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  The wine merchant explained the basis for his philosophy of kindness one chilly autumn day while John adjusted the wedges in the apertures of a water clock, changing its flow to account for the shorter days of approaching winter.

  “Time is the one thing rich and poor possess in equal measures, John. Nor can the rich accumulate time as they can wealth,” Laskarios lectured, a Plato of time with a single student. “So then, in the end, we are all equal.”

  Yet hadn’t he attempted to hoard time by filling his house with clocks?

  Perhaps not. As he grew older he became an object of gossip and derision at court because he rarely left his home, unwilling to be out of sight of a clock. Did he fear that if he could not keep a constant vigil over time it would slip away from him all at once?

  As it had today.

  ***

  As John entered the atrium downstairs he was greeted by an elaborate timepiece he hadn’t seen during occasional visits in the past. Unlike the simple study clock where the water level dropped inside its basin to indicate the hour, this clock featured a small figure pointing a wand to a pillar on which the hours were engraved.

  “Ingenious, isn’t it?” The speaker walked over with a sailor’s rolling gait and placed a big weathered hand on the clock’s marble base. “It was built specially for Laskarios by a craftsman from Greece. The master took great pleasure in explaining to guests how a flow of water from the upper part turned a system of cogs lower down, causing our little winged goddess to fly upwards hour by hour.”

  “Indeed. And you are Menas, the steward?”

  The man made a perfunctory bow. “Lord Chamberlain. I apologize that you have been drawn away from your usual duties. Senator Honorius was understandably shocked and distressed. However, the master has been ailing for months. Indeed, this morning he was too weak to show the senator around the grounds himself and delegated me to do so. The master’s death is a tragedy for all of us.”

  Did the man’s tone strike John as transparently insincere only because Senator Honorius was convinced the steward had engineered Laskarios’ death in some fashion?

  “When were you with the senator?”

  “Between the third and the fifth hours.”

  “You are certain?”

  Menas allowed himself a smile. “How could I fail to know the time? We were in the garden, looking at the sundials.”

  “I understand Laskarios intended to move to his country villa,” John said. “He was selling this house?”

  “That is correct, Excellency. And I must tell you that the senator’s offer for it was much too low. I advised the master we could surely get a better price but he has—had—some sentimental attachment to Honorius.”

  “And this is of interest to me because…?”

  “Because I believe Honorius did not appreciate my giving business advice to the master. But, after all, I am steward. I do not expect aspersions to be cast on me, and yet, one must be careful.”

  “Of course.” John glanced toward a marble bench occupied by two servants, both of them clearly afraid.

  “The young man was the last person to see Laskarios alive,” Menas said. “The girl is the one who found him dead.”

  “Remain nearby. I may need to speak with you again.”

  The waiting servants stood and regarded John with obvious unease as he approached, which struck him as odd. The Laskarios John remembered would not have treated his household in a manner as to make them fearful of authority. But since Laskarios had been unwell, Menas might well have taken over much of the running of the place.

  Was he being unfair to Menas to imagine he would make a harsh master?

  “Albia, your Excellency sir,” as she introduced herself, was a slight young girl who should have been pretty except for a vagueness about her features, as if a sculptor had given up just before finishing his task.

  “Cook sent me up to ask what the master wanted for the evening meal.” She spoke hesitantly and so softly John had to lean toward her to make out the words, causing her to retreat a step.

  “You found Laskarios lying on the floor?”

  She nodded and bit her lip.

  “And what did you do?”

  “Oh, Excellency sir, I screamed and then Martha ran in and then…I don’t remember.”

  “Martha?”

  “The gardener.”

  Martha had seen Laskarios dead almost as soon as Albia. Why hadn’t Menas brought her to the atrium for questioning? John would have to speak with her, especially since Albia had nothing much to add. She was now approaching a state of panic.

  Before dismissing the girl, John asked the obvious question in a house filled with timepieces. “Did you notice the time when you found your master?”

  “It was about the fourth hour of the day, Excellency sir.”

  When she had departed in haste, John turned his attention to the other servant. Like everyone under Laskarios’ roof, Timothy had a keen awareness of the hours. He had delivered a pitcher of wine to his master in the study shortly after the third, which meant Laskarios had died between then and the fourth.

  Timothy’s looks and manner would have made him as noticeable as a chair in the course of his duties. A perfect servant. Which is what made his fury, betrayed by the flush on his cheekbones, the edge in his voice, and his partially clenched hands, so surprising.

  “Why are you angered, Timothy?”

  “Angry?”

  “It is obvious. What is the trouble?”

  Timothy licked his lips and his gaze darted from side to side as if looking for an escape route.

  “Your master was very kind to me some years ago,” John told him. “If you believe there is something unusual about his death, I want to know it so I can put matters to rights.”

  “It’s not for me to say whether his death was unusual, sir. If the Lord called him in the natural way, we all expect as much. But for those of us in the house it would cause a wrong. The master would never turn us out into the street and we fear…” he paused and then blurted out “…that the senator will.”

