Last Act In Palmyra mdf-6 Page 31

  He knew there was no point denying it. 'Gambling's not a crime, is it?'

  'Nor is having a gambling debt.'

  'What debt? Playing was just a lark from time to time. We soon learned not to bet seriously.'

  'He was good?'

  'Oh yes.' There was no hint that Heliodorus might have cheated. Sometimes I wonder how gambling sharks get away with it – and then I talk to an innocent minnow, and realise.

  Tranio might know that Heliodorus had weighted his dice; I had wondered about that when I talked to him. So now I considered the interesting prospect of Tranio perhaps keeping this information from his so-called friend. Just what was the relationship between these two? Allies covering up for each other? Or a pair of jealous rivals?

  'So what's the big secret? I know there must be one,' I urged him, putting on my frank, successful-informer air. 'What's Tranio's beef?'

  'Nothing big, and not a secret.' Not now, anyway; his friendly tentmate was about to land him in it without compunction. 'What he was probably loath to tell you was that once, when he and I had been having an argument, he played with Heliodorus while I was off on my own – '

  'With a girl?' I too could be disingenuous.

  'Where else?' After my chat with Plancina, I didn't believe it. 'Anyway, they were in our tent. Tranio needed a forfeit and placed something that wasn't his, but mine.'

  'Valuable?'

  'Not at all. But as I felt like having a wrangle I told him he had to get it back from the scribe. Then, you know Heliodorus – '

  'Actually, no.'

  'Oh well, his reaction was typical. The minute he thought he had something important he decided to keep it and taunt Tranio. It rather suited me to keep our clever friend on tenterhooks. So I let on that I was mad about it. Tranio went spare trying to put things right, while I hid a smile and got my own back watching him.' One thing for Grumio; he possessed the full quota of the comedian's natural streak of cruelty. By contrast, I really could imagine Tranio taking the blame and becoming distraught.

  'Maybe you should let him off now, if he's sensitive! What was the pledge, Grumio?'

  'Nothing important.'

  'Heliodorus must have believed it was.' So must Tranio.

  'Heliodorus was so dedicated to torturing people, he lost touch with reality. It was a ring,' Grumio told me, saying it with a slight shrug. 'Just a ring.'

  His apparent indifference convinced me he was lying. Why should he do that? Perhaps because he didn't want me to know what the pledge really was…

  'Precious stone?'

  'Oh no! Come on, Falco. I had it off my grandfather! It was only a trinket. The stone was dark blue. I used to pretend it was lapis, but I doubt if it was even sodalite.'

  'Was it found after the playwright died?'

  'No. The bastard had probably sold it.'

  'Have you checked with Chremes and Phrygia?' I insisted helpfully. 'They went through the playwright's stuff, you know. In fact we discussed it and I'm sure I remember them owning up quite freely that they had found a ring.'

  'Not mine.' I thought I detected just a faint trace of irritation in young Grumio now. 'Must have been one of his own.

  'Or Congrio might have it – '

  'He hasn't.' Yet according to Congrio, the clowns had never asked him properly about what they were looking for.

  'Tell me, why was Tranio afraid to tell me about this missing pledge?' I asked gently.

  'Isn't that obvious?' A lot of things were obvious, according to Grumio. He looked remarkably pleased with himself as he landed Tranio in it. 'He's never been in trouble, certainly not connected with a murder. He overreacts. The poor idiot thinks everyone knows he had a row with Heliodorus, and that it looks bad for him.'

  'It looks far worse that he hid the fact.' I saw Grumio's eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression, as if that thought had not struck him. Somehow I reckoned it must have done. Drily, I added, 'Nice of you to tell me!'

  'Why not?' Grumio smiled. 'Tranio didn't kill Heliodorus.'

  'You say that as if you know who did.'

  'I can make a good guess now!' He managed to sound as if he were chiding me with negligence for not guessing myself.

  'And who would that be?'

  That was when he hit me out of the blue: 'Now that he's skipped so suddenly,' suggested Grumio, 'I should think that the best bet is your so-called interpreter!'

  I was laughing. 'I really don't believe I heard that! Musa?'

  'Oh, he really took you in, did he?' The clown's voice was cold. If young Musa had still been here, even innocent, I reckon he would have panicked.

