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

half expected him to begin to extol the virtues of his fish or radishes. “I thought you were dead of a broken neck at first. I returned to the monastery for help and we brought you back. And here you are.”
    â€œDid I wander onto the monastery grounds?”
    â€œNo. I had gone out to get a closer look at the temple. I must admit it was curiosity. There was a commotion over there and I could make out a crowd with torches from my window. Was it a celebration of some kind?”
    Peter tried to force his thoughts forward, past the instant when he’d spotted John in the temple. But the bridge between then and now was missing, washed away by…what? John had been alone, hadn’t he? There were no torches, were there? “I have no notion what you saw, Stephen. It must have been while I was unconscious. The master never said anything about a celebration.” He paused. “Do you mean pagan rites?”
    â€œI can’t say. That’s why I was curious. I heard no singing. Pagans in the old days would sing more lustily than we monks, so I understand, not to mention other lusty matters.”
    â€œMy master was not doing anything unlawful, of that I can assure you.”
    Stephen looked disappointed. “You saw nothing at the temple, then? Saw no one on your way there?”
    â€œNo.”
    Stephen smiled. “Then my curiosity will have to go unsatisfied. You are a good and loyal servant, Peter. I should have been attending to my own business rather than trying to get a peek at what might have been blasphemous doings. We must never give in to our foolish weaknesses. I shall need to do penance for it and for thinking ill of your master. Now I shall fetch you a poppy potion for your pain.”
    â€œPlease don’t trouble yourself. My wife is knowledgeable about those matters.”
    The thought of Hypatia brought back to Peter the sight of her walking along the twilit ridge next to Philip. How he wished his fall had erased that from his memory. But it was best he know, wasn’t it? He needed to acknowledge his own surrender to foolish weakness. “May I see the abbot before I leave?”
    â€œCertainly. I shall take your request to him.”
    ***
    It did not occur to Peter until he was shown into the abbot’s study that it was the middle of the night and he would be interrupting his sleep. He apologized profusely. When the abbot assured him that he had been awake anyway, waiting to hear Peter was comfortable, he apologized further.
    The abbot hovered solicitously while Peter lowered himself with care onto a bench in front of a table buried beneath codices. The codices, some bound in leather and others between boards, were piled so high and haphazardly it seemed a minor miracle they didn’t all slip off and slide down to the floor.
    â€œEvidence of my scholarly endeavors,” the abbot explained. “There is so much of interest in the world and our lives are so brief. Are you able to read?”
    â€œYes. I taught myself long ago.”
    The abbot nodded his approval as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. “It is a fine thing to be able to read.” To Peter, peering at him through twin pillars of codices, he resembled his rescuer Stephen if the younger monk had been left outside to weather for thirty or forty years. His round, cheerful face was reddened and lined. Deep furrows in his high forehead and dark creases radiating from the edges of his pale, watery eyes told of countless late night hours spent pondering the written word.
    â€œI am very grateful to Stephen,” Peter said. “If not for him, I don’t know what would have become of me.”
    â€œA fine young man. He is one of those who attend the ailing and elderly in our hospice and a favorite with our residents. Those who are lost on the dark roads the elderly often wander down smile when he appears, even if they can no longer speak or remember their own names. He is a