“If it’s any comfort, I would say that a blade wielded as expertly as in this instance provides an easier death than one by poison or fire.”
John agreed, adding that apart from the other six recent deaths of which he was personally aware, there must have been many more who had died in the inferno at the docks.
“Yes, indeed. But you mean five deaths, don’t you, John? Aurelius, the three stylites we examined, and that girl belonging to Isis?”
“There was also the burnt body Philo stumbled over,” John reminded him.
“Yes, well, that’s true. But there’ll be more than a few like that once the weather gets really cold and they doze off too close to their fires.”
“Gaius, I have a strong suspicion there is a connection between all of these deaths.”
The physician looked down at Philo. “Well, I didn’t see the man Philo found, but as for the stylites, as I said, they all burnt from the outside, notwithstanding people raving about fires from within, hands from heaven, and the like.”
John thoughtfully traced the gashes on Philo’s palm.
“But what about the matter of Philo’s funeral?” Gaius asked after a short pause. “It seems you’re going to be responsible, John, since obviously he has no family here to carry out his rites.”
John nodded, adding “Although at the moment the dead will be fortunate to be buried with only a hurried prayer at their graveside. And Philo would not want that.”
Gaius gently smoothed Philo’s white hair but remained silent.
The sun was setting as John lit a lamp and carried it into what had been Philo’s bedroom. It was spartanly furnished, hardly fit for an Athenian, as Philo had remarked on more than one occasion with what John had taken to be an attempt at humor.
The room held few reminders of its former occupant. One or two letters Philo had been writing lay on a desk in front of the window and a pair of his well worn boots stood beside the one chair provided for the comfort of visitors.
Apart from artfully painted garlands of intertwined ivy, yew, and cypress branches hanging in dark green loops just above head height around its white plastered walls, the room’s only decoration was its mosaic floor.
Glancing down at it, John found himself wondering how Philo had regarded the throng of rioting sea creatures frolicking around, on and under the mosaic’s foaming sea swells, endlessly crashing ashore in frozen waves. The sun’s dying light coupled with the window panes’ small irregularities gave an eerie quality to blue, green and black portraits of octopi, dolphins, and other denizens of the deep. Had they reminded Philo of the long journey he had taken from Greece to the eastern wildernesses and then half way back to his home land?
John sat down and pensively contemplated the now ownerless boots. Philo had been willing to endure the bulky himation of the philosopher, but not the sandals.
What was he to make of this most recent death? Was it really just a terrible incident during the riots? If not, who would have wanted to murder an innocent stranger, a man likely to be executed when official tolerance suddenly evaporated for reasons of state, or, as had been John’s experience, at a whim of Justinian’s?
Or of Justinian’s wife Theodora, he reminded himself.
Soon he would have to arrange a funeral. What sort of rite would Philo wish? Cremation, perhaps, after the ancient custom. It would have to be done outside the city. Perhaps at Anatolius’ newly acquired country estate?
He thought of Aurelius. So far as the senator was concerned, there was a cornucopia of possibilities as to the person responsible for his death. Staring at the ceiling, John began to enumerate them. Perhaps the exercise would open his mind to inspiration or a flash of insight that would set his feet on the right path.
“Well, then,” he muttered to himself, regretting that in this room he could not address his musings to the mosaic girl Zoe. “Let us consider. There are often reasons aplenty for murder but sometimes none at all. But assuming that it was done with deliberate intent, who would benefit by Aurelius’ death?”
He stood and began to pace back and forth across the small room. Glancing out, he noted that some of the glare reflected in far off windows was not from their catching the rays of the setting sun. The violent hysteria gripping the city was worsening. Could it be the result of an alliance between the factions? During his night journey home he had several times observed what appeared to be Blues and Greens fighting shoulder to shoulder, rather than with each other.
And this led to another thought. Was it too outlandish to suspect that certain courtiers might have encouraged civic disorder by large, well-placed bribes and secret meetings with the factions’ leaders for their own reasons, although these might not necessarily include deposing the emperor?
“Think more about that later,” he chided himself, sitting down again. “For now, concentrate on who might wish to murder Aurelius. And drawing upon the training instilled by Philo, examine not just that, but also who had the opportunity to carry out the deed.”
He stared at a particularly lively dolphin disporting in the silent waves crashing at his feet.
Among those at the banquet there were certainly many who, behind smiling faces and animated conversations, must have privately disapproved of the senator’s role in the Michaelite negotiations, ignoring the imperial edict forcing it upon him. Perhaps they ought rather to have been grateful, John thought, that they had not been ordered to undertake the delicate task. But did they feel strongly enough to kill-and to what purpose?
The reasons for murder were surprisingly few. Unbalanced humors, lust, a desire for power or revenge, gaining wealth or social position.
Certainly Aurelius would have had professional or business rivals who might well have been happy to seize a chance to dispose of him. John would have expected a less public attack, but on the other hand, in a gathering of many suspects there lay anonymity and thus better odds of escaping justice. Then too, overabundant wine inhibited the reasoning capacities. One cup too many, unchecked hatred boils over and a man is dead.
But poison strongly suggests premeditation, he argued with himself, not to mention some degree of familiarity with its preparation and administration. Well, there were two people in Aurelius’ house that night who immediately suggested themselves. Gaius, whose professional knowledge of herbs was by necessity far better than many gave him credit for, and Hypatia, who had been assisting Peter in Aurelius’ kitchen, not that the girl had any motive.
Ah, but then again perhaps the poison had been intended for another victim and in the excitement of the occasion the wrong jug had been set out in Aurelius’ study?
Speculating on the possibility, he leaned over and picked up the letters Philo had left behind.
One requested a meeting with a senator. Now that would never take place. The other was unfinished, written in florid Latin with hastily formed letters and many scratchings-out. John scanned it rapidly and soon found himself wondering if Philo had uncharacteristically imbibed too freely before he composed it.
As John read, he wondered anew at Philo’s foolishness. If certain eyes had read the letter, the philosopher would have been immediately arrested and incarcerated in the imperial dungeons and the person to whom it was addressed-Aurelius-arrested along with him.
It was a scandalous document, to say the least.
Philo to the honorable Senator Flavius Aurelius, greetings!
Concerning they who sit in bejeweled radiance on gem-encrusted thrones, Justinian and the woman rightly known as Theodora of the Brothel. This befouled pair are, and I am willing to demonstrate the truth of this statement with many instances, demons copulating in spiritual darkness. Truly, not even the filthiest and most broken-down whores fornicating in the worst alleys of this benighted city can approach the wickedness of the empress, whose gleeful delight in her public and obscene lewdness offends the heavens themselves.