  “Did Laskarios tell you he planned to sell his house to the senator?”

  “He did not confide in any of us, but everyone knew. The master insisted the senator had to keep us all on here, there being no need for us at his country villa, but the senator refused to agree.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one, sir. It was just in the air, as you might say.”

  Watching the young man’s agitated face, John detected no sign he was hiding anything. “But it is common knowledge the senator was trying to drive a bargain your master would not accept?”

  “I…I’m a servant, sir. I empty chamber pots. What do I know about business?”

  ***

  Senator Honorius sat alone, eating the meal he’d been expecting to share with Laskarios hours earlier. The room’s painted screens had been removed for the summer, opening the dining room to the inner garden beyond.

  As John entered, the senator looked up, a stuffed grape leaf positioned in front of his lips. “Any theory on how the steward killed his master, John?”

  John sat down and regarded the gaunt, white-haired man over a silver platter heaped with what John—veteran of so many imperial banquets—recognized as pork broiled with honey and wine. He didn’t feel hungry. “The physician said there was no indication Laskarios was murdered. And even if he was, Menas was with you touring the grounds between the third and fifth hours, and Laskarios died some time after the third and before the fourth.”

  Honorius waved his hand in a dismissive manner. Despite the heat he wore heavy embroidered robes with decorative roundels stitched on front and back. Was it a matter of affectation overriding comfort, or had the senator reached that age when he was continually chilled by drafts from death’s nearby realm?

  “
Two different servants have confirmed the time during which he must have died,” John continued. “Naturally, I’ll seek corroboration, but they gave me no reason to doubt them.”

  “That’s why I asked you investigate. Otherwise, Menas will go unpunished. You have a reputation at the imperial court for getting to the heart of things.”

  Honorius dug into the pork with a gusto that belied the circumstances.

  John’s gaze drifted to the dining room’s clock, a huge cornucopia trickling water into a bowl whose outer surface was decorated with bas reliefs of fruit.

  “For banquets, that was filled with wine,” Honorius remarked about the clock.

  “Why do you think Menas killed Laskarios?”

  “He’s going to lose his post, isn’t he? I don’t intend to employ Laskarios’ servants, although he expected me to agree to do so. They have no loyalty to me. For that matter, it may surprise you to learn that Menas has no loyalty to Laskarios.”

  John remembered what the steward had said about aspersions being cast on him. “What makes you say that?”

  “Laskarios confided in me. He suspected Menas was robbing him. Had the notion he planned to abscond when he stole enough. Menas was a sailor, you know. It wouldn’t bother him to set sail for a new port.”

  “Why did he suspect Menas?”

  “Laskarios wasn’t very clear about that. I fear his mind might have been growing as feeble as his body. No doubt you are unconvinced. Menas has been pouring lies into your ears, hasn’t he? He’s a cunning rascal.”

  Between the senator and steward, John would have picked Menas as the rascal. “I gather you and Laskarios had not come to a formal agreement?”

  “I suppose we would have eventually, but Laskarios drives a hard bargain. He over-values the place from sentiment. A businessman would have been eager to take what I offered and have the necessary documents drawn up for signature.”

  “Will Menas as executor agree to your offer with more alacrity?”

  The large bite of lamb Honorius was swallowing descended with difficulty. He reddened and grabbed for his wine cup. After taking a gulp he wiped watering eyes. “Surely you cannot think Menas and I are working together in some fashion?”

  “Of course not. It was you who insisted he be investigated.”

  “Yes, well…in response to your question, Lord Chamberlain, no, Menas will not be quick to agree to my offer. He needs time to loot his master’s estate thoroughly while no one is supervising him.”

  ***

  John went to the garden at the side of the mansion in search of Martha, who’d been drawn to Laskarios’ body by Albia’s screams. Beyond the garden wall loomed the distant Hippodrome. He paused at yet another timepiece as he looked around the beautifully kept grounds. Constructed of a wooden T attached to one end of a long narrow base, it was attended by a servant whose duty it was to place it to face east in the morning and reverse it at noon so the time was indicated by the position of the shadow of the T on the hourly markings on its base.

  Laskarios’ obsession with time had been foolish, but what harm did it do?

  Except perhaps to himself if while so fixated on the menace of time he may have been blind to dangers around him.

  And yet, Gaius had insisted there were no signs of murder. And John knew that as physician at Justinian’s court, Gaius was an expert on every form of murder, no matter how subtle, even when he was intoxicated.

  John spotted a sturdy woman kneeling by a flower bed, watering seedlings. Seeing John, she rose, brushing ineffectually at her soiled tunic. Her eyes were sea blue and her mouth a red rosebud.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, “I heard Albia’s screams and ran to her. The poor child’s humors are afflicted, sir. Her thinking is not clear. Despite his kindness, she was always afraid of the master and to find him dead…well…”

  John asked why the girl had been afraid.

  “He was always making advances to her. But we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, sir,” Martha added quickly. She went on to explain that Laskarios had richly rewarded her for suggesting the pleasant conceit of a time garden, where flowers opening and closing at various hours marked each day’s passage. She indicated the flower bed beside them. “The work on the plantings has begun, as you see, but he’ll never see it in bloom.”