  'Not at all. You'd better tell me your reasoning.'

  Grumio then went through his argument like a magician consenting to explain some sleight of hand. His voice was level and considered. As he spoke, I could almost hear myself giving this as evidence before a criminal judge. 'Everyone in the company had an alibi for the time Heliodorus was killed. So maybe, unknown to anyone, he had an outside contact at Petra. Maybe he had an appointment with somebody local that day. You say you found Musa in the close vicinity; Musa must have been the man you had followed from the High Place. As for the rest – it all follows.'

  'Tell me!' I croaked in amazement.

  'Simple. Musa then killed Ione because she must have known that Heliodorus had some private connection in Petra. She had slept with him; he could have said. Again, the rest of us all have alibis, but wasn't Musa in Gerasa on his own that night for hours?' Chilled, I remembered that indeed I had left him at the Temple of Dionysus while I went off to make enquiries about Thalia's organist. I didn't believe he had been to the Maiuma pools in my absence – but nor could I prove that he had not.

  With Musa no longer here, I could never ask him about it either.

  'And how do you explain Bostra, Grumio? Musa being nearly drowned himself?'

  'Simple. When you brought him into the company, some of us thought him a suspicious character. To deflect our suspicion, he took a chance at Bostra, jumped into the reservoir deliberately, then made up a wild claim that someone shoved him in.'

  'Not the only wild claim hereabouts!'

  I said it, even though I had the inevitable feeling that all this could be true. When someone throws such an unlikely story at you with such passionate conviction, they can overturn your common sense. I felt like a fool, a bungling amateur who had failed to consider something right under my nose, something that ought to have been routine.

  'This is an amazing thought, Grumio. According to you, I've spent all this time and effort looking for the killer when the plain fact is I brought him with me all along?'

  'You're the expert, Falco.'

  'Apparently not… What's your explanation for the scam?'

  'Who knows? My guess is Heliodorus was some sort of political agent. He must have upset the Nabataeans. Musa is their hit man for unwelcome spies – '

  Once again I laughed, this time rather bitterly. It sounded weirdly plausible.

  Normally I can resist a clever distraction. Since there certainly was one political agent amongst us, and he was indeed now acting as a playwright, Grumio's solemn tale had a lurid appeal. I really could envisage a scenario in which Anacrites had sent more than one disguised menial into Petra – both me and Heliodorus – and The Brother had schemed to deal with each of us in turn, using Musa. Helena had told me Musa was marked for higher things. Maybe all the time I had been patronising his youth and innocence, he was a really competent executioner. Maybe all those messages to his 'sister' deposited at Nabataean temples were coded reports to his master. And maybe the 'letter from Shullay' he kept hoping to receive would not have contained a description of the murderer, but instructions for disposing of me…

  Or rather, maybe I should lie down quietly, with sliced cucumber cooling my forehead, until I got over this lunacy.

  Grumio rose to his feet with a demure smile. 'I seem to have given you a lot to think about! Pass on my regards to Helena.' I managed a wry nod of
the head, and let him go.

  The conversation had been devoid of clowning. Yet I was still left with the sinking sensation that somehow the joke was on me.

  Very neat.

  Almost, as the grim jokester Grumio himself would have said, too obvious to be true.

  Chapter LX

  I was dismal now. It felt like a nightmare. Everything appeared close to reality, yet was hugely distorted.

  I went in to see Helena. She was awake, but flushed and feverish. I could tell by looking at her that unless I could do something, we were in serious trouble. I knew she could see I had problems I wanted to talk about, but she made no attempt to ask. That in itself was a depressing sign.

  In this mood, I was hardly expecting what happened next.

  We heard a commotion. The Palmyrenes were all exclaiming and shouting. It did not sound as though raiders had set upon us, but my worst fears leapt. I rushed out of the tent. Everyone else was running, all in the same direction. I felt for my knife, then left it down my boot so I could run faster.

  At the roadside an excited group had clustered around a particular camel, a new arrival whose dust was still creating a haze above the road. I could see the beast was white, or what they call white in a camel. The trappings looked brighter than usual and more lavishly fringed. When the crowd suddenly spilled outwards so I had a clearer view, even to my untutored eye this was a fine creature. A racing camel, plainly. The owner must be a local chief, some rich nomad who had made several fortunes from myrrh.

