“You certainly will. Especially where I found it.”
Chapter Forty-two
“But you turned my house upside down after you took Diocles’ body away,” protested Petrus. “I’ve just managed to get things back in order. Do you really think you missed something the last time you searched?”
“We’re not looking for the same sort of evidence this time, as I have already explained.” The stark morning sunlight showed dark pouches under the City Defender’s eyes. It was obvious he was getting as little sleep as John.
Petrus rubbed his hands on his leather apron. He had already been at work when Georgios and a half dozen of his men, accompanied by John, had arrived. The blacksmith led them across the dirt courtyard and showed them a pile of iron rods. In places weeds had straggled up between them. “Is this a supply fit for an armory?”
“Hardly,” John told him. “But it was time for a new shipment, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know anything about shipments of iron. I keep enough metal on hand for normal blacksmithing work.” He gave John a glare of resentment. “I must protest, sir. You know what they say, if you’re capable of submitting to an insult you certainly should be insulted, but I am surprised you would suspect me of wrongdoing to say the least.”
“Try not to take it personally, Petrus,” John told him. “We’re all suspects lately. If you are innocent you don’t need to worry about your tenancy.”
Petrus merely grunted.
“Your landlord may be in more danger than you are,” Georgios told him. “Under the law the estate owner is liable for any illegal activities on his land.”
“Not if he reports it as soon as he finds out, which I have done,” John pointed out.
“I’m not putting my own neck on the chopping block in order to cost someone else his head,” Petrus said. “There’s nothing illegal going on here. Search again, if you want. Search twice. I shall continue here in the forge. You’re interrupting my work.”
“Another commission from Halmus?” John asked.
“No. I’m repairing chamber pots for the hospice at Saint Stephen’s. I do work for Halmus from time to time. If your craftsmanship is the best, naturally he hires you. Is it now a crime to work for Halmus?”
“John claims he found an allegedly counterfeit coin while he was trespassing on Halmus’ property,” Georgios said.
“So I am a counterfeiter now? As if there aren’t other blacksmiths in Megara or close by.”
“Leonidas confirmed the coin was counterfeit,” John observed.
Georgios grimaced. “He’s accused of crimes himself. Who could be more reliable? And yet here I am conducting a search at the behest of a murder suspect whose servant is also a suspect in criminal activities, not to mention Leonidas, and all three running loose. Never tell me I am not a fair man.”
“How could you keep Leonidas imprisoned when the abbot vouched for him personally?”
“Ah, I had forgotten the abbot. Petrus is doing work for him at present. Does that make Alexis a suspect as well?”
Petrus had a copper pot on an anvil and was whacking it resoundingly with a hammer, working out dents and his own anger.
John noticed the motif on its sides was a columned temple. “That’s an odd design for a monastery.”
Petrus threw his hammer down. “What do you expect on a chamber pot?”
“Do you do much work for the monastery?” Georgios asked.
“A little. I work for churches also. In fact, Halmus occasionally hires me to do church work as a form of charity. Then again there was the birdcage I made to specifications supplied by a woman who did not seem the sort of lady one would expect to keep birds. Some of the iron figures applied to it were remarkably lascivious. I had to instruct the younger estate workers to keep away from my forge while I was working. And what sort of bird goes in a cage so large it needs to be hauled away on a wagon?”
“You’ve made your point, Petrus. You do a varied business,” Georgios replied.
The blacksmith shrugged and sighed. “Mostly it’s various farm tools, occasionally plows.”
“Is James the fish merchant a client?” Georgios asked.
Petrus rubbed his chin. “I may have done a few little commissions for him long ago. He’s a rich man though he doesn’t look it, does he?”
“The arsonists who attacked the other night were led by the fish seller, and they were armed with illegal weapons,” John said to Georgios. “I realize the law in its vast wisdom has decreed they were all possessed by demons but demons don’t supply swords or conjure them out of thin air.”
“Demons!” Petrus exclaimed. “They say demons dance in that pagan temple. Oh, I’ve seen strange lights and weird shadows myself over there at night. Perhaps the weapons James and his criminal friends displayed were forged in the fires of hell?”
“It is about as likely as them being forged by you, Petrus.” Georgios said. Turning to John he added, “Just because something is possible doesn’t make it so. I don’t see what leads you to believe manufacture of illegal weapons is taking place on your estate.”
John again outlined how the concealed message concerning the iron shipment had led him, eventually, to suspect such activity.
“You told me this on our way here, but it doesn’t strike me as sufficient grounds for suspicion.”
John wondered whether the additional information he had learned during his visit to Lechaion would strengthen the case in Georgios’ eyes, but thought it prudent to say nothing.
“It all sounds the sort of tale spun by poets and other rogues,” said Petrus.
Georgios’ men began to straggle back from their assigned search areas, reporting that, as on their previous visit, they had found nothing incriminating.
Petrus had abandoned his work and begun to pace impatiently. “If I had crates of swords hidden away don’t you think you would have stumbled across them the first time? Now why don’t you tell me you believe I killed Diocles as well as my other crimes?”
A guard appeared and gestured to Georgios, who went over, conferred with him, and returned holding a clay jar he set on the workbench. “What are you doing with these?” he asked, lifting the lid to reveal a veritable hoard of small bronze coins.
Petrus looked puzzled. “Oh, that’s just some coins I keep on hand. I clear them out of my money pouch every so often. The whole jarful’s practically worthless.”
Georgios replaced the lid. He looked thoughtful. “Worthless for buying much, I agree, but useful for making coin molds.”
Chapter Forty-three
The City Defender and his men had departed empty-handed and John, returning from the futile search, mulled over the lack of evidence concerning what he was convinced was a web of illegal activities taking place on his estate.
There was certainly a traceable chain of connections between its various residents and criminal activity, he thought as he walked slowly home, but proving it was the difficulty. A jar of bronze coins, like so much of what John had discovered, was suggestive but did not qualify as proof of anything. How could he describe his theories to Georgios if he were asked to do so?
To begin with, during John’s visit to Corinth’s port he learned Theophilus had been regularly involved in activities that would not bear close scrutiny. His stepfather’s criminal associate, during his visit to John’s rented room, had indicated Theophilus, among other things, smuggled many goods, including iron. Which would not need to be kept secret unless for the purpose to which it was to be put by the recipient, in this case the man in charge, or in other words, the overseer Diocles. Where could Diocles have sent iron, except to Petrus who worked with it? And Lucian the tenant farmer had been willing to hide Diocles despite John’s order the latter should leave the estate immediately. So there were links between all four men, given Lucian would not run the risk of losing his tenancy unless for a very good reason.