“It concerns a will you recently witnessed.”
“Nereus’ will, you mean? He was one of my best patrons. A man of remarkable perspicacity. It was all most upsetting. It would have made an angel weep to see his departing, for little dignity and a lot of chaos saw him out of this world.”
Aristotle frowned at the brickmaker, who was shamelessly eavesdropping. “His was only a small bedroom and for some reason he was fond of large pieces of furniture, so there wasn’t much space to begin with, even before we were assembled. Servants were coming in and out constantly for one reason or another and his oracular bull was bellowing as if it knew the master of the establishment was about to start climbing the ladder to heaven.”
John observed he could understand how distressing the situation must have been.
“Thank you, excellency. It was a terrible shock to find Nereus in such a dreadful state when I arrived that afternoon. Although, strange to say, the oracular head I had been asked to bring for his perusal seemed to grow exceedingly warm the nearer I got to his house.”
John questioned Aristotle further.
“No, I never met the wayward son,” he replied. “Even if I had, I doubt he would’ve been interested in my oracles. He was a man who never looked to the future, going by what I’ve heard about his behavior.”
“Of the other witnesses, I understand Archdeacon Palamos is an acquaintance of yours?”
Aristotle looked outraged. “I hope you pay no heed to anything he says about me, excellency. There are some, and I include certain churchmen among their number, who pretend to doubt the authenticity of my wares. However, that is because they’re merely trying to strike a better bargain.”
A stray breeze carried the scent of donkey urine more strongly into the brickyard.
Mithra! John thought. It was obvious that he was no further forward in unraveling the puzzle. He wondered if Cornelia had arrived, or if Peter was any worse. For all John knew, Peter might have died while John futilely tramped the streets. He realized his hand had strayed underneath the line of his jaw, where the swellings started.
Nothing.
An hour or two from now, he might not be so lucky.
“Even so, I will admit,” Aristotle was saying, “I’d agree Palamos had reason to complain about the holy fool dancing with him while Nereus lay dying.”
John forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “I understand this holy fool was there only because he happened to pass by when time was of the essence, and also that the driver of the cart he was riding in was another witness. Do you-”
“Byzos,” Aristotle answered immediately. “He agreed to carry out some work for me at a reasonable rate. He’s not one of your city dwellers, always willing to take more money the less work they do. He’s from somewhere out in the country where they deal with you in a fair fashion, or so he keeps telling me. I paid him for a ride back here after leaving Nereus’ house. I didn’t want to have to drag that oracular head the length of the Mese again.”
John nodded tiredly. At least he had discovered the identity of another witness. “Can you tell me where I might find this Byzos?”
“Indeed I can. He’s lodging with Scipio the bookseller. His emporium is not far from the-”
John stopped Aristotle in mid-sentence. “I know the place.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
As much as John wished to question the cart driver who had witnessed Nereus’ oral will, he needed to speak to Prudentius more urgently.
The recent incident at Nereus’ house was worrisome. If someone had been looking for the last written will, then Nereus’ lawyer would be the obvious next victim, and he was a man who had not struck John as particularly Argus-eyed.
Prudentius immediately dismissed John’s fears as he settled into a chair behind the lacquered table in his office. “Strangely enough, though, there was a curious commotion early this morning.” He gestured to the waiting servant girl. “Xanthe, my dear, wine for our visitor, if you’d be so kind, and bring along a small snack as well.”
A breeze from the garden blew several sheets of parchment off the table. Prudentius shifted the ivory box at the table’s side to the top of the pile, weighing it down. The freed sheets drifted around the room.
“The wind has shifted, I see. Perhaps we will have rain.” Prudentius glanced outside. “That might serve to temper the terrible smell somewhat. I find it troublesome.”
“This commotion you mentioned. What was it about?”
“The commotion? Oh yes. It awakened the entire household. You’ve probably noticed my guests are quieter than usual? Most of them are still asleep. The sun wasn’t even up when Ezra began running around the roof exhorting all and sundry to repent. One thing I’ll say about our current affliction is it’s certainly turned men’s attention toward heaven.”
Looking across the garden to the roof that sloped down opposite, John could make out what appeared to be a bag of rags near its ridge. Evidently Ezra the stylite was also resting.
Xanthe reappeared with the wine and a platter bearing a tiny chunk of cheese.
Prudentius frowned and ran a hand over his severely cropped hair. “Is that all there is?”
“I warned you it was almost gone,” Xanthe said.
“You’re right, my dear. You said so, just last night.” Prudentius shook his head as the servant departed to wait just outside the room, in case, as Prudentius put it, the household’s esteemed guest needed anything.
The lawyer eyed the platter disconsolately and his long face grew melancholy. “My apologies, Lord Chamberlain. Since I am unable to reenact the miracle of the loaves and fishes, I fear that this is all I can offer you.”
John declined and the lawyer popped the scrap into his mouth and then continued. “When shall I taste the like again? I went around to the merchant who sells it just the other day. His shop was closed and none of the neighbors appeared to know where its owner had gone. I wonder if it will ever reopen?”
John took a hearty gulp of wine, temporarily cleansing his throat of the acrid taste of the smoke of funeral pyres. “Does Ezra often have these shouting fits?”
“Yes, but not usually at such an hour.”
“Perhaps something disturbed him? Did you notice anything amiss? Anything that might indicate someone had tried to get into the house?”
“No, I haven’t. Why do you suppose anyone would want to do that?”
John explained that it appeared an unknown person might want Nereus’ last written will.
“What good would it do them, Lord Chamberlain?”
“I thought you might provide the answer.”
Prudentius nodded thoughtfully. “People often steal wills in order to destroy them. However, Nereus’ oral will immediately destroyed his written one. Anyone who stole his last written will would possess nothing more than a piece of useless parchment.”
“On the other hand, whoever intended to forge a will would need a sample of Nereus’ signature.”
“Forgery? Well, that has certainly been attempted on more than one occasion.”
“Then again, supposing the intent was not to make an entirely new will but rather to alter the existing one?”
Prudentius pondered the matter briefly. “Alteration of such a document would be difficult, although not impossible. However, I should point out that this hypothetical person is obviously not well versed in the law, because if they were they’d realize neither plan would serve their purpose. They can produce any will they like, but it would still be a fruitless endeavor because, as I just said, Nereus’ oral will supercedes everything. Which is not to say I wouldn’t put that sort of knavery past Triton, except that he is dead.”
The lawyer offered John a frosty smile. “You really should have told me about that, Lord Chamberlain. After all, a lawyer is not instantly privy to everything that happens in the family of someone who consults him.”