A Storm at Samos

“What was this old trouble, Ariana?”

“It stems from when they were young. My mother was promised to Tyros. She’d have none of him and ran away with my father to the Piraeus. They married there and didn’t return here until I was born. Tyros hated my father for it.”

Cadfael considered for a moment in silence. He glanced at Nicodemus and saw something akin to relief on the older man’s face. He nodded and smiled at Ariana.

“Old trouble indeed and hardly cause to kill a man after all these years. What say you, Cadfael?”

“Thus it would seem, my friend. And yet they still maintained their wrangling.”

Ariana broke in.

“No. After my mother died they were somewhat reconciled. They both loved her and were united in their grief. They each maintained a surly aspect towards the other out of habit, but there was no longer real feeling behind it. This later trouble had some other cause, I’ll vow. Something about that night voyage.”

“That seems possible. It is more common to have one mystery than two. Your father never gave a hint?”

“He wouldn’t talk about it. Of course, I asked him and asked him more than once. He would only shake his head and say it were better I didn’t know. Oh, please, Nicodemus, and you, sir. Please help me.”

Cadfael was moved by her desperate plea. It went hard with him to see a woman so distressed. He saw a sympathetic tear glisten in Nicodemus’s eye also and knew his old friend felt the same. Nicodemus placed his arm around the girl and smiled gently.

“We’ll both do all we can, my dear. Your father was – is – my friend and I have known you since a babe. If there is some meaning we can unravel from this knot, we shall. You have my word. Now, since we are all here, we might as well look over Tyros’s house.”

Nicodemus slipped the blade of his knife between the door and the frame and prised up the retaining latch. He shoved hard once with his bulky shoulder and the door groaned open. The interior was dark after the bright sunlight and it took a few moments for their eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. Nicodemus made to move further into the house but Cadfael stopped with a restraining arm. He pointed to the fine layer of dust of the floor. Two sets of footprints were clearly visible.

“It appears that someone else has had the same idea.”

Nicodemus nodded and hunkered down to inspect the marks more closely. His finger traced the outline of one set of prints and then the other. He rose and edged carefully down the inner hall, concentrating hard on the footprints until he came into the central room. He cast about for a second and found a lamp, which he lit with his flint and steel. He returned with the light and held it low to illuminate the prints.

“Two men, without a doubt. One wears sandals like ours, the other something grander. See here, the sole and heel are separate. Our grander man drags one foot a little. See how the left print is blurred? The other is smaller and takes shorter steps.”

Ariana looked in wonder at Nicodemus.

“I’d never thought you could tell so much from a footprint.”

Nicodemus laughed.

“It’s a little enough, girl. I cannot tell who they were or why the came here and that I would dearly like to know. I’d also give a crown to know if they found that which they came for.”

They searched carefully through the house but found it innocent of any clues. There was no obvious sign that the place had been ransacked but Cadfael had the strong feeling that someone had conducted a thorough search. Some small items seemed to be in the wrong place as if they been picked up and discarded on a whim. A small Egyptian figurine lay on a stool. A chess piece, carved from soapstone to represent a patriarch of the Byzantine Church, stood on the low table next to a stack of wax tablets and a stylus. There was no sign of the rest of the pieces. A small plaster saint stood on the floor at the edge of the room. It looked as if it belonged somewhere else.

Nicodemus scanned the wax tablets but they were either blank or were clearly cargo manifests; his own and Cadfael’s were among them, he recognised the names of their ships, although he could not read. They searched the bedchamber but there was little to be seen. An aged clothes press stood in one corner. It contained nothing but tunics. The bed was little more than a pallet with a straw filled mattress. It was clear from the way that the mattress had been slit that the searchers had been there before them.

At the back of the house was a small cooking area with a simple rough wooden table, the remains of a meal still upon it. Mould was growing upon the heel of a loaf and the remains of a bowl of olives.

“Five days, at least,” said Nicodemus and Cadfael nodded his agreement.

It was apparent that there was nothing to be learnt from the house and the three made their way out and back down the hill towards the port. They walked in silence, in sombre mood. Ariana left them at the square, turning back up the hill along a narrow lane. Cadfael and Nicodemus continued downwards to the port. They parted on the dockside. Nicodemus placed a hand on Cadfael’s shoulder.

“I’d really like to help her, you know. I’ve watched her grow from a baby. But I tell you, my friend, it’s hard to know where to start.”