  I was losing interest and about to turn back when somebody yelled my name. Men in the crowd gesticulated to some unseen person who was kneeling at the camel's feet. Hoping this might be Musa returning, I walked up closer. People fell back to let me through, jostling close behind again as they tried to see what was happening. With bruised heels and a bad temper I forced my way to the front.

  On the ground beside the splendid camel, a figure wrapped in desert robes was searching in a small roll of baggage. Whoever it was stood up and turned to me. It was definitely not Musa.

  The elaborate head-dress was pushed back from a startling face. Vivid antimony eye paint flashed while earrings as big as the palm of my hand rattled out a joyous carillon. All the Palmyrenes gasped, awestruck. They dropped back hastily.

  It was a woman, for one thing. Women do not normally ride the desert roads alone. This one would go anywhere she wanted. She was noticeably taller than any of them, and spectacularly built. I knew she must have chosen her own camel, with expertise and taste. Then she had cheerfully raced across Syria unaccompanied. If anyone had attacked her, she would have dealt with them; besides, her bodyguard was wriggling energetically in a large bag she wore slung across a bosom that meant business.

  When she saw me, she let out a roar of derision, before brandishing a little iron pot. 'Falco, you miserable dumbhead! I want to see that sick girl of yours – but first come here and say a nice hello!'

  'Hello Jason,' I responded obediently, as Thalia's python finally forced his head out of his travelling bag and looked around for somebody meek whom he could terrorise.

  Chapter LXI

  There were a lot of frightened men at this gathering, and not all of them were worried about the python.

  Thalia shoved Jason unceremoniously back into his bag, then hung it around her camel's neck. With one bejewelled finger she stabbed towards the bag. Slowly and clearly (and unnecessarily), she addressed the assembled nomads: 'Any man who puts a hand on the camel gets seen off by the snake!'

  This hardly squared with what she had always assured me about Jason's lovable nature. Useful, however. I could see the Palmyrenes all inclined to my own nervous view of him.

  'That's a gorgeous camel,' I said admiringly. 'With a gorgeous rider whom I never expected to meet in the middle of the desert.' It seemed right, however. Somehow I felt more cheerful already. 'How in the name of the gods do you come to be here, Thalia?'

  'Looking for you, darling!' she promised feelingly. For once I felt able to take it.

  'How did you find me?'

  'Damascus is plastered with posters with your name on them. After a few days of desperately dancing for the rent, I spotted one.' That's the trouble with wall posters: easy to write, but nobody ever rubs them out. Probably in twenty years' time people would still be calling at Herod's Theatre trying to touch a man called Falco for cash. 'The theatre gateman told me you'd gone on to Palmyra. Good excuse to get a camel. Isn't he a cracker? If I can get another and race them, he'll wow those front-seat freaks in Rome.'

  'Where did you learn to race a camel?'

  'Anyone who can do a twirl with a python can manage a ride, Falco!' Innuendo came swimming back with every stride we took. 'How's the poor girlie? Scorpion, wasn't it? As if one nasty creature with a wicked tail on him is not enough for her…'

  I hardly dared ask, but brought out the question: 'How do you know about it?'

  'Met that strange fellow – your gloomy priest.'

  'Musa?'

  'Riding towards me like a death's head in a cloud of dust. I asked if he'd seen you. He told me everything.'

  I gave her a sharp look. 'Everything?'

  Thalia grinned. 'Enough!'

  'What have you done with him?'

  'What I do with them all.'

  'The poor lad! Bit tender for you, isn't he?'

  'They all are by my standards! I'm still holding out for you, Falco.'

  Ignoring this dangerous offer, I managed to extract more details. Thalia had decided that looking for Sophrona was a mission I might not manage. She had taken a whim to come east herself. After all, Syria was a good market for exotic animals; before the racing camel she had already bought a lion cub and several Indian parrots, not to mention a dangerous new snake. She had been earning her way by displays of her famous dance with the big python, Zeno, when she noticed my posters. 'So here I am, Falco, large as life, and twice as exciting!'

  'At last. My chance to catch your act!'

