Read Online Murder in Megara by Eric Mayer - Free Book Online

was sitting up on a rudimentary bed in a cavernous room, illuminated only by an oil lamp glimmering at the far end. A strong smell of incense did not quite mask an underlying odor that reminded him of a public lavatory. In the sepulchral dimness he made out rows of beds upon which lay gray, motionless forms. Occasionally a pitiful low moan broke the silence.
    Did he still dream or had he fallen into hell?
    A firm hand pressed against his chest and pushed him back down. “There, there, now. Are you trying to wake the devil? Lie back. You’re in no shape to be leaping around.”
    The hand belonged to a youngish man with a stolid, round face strangely cheerful considering the circumstances. He wore long, shapeless, unbleached robes. “My name is Stephen,” he said. “The same name as our monastery, so if I get lost they know where to send me. And you?”
    â€œPeter,” Peter replied, having to think about it.
    â€œYou’re in the hospice of Saint Stephen’s monastery. Not that you are in need of such care but there was a spare bed. Don’t worry about all the blood on your tunic. It seems an excessive amount considering your scrapes and scratches are slight.”
    Looking down, Peter saw dried patches of blood on his clothing and abrasions on exposed skin. His injuries might have been minor but they were numerous. He ached everywhere and his head throbbed painfully.
    Stephen smiled benignly. “I shall see you are escorted home shortly and this time you will be on the road rather than blunder about in the dark. We don’t want you falling down another hole.”
    â€œI fell into a hole?” Peter groped back into the oblivion prior to his panicked awakening. He remembered walking, approaching the temple. After that, nothing. Had his waking scream carried over from the startled cry he gave as he fell? There were excavations beside the temple.
    â€œA pit, in fact. There are plenty of them around Megara, most very old. Every so often legends resurface and people go about looking for the treasure supposedly buried when Corinth was overrun and destroyed a century and a half ago. According to some of the tales, the church spirited its treasury out of the city, along with valuable relics, so naturally people will get it into their heads to search in our vicinity. We fill them up when we find them. Recently the story’s been revived. One of our goats fell into a fresh pit last month not a stone’s throw from the chapel.”
    â€œI must have been very careless,” Peter said, futilely trying to recall how he put himself into such a predicament. “My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, especially in the dark.”
    â€œDon’t blame yourself, Peter. The older pits are overgrown with brush and weeds. They’re hard to see even during the day. You shouldn’t wander around at night without a light.”
    â€œI will have to inform the master. He won’t want to have traps like that on his land.”
    â€œYou are from the estate? A nest of godless pagans, I hear. I shall be able to correct that impression now, given you are a good Christian.”
    Peter, puzzled, asked him how he knew.
    â€œYou were muttering prayers before you woke up. If you were beseeching the Lord to rescue you from whatever brought on that hideous shriek you let out…well…I should not like to meet whatever it was and especially after sunset.”
    â€œI can’t remember what made me scream or anything else before that…” As he spoke, it began to come back to him. As he neared the temple, he’d seen John there. Something—what it was he didn’t know—told him to keep this information to himself. “How did you find me?”
    â€œI heard a cry and found you curled up like a baby at the bottom of the pit.” Stephen smiled. He looked so much like one of the rustics Peter had haggled with in the markets of Constantinople he