Cadfael could only concur. He, too, wished to help the girl. He couldn’t claim years of acquaintance but something about her stirred protective feelings in him. Both soldiering and the sea made for a hard living and he had become inured to the harsh realities of the world. He believed that most people had much good in them but he also recognised that there were those of whom this would never be true. There would always be a minority who trod a darker path; who thought the world owed them more than just the fruits of their own labour. Such men, and a few women, he acknowledged, would not hesitate before the prick of conscience. And if someone stood in their chosen path – so be it. They would stand there at their peril. Yet from all he could divine of both Alexandros and Tyros the Factor, and he would admit it was little, he did not feel that either was such a creature.

He knew both only slightly. He had met Tyros a few times, delivering and loading cargo, but had ever only exchanged a few pleasantries among the business. He had a vague memory of meeting Alexandros in the company of Nicodemus in some waterfront tavern. He dimly recalled a taciturn, sad-eyed man content to allow others to speak but still exuding a calm air of competence. The conversation, as always, was of seamanship. Alexandros contributed little but his few sallies had been sensible and authoritative and it had been clear that Nicodemus respected his opinion. Such brief acquaintance was not sufficient to declare a man innocent of all crimes but, and here Cadfael would own to prejudice, it seemed inconceivable that the man who reared the girl Ariana could be a cold and callous killer. It was not impossible, of course, but something rubbed against the grain to think it so.

They agreed to meet in a tavern later that evening to discuss what might be done to help the girl. Cadfael repaired back on board his ship and stood at the rail watching the sun sink into the fiery water on the western horizon. He felt weary to the bone and slightly depressed. His head ached and his wits felt dull. He stripped and poured bucket after bucket of seawater over his head and shoulders. He finished with a bucket of fresh water to remove the salt and went below to change his tunic feeling only marginally better for his ablutions.

Cadfael was up and dressed just before dawn. He shook the bosun awake and left instructions for the day before swinging ashore once more and heading down the mole towards Nicodemus’s ship. They had accomplished nothing the previous evening but had talked round and round, trying to make sense of all that they knew. God knew it was little enough. Tyros the Factor had come to Alexandros by night. In great secrecy they had sailed and returned at noon the following day. A few days later, strangers removed Alexandros from his home under some kind of duress and, the very next day, Tyros’s body was found floating in the harbour. Alexandros had disappeared and two people had made a thorough search of Tyros’s home. That was the sum of it.

He felt it had to be bound with that unexplained night voyage. That appeared to be the start of the sequence of events. Nicodemus and he had agreed that there could have been no cargo. There had not been time to load or unload anything of substance. Logic said therefore that it was the men or one of them, at least, that was important. But why the secrecy? No matter how they had cudgelled their brains they could think of no reason that made any kind of sense. Even thinking about it now, in the clear light of day, made Cadfael’s head hurt. He was both surprised and pleased to see the girl standing on the dock as if waiting for him. She greeted him with a shy smile and he felt his face set into an answering grin.

She reached into a satchel and handed him an object wrapped in a piece of cloth. He took it, puzzled, for she said not a word but looked at him expectantly. He unwrapped the thing carefully. It was a soapstone chessman – another carved in the image of a patriarch. Cadfael could feel the girl’s gaze upon him. He looked up into two intensely brown eyes. He cleared his throat and asked:

“Where did you find this?”

“Among my father’s clothes.”

“It was hidden?”

“Yes, I think so. It was at the bottom of his sea chest with tunics and things folded on top. What can it mean?”

“That I cannot tell you. Was it wrapped in this cloth when you found it?”

“Yes.”

Cadfael examined the figure and the cloth it came in. The piece was simple and didn’t appear especially valuable. It came to him that it was not the object that was important but rather, what it meant. He turned the piece over in his fingers. There seemed nothing remarkable about it to his eye. Chess was popular throughout the Levant and such cheap soapstone pieces were ten a penny. Most of the seamen he knew who were addicted to the game carved their own sets. His own bosun would sit for hours contemplating a single move while his opponent stared in similar concentration. Cadfael didn’t understand the game’s fascination.

Nicodemus hailed the pair as he climbed onto the dock. He appeared in excellent spirits.

“Good morning, Cadfael, good morning, my dear.”

They returned his greeting and Cadfael showed him Ariana’s find.

“What do you make of it?” Cadfael asked.

“Not very much. It’s wrong of course.”

“Wrong?”

