Hypatia opened her fist to reveal the silver band she had been holding. “I shall get rid of it right now!”
Before she could throw the ring into the brazier, Europa grabbed her wrist and managed to extract the unwanted gift from her hand. “You shouldn’t…”
Glancing in the direction of Europa’s reproachful look, John observed a bowl containing several pieces of a clay cup sitting by the brazier.
“That ring was lucky, master. I believe it saved his life. He brought it out of the tower of the dead with him,” Hypatia said mournfully.
“He brought it out of the tower?” John took the ring from Europa and turned it around between his fingers.
Hypatia looked stricken. “Please don’t think Pamphilos is a thief, master. He was carried into the hospice clutching that ring. He said he’d grabbed it as he fought his way upwards, that it had came off some poor soul’s hand…”
“Don’t defend him, Hypatia,” snapped Europa. “Whether or not he’s a thief, he’s still a villain.”
John examined the ring closely. It was a strange piece of jewelry. A bent silver coin, to which a band had been attached.
Yet it was not surprising Hypatia had considered it a good luck charm since it bore a likeness of Fortuna.
“Hypatia, does this remind you of anything?” he asked.
The young woman shook her head.
The image was worn, but John had recognized it. If he were not mistaken, he had recently seen an identical portrait of Fortuna. “Is Peter…?”
As if conjured forth by the words, the elderly servant hobbled through the kitchen doorway. “Master! I thought I heard your voice. As you see, the Lord has decided to send me back to work.”
Hardly realizing he did so, John murmured thanks to Mithra.
“Well, master, if you choose to use that name, I am sure the Lord will not mind,” Peter observed mildly.
Europa stepped quickly to the servant’s side. “You’re too weak to be up and about. Didn’t I tell you to rest?”
Peter reddened. “Master, I did not mean to disobey your daughter, but you see…”
“Never mind, Peter. The household has become rather complicated of late.”
In John’s imagination Cornelia was looking on with satisfaction. “You see,” he could almost hear her say, “Europa is perfectly capable of taking charge. You could join me this very day with no fear for her well-being.”
He had had too little sleep, John told himself. The room felt very hot. A droplet of perspiration ran down his neck.
“Peter, the coin in your bedroom. The one from Derbe.” John held the ring out. “This was made from a very similar one.”
“Of course it is, master. Gregory had his made into a ring. Was it found on him?”
“Gregory wasn’t wearing the ring,” John replied. “It came off someone else’s hand. I have no doubt it was the hand of the thief who murdered your friend. I regret I cannot bring the man to justice, Peter. He was dead of the plague before I even began my search.”
“Peter, I’d like you to have it as a reminder of your friendship with Gregory,” Hypatia put in.
Peter accepted the ring gratefully. His weathered features tightened with perplexity. “Master, can you ever forgive me?” he finally said, his voice cracking. “I see now my error…the angel who visited me…its message…” He fell silent.
“What is it? You have nothing to apologize for as far as I’m concerned.”
“But I do, master. I misinterpreted the angel’s message. Now I see the truth of it. The heavenly messenger wasn’t instructing me to seek justice for Gregory. It was telling me that justice had already been done.”
***
Justice had not quite been done regarding another matter, John told himself as he left his house and set off. Undertaking the task the angel’s message had appeared to place before him had not been futile.
Not that John believed in such heavenly messengers any more than he believed in the pronouncements of oracles.
Yet what of the conviction that had sent him home, expecting the worst, only to find Peter recovered and an unexpected solution to Gregory’s murder?
Although, he thought, not so much the solution as confirmation of the conclusion he had already reached, that Gregory’s death had been nothing more than a random street crime.
Nevertheless, like Peter, John still had work to do.
Rounding the corner of the excubitor barracks across the square from his house, he met a figure shuffling slowly along, head down.
“Anatolius!”
His friend’s face was ashen and when he looked up his eyes were as lifeless as those of the statues adorning the baths.
“Anatolius, what is it? You’ve not been taken ill?”
The younger man said nothing. He gave no indication he’d even heard the question.
John had the impression that had he not been in his path, Anatolius would have continued past without even acknowledging him.
He laid his hand on Anatolius’ arm. “Senator Balbinus has died, is that it?”
“No, John,” Anatolius choked out. “Not Balbinus. Lucretia. Lucretia has died.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Xanthe opened Nereus’ door, her sleeping baby draped like a sack over one shoulder. “Prudentius can’t see anyone.”
John stepped past the girl. “You are Sappho,” he told her.
The girl stared in amazement, lips slightly parted.
“Those teeth you’re missing. That’s Triton’s work, isn’t it? A violent man. What is his son’s name?”
The girl shut the door quietly.
John looked around the semi-deserted atrium. The few residents in evidence sat or lay quietly. It was as if a great storm had swept through the building, blowing most of the household away, leaving the rest stunned and silent.
“I called myself Sappho once,” the girl admitted. “Xanthe is my real name.” She gently stroked her baby’s back. “He doesn’t have a name yet. Or, rather, he did, but Prudentius said he wouldn’t allow him to bear the one Triton wanted. But how could you guess I was Sappho?”
“You completed the pattern, Xanthe. I realized there was some connection between Prudentius and Nereus. I originally thought he was the man’s lawyer, but it transpired he wasn’t. You’re the link. You mentioned you’d worked for Prudentius for some time. That was before you moved in with Triton, wasn’t it?”
She nodded wordlessly
John explained the solution had became evident by a slow accumulation of small pieces of information, none very striking by themselves, but together forming a clear picture.
“The woman who rented lodgings to Triton described his living with a young woman practicing a questionable profession,” John began. “Your master said that Nereus had confided his fear that just such a woman would become involved with his son.”
Xanthe was silent.
“Then I discovered someone with a similar past living in the household of a lawyer with whom Nereus had had correspondence, even though he was not his customary legal advisor. And this moreover was a lawyer whom the son had threatened over his supposed theft of something belonging to him. That was extremely suggestive.”
He paused. “Then too I couldn’t find any trace of the actress with whom Triton had been living, one who apparently hadn’t returned to her former profession after leaving him. A bear trainer told me he thought he had seen her, but where had she gone?”
Xanthe knuckled a tear away from the corner of her eye.
“Recently, for no apparent reason, I suddenly became convinced there was some link between the missing Sappho and Neptune. But what could it be, apart from the names of two of the parties involved and the fact that Nereus made his fortune from the sea? Then, as I reconsidered my conversation with Triton’s landlady, I suddenly grasped the importance of something she had mentioned in passing,”
He went on. “It was connected with Neptune’s horses. They have golden manes. Your name means golden or yellow. If you had not had the pretty conceit of always wearing saffron-colored garments during the time you went by the name of Sappho, it’s possible I would never have made the final leap, connecting the sordid life of a brutal man to a young servant with an infant.”