“Whoever concealed that tablet here must have heard about him, else how could they know his name?”
“That seems obvious. I just hope it wasn’t the fellow who made off with my money. I may have to put this back. I don’t think Primulus can afford it. He’s been down on his luck of late and now I see why. On the other hand, if he removed the curse he might regain his former promise. No one else would be expecting that, so it would give me some scope for wagering. However, I can’t take any bets from you on his races, Captain. It wouldn’t be ethical.”
“I won’t be wagering again, Droserius.”
“No? It’s always good to have a break once in a while. Whets the appetite.” He closed his hand around the small cylinder. “I shall keep this one for now, I think. What stories lie beneath our feet, Felix. A secret history of intrigue and rivalry, of ill will and bad fortune. A gold mine to one who knows how to work it.”
“I want to ask you about another sort of story, Droserius. It involves the murdered senator. Were you here the day Symacchus was killed?”
“As I’ve already explained to your inquisitors, I always leave well before sunset. All those empty seats seem filled with phantoms once the moonlight hits them.”
“Do you know anything about Symacchus?”
“Only what everyone else knows, Felix. He was devout to a fault, wasn’t he? I would not be surprised to hear the night you found him was the first time he’d set foot in the place.”
“What about his guests? I don’t imagine he discouraged them from coming to the races?”
Droserius picked up his spear and gestured with it toward the seats. “The Hippodrome holds thousands of spectators. How many of them could I know?”
“You and your cronies are on always on the lookout for wealthy foreign chickpeas. You wouldn’t think a hawk could spot a dead mouse on a hillside, but it does. What about the question?”
Droserius laughed. “Now that you mention it, there was an Egyptian fellow who was staying with Symacchus. Some big fish from an exceedingly small pond. A place called Mehenopolis.”
“What was his name?”
“Melios.”
“You have a good memory.” Felix was suspicious.
“It’s hard to forget someone who owes you as much money as he owes me.”
“He wagered heavily?”
“And lost. Hercules himself couldn’t have dragged that fellow away from the races. And he never paid up. I got off lightly compared to some I could mention. This was a couple of years ago.”
“Why did you trust him to settle his debt? He was, after all, a stranger to you.”
“He was staying with the senator. A man like Symacchus wouldn’t offer hospitality to a dishonorable man. Or so I thought.” Droserius thrust his spear into the ground.
“Did you lend Melios money?”
“I have a weakness for assisting those who aren’t rich enough to invest in their luck, as you know, captain. Besides, Melios said he was in the city to present a petition to the emperor concerning some grievance or other. As far as anyone could ascertain, that was true. There was a lot of money involved, so with the stroke of his pen, Justinian was going to gild the fellow’s backside.”
He paused. “I thought he was a good risk. I was wrong.”
***
The body on the pallet lay as still as if death’s vast weight had already settled into the flesh. Glittering like gems sewn to the edge of a courtier’s robe, the gaze moved back and forth while the leaden face remained immobile.
“I thought I was climbing the ladder to heaven and you were a demon tollkeeper.”
“It’s me, Tarquin. It’s Hektor. Remember we were friends when we were both court pages? I’ve had an accident.” Hektor turned his head to one side, to give the dying man a better view of his profile.
“Hektor?”
“I found you not far from the docks, huddled in a doorway. The Lord must have directed my steps.”
“You speak of a Lord? The one you offered the chicken to that night when we were young? The dark one? No, you can’t persuade me. This is a snare. Don’t hurl me into the pit, I beg of you.” Tarquin’s hands, curled into claws, trembled.
“You’re not dead, Tarquin. You’re safe with me in the Hormisdas. What happened to you? I thought you’d been taken into the household of-”
“He tired of me. They all tire of me eventually, and yet what other way did I have to survive? Am I to burn in the eternal flames for it? Have mercy!”
“I’m not here to throw you into the flames, Tarquin.”
“I didn’t want to die on the street. I had nowhere else to go.”
“You haven’t died and you won’t.” The swellings on the sick man’s neck showed the lie. Hektor looked round as the door behind him creaked open, letting a shaft of light into the dim, smoky room, accompanied by a burst of noise from the crowded corridor beyond.
Bishop Crispin shut the door behind him. “Ah, finally I’ve tracked you down, Hektor. Where have you been keeping yourself?” His gaze moved to the pallet.
“As you see, I’ve been tending to an old friend.”
“Oh yes. Very praiseworthy. Now, I must ask you about a peculiar visitor of mine. A bald-headed fellow dressed all in peacocks. Does that suggestion anyone you know?”
“He doesn’t sound like anyone at court.” Hektor frowned. “Then again, I no longer spend much time among those who indulge in such sartorial vanities.”
“Of course not, but I’d hoped you might recall this man. His demeanor struck me as suspicious.”
Hektor stared thoughtfully into the gloomy recesses of the room. “I may need to take some action,” he muttered.
Crispin stepped nearer to the sick man. He looked down at Tarquin, then up at Hektor, distress in his face.
“I fear there is nothing to be done.”
Even though Hektor’s words were spoken softly, Tarquin heard them. “What’s that you’re saying? I am going to die here?”
“Let’s not speak of such things. You need to rest.”
“Yes, yes, but before that I must tell you. I’ve had a vision, a dream. Hektor. You will be rewarded for your works. You won’t die on the street, Hektor. Heaven has told me so.”
***
A young man in a flowing cloak forced back the bull’s head and buried a dagger in its neck. A snake, a scorpion, and a dog joined in the attack on the dying animal.
Felix stood in the shadows and contemplated the bas relief at the front of the mithraeum. It depicted Mithras slaying the Great Bull, the moment of creation.
He turned as Anatolius entered the narrow underground chamber. “Sorry about asking you to meet me here, Anatolius, but under the circumstances I thought it best if we weren’t seen talking.”
“You’ve discovered something useful?”
“I think so.” Felix glanced around, with the instinctive caution of the military man. They were alone. The guttering light from an oil lamp sitting on a stone bench animated whorls of yellow stars painted on the vaulted ceiling. “I’ve been making discreet inquiries about Senator Symacchus’ Egyptian visitors. I’ve heard enough gossip to enliven dinner parties for the rest of my life.”
“But what did you find out that would be useful to us?” Anatolius broke in.
“Apparently most of the senator’s guests were distant relatives or friends and acquaintances of distant relatives, who’d heard that the senator’s door was always open to Egyptian travelers who arrived in Constantinople, be they businessman, dignitary, or pilgrim.”
“That’s common knowledge.”
“I’ll wager it isn’t common knowledge that one of his visitors, a rascal named Melios, ran up big debts gambling on the races and returned to Egypt without paying!” Felix went on to detail the story Droserius had told him
“How reliable is your source?”
“He got his knowledge first hand.”
“First hand? He’s a gambler, you mean. Is that how you obtained this information?”