Death of an Eye Read online

  “I find it odd that it took you this long to threaten me.”

  “You noticed! Excellent.” He waited.

  She smiled at him. It was not the effort it should have been. “I will not put my words into the queen’s mouth, Aurelius Cotta, for my head enjoys its present location. I have no idea why she didn’t introduce me to Caesar. She sent for me—”

  “By way of her very own personal guard, Apollodorus. An interesting man, that. Another partner in another flourishing concern. Yet another Alexandrian success story, although he is not native to the city.”

  He paused invitingly. She said nothing. “There is little known of him or his companions before they arrived in Alexandria, what, over ten years ago? And so soon in the king’s confidence, so much so that he was named his heir’s personal guard.”

  A frisson of unease ran up her spine. This man was far too observant and far too close to Caesar. Any interest he showed in anyone, including herself and anyone close to her, would best be deflected, however that might be accomplished. “The queen sent for me as she sometimes does—”

  “He is known as Apollodorus the Sicilian, but all the Sicilians I know are small and dark, whereas he is tall and fair,” he said meditatively. “I would imagine those green eyes have slain more than their fair share of hearts over the years.”

  Tetisheri felt the heat climb up the back of her neck beneath his interested gaze and felt her temper rise with it. “The queen sent for me,” she said for the third time, with an outward calm that took a concerted effort to maintain, “as she sometimes does when she has a free moment, and we revisited old times over a light lunch.” She shrugged. “There really is nothing more sinister in our meeting than that. Now if you will excuse me—”

  Instead, he took a turn around the fountain, hands clasped behind his back. He came to a stop in front of her again. “Would it have had something to do with you being haled before King Ptolemy last night?”

  A brief silence. “You, sir,” she said, “are irritatingly well informed.”

  “It is my invariable habit,” he said, and looked as surprised as she felt when she laughed. It alleviated at least some of the tension that had been building in the room. “Having revealed so much, perhaps I should reveal all,” he said, and sat down on the broad seat in front of the fountain without invitation. He patted the marble next to him, one eyebrow raised. Prudently, she remained where she was. He sighed. “Very well, then. We know that the queen ordered a new issue of drachma from Cyprus. We know also that that shipment was stolen right out of the ship it was carried in the morning after it arrived in the Great Harbor.” He looked for her response. She gave none. He tsked impatiently. “We also know that the queen has set inquiries in motion to find the thieves and recover the coins, and that one of her agents was murdered here in Alexandria not two mornings ago.”

  He rose to his feet and strolled forward. “And practically before the corpse was cold, the queen sent for you. I believe she has asked you to take up the dead agent’s task. Am I correct?”

  Saying nothing seemed the safest avenue.

  He put his finger under her chin and raised it so he could look straight into her eyes. “There is no threat here, lady, to either you, your mistress, or her coin. Caesar has a vested interest in a stable Egyptian economy, which will be much better suited to delivering the grain to Rome on time. I offer you assistance only.”

  “You will remove your hand from my person, sir,” she said. “At once.”

  There was something in her face that wiped the smile from his. He stepped back, palms out. “My apologies, lady. I meant no offense.”

  “You gave it nonetheless,” she said. “Goodbye, sir.”

  “Good day,” he said, “but not, I think, goodbye.” He bowed slightly, but before he turned to leave he cast a glance over her from head to toe, lingering here and there and coming to rest on her face for a long moment.

  If Apollodorus had not kissed her the night before, if she had not responded to him in the way that she had, she would not have recognized the look in Cotta’s eyes now.

  It was appreciation, not as a sparring partner, an enemy of Rome or even as a possible source of information, but as a woman.

  And it was desire.

  7

  on the morning of the First Day of the Third Week

  at the Seventh Hour…

  “Well, and what was all that about?”

  Tetisheri was recalled to the present by her uncle’s voice. She took a moment to assume a calm expression before she turned. “Nothing of importance, Uncle,” she said indifferently. “Someone I met yesterday renewing the acquaintance.”

  The pearl at the tip of his beard waggled in disbelief. “Nothing to do with the business, then?”

  “No.” The tone of her voice stopped that line of inquiry stone dead. Neb was wise in the ways of his niece and the pearl stilled. “I finished the inventory and updated our accounts. Would you mind if I stepped out for a bit? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

  He waved a hand. “So long as you’re back in time for the reception and auction this evening.”

  It took her a moment to remember. Uncle Neb always hosted a reception for his best customers a day or two after he returned from a buying trip, the centerpiece of the evening a brief auction of half a dozen or more of the best pieces he had acquired. Which explained the mass production of pastries in the kitchen this morning.

  “You forgot!” he said, and threw up his hands.

  “Of course I didn’t forget, Uncle,” she said untruthfully. “I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  “You need to be here, Tetisheri.” He sighed, the pearl signaling his impatience with her lack of enthusiasm. “I don’t understand why you hate these things so much. Everyone loves you and looks forward to seeing you.”

  “How nice,” she said with no sincerity whatever. “I’ll be back in time, I promise.”

