There were no windows, and the only light came through the cracks in the wall and the spaces between the roof joists and their sailcloth cover. Even so, I could see that the hut was completely empty except for a truckle bed and a cheap folding table with a loaf of bread and a water pitcher. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I noticed that one of the knife-edged slivers of light shining in through the gaps lay across a bundle on the bed.
A large bundle…
Oh, shit. I took the two steps between door and bed. My hand met cloth…
Only cloth: a pile of tunics, underclothes and a cheap woollen cloak, all gathered together in a blanket ready for tying with the length of rope that lay on the bare mattress next to them. I took a deep breath. False alarm. Still, clearly wherever Smaragdus was he'd decided to pack up and leave.
Yeah, well, that made sense, I supposed. With the Baker gone he'd nothing else to fear from Eutyches — if he ever had — and even his room over the brothel would be luxury compared to this dump. Trouble was, when he went back there he'd know that that was all there'd ever be. And he might not have even that if the old harpy who owned the place had already pitched whatever he'd left behind him into the street. Gods! I felt sorry as hell for Smaragdus. The guy couldn't be looking forward to the future all that much.
Okay, but just where was he now? Forget the cup of wine: there wasn't a wineshop or a shop of any kind this side of Acte, the Alcyone was there in the shallows and from the looks of things he'd interrupted his packing at its final stage. Left his door open, too, although who would take the trouble to filch a pile of suspect laundry out here in the sticks I didn't know. I looked around, but there were no other clues.
Except that the bread on the table was hard as a rock and the water in the pitcher had five dead flies floating in it…
The hairs at the nape of my neck lifted. I left the hut and cast an eye over the beach.
I noticed the footprints straight off. I would've seen them before, if I'd been looking, but now they shouted at me. There were two sets, heading in the other direction from the one I'd come in. The first started towards the Alcyone, then doubled back towards the rocks and the high ground at the far end of the cove; the second cut straight across and met them at an angle. Both sets were running footsteps, with lots of sand kicked up. I followed them until they disappeared among the tangle of rocks that led to the small promontory.
Then I saw the crows squabbling over something that lay underneath the promontory itself, and I knew I needn't look for Smaragdus any further.
Forget futures; the guy didn't have one, not any more. He was lying at the base of a scree, his head at an angle and his skull wedged against a boulder. The crows took off as I came closer, but they didn't go far. Probably too full, because from what I could see they'd had at least one good meal off him. Them and about a dozen others. I only knew it was Smaragdus because he was wearing the same tunic he'd had on the last time I'd seen him. Anyway who else could it have been?
I turned away and was sick onto the sand. Then I took another look at the footprints.
Okay. So what had happened? Smaragdus had had a visitor, that was clear. He'd seen or heard them coming and made a run for it, towards his boat first of all before he realised running that way wasn't going to help. At that point he'd changed his mind, or maybe he'd just panicked. Anyway, he'd bolted towards the cove's far end. He'd reached the scree enough ahead of the other guy to climb a fair way, probably as far as the point fifteen or twenty feet up where the angle steepened and the scree became a proper cliff. There he'd lost his grip and fallen badly among the rocks, breaking his neck and staving in his skull.
Okay as far as it went; but it begged one major question. If Smaragdus had had all that time in hand why hadn't he taken to the water and swum round the promontory itself? That would've increased the distance between him and whoever was chasing him, and I knew that beyond the headland there was another stretch of beach that gave access to the landward side. Given a decent start he could've got away easily. Or comparatively easily. And it certainly beat trying to climb the cliff.
The answer was obvious; he'd told me it himself on the boat. Smaragdus couldn't swim, and the water beyond the headland was a good ten feet deep. It was either climb or drown, and at least the first way he had a chance.
Well, I couldn't leave the poor bastard for the crows to finish. What was left of him to finish, anyway. But I didn't fancy carrying that grisly patchwork of flesh and bone back to the hut, either, even wrapped in his cloak. I found a piece of driftwood by the shoreline and dug a shallow pit next to the corpse. Then I pushed it in, shovelled on the sand and piled rocks on top. That would do him for now, and at least he'd had the scattering of earth that would keep his ghost happy.
Once Smaragdus was safely underground I sat back on my heels to think. What the hell was going on? Eutyches — Melanthus? — had no reason to want Smaragdus dead because he had the Baker already. Even if Smaragdus's death was an accident, which it had been from the looks of things, it still didn't make sense. Whoever had chased him obviously wanted to talk to the guy pretty badly; and equally Smaragdus hadn't wanted a meeting. To avoid it, he'd been desperate enough to try a climb that not even a monkey would consider.
So what did that give us? Smaragdus was no fool. He'd recognised his visitor's intentions well in advance and decided right away that his only chance was to run. The visitor wasn't a stranger, then — unless he was doing something obvious like waving a knife around — and he wasn't a friend, either, for the same reason. That didn't leave much. But then why run in the first place? Smaragdus had known himself that the game was played out and that he'd nothing more to lose. He'd even been packing up his things when he was interrupted.
Unless of course the visitor had been waving a knife and the intention was to kill the guy. But then we were back to the original question. With the Baker gone, Smaragdus was no further use to anyone. Who would want him dead, and why?
Ah, hell, I was going around in circles. None of this made sense. All I could do for the poor bastard now was to see Harpalus, tell him his pal was dead and leave him to arrange a proper funeral; and after that drive back to Athens and twiddle my thumbs until Dida contacted me.
All in all, not a very successful day. Maybe I should take up woodturning.
I stood up and walked back towards the dunes.
Harpalus recognised me straight off.
'Lord,' he said firmly, 'we do not exchange parrots.'
I had some smartass comeback ready but I didn't use it. If I was right and they'd been fond of each other then this just wasn't the time.
'I'm not here about Nestor,' I said.
Maybe it was something in my face, or my voice, but he got the message right away.
'Smaragdus?'
'Yeah. I'm sorry, but he's dead.' I was watching him closely. He was shocked, sure he was; but unless I missed my guess he wasn't all that surprised. And that was interesting. 'I found him near the beach hut.'
The guy had sat down hard on a bench behind the counter. Forget the superannuated butterfly, now he just looked old.
'How did it happen?' His voice was a whisper.
'An accident.' I hesitated. 'Probably an accident. He fell.'
'Is that all?'
I knew what he meant. 'No. He was being chased at the time.'
'By you?' There was no accusation in the voice. It was just a straight question.
'No. Not by me. He was dead when I found him.'
'How long dead?'
'A day, max.'
I'd kept that intentionally vague, but he pounced on it like a dog on a rabbit.