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jewels under a gray sky, which further out blended with the dark waters of the Sea of Marmara.
    He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to throttle Thomas, even though the fool would have no trouble killing him if he tried. “What was it that took you to the Hippodrome?”
    Thomas reached into his tunic and drew out a small item he kept clasped in his fist. “It was like this, Anatolius. A business opportunity presented itself and I leapt at it quicker than a beggar after a dropped loaf. It was something to do with relics. As you know, I’m an expert on the subject—before I came here I made a living seeking the Holy Grail. I sent a message offering my services to the senator. Being a cautious man, he insisted on my dealing with an intermediary.”
    â€œVery sensible of him.”
    â€œI didn’t know the person I’d be meeting, so I didn’t expect to see the senator, and certainly not his cadaver. And a very fresh one at that.”
    Thomas opened his fist to reveal a piece of yellow enameled metal as long as his finger, formed in the shape of a T.
    â€œThis was given to me to take to the meeting. It’s a cross, as you see, but the figure of the Christian god’s son has been snapped off, along with the top. The fellow I was meeting was supposed to have the matching part.”
    Anatolius held the artifact up and squinted at it in the fitful lamplight. He could see the enamel was chipped at the top and that another chip, toward the base, marked where the feet of the crucified man would have been attached.
    Thomas looked expectantly at Anatolius. “Do you think this will help find out who killed the senator?”
    â€œIt might if John were here.” Anatolius handed it back to him. “Since he isn’t, you’d better stay somewhere else for a while. Somewhere no one would expect to find you. If the senator was as freshly killed as you say, it’s possible whoever murdered him was still nearby. If so, he might well decide to silence you in case you witnessed the crime.”
    â€œBut what will Isis say when I don’t show up for—”
    The clatter of footsteps on the stairs interrupted them.
    A figure burst into the room. Thomas dove for the doorway, smashed into the intruder, and pinned him to the wall, sword to his throat.
    â€œBy Jupiter’s balls, Anatolius!” croaked Francio. “I was going to chide you for leaving the door unlocked again, but now I see why you don’t bother, with guards like this.”
    Thomas stepped back with an oath.
    â€œHe isn’t a guard, he’s a friend,” Anatolius said.
    Francio looked dubious. “This ruffian?”
    â€œThomas is a member of John’s household.”
    â€œTruly? There must be a fascinating story there. However, I’ve come to drag you away to dine. Nothing goes better with a good meal than sparkling conversation. I’ll supply the meal, you supply the conversation. Bring your impolite colleague along too. Perhaps some good wine will sweeten his tongue.”
    â€œFrancio, I’m sorry. I can’t accept your kind invitation tonight.” Anatolius paused and then smiled. “Thomas, however, is free. And you’re correct. He has many fascinating stories to tell.”
    Francio gaped at Anatolius for a heartbeat before looking toward Thomas with an expression akin to horror.

Chapter Seven
    â€œFaster, it’s the end of the world!”
    John came awake at the sound of Peter’s voice. It was still dark. For an instant he wondered why his bed was rocking.
    Earthquake, he thought, and then remembered he had gone to sleep, as he had each night for the past week, wrapped in a cloak, huddled on the deck of the Minotaur .
    â€œHurry, master! Look!” Peter pointed at the horizon.
    John climbed to his feet and squinted in the direction indicated by the servant’s trembling finger. A bright glow lay along the waterline.
    â€œThe