“There is no Patriarch in chess. You have the Shah and the Vizier, the Rhuks, the Elephants and the soldiers. No Patriarch.”

“Perhaps it’s supposed to be a Vizier?”

Nicodemus snorted and shook his head.

“No, look at the robes. It’s meant to be an archbishop or something. I don’t know, maybe someone is changing the pieces for their own amusement. I’ve seen others do that. They carve the pieces to suit themselves. I don’t hold with it.”

Cadfael shrugged. He didn’t understand the game and cared less about its traditions.

“It seems to me that it might be a token.”

“Of what, Cadfael?”

“That I cannot say.”

Nicodemus passed the figure back to Ariana, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. She gave Cadfael a grateful look as if to say that she appreciated that he saw the significance of her find. He found himself wanting to reassure her but felt bereft of any idea how to do so and contented himself with a slight smile. Nicodemus suggested breakfast and then a visit to the Port Captain.

“He’s new here. His name is Demetrius and he came from Constantinople about three months ago. Not exactly rising in the world, is it? I’ve met him but the once and found him pompous.”

They agreed to the suggestion and after breaking their fast at the waterfront Tavern, repaired to the Port Captain’s lodgings behind the warehouses. They were kept waiting for a good half hour. Cadfael found this to be the Byzantine way. It was to let the visitors know that the man they sought was important and that his time was more valuable than theirs. Nicodemus sat upon the step while Cadfael idly examined the surrounding street. They conversed in a desultory fashion and they were all relieved when a slave called them to enter. They were shown into a large room. A grossly fat man reclined on a couch. A small, dark-skinned woman stood behind him, her eyes lowered. Nicodemus made the introductions. The fat man peered at them owlishly before raising himself up on one elbow.

“Well, Captain, tell me what this is about. I’m a busy man.”

“We are seeking news of this girl’s father. His name is Alexandros and he was captain of the ‘Star of Libya,’ a ship owned by our employer, Ioannis of Adrianopolis.”

“Then we seek the same thing. This Alexandros is a killer and I will have his head.”

Cadfael felt Ariana stiffen with outrage beside him. He surreptitiously took her hand and gave it a squeeze, hoping to forestall any outburst. He shot Nicodemus a warning glance before addressing the Port Captain.

“Might we enquire if you have made any progress in your, ah, investigations, Excellency?”

The man regarded Cadfael with suspicion. He sniffed pointedly as if to infer there was an unpleasant stench in his nostrils before replying.

“What business is this of a Norman?”

“My name, Excellency, is Cadfael ap Meilyr of Trefiw in the land of Cymru and I am not a Norman. Captain Alexandros is our fellow and we seek only the truth in this unhappy matter.”

The Port Captain grunted and glowered back at Cadfael who held his gaze with steady eyes. The two men stared at each other with obvious mutual dislike. It was the Byzantine who looked away first. He gestured to the woman behind him and she stepped silently through the curtain behind her to return with a tray holding glasses of sherbet.

“Well, Cadfael ap Meilyr of Cymru, I have passed a description of the murderer to all Port Captains in the area. I have impounded his vessel and its cargo and have written to Constantinople to inform the authorities there.”

“And may I enquire, Excellency, if you are certain that Alexandros is the murderer?”

The Port Captain clapped his hands and a slave appeared and bent low. He muttered something in the slave’s ear and the man bowed and dashed away. The Port Captain settled back down on his coach and folded fat hands across his vast stomach. His small eyes rested on Ariana and he licked his lips with a surprisingly pink tongue. The slave reappeared, gingerly carrying a short oar. The Port Captain waved in Cadfael’s direction and the slave bowed and presented the oar to Cadfael with both hands, as though it were a sceptre.

“Behold, the murder weapon! If you will examine the blade, you will find the unfortunate Factor’s brains – or, at least, some of them. I think it safe to conclude the man didn’t drown, what say you?”

At this he gave a wheezy chuckle. Ariana paled but moved to stand beside Cadfael as he examined the oar. He marked the traces that the Port Captain had alluded to and noted also that a small patch of hair was stuck to the wooden blade amid the dried blood. He handed the oar back to the waiting slave without comment. Cadfael turned back to face the Byzantine and found the man watching him with a sly smile.

“Excellency, I agree. It seems clear enough how the Factor died but I fail to understand how this oar proves who was responsible.”

