Five for Silver: A John, the Lord Chamberlain Mystery by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer

deathbed, you may well be reunited with your beloved after all. Fortuna smiles on you.”
    “Yet why on me and not on Balbinus? Am I more deserving?” Anatolius smiled wanly. “That is a question not worth asking, for it is unanswerable.”
    “It’s the unanswerable questions that are the most interesting. Besides, I can tell you why you deserve Fortuna’s favor. You are a man of tender feelings, my friend, just like myself.”
    Anatolius came to a halt. “I can’t help my feelings, Crinagoras. Yet it’s wrong to wish for happiness at another’s expense.”
    “The senator stole her from you. Her family arranged the marriage. She didn’t want it. Would you wish Lucretia to be deprived of her happiness as well?”
    “I admit it,” Anatolius confessed shamefaced. “I am hoping her husband will die.”
    “Believe me, Anatolius, I know how it is. Lucretia is the sun in your sky. When she married, I feared you might throw yourself into the sea.”
    “I try not to recall that time. Not to mention it’s just as likely the fellow who sells me wine threw himself into the sea when I regained my senses and his sales declined so drastically.”
    They resumed walking, completing a circle around the lonely space. Not far from the narrow road by which they had entered, a particularly unusual tomb caught Anatolius’ eye. It resembled the Great Church, but reached only as high as his chest.
    “Come along.” Crinagoras sounded impatient. “We don’t have time to dawdle over every monument in the place. Remember, it’s some distance yet to Nereus’ estate.”
    Anatolius’ gaze slid across the miniature edifice. “You’re in a hurry all of a sudden. I see there’s an inscription on this tomb. It’s one of yours, isn’t it?”
    “Well, yes, but do hurry up. At this rate it’ll be dark before we even get to the estate.”
    “What is it? Why don’t you want me to read it?” Anatolius bent slightly to make out the epitaph carved into the small church replica. “‘I am only a dead dog, but my tomb is more magnificent than the candlemaker’s.’”
    ***
    The muscular, bare-chested man unloading amphorae from a wagon parked outside Nereus’ villa looked up as Anatolius and Crinagoras approached. His hair was cropped to a black shadow, matching poorly shaven cheeks.
    “I am Cador, assistant to the master’s house steward. How can I assist?” The man’s Greek was hesitant.
    “We’re here to ask a few questions concerning your master’s death,” Anatolius began, trying to remember how John conducted similar interviews. “Could we speak to the steward?”
    He glanced toward the doorway, flanked by two massive, elaborately carved columns. The house was otherwise unadorned, a low, plaster-faced structure with a colonnade running down one side. It stood in the shade of a variety of short ornamental trees.
    “Calligenes is gone. I am in charge until the master’s legal affairs have been concluded.”
    “Your accent tells me you have traveled far, Cador,” Crinagoras broke in.
    The man nodded. “You are most perceptive, sir. It’s been a long time since I last saw Bretania’s rocky shore.”
    Anatolius scowled in annoyance. He’d taken the man’s stilted speech and hesitancy as indicating he was slow witted. Now he noticed Cador had the reddened, peeling skin of those used to less sunny climes. “How did you come to work for Nereus?” he asked quickly, before Crinagoras could beat him in extracting more revelations.
    “I was a tin streamer, sir. The brooks I panned were cold and seemed to get colder every year. Eventually I crossed the water and before I knew it, I was in Constantinople. Master Nereus was engaged solely in the tin trade at the time and gave me a job because of my experience.”
    Cador spoke as if he were weighing every word. The hard stare he directed at his visitors made it obvious to Anatolius that the man was highly suspicious. Extracting information would be as difficult as panning