He spotted a bowl of eggs, reached into it, and grabbed one. The shell broke in his hand, spraying yellow yolk on his clean tunic.
***
By the time he had eaten a breakfast of bread, cheese, and olives, and walked to Lucian’s farm, the wet spot on his tunic where Cornelia had cleaned off the egg yolk was almost dry. Not that his destination was a place where he needed to look presentable. Long before he reached the farmhouse the warm breeze wafted to his nostrils the distinctive aroma of swine.
The house seemed deserted. He knocked at the open door and receiving no response went into the kitchen and called out for Lucian. There was no sound except for the flies buzzing around dirty dishes on the table. The room smelled of grease. The whitewashed wall behind the brazier was stained an unhealthy yellow.
John pushed open the door leading to a back room with an unmade bed. The window was open and he leaned out.
Diocles was not fleeing across the fields.
He stamped around the house, to alert anyone who might be sleeping.
There was nothing unusual to be seen and no sign that Diocles had been in residence, although John wasn’t certain what indication of his presence there could have been. The overseer might well have made off with valuable items from the estate, but John had no idea what exactly had been on the estate to begin with, given Diocles had been careful not to keep an inventory.
On his way out he took another look at the kitchen table but there was no chance of noticing extra tableware. There must have been a week’s worth of plates and bowls carelessly piled up, enough for the two men who lived there-or a handful of visitors.
Didn’t Lucian employ even a single servant? It seemed not.
The tinny blast of a horn greeted him as he left the house. Climbing the low rise in the direction of the sound, he saw, descending into the boggy depression below, a herd of swine, followed by their immensely fat master, Lucian, wobbling along merrily, now and then blowing his horn.
A muddy, sluggish stream wound through reeds and willows in the bottom of the depression. The swine lumbered forward, each dropping into the first mud it found.
“Good afternoon,” Lucian called out sonorously, coming toward John. “The sun is going to be particularly fierce today so I have brought my friends to their afternoon pasture early. Oh, for a hog’s life, to gorge ourselves and wallow in the warm mud without a care in the world!”
“And have our throats cut in our youth,” John observed.
“Might it be better then to enjoy our youth and not have to endure the rest?”
John noticed the farmer’s face was bright scarlet with exertion. “Tell me, Lucian, have you been wallowing in the mud and neglecting your duties?”
“What do you mean? Is it the fences? I did set my son to righting the matter, but you know how lazy youngsters can be.”
“Since Philip is on night duty, he needs to rest during the day so has little time to do the task. I realize correcting the boundaries will take some time, but that’s not what I wished to speak about. Where is Diocles? Where are you hiding him?”
“Diocles? But he’s gone, has he not? Has someone been lying to you? Who accused me of hiding Diocles?”
“Has he been staying with you?”
“I haven’t seen him since he was discharged. You told him to leave the estate immediately.”
“You know about that? Then you must have spoken to him before he left. Did he give any indication of where he intended to go?”
The tenant farmer looked around as if seeking advice from his swine. They snuffled and grunted contentedly but had none to offer. “Oh, yes, of course. He was naturally in a hurry. Said he would go to Megara, seek work there. I told him it was unlikely he would be offered any, given nobody wants a dishonest man working for him. Especially one who keeps suspicious accounts.”
“A fine sentiment, Lucian, but I happen to know Diocles stayed here after I ordered him to leave. What other activity has he been involved in, apart from robbing the estate?”
“I couldn’t say. Isn’t that enough? I mean…” He lifted his horn and sent a sour bleat in the direction of several smallish pigs climbing the far side of the depression. As if they understood his message, they trotted back down to their companions.
“Young ones,” Lucian said. “Almost time to separate them from their mothers.” He lumbered over to a huge hog covered in mud. If its massive sides hadn’t moved, John might almost have taken it for a small knoll. Lucian slapped the monster. “Goliath, this is. There’s some meals fit for the emperor on him, you can be sure of that.”
John decided it would be no use pressing the farmer for information. It was better to give him time to think, and something to think about. “You realize you are a tenant here, Lucian. If I find out you know more than you’re saying, or have been involved in some scheme with Diocles, I’ll have you evicted.”
“Evicted?” The other paled.
“I am not Senator Vinius, nor do I live far off in Constantinople where I can’t see what’s going on here. I am willing to forgive any transgressions, given how out of control matters were here, provided you make a confession. I am not as interested in theft right now as in finding Theophilus’ murderer.”
“But surely you can’t suppose Diocles was involved, sir? Or myself?”
“Think about what I have said, unless you want to find a new home for yourself and your swine.”
John strode away, furious. Lucian was certainly lying. But then, what had he expected? Perhaps Cornelia was right, he needed to rest, needed to clear his mind.
What had he discovered? He wasn’t certain the dead man had been the intended victim or who might have wanted him dead or why. His stepfather’s illegal activities might offer a clue.
And what if Cornelia’s fears were correct and John had been the target?
Now some way from the farmhouse, he was startled to hear running steps behind him.
When he pivoted, Philip was close enough to have stabbed him in the back with the sharpened stave he was waving. “Sir, please, a word with you!”
John’s hand had already gone to his blade. He kept it there. “What is it?”
Philip cleared his throat, obviously uneasy. “Sir, I wish to ask a question.”
“Ask.”
The other looked around and lowered his voice. “It’s…it’s about your servant Hypatia, sir. I request permission to marry her.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Hypatia and Peter had argued before going to bed. Again. About Philip, again.
Peter had gone to sleep. Hypatia lay awake listening to her husband’s wheezy labored breathing, interspersed with fitful snores.
Why hadn’t she simply told Philip she was married if she truly had no interest in the young man? That’s what Peter kept asking.
Hadn’t she, in fact, told Philip? Perhaps not. It hadn’t occurred to her that Philip didn’t know. That’s what she kept telling Peter.
If she wasn’t attracted to the youngster then she must be ashamed to admit to him she had married an old man, Peter had pressed on.
But that was untrue. Why didn’t Peter trust her? What more evidence of trust could he have than her marrying him?
She enjoyed Philip’s attentions, though, Peter insisted. Otherwise she’d put an end to them.
She lay staring upward, watching ghostly reflections flicker across the ceiling. Peter’s ragged breathing stopped and started.
Finally she got out of bed, shivering in her thin tunica until she pulled on her clothes. Then she crept out of the room, pausing to move a clay scorpion into the middle of the bedroom doorway to stand guard, just in case.
One of the cats ran under her feet, mewling in anticipation of being fed. She shushed it and went through the courtyard and out the gate.
Philip would be making his rounds. If she took the path to the edge of the property she’d be sure to find him.