“And what was more insulting, his mockery of me or the fact my son calls himself a poet?”
“And Situs has affronted you as well?”
“Exactly! I put him in charge of my largest bakery and the way he’s run it into the ground has been an insult.”
“I’m not certain that is what the law has in mind when it refers to insulting behavior. As I explained, you can only entirely disinherit a natural heir if you have good cause. As it happens, the emperor promulgated a new constitution explicitly setting forth what cases of ingratitude can reasonably be stated by parents against their children. They include-”
Little Nero clenched his fists. “Why do lawyers always want to tell you how it works? Does the butcher describe how he cut the cow’s throat? If I visit a whore do I want to hear what sort of pessary she’s using? Of course not! I’m not paying you to tell me about the law, you fool! I’m paying you to do what I tell you to do!”
“Yes, yes, so long as it is within legal boundaries. Let’s see. Has Situs laid violent hands on you?”
“In my opinion what he’s done with my bakery is a slap in my face.”
Anatolius looked dubious and began to run through permissible reasons for disinheritance.
“Does he habitually associate with criminals, or has he brought criminal accusations against you? I doubt he’s made any attempt on your life?”
“There, you have it! The perfect reason! The way he’s running the business is killing me!”
“That would be difficult to prove, I fear. On the other hand, if he’s informed against you or prevented you from making a will…What about this? Does he keep company with actors and buffoons?”
“No!” bellowed the baker. “I’m the fool who associates with buffoons. Or one buffoon at least. You! I’m not going to stand here pissing away nomismata. If you want your fee paid, then cut Situs out of the will.” He turned on his heel and opened the house door.
“Where are you going?” Anatolius called after him.
“I’m off to see Situs. I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him until he lays violent hands on me!”
Europa slammed the door shut.
“Don’t worry,” Anatolius told her. “He’ll probably change his mind before I can think of a legal way to disinherit Situs.”
Europa suppressed a giggle. “What an excitable man! Are all your clients like that?”
“No, thank Mithra! Don’t worry about it. I’m keeping this old will handy, since going by past experience he’ll change his mind before I get a new one half-written. You’ll see!”
“I should think you’d have more sympathy for poor Situs, as if he hasn’t suffered enough having Little Nero for a father, and now he’s about to be disinherited.”
Anatolius smiled. “His paternity is its own punishment, eh?”
Europa couldn’t stop herself from giggling. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at the son’s predicament, Anatolius, it’s just, well, I didn’t like to ask before, but what have you done to your hair?”
Anatolius’ hand went to his bare scalp. “I had to shave it off for a difficult task to be undertaken.”
“Those adorable curly locks.” Europa turned the corners of her mouth down in exaggerated sorrow. “What a shame!”
“They’ll grow back. I hope.”
“What sort of a task requires a bald head? Does it have something to do with that ridiculous peacock costume?”
“Francio wouldn’t appreciate you disparaging his taste in sartorial elegance, Europa.”
Anatolius wondered how Francio was recovering from his encounter with the bowl of eel soup, and from there his thoughts turned to the intruders.
Rather than the baker, it could have been the same pair at John’s door, calling to look for Anatolius.
They wouldn’t have wasted time arguing.
He realized what he had to do. “Europa, there’s something I must tell you.”
***
Europa sat at the kitchen table and listened, as stony-faced as an unsympathetic magistrate, while Anatolius told her everything he knew about her husband’s predicament, John’s trip to Egypt, and his own efforts to solve Senator Symacchus’ murder.
“In short, Thomas lied to me.”
“No, Europa. He expected he’d be meeting a man with further instructions at the Hippodrome and then he’d be traveling for a while, just as he told you. Something to do with a relic, he said.” Anatolius took a gulp of wine. He had already consumed a greater quantity than was wise. Raw as it was, for once it seemed palatable. “He was just pretending to know more than he did in order to get the job.”
“According to what Bishop Crispin told you, Thomas threatened these people, whoever they are. He must have hinted that he knew enough to cause trouble if he weren’t hired. Sometimes I think-” Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Uncertain what to say or do, Anatolius got up and looked out the kitchen window. Constantinople was not a large city. The murderer of the senator, the people with whom Symacchus had been involved, the answers to their questions, all quite possibly lay within sight. Yet despite its limited area, the capital was also a maze, not just of brick and marble, but of conflicting motives, ambitions, and lies.
“Be careful, Europa. From now on, if I’m not here, don’t open the door unless you’re certain it’s me on the other side.”
Europa peered into her cup. “I understand about your disguise now, Anatolius. You can’t be sure if the bishop glimpsed you around the palace, and you certainly don’t want him to be able to give a reasonably close description of his mysterious visitor to anyone, but did you think how recognizable those peacocks are?”
“I know, I know. I won’t be able to wear them in public, or go out with my head uncovered until my hair grows back.”
“What I meant is what if Francio decides to wear those clothes again?”
“I never thought of that! I’ll warn Francio when I return them.”
“It’s all become very complicated.”
“Yes, I’ve been out of humor trying to piece it together. So far I’ve got a murdered senator, this relic Thomas hinted about, and now it seems Hektor is involved.”
“What makes you think that?”
Anatolius explained his discovery that Hektor had worked briefly for Symacchus and, it appeared, had been with the men who visited the senator’s house on the night Symacchus had died and his servant Achilles had disappeared.
He drained his cup. The wine was having its usual effect, which was to say as one cup followed another his understanding of the problem at hand became clearer and clearer and then, just as he was about to grasp the very essence, the precise explanation, just as he glimpsed it slipping around the next corner, a heavy, soporific fog rolled in.
“It sounds to me as if you’ve managed to make a good start on solving practically everything,” Europa said.
“Practically everything is still nothing.”
Europa began to giggle again. “I’m sorry, Anatolius, but I can’t help it. Without your hair you look just like a poor shorn lamb.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Cornelia pulled off her tunic and hung it on a peg. The bath was little more than a roofless cubicle with a slab of limestone in one corner. Slabs of the red sandstone that showed up all over the oasis protected plastered walls to waist height.
It wasn’t much better than bathing in the Nile, Cornelia thought, but at least she didn’t have to share it with passing crocodiles. The only wildlife visible inhabited eroded hieroglyphs in the sandstone-a flock of geese, a falcon, a snake or two. She bent to examine the opening where water drained outside. No scorpions lurked there.
She stepped up onto the slab, lifted the large jug she carried, and let water trickle down over her shoulders. The limestone felt hot against her soles, the water tepid.
There was no way to escape the heat. At least the water sluiced away the sand that accumulated on her skin, finding its way to the corners of her eyes and the back of her neck. She could feel the fine grit when she ran a hand along her arm.