“You’ve lived here long enough to know that.”
John ignored the comment. “And as for you, my friend, you judged Ahasuerus to be an honorable man.”
Anatolius looked uneasy. “It seems I am a poor judge. We know Leukos met the soothsayer. He had that green pebble in his pouch, just like the one that Ahasuerus gave me.” A look of alarm crossed Anatolius’ face. “It occurs to me that I’m fortunate the old villain didn’t follow me into an alley instead.”
“You’ve changed your opinion of him?”
“When he’s found to have had daggers matching the murder weapon in his possession, what choice do I have? I suppose I trusted his prediction for me because I wanted Europa to believe it also,” Anatolius concluded.
“Do you mean because a young lady is not likely to accept the word of a murderer that her admirer will be lucky in love?”
Anatolius flushed but remained silent.
“Do you think the soothsayer followed Leukos and stabbed him to death?” John asked.
“I don’t know if he followed him. Perhaps they arranged to meet later for some reason. A longer reading, for example. Or Leukos might have been talking too freely about the valuable imperial plate in his charge, and Ahasuerus got the notion he was carrying a lot of money. Perhaps he just happened to see Leukos on his way to somewhere else.” Anatolius was becoming exasperated. Although he knew it was unfair, he was angry at John for dampening his own good spirits.
“Why did Leukos seem so distracted at the Hippodrome?”
“He did, didn’t he? I suppose he was anticipating his visit to the soothsayer. It wasn’t the kind of thing he did every day.”
“And what about Berta’s death? Do you suppose that was unrelated? The alley where Leukos was murdered runs behind Isis’ house. Berta was at the same palace celebration Ahasuerus attended. Now I fear Europa and Cornelia are in danger. After all, they were at the same accursed gathering.”
“You think too much, John. It’s just coincidence. And after all, in Berta’s line of work, such things happen. As for Leukos, he visited the soothsayer. A few hours later the old man’s dagger is in Leukos’ ribs. Even a theologian would have to agree his murderer was the soothsayer. Ahasuerus was drowned when he tried to flee, pulled to the bottom of the sea. What better vengeance could you want? As I’ve already said, it is over.”
“You’re right, Anatolius. I do want revenge. I admit it. But drowning, no, I wouldn’t wish that.”
John fell silent. The setting sun had disappeared behind the roof. “It isn’t reason that leads me to believe the soothsayer wasn’t the murderer,” he finally said. “It is a feeling. If Leukos’ murderer were dead, it would be gone. If he were really avenged, this black creature inside me would have taken wing. But it has not, and I feel that if I don’t bring his murderer to justice, it will gnaw at me for the rest of my life.”
“But John, what has happened has happened. Leukos’ death was unfair. But even if Ahasuerus were not the murderer, and I can’t see who else could be, would finding the murderer make it any fairer?”
John did not answer the question. He looked grim. There were times when, even though he was a personal friend, Anatolius almost feared the Lord Chamberlain.
“I can’t help feeling Cornelia and Europa may in some way be involved,” John said. “and that makes it imperative that this mystery is unraveled. Until it is I am convinced their lives are in danger, and we can’t guess which direction the danger will be coming from.”
Anatolius was silent. In the gathering darkness the scent of the garden’s spring flowers seemed stronger. He wondered what went on in his maimed friend’s mind when he lay alone at night. What other demons that could never be exorcised raged inside John? What agonies that dared not be remembered hammered at the flimsy door of suppression?
And it occurred to Anatolius, perhaps because he was of a poetic turn of mind, that John’s controlled and rational exterior might be no more than a thin varnish over madness and despair.
Chapter Forty-one
While one friend continued to seek vengeance for Leukos’ death, two sought to make sense of Berta’s. Felix and Thomas arrived separately at Isis’ private rooms to offer their condolences but their expressions of sorrow soon turned to anger.
“Berta might have been popular, Isis, as you say, but what about the misbegotten bastard who strangled her?” Felix tossed down another mouthful of wine.
Isis studied the two callers seated opposite. The big, bearded men were alike so many ways they might have been a peculiar pair of brothers. The one was shaggy and dark, the other red haired. Felix was bulkier, built like a great bear. Thomas had the broad shoulders of the gladiators depicted in ancient sculptures. Tears streamed down Felix’s face and his mouth trembled. Thomas’ expression was rigid, his cold gaze a contrast to his fiery hair.
“We’ve never had such a thing happen before,” Isis said. “And what I can’t understand is who it could have been. So far as I know, only our regular guests were here.” Her dark eyes were somber. “Is no one to be trusted these days? I do believe I shall have some wine myself. Thomas?”
The knight shook his head. Felix banged down his goblet. Isis scowled. In her house, displays of anger led to a swift and oft-times undignified exit aided by the brawny Darius. Murder was-or had been-unthinkable. For the first time in the years since she had arrived from Alexandria alone and afraid, she felt unsafe.
Shuddering, she poured more wine.
“She had a fine funeral, my Berta,” Felix said. “I am paying for it myself.” Despite the wine he had imbibed, his words were carefully formed and clearly spoken, but shaped by that terrible frozen grief of the newly and suddenly bereaved.
Isis dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Berta. Only a few days ago, dancing at the palace, and now the only people she will be dancing for are the dead, and that after her heart is balanced on the scales against the feather of truth.”
“I spit upon your feathers!” Felix snarled.
Thomas, who had been largely silent since arriving to find the morose Felix with Isis, inquired about the feather, less from real interest than to calm a situation which might turn ugly.
“Oh, yes,” Isis replied, “yes, when we die, our hearts are weighed against the feather of truth. It is an ostrich feather, such as is worn by our goddess Maat. She represents truth and justice, you know. If the scales of judgment balance evenly, then the departed are judged worthy. If not, they are destroyed.”
Felix rose ponderously from the couch. “That may well be, Isis. But Mithra will surely aid me, and a veritable tribunal of judges of the dead, a whole milling herd of ostriches, none of these things will hide the truth of it, for I shall find out who did this thing, and I shall….” He paused, wiping tears from his face. “Let me repeat this, as Mithra is my lord, I shall personally ensure that justice is meted out. I shall take great pleasure in squeezing the miserable dregs of life out of the bastard who took my Berta away from me. But slowly, very slowly, you understand? I want his agony to be long, and when he dies, the only prayer over his body will be mine, that Mithra will continue his agony in the next life for all of eternity.” His words were the more terrible for being spoken in a gently conversational tone of voice. “And now, I must go.”
Neither Thomas nor Isis spoke for a while after the bereaved man staggered out. Finally, Thomas broke the heavy silence by wondering if Felix would ever find the man he sought.
“I wouldn’t lay a wager on it. Felix has made a lot of bad wagers.”
“Perhaps Felix would like a memento of Berta,” mused Thomas. “Didn’t she have some jewelry? I recollect some barbaric bracelets. I would be happy to deliver them to him if you would trust me.”
“That’s kind of you, Thomas. As it happens, I already gave him some of her small pieces as remembrances. If I didn’t know that my girls’ all have hiding places for their valuables I would never have found them.”