“The prefect is sending me Leukos’ pouch after he’s examined its contents. He didn’t want to part with any evidence.”
Anatolius raised his eyebrows. “You persuaded him? He usually answers to no one but the emperor.”
“I told him that Leukos’ family would want its contents, whatever they might be, and that it would be unwise to anger the bereaved family of a high official.”
“I don’t know anything about Leukos’ family.”
“Neither do I. The pouch might offer some clues to what was on his mind, where he was going, apart from the Inn of the Centaurs.”
Anatolius pushed his dark, dripping hair away from his face. “Perhaps someone saw the attack.”
“It’s possible, but that person might be anywhere in the city. No one at Isis’ house saw anything.”
“Unless one of the urban watch happens by at the right time or a mob catches the fellow immediately and tears him to pieces, street crimes are never solved. And it could have been one of us killed in that alley. I passed by there myself.”
“Did you happen to spend any time at Isis’ last night?”
“No. I was preoccupied. Do you suspect Isis of being involved?”
John shook his head.
“But what if her livelihood were threatened?”
“I trust Isis. We’ve both known her for years. I am more suspicious of the soothsayer.”
“You said you spoke with him. What did he say when you told him Leukos had died so soon after his consultation with him?”
“I didn’t mention it.”
Anatolius looked surprised. “Didn’t you ask the soothsayer where he was when Leukos was killed?”
“That would be the prefect’s way. I wouldn’t expect a murderer to tell me the truth and I don’t have a small army to go about the city knocking on doors and verifying stories.”
“But you could have observed his reaction when you broke the news.”
“A man who can convince most of the imperial court he can divine their futures is too good an actor to be caught out that way. Yet the soothsayer troubles me. Only the gods know our futures.”
“That may be,” said Anatolius. “On the other hand the gods may communicate with us in whatever way they choose. Even through garrulous old wanderers.”
“It sounds as if you are more impressed with him than I am. Did you keep your appointment with him?”
Anatolius’ face brightened. “Yes, and I found him to be impressive.”
“What did he have to tell you?”
“He immediately augured I was in love.”
“A safe wager!”
“Perhaps, but he was quite accurate. He poured some colored pebbles out of a leather pouch and when he read them, he proclaimed I would be lucky in love.”
John laughed. “You aren’t still thinking of the bull-leaper? She’s much too old for you.”
“I’m sorry, John. It’s clear that even a man as wise as you can be misled by the memories of a pretty face. Last night, after my head stopped throbbing, I started a poem for her. I will be Pindar to her Aristomenes.”
“Aristomenes? The wrestler? The bull-leaper didn’t strike me as such. And as for Pindar, didn’t he remind us that man is merely the creature of a day, the dream of a shadow?”
“Well, if life is only a dream it is very pleasant one right now. According to the soothsayer.”
“And how do you know his happy prediction for you will turn out to be true?”
“When we were talking he told me some of the men from the bull-leaping troupe are staying at the Inn of the Centaurs. The rest of the performers are quartered on an Egyptian ship at the docks.”
Chapter Thirteen
John stood uneasily at the edge of the dock, dark eyes narrowed against the harsh light, looking down into the debris of the city sloshing at his feet. He felt his stomach tighten.
Anatolius, shading his eyes with his hand, was staring at the horizon where dark clouds lay in a sullen stripe across the sea. “There will be a bad storm soon.”
They made their way through the oppressive heat that lay over the raucous harbor, the lines of sweat-streaked slaves burdened with crates and sacks, the dark-sailed merchant ships sweetly redolent of old cargoes of spices rising and falling on the same sparkling swells as many-oared warships.
John should never have come here. He had only seen the woman from a distance, for an instant. In the dim solitude of his study it had seemed possible that he had found his old love again. In the brassy sunlight, it was obvious it had been nothing more than self delusion.
They identified the Anubis, the ship named by the soothsayer, by the protective Eye of Horus painted on its prow. It was as silent as the dead its eponymous jackal-headed god conducted to the underworld. A man dozed at the foot of its mast. The gangplank was not in place. Waves sloshed loudly at the bottom of the gap between dock and ship.
“Hey! Watchman! Visitors!” yelled Anatolius. The man continued dozing.
Leaning down, John picked a shard of pottery from the litter strewn about the dock and lobbed it at the boat. Its clatter did not awaken the sleeper, but brought forth from the ship’s bowels an angry boy. The Lord Chamberlain had seldom been announced in so undignified a manner.
He soon found himself standing in front of a low-lintelled door. If there were any sounds to be heard from inside, they were masked by the regular fretting of waves against the ship. He raised his hand to knock. His fist was shaking, and not from the proximity of the water.
He paused. Although he had done his best to concentrate on his search for Leukos’ murderer, the performer at the Hippodrome had been constantly at the back of his thoughts, drawing him into a past he could never regain. Now there lay between him and the reality of the present only this plank doorway.
“Go on,” urged Anatolius.
“Mithra, it’s worse than waiting for the cornu to sound the attack,” John muttered. He rapped briskly. Light footsteps sounded within. A woman opened the door.
There was a hint of gray in her dark hair. Close up she looked less slender than she had seemed at the Hippodrome, although she was apparently still agile enough to vault and leap over razor-sharp horns.
“Cornelia!”
She stepped forward, pulled him into the cabin, and dealt a stinging slap to his face.
“And they say Cretans are liars! By the goddess, you took long enough! And what do you want after all these years?”
John reached for her hand, half-expecting his fingers to pass through hers as through a mirage, and it was a shock when they were stopped short by the warm solidarity of her flesh.
“How did you know where we were, John? And what do you think you’re doing, coming here? And, now I think of it, what are you doing for a living these days?” Her features were white with fury except for an angry spot of red on each cheekbone.
“Still the same Cornelia, all questions and never a pause for breath so I can answer!” John wiped tears from his eyes with a quick swipe of his knuckles.
“The John I knew wouldn’t have cried.” Her voice cracked.
“The Cornelia I knew was gentler.”
She looked him over appraisingly. “You look strange in those fancy clothes. You must have done well for yourself.”
“I am not the John that you knew, Cornelia.”
There was pain beneath the anger in her eyes. “How I prayed to the goddess for word from you! But it never came. Why didn’t you at least tell me you were leaving?”
“I never intended to leave you. I accidentally crossed the border and ran into a band of Persians. I ended up…well, eventually I ended up in Constantinople.”
“And I stayed with the troupe. I keep expecting you might show up in every new place we visited.”
“When I saw you in the Hippodrome I thought how kind the years had been to you. You looked just as young as when we first met.”
Cornelia laughed quietly. “Your tongue is still as smooth as ever, I see. But in fact-”
Anatolius managed to squeeze into the cramped, dim cabin. “I owe you an apology, John. I could have sworn the bull-leaper was little more than a girl.”