John snapped the lid shut. “A workman would hardly have decorated his lunch basket in that fashion. The only difference between court and countryside is that those with evil intent would not be dressed in silk garments, though their blades would be as sharp,”
“You’re right, John. I’m too tired to think clearly. Nevertheless, baskets are generally used to carry things, not to throw suspicion on people. Isn’t it possible that whoever brought it to the temple carried something in it?”
John nodded. “We should consider the simplest possibility first. If something was in the basket it might have been extremely valuable, worth killing for, yet small enough to fit in a basket. And if it was in a basket, why not take it away in it? Theophilus could have been involved and his partner or partners decided to dispose of him rather than risk him telling what he knew. We know he needed money, the City Defender would pay him for information…it fits together.”
“Oh, John, the plots you weave!” Cornelia took the basket from him, laid it on the floor, and slid over beside him. “And what about you?”
“What do you mean? You know I’m accustomed to this sort of situation.”
“Your stepfather was just murdered.”
John’s expression hardened. “You are well aware of my feelings toward Theophilus.”
“Still, you grew up-”
“Besides, I hadn’t seen the man for years and certainly never expected him to come back like a shade to haunt me. He died long ago as far as I’m concerned.”
“With the rest of your past.”
“Exactly.”
“Like me, John. You never bothered to seek me out either.”
“How, Cornelia? How could anyone have found a woman who traveled all over the empire with an obscure troupe of performers?”
“You were Lord Chamberlain. You could have hired agents. How many troupes recreate the bull leaping of ancient Crete? If someone had asked innkeepers at Antioch if bull leapers, complete with a bull, had stayed with them do you imagine they would have asked which one?”
“As far as I knew you found someone else. I had vanished and never returned. Why wouldn’t you? The young mercenary who had been hired to guard the troupe, who had an affair with a pretty performer, had suddenly decided to move on, as young men of that kind always do. You had no reason to know I’d fallen into the hands of the Persians. And after that…after the way I was treated, and sold as a slave, I wasn’t fit for you anyway.”
Tears were overflowing the dark smudges beneath her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Don’t ever say you are not fit for me, John!’
“Ah…now…please, Britomartis,” he muttered, invoking his old pet name for her, alluding to the Cretan Lady of the Nets because she had snared him at first sight, a name they both joked only John would have thought to use.
Cornelia pushed him away. “No! Don’t you Britomartis me!”
She wiped her eyes. “Here I am weeping over your lost past. We must think about Peter.”
“We’ll take up the search again at first light. I’m sure if Georgios’ men had located him they would have paraded him in here. Hypatia said he’d got into a dark humor and went out to calm down. He’ll be disappointed that he missed all the excitement.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She put an arm around him. “Now you can Britomartis me.”
***
The roosters crowed before Hypatia realized that morning was finally arriving. She had begun to think it would never come. The window of the bedroom remained dark, opening as it did on the still-shadowed courtyard. It was a relief to abandon trying to sleep and get up. Peter had alarmed her the night before by bolting, obviously agitated and upset. She went after him but he was nowhere to be found. After returning to their quarters she lay awake all night waiting for his return.
She went into the other room, smoothing down the wrinkles in her light sleeping tunica. She had done so much tossing and turning it would have been more restful if she had simply stayed up all night. She half expected to see Peter asleep on the couch, having crept in and not wishing to awaken her, but it was occupied only by the two cats who opened their eyes reluctantly and gave her resentful looks.
Where was Peter?
Had he seen her walking with Philip?
She bit her lip.
Had he seen anything further?
Philip had led her to a cliff projecting into the sea, giving her a stunning view of the monstrous moon trailing its long silver tail across the glassy water. The handsome young watchman had told her that it was the favorite spot for disappointed lovers to cast themselves into the sea. He had been joking, she thought.
Her imagination ran wild. She saw Peter, in despair, approaching the edge of the cliff and throwing himself over, or perhaps taking a track down to the shore and walking into the water. Or coming to the edge of the estate and carrying on, walking until he was ambushed by persons seeking to rob him. Or perhaps meeting someone from Megara who recognized him as one of the loathed newcomers, out on a lonely road, unarmed, in the dead of night.
What had Peter seen?
She must have been talking to herself because a voice from the doorway answered her.
“What did I see? What are you talking about? Is that any way to greet your husband?”
Peter stood there, one hand on its frame to steady himself. By the faint predawn grayness that had begun to seep into the courtyard she saw his clothes were torn, his face haggard. He looked older.
“Oh, Peter,” she cried. “Thank the Goddess!”
“Thank the Lord,” he corrected her as she clung to him.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun peeked into the room in shy fashion as John and Cornelia ate a frugal meal of boiled eggs accompanied by olives and stale bread, served by an apologetic and hollow-eyed Hypatia. John had ordered Peter to rest for a few hours before taking up culinary chores again, stifling the loyal servant’s protests about laziness and not carrying out his duties with a threat to increase the time he was not permitted to work.
“I’m surprised the sun dares to look in on us,” Cornelia remarked. “Who knows what dreadful event it will see happening next?” She pushed her plate away without touching her bread. “When do you expect the City Defender to speak with you again?”
“When he’s ready, which will no doubt be after constructing a theory, no matter how ramshackle, concerning why I murdered Theophilus and who my accomplices might be.”
“You have decided the intent is to blame you?”
“We cannot know what was intended by Theophilus’ murderer or the person who left that basket beside his body, or whether it was the same person in each case. However, I am expecting Georgios to prosecute me for the murder. Towns have long memories. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody remembered a rumor about how Theophilus got that scar.” John dunked his bread in his wine cup and took a bite. “At any rate I found the body, which was on my property, and I have a family connection to the victim. There are three good reasons to suspect me.”
“Not to mention the City Defender will become a hero in Megara for prosecuting you.”
“Perhaps he has designs on the provincial governorship.”
“An ambitious bumpkin. He’d wouldn’t last an hour at Justinian’s court,” Cornelia said scornfully.
John swallowed his wine-softened bread. “Oh, I think he would do very well in the capital. It’s his bad fortune he was born in the provinces. A dangerous man.”
“I hope you are wrong, John. But of course you rarely are when judging men.” She stared down at the table top and her face grew thoughtful. She might have been reading auguries from the pattern of scattered bread crumbs. “You’ll begin investigating the matter immediately?”
John was gazing outside. A light fog had begun to dissipate. Another torrid day was in the offing.