“Of course you can’t understand. I would not expect a simple sailor to be capable of higher logic or reasoning. Who would use an oar to kill? A sailor. Why would a sailor flee? Because he is a killer. It is well known there was bad blood between them and thus, we have a motive as well. It is clear enough to me.”

“And may I ask where the oar was found, Excellency?”

“Floating in the harbour, close to the man it killed. If that is all?”

Nicodemus made as if to protest but Cadfael silenced him with a warning look. He thanked the Port Captain for his time. The Byzantine struggled up from his couch with the aid of the small woman and exited through the curtain behind, signalling the audience was at an end. Cadfael watched his progress with interest; particularly the way the man dragged his left foot slightly as he walked.

Once outside, Cadfael led the other two away, gesturing for silence with a finger to his lips. The walked swiftly back down to harbour and he led them out along the stone mole before speaking.

“I think we now know who was before at us at Tyros’s house.”

Ariana interrupted. “That oar! It’s mine!”

Cadfael and Nicodemus stared at her, shock clear upon their faces. She looked from one to the other with pleading in her eyes.

“What does it mean? I didn’t know it had gone. I haven’t been to the boat since Father vanished.”

“Then we had better go there now,” Cadfael replied.

Ariana led them back along the mole and then down some rough stone steps to the inner harbour. This part was too shallow for sea-going ships and was used by the fishing craft and smaller coastal boats. She indicated a brightly painted double-ended skiff with a short mast and furled ochre sail lying a little way in. It was clearly well cared for and to Cadfael’s eye appeared a handy little craft. Ariana hiked up her tunic and strode into the water, affording the two seamen a view of long tanned legs as she did so. She seized the boat’s painter and pulled it to her with a practised ease and slipped over the gunwale. They watched her stoop and search about before rising once more with a short oar in her hands. She stepped back into the water with fluid ease and Cadfael was struck by both the grace of her movements and her obvious familiarity with boats. The little craft had hardly rocked as she boarded and left it bobbing gently at its mooring.

Ariana reached them and presented Cadfael with the oar. It was immediately apparent that it was the twin to the one the Port Captain had shown them. Her eyes had a frightened look as she rested her hand on Cadfael’s arm.

“I don’t understand. How could my oar have been used to kill the Factor?”

Cadfael could find no answer but he felt that was the wrong question, somehow. One thing was certain, he thought. Someone had gone to some pains to obtain the weapon. There were a number of small boats nearer the shore and most would have similar oars aboard. Even simpler, one had only to cast about on the dockside to find a balk of timber. It made no sense to wade the several yards to Ariana’s boat. He turned to the other two.

“I fear we are sailing through fog. Why use this particular oar to kill the man?”

Ariana turned the blade of the oar over in Cadfael’s hand and pointed to the letters ‘A’ and ‘X’ carved into the wood.

“My father’s mark.”

“Ah, it gets a little clearer. Whoever killed the Factor wanted people to think that it was Alexandros.”

“But why, Cadfael?”

“Of that we are still uncertain. But it’s my guess that it was a good way of eliminating the pair of them.”

“Why not just kill them both, if that was what was wanted? Why kill the Factor and then blame Father?”

“I think it was to close the matter. If you have two men slain, the hue and cry will arise for the killers. However, if one man is dead and another blamed, the matter is resolved and no cause for anyone to think otherwise.”

“You think my father killed the Factor?”

“I am now certain he did not. What sort of man with murder on his mind would wade out to fetch his own oar and then leave it to be found in the aftermath? No, Ariana, your father is as innocent as a babe in this matter.”

“Then where is he?”

Neither Cadfael nor Nicodemus could provide an answer.

They went their separate ways and Cadfael returned to his ship. He felt sure, now, that the key to the mystery lay with the chess pieces but try as he might, he could make no particular sense of them. The bosun was waiting to meet him on his return. The new cargo of wine was loaded and the ship had been re-provisioned for sea. There was no help for it but he must sail. He bade a brief farewell to Nicodemus and gave his mind to the business of seafaring. As the ship slipped quietly from the harbour, Cadfael caught sight of the girl standing on the mole. She made a forlorn figure, silhouetted against the setting sun. He raised an arm and waved and felt a touch of sorrow as she turned away without returning his gesture. He would confess he felt attracted to her but was loath to press the matter in any way. She was worried half to death for her father and any offer of assistance would have been met with gratitude. It would be wrong to take advantage of her present vulnerability and yet he could not deny that she stirred him.