  He grumbled something and she scuttled out of the room and the house before he decided she needed to help Phoebe with the preparations. She was only slightly less inept at cooking than she was at socializing.

  Ra was past his zenith and Alexandria had returned to work. Children splashed in the fountains and played kickball in the parks. Mothers gossiped together as they watched. Slaves rushed about on errands, coarsely woven bags over their shoulders and baskets on their backs and heads. Men haggled with vendors over the price of any and everything for sale, and scholars argued philosophy on every corner surrounded by a gaggle of students hanging on their every word.

  It was a peaceful scene, a day like any other, and yet, as she had the day before, Tetisheri sensed an underlying tension, as if the city were on edge, waiting. For what? To all outward appearances their queen had effectively tamed Caesar, bound him to her with an heir, and contrived to put his legions at her service. In spite of their Roman, ah, guardian’s determination to prove the fiction that was their co-rulership, it was known down to the grubbiest slave turning a spit at the humblest kitchen fire that Ptolemy XIV was a king in name only and that the true power resided with his sister. A sister with a more comprehensive understanding of the city and country she ruled that her ancestors had even attempted to share, and one totally ignored by her brother. There wasn’t a single Ptolemy in three centuries whose subjects hadn’t risen up in rebellion against their ruler, along the Nile and even in the very streets of Alexandria itself. But not this Ptolemy. Not yet, anyway.

  Alexandria, in fact, was in a more stable situation than it had been in generations, and in a more autonomous one, too.

  But still, the city held its breath. Tetisheri wondered what it knew that she didn’t.

  Aristander was in his office and agreed to show her the place where Khemit had been murdered and from there to take her to where Laogonus’ crew was being kept.

  “Gives me an excuse to get some air,” he said when she thanked him. Outside, on the Way, he stood for a moment to draw in a deep breath of that air. He wet his fing
er and held it up. “A nice, steady, onshore breeze. Be a beautiful day for a sail.”

  “It would at that.” When he raised an eyebrow at her wistful tone, she smiled. “One of Uncle Neb’s receptions this evening. My attendance is mandatory.”

  He laughed. “Ah yes, I remember how well you like social events. Cleopatra used to have to command your presence at them so she didn’t have to suffer empty compliments from bootlickers hopeful for favor or advancement all by herself.”

  “Yes, well, Uncle Neb seems to have taken her example to heart,” she said, and he chuckled and began to walk.

  She fell into step next to him. “Any word of the lost shipment?” she said in a low voice.

  “None. That’s what is so frustrating. A theft of this magnitude and political importance is impossible to hide, or so I would have thought. As you know, my dear Tetisheri, I don’t believe in conspiracies, or at least not in conspiracies that can be kept secret. People always have to talk—to their friends, their wives, their mistresses. The impulse to boast is irresistible. But my men have been squeezing their informants from Rhakotis to the Jewish Quarter for seven solid days. They have not raised so much as a whisper.” He shook his head. “Unprecedented, believe me.”

  “It’s fatal information for anyone to have.”

  “That might be why,” he said, and their eyes met in perfect understanding. No one wanted to be in the middle when the hidden conflict between Cleopatra and Ptolemy erupted into the open, and if Ptolemy were in any way involved in the theft of the coin there was a very good chance it might. In which case the blood would run in the city streets. No one wanted it to be their blood. “There,” he said, halting. “Her body was found by the street sweeper just there.”

  He indicated a corner where a narrow side street met the Street of the Soma, a shorter, less grand version of the Way that ran north–south down the center of the city.

  “How was her body left?”

  “She was hit from behind. She fell forward, her arms outstretched.”

  “As if to catch herself.”

  “Yes. Her hands were a little chafed, and her elbows.”

  “So she was alive when she fell, which means this is where she was struck down.”

  His eyebrows went up. “But how else could it have happened?”

  “She could have been struck down somewhere else and her body brought here. Was there any blood?”

  “Yes. Head wounds always bleed copiously.”

  “Which confirms the theory that she was struck down here. The single blow to her head was her only wound?”

  “As you saw.”

  “But could she have been struck a second time, after she fell?” Before he could answer she hurried on. “I ask only because if she was struck once and left to lie here, as Apollodorus pointed out, her attacker could have meant something other than murder. If she was struck again, as she lay, he could only have meant murder.”

  “Zotikos said nothing of a second blow.”

  She bit her lip. “Would you mind if I sent someone else to examine the wound?”

  He thought, one finger tapping his lips. “All right. But if Zotikos hears of it—”

  “Not from me, he won’t,” she said, relieved. She had been afraid that Aristander would be offended by what could be presumed to be a slight on the professionalism of his department.

  “Or from me.” He grinned at her.

  *

  The four crewmen were being held in a nondescript house on the periphery of the Royal Palace complex. Armed guards stood at every door and window. “Sergeant,” Aristander said to the one on the front door.

  “Sir.” The guard snapped to attention.

  “Any trouble?”

  “We’re ready for it if it comes, sir.”

