“Not to me. I didn’t even see the man.”
“No? I’m surprised. Granted, from where I was lying on the track I didn’t have a good view. And the boots in my face didn’t help.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain.”
Without being aware of it, Felix rubbed nervously at the sore spot on his neck. “If you suspect the poor fellow was involved in robbing the courier you should have allowed him to live. He might have had a better idea what happened to the relic than I do.”
“Relic?”
“The shroud of the Virgin stolen from the Church of the Holy Apostles.”
“I don’t know anything about it beyond the fact it was stolen,” came the curt reply. “What good are relics anyhow, apart from enticing the ignorant geese to visit the city, the better to be plucked at the races?” Porphyrius broke off to shout another mouthful of abuse at the young charioteer now passing below them.
It seemed to Felix that inexperienced charioteers were trained less kindly than their horses. “I’m surprised to hear you have no interest in relics. Charioteers are a superstitious lot, aren’t they? What about curse tablets? They’ve been found buried under the track and I remember members of both teams were more than upset. Why, there were fist fights in the stables over whose supporters were responsible.”
Porphyrius shrugged his massive shoulders. “Indeed, fist fights are the least of it. But if I were attempting to ensure my team won I would do it in a more practical way. Tampering with the other faction’s chariot, say. Not that it’s easy to get at them, given we all keep them well guarded. But what of it?”
“It would be highly valuable for many reasons, such a relic,” Felix plunged on. He was developing a headache and jagged glass inside him kept shifting in agonizing fashion. He couldn’t seem to get his thoughts to march in proper order. “What was your role, Porphyrius? Were you involved in stealing it for someone for a considerable sum? Is that why you want it back? This is official business. I am investigating the incident on behalf of Justinian.”
“Should I be impressed? Justinian is one of my greatest admirers. Why would you think I knew anything about this relic?”
“You were here in the Hippodrome with several Blues last night and we had a conversation about it. A rather one-sided conversation.”
“The sun has affected your humors, captain. You really don’t look well at all. I was nowhere near this place. I was visiting a lady friend, as a matter of fact.”
“What you forget is your voice is very distinctive. You were just shouting at that young charioteer and sounded very like the man who shouted in my ears not so long ago, questioning me about that missing relic and what I had done with it.”
“Perhaps it isn’t the sun affecting you. Have you gone back to drinking again? Spending your nights in the taverns? I see from your condition you’ve been brawling. The physicians say a blow to the head can cause all manner of strange results. Why, after one crash a few years back the Blue charioteer insisted he saw strange billowing curtains of color in the sky over the Great Church.”
Felix glared at him. At least his companion now knew he had been identified as in some way involved in the theft. Although whether that made Felix safer or put him in even greater jeopardy was hard to say.
The young charioteer drew to a halt in front of where they were seated and Porphyrius motioned him he could leave, then stood up. “If you are so concerned about this matter, shouldn’t you be seeking it, rather than talking to me? After all, time flies.”
Felix rose painfully. “If I knew the identity of the man you had hanged last night it might be helpful. Despite what you may imagine I was not associated with him, though he probably had accomplices, if he was in fact involved in the theft. And they might know where it’s gone. Think about it.”
“I will. You may be hearing from me later.” Porphyrius grinned in an unpleasant fashion. “By the way, I would see to it that puncture on your neck was well cleaned. More men have died from human bites than dog bites.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Another precious hour had passed before Felix turned down the street leading to the Jingler’s abode. He knew that his quarry, a slave to habit, would shortly emerge to make one of his regular trips to the Baths of Zeuxippos. Felix hoped he would prove more helpful than the beggars-and sometime informants-he had confronted after leaving Porphyrius. He had become increasingly angry and frustrated over their ignorance, or feigned ignorance. How was it possible not one of them had noticed a boisterous gang of Blues up to no good, or a fleeing demon?
Not that there was much chance that anyone on the streets had noticed anything useful. But then Felix was given to wagering hopefully against the odds. Otherwise, he reflected ruefully, he wouldn’t be in the fix he was in.
The Jingler had been as close-mouthed as Porphyrius during their first discussion but that had been before Felix had come into temporary possession of a dead courier and besides, this interview-by design-would take place outside the safety of the Jingler’s lair.
Felix was looking for an unobtrusive spot to wait when he spotted another ragged professional acquaintance.
The man must have seen Felix at the same time because he turned on his heel and hobbled in the opposite direction.
Felix caught up with him in a few strides and clamped a hand on the man’s bony shoulder. “Wait, Euphratas. I need to speak to you.”
Euphratas shuffled around to face Felix, reluctance plain in his white-bearded, wizened features.
“I’m surprised to find you still in Constantinople,” Felix told him. “I thought you would have collected sufficient funds to complete your pilgrimage by now.”
“Alas, the price of carriage travel is exorbitant. These old bones would never survive the accommodations aboard a merchant ship.”
“The streets of Constantinople are much less taxing, I take it. How long have you been begging for your fare? Six years? Seven?”
“The price of travel is shocking. If you could spare a coin to help a poor pilgrim return home…”
Felix ignored the familiar request. “As a pilgrim, during your extended visit here you must have visited the Virgin’s shroud.”
“Certainly…that is…uh…certainly not…or rather…did you say the Virgin’s church? These old ears-”
“Hear perfectly, as you’ve bragged to me. Everyone overlooks an old man. They speak freely in your presence as if age made one deaf or simple-minded, or so you claimed whenever you had information to sell me.”
Euphratas exhaled a humid blast of wine fumes that made it plain where his most recently begged travel funds had gone. “Time has passed since we spoke. It brushes by and we find it has robbed us stealthily as a pickpocket in a forum, until-”
Exasperated, Felix interrupted by jamming a finger into the man’s chest, harder than he intended. Euphrates staggered back a step. “Speaking of thefts, what have you heard about the theft of the shroud?”
The old beggar’s bloodshot eyes widened in their nest of wrinkles. “Theft?”
“Don’t play the fool. Were you anywhere near the Hippodrome last night?”
“No, sir. Nowhere near. I was down at the docks looking to see if anything had been dropped. Found a coin or two.” Euphratas paused and scratched his beard, dislodging a scrap of grilled fish. “You’re thinking about those Blues attacking a beggar at the track last night, aren’t you? Glad to see someone taking an interest. The urban watch are useless. The only thing they’re expert at is telling people trying to sleep in a corner to go elsewhere.”
While an attack on a beggar was not the type of information he sought, nevertheless from force of habit Felix asked “You witnessed this attack?”
“No. I was at the docks, as I just said. Heard about it though. He was only sheltering in an entrance, minding his own business.”
Felix studied the man. Was he lying? Had he, in fact, witnessed such an attack. Or had he actually seen Felix being dragged off? Even if he had, it wasn’t likely he’d care to identify Felix’s assailants, given the Blues ruled the streets on which Euphratas lived.