The Peach Widow: An Argolicus Mystery

By Zara Altair

Mystery in history.

A distressed widow. Greedy brothers. A huge farm dog. Argolicus unravels the threads.

When Argolicus counsels a grieving widow on the laws of inheritance, he finds the law will serve her cruelly. Her stepsons want her out and there is no recourse.

Then a field slave falls during peach harvest. Suspicions grow when Argolicus and Nikolaos learn more about the family and suspect that the death may not be from natural causes. As they question the family, they discover greed, and begin to distrust the stories they’ve been told.

Argolicus uses his sound judgment to get the brothers out of trouble and uses his reasoning to untangle the mystery of the widow’s estate.

The Peach Widow is one of the Argolicus Mysteries series where ancient Italian law collides with murder. If you like challenging mystery and rich historical detail you’ll love The Peach Widow. Buy now to discover the secret!  

5 Stars "Leaves you wanting more!" 

“The character of those times emerges on the page from the start...”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fervent Crux Press
• Release date: Aug 30, 2016

Book preview

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A Mother’s Wish

Argolicus left his cool studio to walk into the garden, where the air instantly warmed his cheeks. A clatter came from the kitchen. A kitchen worker of about 14, bore a tray of fruit and a pitcher of milk and honey toward a table set out by the fountain. Argolicus’ mother sat at the table in front of hot, thin bread rounds and a glass pot of honey with a silver dipper. She was a tall, striking woman in her early fifties and bore her Ostrogoth heritage with the straight shoulders and uplifted chin of a Roman matron. Braids of golden hair, here and there streaked with gray, wound around her head like a crown. Dressed for a day of work managing the estate, she wore a long light tunic of woven flax.

Good morning, she smiled and looked up from her notes.

‘Morning, Argolicus waited, standing as a young girl brought out a chair for him to sit. He reached for a peach from the fruit tray.

Ah, ripe peaches at last.

Argolicus, the widow Valerius…

Mother, please. Wait until I’ve eaten.

She drew out a parchment scrap and began scratching away making notes to herself about the busy summer day ahead running the estate.

The fountain burbled happily in the morning sunlight as Argolicus silently used a knife to section the peach and withdraw the pit. Juice ran over his fingers onto the plate. He dipped his fingers in a bowl of orange water, shook his hands over the ground, and then poured a cup of milk and honey. As he sipped, he mentally planned his work for the day in the cool study hidden away from the hot July sun.

The peach was so delicious, he started sectioning another.

Yes, the widow Valerius?

Her stepsons. His mother looked up from her tablet. I didn’t quite understand it all. You are so much better at legalities; I thought maybe you could help.

Help what?

Settle the dispute. Isn’t that what you did in Rome?

Mother, I’m retired. Why doesn’t she seek the regular channels? We have a governor.

Venantius? You should know. Remember how he treated Adeodatus? Imagine being a widow of not much means. She has land but not much money. How would she ingratiate herself? You know he wants monetary favors. If you want to settle in here, you can help our neighbors.

Yes, Venantius is not impartial. Money or land, given freely, help him make decisions.

Argolicus sighed. Even the country was tainted by politics. Dispute? What dispute?

Her stepsons want her to leave. She would be penniless. I’m remembering how I felt when your father died. I had this place and you and still felt completely alone. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be thrust out into the world as a woman with no family.

Argolicus reached out and touched her shoulder. Mother, I like you close. I will go see your widow.

* * *

He found himself, on an even hotter day, up before sunrise. Accompanied by Nikolaos, his Greek tutor, secretary, and companion, he quietly rode the five miles to the villa Valerius. As they reached the top of a grade and began their descent into the valley, port and ocean disappeared from view, the bustle and commerce of the city abandoned for the quiet isolation of rural life.

The estate spread across a small valley surrounded by hills. A stream, bordered by green willows and rose-laurel, ran down from the hills, cutting a seam through the fields of grass turning gold in the sun. The pink flowers of the bushes were alive with color in the otherwise dry golds and grays of the hot summer day. Beyond the farm’s complex of buildings, fruit trees grew in rows that stretched to the foothills, orange peaches poking out beneath the green leaves. Their horses slogged along as if they had traveled a long distance without rest. Nikolaos