isn’t it? You fall down in your dining room and by the time three people have passed the story on, it’s become a wonder. By tomorrow I shall have risen from the dead.”

He tapped his squashed nose. “Alas, if I’d fallen on this it might have fixed it.”

“You can jest now, but you’re lucky to be here,” Felix told him. “And I don’t mean because you were attacked by a bowl of eel soup.”

Turning to Anatolius, Felix explained. “In the middle of the night, two ruffians got in. Fortunately Vedrix there has sharp hearing, woke up, and sounded the alarm. They departed in great haste.”

“That would’ve been the end of it,” Francio said, “but after all the excitement I felt more hungry than tired. Vedrix brought me the soup and you know the rest. I’ve never had any trouble with intruders before. Do you think they were looking for-”

“Valuables? Yes! What else?” Anatolius interrupted hurriedly, at the same time warning Francio with a glare he hoped Felix didn’t notice. He had made it clear to Francio it would be wise not to tell anyone Thomas had stayed with him. Was it some slip of the tongue by Francio or his servants that had brought the intruders to his house?

“I’ll drop in again tomorrow,” Anatolius said. “Meantime, make certain the doors are kept locked.”

Anatolius accompanied Felix into the atrium. He resolved to say nothing about Thomas to the excubitor captain. Keeping secrets from a friend made him uneasy, yet John must have had good reasons for not telling Felix about Thomas’ presence at the Hippodrome on the night of the murder.

“The city’s gone mad since the plague arrived,” Felix remarked. “Thieves are getting used to finding houses unoccupied. When they discover someone’s at home they go ahead with their business anyway.”

“Have you made any progress in your investigations?” Anatolius asked abruptly.

Felix shook his head. “It’s a complicated affair, Anatolius. Look at it from my position. John was exiled by Justinian. There are hints all is not as it seems. Theodora is involved in this in some way and I’ll tell you why. She ordered me to withhold the funds Justinian intended to provide John when he was sent away.”

“So she forced you to disobey Justinian’s orders? Well, if you’ve done it once-”

Felix gave an exasperated sigh. “You don’t see the point, do you? John can fend for himself. I couldn’t afford to make myself a target for the wrath of the empress.”

“I’m not surprised she interfered,” Anatolius replied. “I told you about my little discussion with Hektor, and wherever he is, Theodora’s shadow isn’t far away.”

Felix laughed. “True enough. She’s had him running her errands since he was knee-high and she heard about him mutilating a dead chicken for the edification of the other pages. I hope I don’t have to remind you to be careful, Anatolius. You never know what to expect with Hektor. However, since you asked, I’ll try to make further inquiries without attracting the attention of the imperial couple.”

Anatolius smiled. “Thank you, my friend. Now, I’ve discovered something you might find useful. The senator had connections to the Apion family, and he also hosted a stream of guests from Egypt. Some were relatives and others apparently came to the city for business reasons. It might be helpful to learn more about as many of these people as possible.”

Felix tugged his beard. “I take it you imagine the senator’s guest list might have something to do with his murder?”

“Well, after all, the country played such a large role in his life, why not in his death as well? Then too, consider that of all the places he could have been exiled, John was sent to Egypt. There could well be a connection, and he may already have found it.”