  “It is possible Albia might have been mistaken about her master’s behavior,” John observed.

  “It may be so, sir.” Martha sounded dubious. She ran her hand over her sweating face, leaving a streak of dirt.

  “The household knew Laskarios was selling his house. Who told you?”

  “I don’t remember, sir. No, wait. It might have been Timothy.”

  John ended their conversation. As he was returning to the house, Martha called after him. “Come back next summer when the garden is in bloom, sir.” Her face darkened. “If we’re still here then.”

  ***

  “Martha says I told her about the master selling this house?” Timothy shook his head. “I am afraid she’s just trying to cause trouble, sir.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “Oh, who knows? She is a vicious woman.” He looked fearfully at John and quickly averted his gaze.

  Timothy’s third-floor room was humid and hot enough to bake bread on the sill of its one inadequate window. John regretted wearing even a simple robe rather than a tunic but a Lord Chamberlain—even one who had been a slave—could hardly be seen in public dressed like a laborer. “I’m not here to cause difficulties, Timothy. I’m seeking information.”

  “But, sir, I told you everything I know when we spoke earlier.”

  “Then why are you afraid of me?”

  “Do I seem so?” Timothy sighed. “I suppose I do, don’t I?”

  “Think carefully now. Who told you about Laskarios selling the house?”

  Timothy looked at the ceiling and pondered the question. “No one told me, sir,” he finally said. “Now I recall I overheard Menas and Martha talking. Menas knows everything, being the steward.”

  John took a breath. It was like inhaling warm broth. “Why would Menas talk to Martha about his master’s business?”

  “Menas and Martha are sleeping together, sir.”

  Yes, John thought. Of course. Was that why Menas had neglected to mention Martha coming to Albia’s aid? Had he been trying to protect her, lest suspicion fell on her? A gardener, after all, would know a great deal about poisonous plants. Yet Gaius was positive Laskarios had not been poisoned. He started to leave, then stopped and looked around the room. “No clocks?”

  “I hate them, sir. The hours are always snapping at my heels. This is the only room in the house I can get away from them. Everywhere else it’s like being chased by the Furies. Do you know the master had the clock in his study specially designed so he could hear time slipping away?”

  ***

  John found Menas in another part of the garden, standing in front of a sandstone pillar casting a finger of shadow across an open grassed area set with a semicircle of stones representing the hours. The shadow clock was echoed by a more elaborate marble obelisk some way off. Decorated with carvings of Chronos, the personification of time, it announced the hour in similar fashion.

  The steward folded his brawny arms and greeted John’s question with an expression of smug arrogance. “Yes, Martha and I are close friends. It was that worm Timothy who told you, no doubt. He would like Martha for himself, as if there were any chance of it. He spies on her, sir. Disgraceful behavior, I call it.”

  “I’m not here to look into domestic scandals. What I want to know is why you didn’t bring Martha to the atrium so I could question her. She joined Albia right after the body was found.”

  “Martha wasn’t the person who discovered the body. I didn’t think she’d have anything to add.”

  A much younger John would have been t
empted to plant his fist in Menas’ smirk. He was suddenly certain Menas was a murderer as Honorius claimed, even though Laskarios had not by all appearances been murdered. And yet, John reminded himself, the court teemed with unpleasant and dishonest people who stopped short of murder, while some of the worst villains were the most plausible.

  “Lord Chamberlain, it seems to me the senator imagines he’d get a better price on the house from me as estate executor.”

  “Then why did he tell me Laskarios suspected you of stealing? If shown to be true, you’d be removed as executor.”

  Menas shrugged. “I cannot say. I am sure you will be able to unravel his motive, sir.” He continued to smirk. He was mocking John and enjoying it.

  “And if I have come to the conclusion you murdered your master?”

  Menas didn’t flinch. “Surely that is impossible, given Laskarios obviously died of old age. Not to mention your questioning of Albia and Timothy showed he died between the third and fourth hours. Senator Honorius will have to admit he was by my side as I showed him round the gardens from the third hour to the fifth, so I cannot have been indoors during that time.”

  John stalked off without a further word. Crossing the grass he noticed his shadow had joined those of the pair of shadow clocks.

  He paced the gardens. He thought best on his feet. Never had he come upon so many motives in a single afternoon.

  If Menas had indeed been stealing from Laskarios he would want to forestall discovery and give himself extra time to loot the estate. He and Martha could then run off together.

  Could Martha have served as his accomplice or had she acted alone, afraid Laskarios was about to take legal action against Menas?

  Albia, with her clouded mind, could hardly be blamed had she chosen to exact revenge on Laskarios for his unwanted advances, if he had actually made any.

  Timothy, or any of the household servants, might have killed Laskarios purely from anger, believing he was about to throw them into the street by selling his house to Honorius. Or might he have thought that by killing Laskarios the sale to the senator would be halted and a more compassionate buyer found?