Mary Reed - Murder in Megara

Exiled or not, the emperors Lord Chamberlain camped at Megaras gates means trouble!

Former Lord Chamberlain, remember. The way you speak youd think hed brought an army with him instead of those two servants. The speaker nodded at an elderly man and a woman-half her companions age-who were inspecting the tuna, mullet, and eels displayed on a marble slab on the opposite side of the marketplace. A cloth awning over the fish merchants stall cast a reddish shadow. The woman had tawny skin and black hair. The man maintained a military bearing, but his step was hesitant.

The group of townspeople, partly concealed by stacked cages full of live chickens, had watched the pair as they moved around the square, filling the womans wicker basket with figs, a pot of honey, three fist-sized melons. The chickens clucked despondently, already half-boiled by the late August sun of southern Greece.

Black as a Nubian, isnt she? remarked a middle-aged woman, dressed too well for a dusty market in an insignificant city. And you notice they speak with different accents. The senators estate has turned into a regular Tower of Babel.

Egyptian, so I hear. And thats her husband with her, someone else said.

Not her husband. Grandfather, surely!

The city square smelled of fish, goats, and produce that had gone unsold for too many days. People haggled noisily:

Ah, there you are. Im sorry I was detained. Business. Lets find a quiet spot to talk.

Grilled fish, here! Buy your grilled fish! So fresh itll leap into your mouth!

How much did you say? Is that what you think my fine cloth is worth? Does it look like I stole it off a beggar?

A dog barked. A baby cried.

The observer, lounging against a column in the colonnade at the edge of the marketplace, couldnt make out every word of the conversation from beside the chicken cages.

But enough to be of interest.

A man with a beak-like nose and eyes as round and black as pebbles spat in the dirt. What do you expect from a bunch of dirty foreigners? Foreigners and pagans, every one of em.

First you see an invisible army, now you see foreigners. The Lord Chamberlain-John, his name is-grew up hereabouts, as we all know.

The beaked man turned his dark eyes toward the speaker. Who are you to be defending him? Do you expect hell pay all the back taxes? We dont need a new landowner, especially one wholl actually live on his estate, meddling and upsetting things.

Thats right, put in a shrunken, clerkish fellow. What does an official from the court at Constantinople know about how things are in Megara?

My oracular fowl refused their feed this morning, the beaked man continued. One flew away. Thats a sure sign of disaster.

This prophesy was met by a general murmur of assent.

You and your oracular fowl! Weve all had them for dinner. Once theyre past egg-laying days they predict theyll bring a good price at market. Its the only prediction they get right. The speaker tapped one of the cages, eliciting agitated squawks from within. Thats what you all sound like, terrified of one miserable exile and a couple of servants.

A tepid breeze slithered through the shadows in the colonnade, bringing the smell of the sea but no relief from the heat. The chicken seller-and oracle owner-was pointing out the whole empire knew about Justinians fickleness. Hed shown his Lord Chamberlain mercy on a whim and hed change his mind just as easily. Assassins could well be stepping off a ship at the docks right now.

The observer couldnt suppress a grim smile at the thought.

Before the former Lord Chamberlains defender could reply, the clerk barged in, warning that powerful officials have powerful enemies, as if this were something of which he had personal knowledge. Every one of the new arrivals enemies would be furious he hadnt been executed, and more than one might decide to rectify the imperial error. Before long the city would be swarming with hired murderers. Innocent people were bound to be caught in the bloodshed. It was intolerable. What were the authorities going to do about it? The clerks strident voice rose to a higher pitch.

The two servants under observation turned away from the fish and walked out of the awnings red shadow into the brightness of the square. Other market-goers kept their distance, eddying around the two, only moving their heads to gawk after they had passed.

The observer barely made out the well-dressed womans words. The chamberlains not a proper man, you know.

The chicken seller spat again.

The woman looked as if she would like to do the same but instead made an obscene gesture. Eunuchs! Unnatural creatures! Greedy, scheming, all of them! You cant trust them. What unhealthy intrigues has he bought from the court? Hell doubtless be conniving to get back into power, and whatever bloody plan he hatches, well pay for it!

What are we going to do about it? Perhaps the clerk meant to issue a challenge but the effect was ruined by the quaver in his voice.

The observer stepped away from the column and strode toward the group, hearing low cursing from several who had remained silent until then.

Whats the matter with all of you? asked the former Lord Chamberlains lone defender. Hes nothing more than a farmer now.

Does the crab ever learn to keep his legs straight? asked the observer.

The two servants came abreast of the stacked cages. The old man made as if to examine them, but the young woman, glancing quickly at the people gathered there, tugged at his arm, and they continued on past instead.

As she looked back over her shoulder a stone flew from behind the cages. The observer couldnt have said who threw it. He saw the woman step protectively in front of her companion and kept on walking out of the marketplace.

Peter limped grimly through the courtyard gates just as John and Cornelia emerged from the house. He might have come straight from a battlefield. Blood speckled his sleeves; a smear of red ran across his forehead.

Master, Hypatia was attacked by a mob andand

Before he could gasp out the rest of the sentence Hypatia, looking pale, intervened. Dont bother the master, Peter. It was just a few stones, most of them wide of the mark. You put yourself in worse danger by trying to catch the perpetrators. Directing a fond smile at her husband, she continued. I had to insist we return immediately or hed still be fighting!

I wish Id had a weapon, Peter told John. They crept up on me, the cowards. They hurt Hypatia. His voice quavered.

Its just a lump on the back of my head.

Cornelia peered at the injury and pursed her lips. Its going to be a very big lump, Hypatia. Why would anyone do such a thing?

The whole town hates us. Were despised foreigners, if youll pardon my saying it, mistress, Hypatia replied.

Shes right, Peter said. Were not safe here. I should like to be armed next time we go to market.

John, who had looked on silently, shook his head. I dont want you fighting a war over every basket of melons and turnips. How did this happen?

Peter gave a colorful description of the visit to the marketplace. Hypatia stepped in occasionally, softening the more lurid details. Please dont worry, she concluded. As soon as we put these purchases away Ill make a poultice to take down the swelling.

She carried her basket off in the direction of the kitchen, with Peter trailing, still looking grim, swinging one arm as if he carried a sword.

John and Cornelia departed for their walk in a somber mood. They followed their already familiar route along the low ridge overlooking the sea. Unkempt meadows ran into fields, and fields became rocky hillsides without any clear demarcation.

They passed through a meadow watched over by a fig tree so massive and gnarled it might have been older than the empire. Their tunics rasped faintly against sharp, stiff blades of tall grass, brown and crisp at the end of the dry summer.