Then the oil exploded into a ball of flame, inside which a dark figure writhed and screamed.
His agonized cries were drowned out almost immediately by a roar of approval from the onlookers.
***
Felix, John, and Anatolius had placed many streets between themselves and the Strategion before any of them spoke.
It was Felix who finally broke the silence. “Do you really have a home, Anatolius, or are you just playing games and leading us all over the city?”
Anatolius looked around the forum they were crossing. In its center a statue of an emperor, or some lesser, forgotten luminary, appeared to be wading in a fountain basin.
“We’re almost there,” he replied.
“I’ll wager a nummus your father’s a shopkeeper,” said Felix.
Anatolius ignored him. He turned down what appeared at first glance to be an alley, but whose narrow way ended at an enormous gate set in a wall protecting a massive villa. Orange lamp light poured from a window.
Anatolius sprinted forward and the gate swung open as if someone had been awaiting his return. For an instant his slight frame was silhouetted in the gateway, then he was inside the grounds and the gate had banged shut.
John’s ruined cloak lay in front of the gate and as he retrieved it, Felix gazed at the villa beyond, amazement plain on his face.
Chapter Six
Felix squinted down the Mese where wan morning light slanted into the colonnades. He spoke without looking at John. “That boy we rescued last night…he’s the son of Senator Aurelius. A couple of my colleagues knew the villa immediately when I described it to them. They’d escorted Quaestor Proclus there for some meeting or other a few weeks ago. The senator’s known to be a staunch supporter of Justinian. It appears you’ve done your master a service. Maybe we can work together after all without you getting either of us killed.”
“I appreciate your confidence.”
“Yes, well, in such a situation as last night I would have expected you to be more…shall we say…excitable.”
Excitable? Like a woman? Because he was a eunuch? John’s cheekbones darkened with a flush of anger. He pulled his cloak closer around his lean frame and quickened his steps to match the excubitor’s steady pace. He managed to remain silent.
“There may be riots in the streets and murders in churches,” Felix continued, “but it seems that commerce carries on regardless. And begging.” He inclined his head in the direction of a man squatting against a wall. The man extended a dirty hand toward them as a biting wind came rushing down the wide street like icy water through an aqueduct.
“Neither enterprise appears to be receiving much custom,” John observed. He wished he had a coin to give. The beggar pulled his hand back into the scant protection of his threadbare tunic as the two men strode past.
They had not had much sleep after the previous night’s hectic events. When they met the Gourd in his office that morning, he seemed perfectly fresh, even invigorated. The orders he gave them were vague. They were to investigate Hypatius’ murder, as the emperor and his nephew desired. Talk to people living or working near the Great Church and so forth. His men had already covered the ground, but since the emperor had so ordered, it must be done again.
It wasn’t clear to what extent the orders were Justin’s or Justinian’s, or for that matter which were the Gourd’s interpretation of whatever had been said to him. At any rate, investigating the area near the scene of the crime seemed a sensible start.
Thus most of the morning had been spent interviewing those residents and merchants whose homes and commercial premises clustered along the Mese. In particular, they had questioned those near its intersection with the Augustaion on which stood the Great Church where Hypatius had died.
“So what have we learnt these past few hours?” Felix grumbled irritably. “That merchants keep a close eye on their goods. Those indoors keep their windows shut against the cold. Naturally no one sees or hears anything. All of which we could have easily guessed while sitting in a warm tavern with a cup of wine instead of tramping about in the cold.”
“Nevertheless, you can’t solve a murder just sitting in a warm corner. You have to go out and gather information.”
Felix said nothing.
Each interview had followed the same pattern, suggested by John and accepted, grudgingly, but accepted nevertheless, by Felix. First they inquired whether the person to whom they were speaking had noticed anything on the day Hypatius was killed. Next, whether he might have seen something unusual. Finally if he had observed a very large, broad-shouldered Blue running by. It seemed to John that even if someone had noticed nothing else, he could not have missed a man of that size in full flight.
But that was indeed the case. At least if all those to whom they spoke were to be believed. He remarked on this to his companion.
Felix smiled. “These people wouldn’t have noticed if Emperor Constantine had leaped down off his column, jumped on a horse, and galloped up the Mese. Not if a pair from the palace was asking about it. Perhaps-” Felix broke off. “You!” he shouted at a figure emerging from a shop in front of them. “Wait!”
The young man he addressed began to run. Felix caught up to him in a few strides and grabbed a skinny arm. It was the hair hanging down the back of the tunic that had caught Felix’s eye, but when he spun his captive around John saw no evidence of the shaved hair so many Blues had adopted.
“You’re a faction member, aren’t you?” Felix barked anyway.
The youngster looked confused. “Yes, sir. Not the Blues though. And not when I’m on the street.”
Felix gave the arm a shake. “Explain.”
“I…I’m a Green, sir. Or rather I used to be. We don’t dare venture out any more. The Blues would kill a Green as soon as look at him. I was sent to buy a few things for my employer.”
Felix sent the young man on his way. He and John stood in front of a grocer’s emporium, identified as such by a brass plaque engraved with a steelyard.
“We might as well ask in this shop, just like all the rest,” said Felix. “Or maybe we should find a large stone to roll up a hill instead.”
Stepping inside, they found an impressive array of household necessaries including pottery and glassware displayed amid barrels of salted fish. Baskets of vegetables and bowls of honeycombs leaned conspiratorially cheek by jowl on shelves attached to roughly plastered walls. The atmosphere was redolent of cheese, vinegar, and sawdust. Beside the door stacked amphorae held wine and the various types of oils needed for cooking or lighting. They reminded John uncomfortably of the very recent attempt to set the oil warehouses on fire.
“And how may I assist you, masters?” A short, thin man emerged from behind a stack of crates piled near the back of the cramped, rectangular room. He bowed very low while simultaneously contriving to examine his visitors from under a fringe of lank, black hair.
It would be difficult to steal anything from under this man’s narrow, pinched nose, John thought, as Felix began his questioning.
Unlike earlier interviewees, the man looked neither impressed nor terrified by their quest. “I regret that the owner of this establishment is temporarily absent,” he said smoothly, “but I will naturally be glad to help you as best I can.”
“We’ll talk to him later,” Felix replied curtly. “First, his name and yours?”
“The master is Timothy and I am Alkabaides. I am his assistant.”
Felix looked around the well-stocked interior. “Your master’s trade appears to prosper.”
“Indeed it does, sir. We charge a fair price for what we sell, unlike many others in this street.” A jocular smile crossed the man’s face. “While our competitors fill our ears with complaints about taxes and the high costs of doing business, we ourselves have just opened another shop. It sells nothing but the finest perfumes. Being situated near the booksellers’ quarter and very close to court, we’re privileged to count many of the great among our clients. I think we can guarantee you’re certain to find something there to please your ladies, should you favor us with your custom.”