***
The muscular, bare-chested man unloading amphorae from a wagon parked outside Nereus’ villa looked up as Anatolius and Crinagoras approached. His hair was cropped to a black shadow, matching poorly shaven cheeks.
“I am Cador, assistant to the master’s house steward. How can I assist?” The man’s Greek was hesitant.
“We’re here to ask a few questions concerning your master’s death,” Anatolius began, trying to remember how John conducted similar interviews. “Could we speak to the steward?”
He glanced toward the doorway, flanked by two massive, elaborately carved columns. The house was otherwise unadorned, a low, plaster-faced structure with a colonnade running down one side. It stood in the shade of a variety of short ornamental trees.
“Calligenes is gone. I am in charge until the master’s legal affairs have been concluded.”
“Your accent tells me you have traveled far, Cador,” Crinagoras broke in.
The man nodded. “You are most perceptive, sir. It’s been a long time since I last saw Bretania’s rocky shore.”
Anatolius scowled in annoyance. He’d taken the man’s stilted speech and hesitancy as indicating he was slow witted. Now he noticed Cador had the reddened, peeling skin of those used to less sunny climes. “How did you come to work for Nereus?” he asked quickly, before Crinagoras could beat him in extracting more revelations.
“I was a tin streamer, sir. The brooks I panned were cold and seemed to get colder every year. Eventually I crossed the water and before I knew it, I was in Constantinople. Master Nereus was engaged solely in the tin trade at the time and gave me a job because of my experience.”
Cador spoke as if he were weighing every word. The hard stare he directed at his visitors made it obvious to Anatolius that the man was highly suspicious. Extracting information would be as difficult as panning tin from a stream.
“Well,” Anatolius said, thinking flattery might work and drawing on the few comments John had made about his sojourn in that distant land. “I have never been to Bretania, although a friend of mine was there many years ago. He described it as wild but beautiful.”
“He was correct,” Cador replied, his gaze never wavering. “Too cold, though. But that is enough reminiscing. There is too much work and too few hands. I have my own tasks and all the tasks my superiors left undone besides.” He pulled another amphora off the back of the wagon. The brilliant sun glistened off rivulets of perspiration running down his sides.
“We just want to ask a few questions about your master’s final hours,” said Crinagoras. He was sweating too, or perhaps, more correctly, stewing. Swathed in his heavy toga, he didn’t appear to be enjoying the heat as much as Cador. “What exactly happened?”
Cador set the amphora down. As he looked up at Crinagoras his eyes narrowed. “My apologies, sir. Now I recall, you were at the master’s bedside. I did not recognize you in that strange garb.”
Crinagoras bit his lip and flapped the folds of his toga sorrowfully.
When Cador didn’t deign to actually answer the query, Anatolius took the chance of asking again. For a moment, caught in Cador’s insolent glare, he was sorry he had.
Then, however, perhaps remembering his station, Cador nodded and spoke. “I can’t tell you much about it, sir. The master was sinking fast, but insisted on seeing all his callers. There was a seller of antiquities and oracles. The master had done business with him before. This time Aristotle arrived with a very large oracular head.”
Anatolius expressed surprise.
Cador allowed himself a slight smile and then continued. “The master asked it what course his illness would take. He was told, ‘By tomorrow it will be forgotten.’”
“A delightful bit of ambiguity,” pointed out Crinagoras. “How did this strange oracle make its predictions?”
“It was a hollow brass head of hideous visage,” Cador replied. “The method used was placing a lantern inside the head and then interpreting the shadows it cast on the wall.”
“An interesting notion,” Anatolius put in. “What happened next?”
“Less than an hour later, the master took a turn for the worse.”
“That was when he decided to execute an oral will?”
Cador nodded. “First he asked for Calligenes, the house steward, but he was ill also. We couldn’t rouse him, so I served in his stead.”
Crinagoras looked puzzled. “Calligenes was the first witness your master specifically requested?”
“Actually, sir, as you know from being present, there were already-”
“He must have trusted this Calligenes fellow then,” Crinagoras mused. “Unduly, perhaps. What do you make of that, Anatolius? Something doesn’t seem quite right. A fascinating problem, one to consider carefully, over a few cups of wine, in the shade of my garden.”
“Excuse me,” Cador interrupted, “but Calligenes was a loyal employee who had served Nereus well for many years. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
Crinagoras glanced at Anatolius and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
“I know how valuable he was to the master,” Cador went on. “I’ve been trying to complete all the work he left unfinished. The correspondence alone…well, before traveling here I trudged around half the city, delivering missives Calligenes had drawn up. He left a mountain of them on his desk, sirs. Letters, contracts, who knows what, all addressed in the fine hand on which he prided himself so much. In the course of carrying this out, I met bakers and bankers, importers and exporters, shopkeepers of various sorts, a perfumer, a lawyer, a bookseller-”
Anatolius broke in. “A lawyer? Can you tell us who this was?”
“Well…if I can remember…yes, it was one Prudentius to whom I delivered a letter.”
Crinagoras clapped his hands. “There! You’ve discovered what we need to know, Anatolius. The murder has to do with the will. Where there’s a will, there’s a lawyer. This particular lawyer will settle it. Just in time, too. I’m famished and we still have our homeward odyssey ahead of us.”
Anatolius had the impression that Crinagoras might begin to tug at his tunic and whimper if they didn’t soon leave. Besides, he was right. Nereus’ lawyer would certainly be able to shed light on the shipper’s affairs. He thanked Cador for his help. “One last thing. Did you notice anyone following Gregory when he left?”
Cador shook his head. “I don’t recall seeing him leave, sir.”
As they walked back to their horses, Crinagoras suddenly spoke. “I wish I’d continued to escort Gregory after he left Nereus’ house. If I had, he might still be alive.”
“Or you might also be dead.”
Crinagoras came to an abrupt halt. His eyes widened with alarm. “Why, I hadn’t even considered that. You don’t think we could have been followed here, do you?”
“What I think is Gregory was killed during a robbery. If not, John will surely find the culprit. Now we’ve discovered the name of Nereus’ lawyer, once John has the information, he’ll know best what to do next.”
Chapter Ten
The mud-spattered apparition arrived at John’s door well after dark. Peter, who had answered its frantic knocking, stepped backwards with a cry of horror.
“Anatolius!” John called from the top of the stairway. “You look as if you’ve been-”
“Buried and dug up,” Anatolius said ruefully. He stepped into the atrium, dripping on the tiles.
Peter returned upstairs, looking reproachfully back over his shoulder.
Anatolius’ gaze followed the elderly servant. “I know I’m not exactly a sight for innocent eyes, but surely Peter knows me well enough not to take fright at my appearance?”
“He’s not himself right now. Come up to my study.”
Anatolius looked down at his waterlogged garments and shook his head. “I think I’d better not. I’m making enough of a mess as it is. Besides, I need to get home and change.”
John came down to the atrium. Heavy rain rattled impatiently into the impluvium.