He had one boot on the lowest step to the temple entrance when he sensed someone nearby.
He whirled, hand going to the blade in his belt.
A gap-toothed man smiled up at him.
It was Matthew, the self-styled guide. “I am so glad you have returned, sir. My lecture was sadly interrupted. Shall I resume?”
Chapter Eighteen
The modest dwelling where Leonidas once lived with his parents was still standing. John glanced in both directions before approaching, making certain his stalker had not picked up his trail. John had had to be brusque with Matthew, for fear the man he had just shaken off in the alleys and byways would come upon him out in the open in front of the building housing the statue of Zeus. The last thing John wanted to do was to bring old friends and their families to the attention of whoever was following him.
John had some difficulty picking the house out in a row of homes of identical design but there it was, looking much as ever, the faded stucco seemingly in the same state of near, but not quite, disrepair. The staircase leading from the street to two floors of what he knew was rental housing was in similar condition.
He went up three steps to the tiny, columned porch fronting the entrance to the private residence on the ground floor. Yes, still there in a shadowed corner he could see his own initials, Leonidas’, and those of a couple of other friends, traced surreptitiously in the wet concrete when Leonidas’ father had had the porch replaced.
Emperors, generals, high officials, philosophers, and even charioteers were immortalized in stone, marble, and bronze in Constantinople. This was the only monument in the empire for John, former Lord Chamberlain.
Leonidas’ father opened the door.
He gazed at John with the same air of gentle bemusement he seemed to carry through life. He was the sort of man who would not attract attention on the street. If asked for a description the person questioned would have a hard time thinking of any feature that might separate him from anyone else.
“John!” the man exclaimed, smiling broadly.
And then John realized he could not possibly be seeing Leonidas’ father, unchanged by the years. This was his old friend Leonidas himself.
“Please come in. Helen and I lived elsewhere when we first married, but both my parents died years ago and so, as you see, we moved back here.”
John studied his friend. Leonidas looked as if he had been middle-aged for a long time and would remain middle-aged for quite a few years yet. His hair had not grayed much but was not so dark as to make him look any younger than he was. His face displayed wrinkles, but no more than might be expected with the passing of the years.
“Here is Helen now,” Leonidas said. He introduced a plump, matronly woman whose smiling face would not have launched a fishing boat.
“I’m so glad you came to visit, John,” Leonidas said. “I heard you had returned-who hasn’t? But I thought it best not to intrude, knowing how…well, how you are about such matters.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Leonidas.”
The entrance opened onto the large familiar front room from which other doors led to bedrooms and a kitchen. There was still the faint odor of the strong fish sauce Leonidas’ father had favored. Had Leonidas adopted his elder’s taste as well as his looks, or had the aroma of so much cooking of fish over the years saturated the walls with an olfactory memory?
Leonidas invited John to sit down.
The dining table still sat by the row of windows lining the wall facing the street. Sunlight sparkled in through many small panes, illuminating the abstractly patterned floor tiles and the colorful but loosely rendered mythological scenes on the walls. The beaming sun, the beaming faces of the couple, gave the impression of a happy home.
With a slight smile John noticed the partridge, still occupying its wicker cage on a table in a corner, just as he remembered. But surely not the same partridge?
“That is Julius Caesar,” Leonidas told him. “Unlike his namesake, he can only dream of crossing the Rubicon, confined as he is.”
And never imagine a fatal dagger thrust through his feathers, John thought.
When Helen had gone for wine John said, “I am sorry to hear about your parents, Leonidas.”
“It was the Lord’s will that they depart early. And you are no less an orphan than I am, my friend. I couldn’t help noticing in the tax records years ago that Theophilus had sold the farm. Ah, I said to myself, so John’s mother is gone now too.”
“Do you know the circumstances?” John asked, reluctant, not wanting to turn over the stones concealing the past but knowing it was what had to be done.
“No, John. I’m sorry. After you left the academy, I visited the farm more than once asking for news, but you didn’t return and it finally became obvious you were never going to come back. Then, too, I disliked being anywhere near Theophilus. He made me feel unwelcome. I was afraid he was going to suddenly grab me and fling me out the door.”
“And my mother?” John’s gaze met Leonidas’. They both knew what he meant. How many bruises did she have? How often were her eyes blackened?
“She was well, John. Truly.”
Perhaps she had given up the fight, John thought, or they had stopped quarreling over him once he had gone. Or was Leonidas trying to spare John’s feeling? “There’s something you aren’t telling me?”
Leonidas looked sheepish. “Your mother was well when you first left but in more recent years…age wears us all down eventually. I met her in the marketplace from time to time and some years ago she suddenly couldn’t remember who I was. I heard that the City Defender’s men sometimes found her wandering around lost in parts of the city she shouldn’t have ventured into. Finally, several years ago she stopped coming into town and a year or so later word got back to the city that she had died. Given her condition no one was surprised. Probably it was a blessing. This was right before Theophilus sold the farm.”
“I see. Thank you for telling me.” John had realized she was dead, but the manner of her passing distressed him. “What about Theophilus? I understand he fell on hard times after he sold the place.”
“I couldn’t say. I am sorry I can’t tell you more.” Leonidas’ face darkened, as much as possible given its plain, good-natured features. “I suppose I should commiserate with you over the death of your stepfather.…” Leonidas took one of the cups Helen provided and poured wine. “I also know that however you felt about him, you would never have taken his life.”
John took a sip of wine without tasting it. “You have heard the rumors.”
“All nonsense.”
John took another sip. Not Falernian, but not what might be sold in a tavern either. “I went to the house where Alexis lived, but the family had gone.”
“You haven’t visited him yet? He went into the church. He’s the abbot at Saint Stephen’s Monastery, next to your estate. The local bishop is of advanced age and it is said Alexis could well be considered as a replacement. Our son, Stephen, decided to enter the church. He is presently a monk there.”
John reflected that the church was more and more becoming a favored career path. He asked Leonidas how his own fortunes had fared.
“Very well, John. I followed my father and work on tax collection records. Of course, compared to what you’ve accomplished…”
“You mean managing to be exiled with the emperor liable any day to change his mind about the wisdom of leaving my head attached to my shoulders?”
“There it is, you see. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, John. I am perfectly happy with the life I have. I’ve never wished for what some would call a big life. A big life often means big tribulations.”
“You always spoke of seeing the world. Were you ever able to travel?”
Leonidas shrugged and blushed slightly. “Well, I have seen Athens!”
“We’re going to visit the Holy Land someday,” Helen put in.