Free One for Sorrow by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer

Blues?”
    “I couldn’t say. I’ve only known him a few days. I came from Antioch last week for the races and he arrived around the same time.”
    John noted that Gregorius’ voice had wavered, a sign of nervousness. “I’m surprised you could talk about racing without discovering where his allegiance lies. Do they race in Bretania?”
    “We spoke of other things too, I can’t recall exactly what. A few cups of wine, and—”
    “What is his business here?”
    “Why would he tell me? I barely know the man.”
    “It would be best for you to tell me the truth.” John’s tone was soft but unmistakably firm.
    “Do you mean his search for that relic? I’m not convinced such a thing exists. However, I understand there are many wonders in this city.”
    “Do you travel widely, following the races?”
    “Yes. After I’m finished here I’m off to Thessalonika.” Gregorius shifted his feet and glanced at the doorway, as if looking to escape.
    Before he had a chance to make an excuse to leave John continued his questioning. “What do you know of the soothsayer staying at the inn?”
    “As little as possible, Lord Chamberlain. He’s a clever rogue, taking advantage of ignorant people who believe men can foretell the future. I’ve avoided him.”
    “It’s been my experience charioteers are superstitious. Racing is dangerous. Don’t you own a protective charm or two?”
    Gregorius stiffened. “I trust in my skills. And, no, if you were wondering, I would have no interest in this relic Thomas is seeking.”
    “Now that you mention it, a charioteer might have some use for a heal-all,” John observed.
    Gregorius’ jaw tightened.
    John sensed the charioteer wasn’t going to say more. If he pressed him further he might very well leave the city immediately, taking with him whatever information he might be holding back.
    John left the room. Instead of retracing his steps he wandered through the stables and work spaces beneath the track, thinking, trying to see connections between Leukos’ death, Thomas, the charioteer, the soothsayer.
    Charioteers traveled widely. They would be in a good position to secretly obtain relics and transport them on their journeys across the empire.
    Perhaps Gregorius had not been telling the truth about his lack of interest in the relic Thomas sought.
    A snort interrupted his thoughts. He had chanced on the stable being used by Cornelia’s troupe.
    None of them was around but John spent a long time leaning on the rail, admiring the three magnificent bulls, sacred animal of his god Mithra, and the animal that had carried Cornelia into his life.
    Was there a connection between those things?

Chapter Sixteen
    John awakened to darkness and the sound of raised voices.
    He had been dreaming. Not of Cornelia, strangely, nor of his daughter, but of his childhood. He had been running across a summer field. Not pursued and with no destination. Simply running, skimming over the top of the wiry grass. The stones and tussocks, the sun-hardened depressions where cattle hooves had sunk into mud, none of these tripped him. He glided over all of them. Although he was running and not flying, he felt at the crest of every hill that he might take to the sky and soar. He was tireless. His legs did not weaken. His breath did not grow labored. He could run, effortlessly, forever.
    Now he was awake, his heart leaping, his breath catching in his throat. The careers of palace officials ended as often with unexpected midnight visits as with presentations of commemorative diptychs before the assembled senate.
    John rolled off his bed, hastily donned clothes, and grasped the dagger he kept close to hand. Without lighting a lamp, he moved toward the door of his bedroom.
    Voices echoed from the atrium downstairs.
    As he trod quietly down the wooden stairs, John saw Peter holding a lamp and looking perturbed. He was blocking the way of a slight figure fantastically dressed in beaded tights and colorful plumes.
    It