The Lydian Baker

14

I left my tame coachman waiting at the roadside and walked down to Smaragdus's beach hut. Now I'd got a name and a face for Eutyches, potentially at least, it might help to have another talk with the guy in the hope that they'd jog a hidden memory or two; certainly it was worth a try, and I wasn't doing anything else that day anyway.

The hut looked deserted, but the Alcyone was pulled up on the sand and the door was ajar. I knocked. No answer. Well, maybe he'd slipped out for a cup of wine somewhere. Still, it was just as well to check. I went inside.

There were no windows, and the only light came through the cracks in the wall and the spaces between the roof joists and their sailcloth cover. Even so, I could see that the hut was completely empty except for a truckle bed and a cheap folding table with a loaf of bread and a water pitcher. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I noticed that one of the knife-edged slivers of light shining in through the gaps lay across a bundle on the bed.

A large bundle…

Oh, shit. I took the two steps between door and bed. My hand met cloth…

Only cloth: a pile of tunics, underclothes and a cheap woollen cloak, all gathered together in a blanket ready for tying with the length of rope that lay on the bare mattress next to them. I took a deep breath. False alarm. Still, clearly wherever Smaragdus was he'd decided to pack up and leave.

Yeah, well, that made sense, I supposed. With the Baker gone he'd nothing else to fear from Eutyches — if he ever had — and even his room over the brothel would be luxury compared to this dump. Trouble was, when he went back there he'd know that that was all there'd ever be. And he might not have even that if the old harpy who owned the place had already pitched whatever he'd left behind him into the street. Gods! I felt sorry as hell for Smaragdus. The guy couldn't be looking forward to the future all that much.

Okay, but just where was he now? Forget the cup of wine: there wasn't a wineshop or a shop of any kind this side of Acte, the Alcyone was there in the shallows and from the looks of things he'd interrupted his packing at its final stage. Left his door open, too, although who would take the trouble to filch a pile of suspect laundry out here in the sticks I didn't know. I looked around, but there were no other clues.

Except that the bread on the table was hard as a rock and the water in the pitcher had five dead flies floating in it…

The hairs at the nape of my neck lifted. I left the hut and cast an eye over the beach.

I noticed the footprints straight off. I would've seen them before, if I'd been looking, but now they shouted at me. There were two sets, heading in the other direction from the one I'd come in. The first started towards the Alcyone, then doubled back towards the rocks and the high ground at the far end of the cove; the second cut straight across and met them at an angle. Both sets were running footsteps, with lots of sand kicked up. I followed them until they disappeared among the tangle of rocks that led to the small promontory.

Then I saw the crows squabbling over something that lay underneath the promontory itself, and I knew I needn't look for Smaragdus any further.

Forget futures; the guy didn't have one, not any more. He was lying at the base of a scree, his head at an angle and his skull wedged against a boulder. The crows took off as I came closer, but they didn't go far. Probably too full, because from what I could see they'd had at least one good meal off him. Them and about a dozen others. I only knew it was Smaragdus because he was wearing the same tunic he'd had on the last time I'd seen him. Anyway who else could it have been?

I turned away and was sick onto the sand. Then I took another look at the footprints.

Okay. So what had happened? Smaragdus had had a visitor, that was clear. He'd seen or heard them coming and made a run for it, towards his boat first of all before he realised running that way wasn't going to help. At that point he'd changed his mind, or maybe he'd just panicked. Anyway, he'd bolted towards the cove's far end. He'd reached the scree enough ahead of the other guy to climb a fair way, probably as far as the point fifteen or twenty feet up where the angle steepened and the scree became a proper cliff. There he'd lost his grip and fallen badly among the rocks, breaking his neck and staving in his skull.

Okay as far as it went; but it begged one major question. If Smaragdus had had all that time in hand why hadn't he taken to the water and swum round the promontory itself? That would've increased the distance between him and whoever was chasing him, and I knew that beyond the headland there was another stretch of beach that gave access to the landward side. Given a decent start he could've got away easily. Or comparatively easily. And it certainly beat trying to climb the cliff.

The answer was obvious; he'd told me it himself on the boat. Smaragdus couldn't swim, and the water beyond the headland was a good ten feet deep. It was either climb or drown, and at least the first way he had a chance.

Well, I couldn't leave the poor bastard for the crows to finish. What was left of him to finish, anyway. But I didn't fancy carrying that grisly patchwork of flesh and bone back to the hut, either, even wrapped in his cloak. I found a piece of driftwood by the shoreline and dug a shallow pit next to the corpse. Then I pushed it in, shovelled on the sand and piled rocks on top. That would do him for now, and at least he'd had the scattering of earth that would keep his ghost happy.

Once Smaragdus was safely underground I sat back on my heels to think. What the hell was going on? Eutyches — Melanthus? — had no reason to want Smaragdus dead because he had the Baker already. Even if Smaragdus's death was an accident, which it had been from the looks of things, it still didn't make sense. Whoever had chased him obviously wanted to talk to the guy pretty badly; and equally Smaragdus hadn't wanted a meeting. To avoid it, he'd been desperate enough to try a climb that not even a monkey would consider.

So what did that give us? Smaragdus was no fool. He'd recognised his visitor's intentions well in advance and decided right away that his only chance was to run. The visitor wasn't a stranger, then — unless he was doing something obvious like waving a knife around — and he wasn't a friend, either, for the same reason. That didn't leave much. But then why run in the first place? Smaragdus had known himself that the game was played out and that he'd nothing more to lose. He'd even been packing up his things when he was interrupted.

Unless of course the visitor had been waving a knife and the intention was to kill the guy. But then we were back to the original question. With the Baker gone, Smaragdus was no further use to anyone. Who would want him dead, and why?

