“Why would you have killed the master’s stepfather?”
“To protect the master, of course. He hated his stepfather. And what was his stepfather doing on this estate at night? Obviously he was up to no good.”
“You must have taken a knife with you. Where is this knife? I haven’t seen you carrying one.”
“I…I haven’t remembered that yet. I must have had a knife, certainly. It isn’t all clear yet.”
“It’s clear to me that you want to sacrifice yourself for me and for the master. I won’t let you do it. It wouldn’t be right.”
“The Lord will have to judge whether it is right or not. Tomorrow I am going to confess to the City Defender.”
Hypatia took a step forward and grasped his shoulders. Her dark eyes were bright with tears. “I do love you, Peter. I had hoped to escape prosecution so we could enjoy our time together, but if you insist on going to the City Defender I will have to admit the truth. I did kill Diocles.”
Chapter Forty-six
Abbot Alexis was sitting at his desk with an open codex before him when John arrived in the early evening. “This is an unexpected pleasure, John. Shall we be talking about pagan religions or reminiscing about our youth?”
His smile of greeting faded as John spoke. “Alexis, please read this. It is my mother’s will.”
Alexis took the proffered document and laid it down without consulting it. “Yes, indeed. We have the original in our possession.”
“There may be some irregularity with its provisions that will need to be investigated but I intend to consult a lawyer I know in Constantinople about that as soon as possible.”
“You are talking about inheriting your old family farm?”
“That in due course. I came here today to ask you why the monastery has not claimed it, given it is almost certain my stepfather did not have the legal right to sell it. As I have only just learned.”
The abbot closed his eyes for a moment, as if to rest them or to pray. “All things are revealed in due season. Indeed, Theophilus did not have that right, but we discovered the sale too late to stop it. I only learned of the true situation when your mother entered our care. At that time she told me of the marriage that was not. We could not be certain if she was confused or misremembering events and since your stepfather had departed after selling the farm we felt there was no reason to distress her further or expose her to ridicule, so we did nothing about the matter. We did make inquiries and eventually confirmed that what she told us was true.”
“And when she died, you would have brought suit to transfer ownership of the farm to the monastery?”
“That was the intent.”
“But you have not done so.” John said. “Which means one thing only. My mother is alive and in your care and I insist on seeing her now. And then I should like an explanation of why you did not tell me she was here the first time we met again after my long absence.”
***
John insisted that Alexis not accompany him to the hospice. However, he was not to see his mother alone, because Stephen intercepted him on the way.
“May I speak to you, sir? About your conversation with the abbot?”
“You just happened to overhear us?”
John saw Stephen wince in the illumination cast by the church-shaped lantern he recalled from his previous visit. Crosses of light danced on the walls and ceiling as they proceeded down the dark corridor.
“It has proved helpful for me to listen, considering how poor the abbot’s memory can be. Not that there is anything wrong with his faculties, but strange and wonderful events that transpired hundreds of years ago are forever pushing from his thoughts the mundane tasks that need to be done tomorrow.”
“You are a useful man, Stephen. No wonder he considers you his successor.”
“Does he? But never mind. The abbot is not an old man. He will be in charge of Saint Stephen’s for many years.”
“And you will loyally continue to listen at his door.”
They were almost at the hospice. Stephen came to a halt. “Sometimes one overhears things that one would rather not.”
“You have something to tell me?”
“May the Lord forgive me for saying it, but the abbot is not above trying to serve both God and mammon. He is well-intentioned. He intends to benefit the monastery and hospice. The fact is, he had questionable dealings with Diocles.”
“My former overseer? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You and the abbot are old friends. Would you have believed me?”
“No, and I’m not sure I believe you now. I will consider what you have said, provided you can offer proof beyond what you claim to have heard while eavesdropping.”
The flickering light from the lantern made Stephen’s expression difficult to read.
“What about Theophilus?” John continued. “Did he visit?”
“Often, sir. After he brought Sophia to live here, he came to see her many times.”
It was difficult for John to believe. In fact, he admitted to himself, he did not want to believe his stepfather felt any real affection for his mother. Why should he have suddenly begun to treat her in a decent fashion? Wasn’t it more likely Theophilus was also visiting the monastery on illicit business? John did not want to think badly of his old friend Alexis, but the man had lied to him about his mother. How then could he now be believed about anything?
“Let us go in,” John said.
He stepped into a dismal underworld. The room was long and dimly lit, filled with rows of beds. Most of the occupants lay partly covered with sheets, as still as corpses on biers. A few sat up, fewer still slumped or lolled on stools near their bedsides.
There was a tug at John’s tunic. Glancing down, he saw bony fingers with long, black nails fastened talon-like to the cloth. His gaze followed the hand along a skeletal arm and up into a vacant, withered face.
“Hello,” the man said in a monotone. “Hello. Hello.”
Stephen made shushing noises and removed the hand. “Our greeter,” he explained to John.
He proceeded between the beds to the far end of the room, where he set his lantern down on a small table. John followed past the gray faces, hearing an occasional groan, an unintelligible word. The air was heavy with incense that did not quite mask the smell of incipient death.
The ancient woman in the last bed was sitting up, head bowed as she fumbled with cruelly twisted fingers to fasten a red strip of cloth in her white hair.
“I try to give our ladies something to adorn themselves with,” Stephen said. “It makes them happy.”
Her hair, thinned to a mist, was ornamented with every color. John had the impression of a rainbow rising up from a cloud.
Then she looked up.
The weight of all the years he had not seen her slammed into his chest like a fatal blow on the battlefield, stopping his breathing and almost his heart.
He recognized her looking out at him from beneath her age.
“Mother,” he said. “It’s John. I’ve come to see you, as you knew I would.”
There was no recognition in the clouded eyes that stared back at him. More like the eyes of a frightened and bewildered animal than the sparkling eyes he remembered.
“She never recognizes anyone,” Stephen said in a low tone. “She hasn’t for many months now.”
John spoke again. “Don’t you know me, Mother?”
She gave no sign that she did. The clouded gaze moved away from him, toward Stephen, perhaps looking for reassurance.
“I am too late,” John said.
Stephen picked up the lantern. “Perhaps another time, sir. I can tell she is agitated.”
John turned to go, determined to walk away without looking back, but he did stop and look around.
Was there a change in her face? She seemed to be gazing at him more intently. Her thin lips twitched, then she said, almost in a whisper, “Mine.”