John remarked that it was certainly a clever device. “But why do you choose to work down here in the gloom, Helias?”
The sundial maker heaved a sigh. “Many of my clients have asked that question, sir. They think it most peculiar a purveyor of artifacts which require light to function should keep his establishment in a place where sunshine can never venture. The fact is, I dislike strong sunlight and avoid it as much as possible. Is that so odd? Do you suppose the tanner cares to spend his time wading through urine simply because he needs to use it on his hides? When I am out in the sunlight I cannot stop calculating the hour by the position of my shadow.”
John observed he could appreciate Helias’ difficulty. “I calculate time in a similar manner, by observing the position of the sun over the rooftops, which is why I do not need one of your sundials. I shall, however, mention them at court.” He noted that Helias’ shoulders slumped.
“That would be most kind, sir. I hope you do not think I am enamored of wealth. We must all find a way to live. Sometimes I wish I had found another way, that I had never heard of sundials, so that I could enjoy the glorious sun the Lord has given us, like any other man. I would be much happier if I could stop the sun, like Joshua, for then there would be but the one fixed hour. That would mean I would be unable to continue with my work since there would be no purchasers of sundials. As it is, I spend most of my time down here or in church.”
“But you also make water clocks.”
“Water doesn’t follow one around like the sun, sir. But as it happens, I am also working on a portable water clock to be carried during the night or on cloudy days. It might appeal also to others who would prefer to keep the sun out of their affairs. And now, how may I help you?”
“I was told your neighbor, Troilus, sells curiosities. Does he sell these portable clocks of yours?”
Helias snapped the miniature sundial shut. “I should think not! I would not permit it! You should be thankful that grating is decently lowered and locked, sir. Most of the wares that young man sells were better destroyed than displayed for all to see. Lewd pagan statues, sir, obscene lamps shaped like, well, let me just say they wouldn’t be out of place in houses godly men never visit. You can deduce the sort of clients he encourages to call on him. It’s reflecting poorly upon my own business, being next to his dreadful shop. And that’s not the worst of it, sir! Why, the other evening he insulted me in a gross fashion!”
John held up his hand, stemming the flow of words. “I am sorry to hear it, Helias. I fear that time is urging me to make haste. You understand, I’m sure. Do you know when Troilus will return?”
“It’s difficult to say. He runs his business in a very irregular fashion. He often vanishes for a few days. Gone to purchase stock, or so he claims.” Helias narrowed his eyes and his mouth tightened. “Are you seeking to make a purchase? Not everything he sells is blasphemous or obscene. Perhaps you are seeking a religious relic? For display at some church? In that case, I would be willing to convey a message to him when he reappears.”
“It isn’t merchandise I seek, but a young woman.”
Helias’ scowled. “I don’t see many young women here, sir. Very careless about time, they are.”
“This woman is an actress. She’s with the troupe that has its theater up above. You’ve probably seen her now and then.”
“I try to keep my eyes averted from the unholy things that go on at that theater of theirs, sir. But what does she look like? Painted like the whore of Babylon, no doubt! How would I pick her out from all the rest?”
John hesitated. What in fact had Agnes looked like? Her corpse, with its battered face, told him nothing. He had glimpsed her living face for an instant when she approached him in the square and lifted her veil. What had he seen? That she was Zoe, just as she had told him. Nothing more.
How had he known she was Zoe?
“Her eyes are striking, exceptionally large and dark. And she has a tattoo on her wrist,” John said.
“I don’t look at women’s wrists, sir, and I imagine more than one actress has tattoos.”
“She was a friend of Troilus.”
Helias frowned. “I have seen a young woman in his company. An actress. Whether her eyes were dark, I can’t say. She visits him regularly. As a faithful church man, sir, I have spoken to Troilus more than once about consorting with such low women, but all I receive in return is abuse. Yet I say it again, I would rather cross the Mese than have to pass close by this actress friend of his, and here I am, trying to earn an honest living right next door. I am not certain what he is to her, but you can rest assured it isn’t what even the most charitable of us might think.”
“She will not be visiting again, Helias, for I fear she was murdered. It happened exactly a week ago.”
Helias stared in amazement. “A week ago, you say?”
“Yes. Why? Did you see her that day?”
“Not exactly, sir, but as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, I can tell you who killed her. It was Troilus.”
For a moment John was speechless. In the silence he was aware of the clocks’ relentless dripping. He had spent days following a trail that led from one person to the next, with no end in sight. Had he reached his goal with such shocking abruptness?
“That is a grave charge, Helias. Are you sure it isn’t just your disdain for the man speaking? What proof do you have?”
Helias’ piercing voice rose to an even higher note. “I saw him drag the body in, sir. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. But what else could it have been?”
John ordered him to explain.
“A week ago I was working here late at night when I heard a scraping noise outside. Naturally, I peeked out. One needs to keep an eye on what is going on, especially after dark.”
He paused. “There was Troilus, dragging a big sack, sir! It was just after midnight. I know because I was inspecting some of the water clocks and they all showed the same hour. It wasn’t so odd that he would be bringing stock in at such a time, because, as I told you, he keeps a peculiar schedule. But I did wonder why he had not enlisted some assistance. Whatever was in the sack must have been more than he could lift comfortably by himself. I didn’t think any more about it, sir, until you mentioned the murder. The sack was exactly the right size for a body.”
Chapter Nineteen
Anatolius wiped away tears with the sleeve of his tunic, blinked, and squinted around Francio’s steamy kitchen. Almost immediately the garlic-saturated air started his eyes watering again.
“Mithra!” he muttered.
Francio was nowhere to be seen. A small army of servants rushed about carrying bowls and brandishing knives, somehow avoiding fatal collisions. The clank of pots violently stirred or pushed around the long brazier running along one side of the room reverberated from the sooty walls and low ceiling.
He would have left immediately, except that he had come here on serious business.
To investigate a murder.
Since parting with John outside Menander’s tenement, Anatolius had not been able to put the murder out of his thoughts.
This morning he had arrived at the steps of the law library with the gulls but couldn’t concentrate on research. Instead he kept wondering how a common prostitute could have known the name by which John addressed the mosaic girl on the wall of his private study.
Francio might be of assistance. He was familiar with every rumor, true or false, at the palace. He would know who, if anyone, might be aware of John’s solitary conversations.
He had shoved the Digest and its dusty old jurists aside and left for Francio’s house. However, the nearer he got, the more wary he became of revealing too much to his gregarious friend. Curiosity had carried him from the atrium to the back of the house and into the kitchen.