Ah, hell, I was going around in circles. None of this made sense. All I could do for the poor bastard now was to see Harpalus, tell him his pal was dead and leave him to arrange a proper funeral; and after that drive back to Athens and twiddle my thumbs until Dida contacted me.

All in all, not a very successful day. Maybe I should take up woodturning.

I stood up and walked back towards the dunes.

Harpalus recognised me straight off.

'Lord,' he said firmly, 'we do not exchange parrots.'

I had some smartass comeback ready but I didn't use it. If I was right and they'd been fond of each other then this just wasn't the time.

'I'm not here about Nestor,' I said.

Maybe it was something in my face, or my voice, but he got the message right away.

'Smaragdus?'

'Yeah. I'm sorry, but he's dead.' I was watching him closely. He was shocked, sure he was; but unless I missed my guess he wasn't all that surprised. And that was interesting. 'I found him near the beach hut.'

The guy had sat down hard on a bench behind the counter. Forget the superannuated butterfly, now he just looked old.

'How did it happen?' His voice was a whisper.

'An accident.' I hesitated. 'Probably an accident. He fell.'

'Is that all?'

I knew what he meant. 'No. He was being chased at the time.'

'By you?' There was no accusation in the voice. It was just a straight question.

'No. Not by me. He was dead when I found him.'

'How long dead?'

'A day, max.'

I'd kept that intentionally vague, but he pounced on it like a dog on a rabbit.

'You saw him yesterday, didn't you? He took you to the Baker.'

I hesitated again. 'Not exactly.'

'What do you mean?'

'He took me to where the Baker had been. Only it wasn't there any longer.'

He nodded, but he kept his eyes low where I couldn't see them clearly. Nonetheless, I saw them flash: that nugget of information hadn't come as a surprise either. Harpalus knew more than he was telling. I shelved that for later.

'No, it wasn't,' he said. 'But then you'd know all about that already, wouldn't you?'

That caught me off balance. 'And how do you make that out, pal?'

'Because you told me you came from Eutyches.'

'Wrong,' I said; but I said it gently. I didn't want to hassle the guy more than was necessary. The news of Smaragdus's death might not have surprised him, but his shock was real. And his grief. 'You told me that yourself. Or I let you assume it. I don't even know for sure who Eutyches is. Just for the record, my name's Valerius Corvinus. I'm representing my stepfather Helvius Priscus back in Rome.'

His eyes came up. 'You're not Eutyches's man? You swear it?'

'Sure.'

'And Smaragdus knew?'

'Sure he knew. He knew as soon as he saw me.'

'Well, that makes sense, I suppose.' He shook his head slowly. 'It was my fault. I didn't describe you to him, you see. I just said you were a Roman. And then of course you found him yourself. That was smart.' He looked up. 'I suppose you followed me? Or had me followed?'

'Something like that, yeah.'

'It doesn't matter now.' He stood up. 'Where is he? Did you leave him in the hut?'

'No. I dug a shallow grave. You'll find him under a pile of rocks near the far headland.'

'Thank you for that, anyway.'

'So who's Eutyches?' I said gently.

He'd been expecting the question, because the shrug was casual. 'I don't know. Honestly. I only know the name. Smaragdus said if he got in touch with me I should pass the message on without giving him any more information. Which is what I did. Or at least what I thought I'd done.'

'Okay.' I let that go for now. 'Does the name Melanthus ring a bell at all?'

'Melanthus of Abdera? The Academician?'

I kept my face straight. 'You know him?'

'I've seen him. Many times, in fact.' He gave a small smile. 'I used to hang around the Academy in my younger days. Not altogether as a student.'

'Would Argaius have known him too?'

'No. Not Argaius.' A twist of the lips. 'He wasn't the scholarly type.'

'How about Smaragdus?'

'Yes. Smaragdus would have known Melanthus. By name and by sight. He had an interest in philosophy. Just because we live out here in the sticks doesn't mean we're dead from the neck up.'

Well, that was something I hadn't expected, but it didn't matter: in fact, if anything it confirmed the theory that Eutyches and Melanthus were one and the same, because 'Eutyches' had been careful to work through an intermediary. Besides, I'd been listening for the signs of a lie, and Harpalus's voice hadn't changed. Either he was a good actor or putting the two names together genuinely didn't mean anything to him.

'So why should Smaragdus go into hiding in the first place?' I asked.

'I should have thought that was obvious. He was frightened. His partner had just been murdered.'

'Sure. By Eutyches. But in that case why should he tell you he was open to messages?'

That got me another shrug. 'Perhaps Eutyches didn't murder Argaius after all. Anyway, he was a customer, full stop. People like us, Corvinus, we've got to live in any way we can. Sometimes that means taking risks, giving people the benefit of the doubt even when no doubt exists and taking out whatever insurance is possible. We can't afford your fat-cat moral scruples.'

He was right, of course. I'd used the same argument myself with Perilla, although without the bitterness. To Smaragdus, selling the Baker would've meant the difference between a life of luxury and no life at all, and money has no smell when you don't have much.

'Fair enough,' I said. 'But then Smaragdus knew he had another customer lined up. Me. Or my stepfather, rather. So why leave the suspect channel open when the alternative was there?'

'Look.' Harpalus turned away. 'Just go, will you? My friend's dead, I've got arrangements to make, and I don't feel like answering any more stupid questions, right? I'm grateful for what you did, but now just leave both of us in peace.'

Yeah, well. He had a point. I left. There was still no sign of Dida when we got back to the Piraeus Gate, so I carried on home. All the way something was bugging me. When I'd told him the Baker wasn't in the cave any more, Harpalus had accepted the fact like he'd known it all along.

The question was, if he hadn't seen Smaragdus since I'd left him, then just how did he know?