  'My act is not for faint hearts!'

  'All right, I'll skulk out the back and mind Jason. So where's the snake you dance with?' I had never even seen this legendary reptile.

  'The big fellow? Following on slowly. Zeno doesn't like disturbance. Jason's more versatile. Besides, when I tell him he's going to see you, he comes over all silly – '

  We reached my tent, thank Jupiter.

  At the sight of Helena I heard Thalia suck in her breath. 'I've brought you a present, sweetie, but don't get too excited; it's not a new man.' Thalia produced the little iron pot again. 'Small but incredibly powerful – '

  'As the altar boy promised!' quipped Helena, perking up. She must have been reading her scroll of rude stories again.

  Thalia had already lowered herself to one mighty knee and was unbandaging Helena's wounded arm as gently as if she were tending one of her own sick animals. 'Giblets! Some slapdash butcher made a mess with his cleaver here, sweetheart!'

  'He did his best,' Helena murmured loyally.

  'To mangle you!'

  'Lay off, Thalia!' I protested. 'There's no need to make me out to be the sort of thug who'd knife his girl. Anyway, what's in your magic jar?' I felt obliged to show some caution before my lass was anointed with a strange medicament.

  'Mithridatium.'

  'Have I heard of that?'

  'Have you heard of gold and frankincense? Compared with this they're as cheap as cushion dust. Falco, this potion contains thirty-three ingredients, each one expensive enough to bankrupt Croesus. It's an antidote for everything from snakebites to splitting fingernails.'

  'Sounds good,' I conceded.

  'It had better be,' growled Thalia, unscrewing the lid with relish, as if it were a potent aphrodisiac. 'I'll spread it all over your lady first – then I'll tell you what you owe me.'

  I declared that if mithridatium would help Helena, Thalia could smooth on the stuff an inch thick with a mortar trowel.

  'Listen to it!' marvelled Thalia confidentially to
her patient. 'Isn't he ridiculous – and don't you just love his lies!'

  Helena, who had always found that her spirits rose with any chance, of mocking me, was already chortling healthily.

  When we drove on towards Palmyra I had Thalia alongside like a spectacular outrider, galloping away in wild loops from time to time to exercise the racing camel. Jason enjoyed a more leisurely journey in a basket in the back of my cart. The Syrian heat had proved almost too much for him. He lay virtually inert, and whenever we could spare any water he had to be bathed.

  'My python's not the only reptile in your group,' Thalia muttered furtively. 'I see you've got that know-all comic Tranio!'

  'Do you know him?'

  'I've met him. Entertaining is a small world when you've been doing it as long as me, and in some funny places too. Tranio used to appear at the Vatican Circus. Quite witty, but thinks far too much of himself.'

  'He does a good tug of war. Know his partner?'

  'The one with the hair like a pie dish and the sneaky eyes?'

  'Grumio.'

  'Never seen him before. But that's not true of everybody here.'

  'Why, who else do you know?'

  'Not saying,' grinned Thalia. 'It's been a few years. Let's wait and see if I'm recognised.'

  I was struck by an intriguing possibility.

  Thalia's thrilling hints were still engaging Helena and me when our long ride reached its end. We had been driving at night, but dawn had now broken. With the stars long gone and the sun strengthening, our party was weary and longing to break the journey. The road had grown more winding, twisting upwards through more hilly country. The caravan trail finally emerged on to a level plain. We must now be at midpoint between the fertile coast far away on the Mediterranean and the even more remote reaches of the River Euphrates.

  Low ranges of mountains ran to the north and behind us, serrated by long dry wadis. Ahead, disappearing into infinity, stretched flat tawny desert covered with rocky scree. To our left, in a stony valley, stood square towers that we later learned were multiple tombs for wealthy families. These kept their lonely vigil beside an ancient track overlooked by the sheltering hills. On the bare slopes, a shepherd on a donkey was herding a flock of black-faced sheep. Closer to, we began to perceive a shimmer of green. We sensed expectation among our nomad guides. I called to Helena. As we approached, the effect was magical. The haze rapidly acquired solidity. The moisture that rose off the saltpans and lakes quickly resolved into fields surrounding large swathes of date-palms and olive and pomegranate trees.