He took another gulp of what remained of his wine. “I know the Greens lost their best horses last week. I wager you didn’t know that! That’s how informed I am. The owner sold them, you see. Race horses are worth more to butchers than bettors these days.”
Anatolius suddenly felt queasy. He couldn’t help wondering whether Francio, the universal gourmet, might not have taken the opportunity to sample the flesh of a Hippodrome champion.
“More than one person has remarked to me that fewer people seem to be dying,” he replied. “The emperor and empress have returned to the palace, as you know well enough. Would they put themselves in danger if it were not true?”
“Fewer people are dying because there’s hardly anyone left to die,” Felix pointed out.
It was possibly true, Anatolius thought uneasily. The plague seemed determined to linger until Constantinople was deserted.
“Felix, I know there is no official investigation, but have you found anything out about the murder of Senator Symacchus? Anything to free John of suspicion?”
Felix tugged at his beard. “No. Not a thing. What could there be? John was there when we arrived. I saw him myself. He was standing over the body.”
“But he denied killing the senator.”
“He didn’t deny it when we arrived at the Hippodrome. Took one look at us and ran. It’s not like John at all. What in Mithra’s name does it all mean? That’s what I want to know. It’s a puzzle. A puzzling puzzle.”
Felix attempted to pick up his partly filled cup and knocked it over. The proprietor lumbered over with a rag almost before the rosy stream hit the straw on the floor. Anatolius’ glare forced him away again.
“And why did you happen to be at the Hippodrome with so many men at that specific time, Felix?”
“I’ve explained already.”
“You haven’t.”
“I haven’t?” Felix frowned. He looked genuinely perplexed. “But why was that?”
“Felix, I can’t tell you why you didn’t tell me. Just tell me now, would you? Why were you there?”
“A fellow came and told me,” Felix explained. “Said a senator was being murdered in the Hippodrome.”
“A fellow?”
“A man. A stranger. Came into my office. And he was right. I raced over with my men, but Symacchus was already dead.”
“Wasn’t that a bit unusual?”
“I wouldn’t say so. Once the cord was around his neck he didn’t have a chance.”
“I meant wasn’t it unusual for someone to go to your office to report an impending murder? Most people would rush to the nearest barracks, don’t you think? Or stop a guard on the street?”
“Perhaps he worked at the palace and naturally thought of the excubitors first?”
Anatolius nodded eagerly. “Good! Now we’re on the track of something useful. What makes you say that? Think? Was it the way he dressed? Was the face familiar because you’d passed by him in a hallway or seen him on the palace grounds?”
Felix shook his big head like a petulant child. “I can’t say how he was dressed. What do you take me for, one of Theodora’s ladies-in-waiting? An expert on sartorial elegance? Yet sometimes I wonder at that, considering the type of tasks Justinian orders me to carry out.”
Anatolius stood. It was obvious he wouldn’t get anything useful out of Felix in his current state. His immediate problem now was seeing the captain home in one piece. “Come on, Felix.”
The dim room darkened further. He noticed the proprietor had blocked the doorway with his considerable girth. He flipped him a coin and the man moved aside.
Felix remained seated. “You go ahead. I need another cup of wine. Or two. Or even more.”
Anatolius sighed. Trying to shift the big excubitor from his chair would be like trying to move a boulder with a twig.
“Here’s something you’ll like, Felix,” he said with a grin. “I’ll wager you can’t get from here to your house without falling into the gutter.”
Chapter Eleven
“The next thing I knew I was lying in the alley and…” Peter’s voice cracked as he forced the words out. “…The last few coins were gone, master.”
The servant hid his anguished face in his hands.
Peter, Cornelia, and John sat in a wide doorway on a street not far from the hostelry where they had spent the night.
The sun had passed its zenith, but heat still lay honey-like upon Alexandria. The city seemed quiet, John thought. Had they already become accustomed to its raucous patchwork of sounds-the rattle of carts, the cries of hawkers, the screams of dusty children who wore amulet necklaces and little else?
John looked at Peter appraisingly. “You’re not hurt?”
Peter picked a flat, oval seed from his scanty hair and tossed it into a rut nearby. “Fortunately I fell into a heap of rotten melons.”
A brown bird dropped from nowhere and flew off with the discarded seed.
“It was better than I deserved for my carelessness,” Peter went on. “I don’t think the thief meant to harm me, and he left my satchel. Except…” His voice trailed off again.
“Never mind, Peter. It was an excellent idea to bring silks to sell. Let’s see them,” Cornelia told him.
With obvious reluctance Peter pulled the satchel open.
The shriveled head of a mummified cat glowered out.
“The thief took them, mistress, and left this as payment. I was going to throw the nasty thing away, but somehow the way it seemed to look at me…”
Cornelia chuckled. “It’s adorable, Peter. I won’t let you abandon the poor thing. What should I call him? How about Cheops?”
“It’s clear who’s responsible,” John said. “Show me this emporium, Peter. I will resolve the matter with Pedibastet quickly enough.”
John began to stand. Cornelia placed a hand on his arm. “This isn’t Constantinople, John. You have no authority here.”
“I’m certain I can do a good enough impersonation of a high official to frighten Pedibastet into returning Peter’s coins!”
“Dressed in those rags?”
John looked down at his threadbare, stained tunic. “You’re right. It’s a pity I don’t have one of my ceremonial robes.”
“If you did, we could sell it for more than enough for our boat fare to Mehenopolis,” Cornelia said.
The trio fell silent for a time.
“But master, why would the emperor order you to a place on imperial business with no means of getting there?” Peter finally asked.
“A good question,” John replied with a thin smile. He did not care to mention that Theodora was responsible for their lack of funds. The change in arrangements ordered by Justinian worried him. It would worry Peter and Cornelia even more.
Cornelia soon spoke sharply. “It seems to me Justinian does not care how you arrive at Mehenopolis. In fact, it’s entirely possible he didn’t want you to arrive at all.”
It was true. Theodora’s interference in John’s exile had been peculiar. Was it possible she had acted with Justinian’s blessing?
John put the thought out of his mind. “More importantly, at this point we have to find our fare to get to Mehenopolis. They always need workers to load wheat on the docks. I can do that.”
“Master!” Peter burst out. “The Lord Chamberlain should not be carrying sacks about like a common laborer! I would be-”
“By the Goddess!” Cornelia interrupted. “John, don’t you remember how we earned our keep the last time we were in this land?”
“I haven’t forgotten. You were part of a bull-leaping act and I helped guard the troupe.”
“Not just bull-leaping. Remember there was also a magician called Baba? An engaging rogue, but always a crowd pleaser.”
“We don’t have a magician with us, mistress,” Peter timidly pointed out.
“Baba taught some of his knowledge to the other performers,” Cornelia replied. “He said a magick trick is like a coin in the hand. You’d never go hungry with something of the kind to entertain and astonish people. I could teach you and Peter one or two of them.”