  Tetisheri got the impression the sergeant was rather hoping for said trouble to manifest itself, and soon. It had to be very boring, to be constantly on guard against a threat that never came.

  “Carry on. Tetisheri?”

  He held the door for her.

  There were two more guards inside, along with the four crewmen, sitting in a circle dicing for what looked like a very small collection of very small coins, none of them silver or gold. The two guards saw Aristander and shot to their feet. He waved off their apologies. “Gentlemen, here is Tetisheri, come to question you as regards recent events.” He nodded at a door that led into a back room. “You know the drill. One at a time, Debu first.”

  “Lucky Debu,” one of them said, grinning, and was kicked by a crewmate. “What? All I said was that he was lucky.” He winked at her.

  Tetisheri could feel his eyes on her backside all the way through the door.

  The room contained a small table and two stools, and had no window. There was nothing in it to distract anyone’s attention from the questions and answers being given inside these four walls. Tetisheri wondered if Aristander had had this house built for this specific purpose. “Please,” she said, indicating the table. She sat down opposite Debu and folded her hands in her lap, regarding him openly across the table. He folded his arms and looked back. He was Egyptian, short and bulky but with muscle, not fat. His skin was a weatherbeaten bronze and his eyes deep set and crinkled at the corners from years of keeping watch for squalls, or pirates, or Romans, or any number of the other hazards to navigation that plagued the Middle Sea.

  His knuckles were cut and swollen and there was a large bruise turning yellow on his jaw. He met her eyes calmly, without apprehension, and waited for her to speak first.

  “The queen has asked me to make inquiries as to the theft the Thalassa suffered last week.”

  “We have all already spoken to the Eye.”

  “Yes,” she said, “you have, and now you will speak to me.”

  A flash of something that might have been humor crossed his face. “I serve at the queen’s command.”

  “Your queen appreciates your service,” she said, inclining her head, although she doubted very much if Cleopatra had ever had Debu’s name spoken out loud in her presence. From the look in his eyes he was thinking the same thing.

  But with equal gravity he said, “How may I best serve the queen in this instance?”

  “The Thalassa is a courier on the queen’s business.”

  He inclined his head. “That is our mission, yes.”

  “Have you made other trips like this one to Lemesos?”

  “We have.”

  “And your orders come always through Laogonus.”

  “They do.”

  “And you meet the same person at Lemesos docks each time?”

  “We do.” He shifted. “That is, the queen’s agent is always the same person. The carriers differ on occasion.”

  “How often?”

  He shrugged. “Once the agent switched to camels someone had imported from Antioch. The road down to Lemesos is very steep and little wider than a goat track. Usually the shipments are conveyed by donkey, and sometimes they lose one over the side, with no hope of recovery as the weight of these shipments take chests and donkeys straight to the bottom. The agent said he was hoping there would be less wastage with camels.”

  Tetisheri, always interested in anything to do with the shipment of goods and the means thereof, said, “And was there?”

  “No.” He grinned. “Everyone on the island hated the camels. They bite and spit and evidently when they’re really annoyed they urinate on the person standing nearest them.”

  Tetisheri couldn’t help but grin back. “The agent?”

  “I believe that may have been the case,” he said. “He certainly used some very inventive language to describe the experience.”

  Tetisheri took a moment to compose herself. “Please tell me everything that happened to do with this particular shipment, beginning with when you first heard of it.”

  “On the Ninth Day of First Week, Laogonus called the crew together to tell us we would be sailing for Lemesos the next day at First Hour. We had fair winds and made
landfall on…”

  And Debu proceeded to tell a story that in matched Laogonus’ in nearly every particular. So did the story told by the other three crewmen, Old Pert the Pict, Leon the Iberian (and the flirt), and Bolgios the Gaul, large and taciturn with enormous hands made to haul on lines. All of them sported cuts and bruises of the same age and stage of healing as the first mate’s. They had not given up their cargo without a fight, “but,” Debu had said, “there were so many of them. They swarmed up over the side and we were so busy fighting the fire they were in the hold almost before we knew it.”

  She sat for a moment after Bolgios had left the room, frowning at the opposite wall. The crew were as one deeply angry about the theft but appeared unafraid of being accused of it or blamed for it. Debu had been born in Alexandria. Pert and Leon and Bolgios had immigrated there as children. There was nothing to choose among their stories and, lacking evidence to the contrary, they were to a man exactly and precisely what they seemed to be—an experienced, responsible, loyal crew who took whatever the queen wanted taken swiftly and efficiently to wherever she wanted it to go. And they were discreet, too, a quality the queen would value above all else. They had volunteered no information unless Tetisheri specifically asked for it, including any hints as to the kinds of cargoes they might have carried at other times to other destinations.

  The door opened and she looked up. Aristander came in and sat across from her. “Well?”

  “I can find no discrepancies in any of their stories. What do you know of their personal lives?”

  “All are married but Pert, who is a widower. All have children apprenticed to various trades. Pert’s eldest daughter owns her own taverna.”

  “Edeva’s?”