Free Murder in Megara by Eric Mayer

back and hid it in plain sight, knowing the house and barn would be searched. As indeed they were. Without the strips of cloth it appears to be nothing more than another old basket.”
    â€œWas there anything inside?”
    John opened the lid and showed her the empty interior. “Not when I found it. During an actual ritual it would have contained a serpent.”
    â€œI hope it didn’t contain a snake tonight. I would not like to think a poisonous snake had taken up residence in the ruins.”
    â€œIt would not necessarily be poisonous.”
    â€œBut who brought the basket to the temple?”
    John stared into the basket as if the answer might be written on the bottom. “Theophilus or his murderer or someone wishing to perform a ritual or wanting to make it appear someone else had been performing one, or—”
    â€œOr it might have been left there by accident by one of the men shoring up the temple foundations. There’s shade inside, a good place to have a bite to eat while taking a break from digging. Perhaps you were too long at court, John. Everything appears to be a plot of some kind.”
    John snapped the lid shut. “A workman would hardly have decorated his lunch basket in that fashion. The only difference between court and countryside is that those with evil intent would not be dressed in silk garments, though their blades would be as sharp,”
    â€œYou’re right, John. I’m too tired to think clearly. Nevertheless, baskets are generally used to carry things, not to throw suspicion on people. Isn’t it possible that whoever brought it to the temple carried something in it?”
    John nodded. “We should consider the simplest possibility first. If something was in the basket it might have been extremely valuable, worth killing for, yet small enough to fit in a basket. And if it was in a basket, why not take it away in it? Theophilus could have been involved and his partner or partners decided to dispose of him rather than risk him telling what he knew. We know he needed money, the City Defender would pay him for information…it fits together.”
    â€œOh, John, the plots you weave!” Cornelia took the basket from him, laid it on the floor, and slid over beside him. “And what about you?”
    â€œWhat do you mean? You know I’m accustomed to this sort of situation.”
    â€œYour stepfather was just murdered.”
    John’s expression hardened. “You are well aware of my feelings toward Theophilus.”
    â€œStill, you grew up—”
    â€œBesides, I hadn’t seen the man for years and certainly never expected him to come back like a shade to haunt me. He died long ago as far as I’m concerned.”
    â€œWith the rest of your past.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œLike me, John. You never bothered to seek me out either.”
    â€œHow, Cornelia? How could anyone have found a woman who traveled all over the empire with an obscure troupe of performers?”
    â€œYou were Lord Chamberlain. You could have hired agents. How many troupes recreate the bull leaping of ancient Crete? If someone had asked innkeepers at Antioch if bull leapers, complete with a bull, had stayed with them do you imagine they would have asked which one?”
    â€œAs far as I knew you found someone else. I had vanished and never returned. Why wouldn’t you? The young mercenary who had been hired to guard the troupe, who had an affair with a pretty performer, had suddenly decided to move on, as young men of that kind always do. You had no reason to know I’d fallen into the hands of the Persians. And after that…after the way I was treated, and sold as a slave, I wasn’t fit for you anyway.”
    Tears were overflowing the dark smudges beneath her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Don’t ever say you are not fit for me, John!’
    â€œAh…now…please, Britomartis,” he muttered,