The Deadliest Returns: A COLLECTION OF MIRIAM BAT ISAAC NOVELETTES

By June Trop

Returning, whether it means going back or giving back, is never easy, at least not in this volume of three Miriam bat Isaac novelettes: 

In the first story, "The Bodyguard," Miriam's twin brother returns from the dead to serve as

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best - Historia
• Release date: Feb 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685125868

June Trop

June Trop has focused on storytelling her entire professional life. As a professor of teacher education, she focused her research on the practical knowledge teachers construct and communicate through storytelling. Now associate professor emerita, she writes The Miriam bat Isaac Mystery Series. Her books have earned a Readers' Choice Award, a Readers' Favorite Award, and praise from the Historical Novel Society. One was named a finalist for the Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award, and another was recognized by Wiki Ezvid as one of the nine most riveting mysteries set in the distant past. Living in New York's Hudson Valley with her husband, Paul Zuckerman, June is breathlessly chronicling Miriam's next life-or-death exploit. Be sure to visit her website at www.JuneTrop.com.

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June Trop

THE DEADLIEST RETURNS

A Collection of Miriam bat Isaac Novelettes

First published by Level Best Books/Historia 2024

Copyright © 2024 by June Trop

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

June Trop asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Author Photo Credit: Photo copyright is owned by Michael Gold of The Corporate Image

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-68512-586-8

Cover art by Level Best Designs

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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To my Paul

Contents

Praise for The Miriam bat Isaac Mysteries

Illustrations

Introduction

I. THE BODYGUARD

Characters

Chapter One: Aquila (aka Binyamin)

Chapter Two: Miriam

Chapter Three: Phoebe

Chapter Four: Miriam

Chapter Five: Aquila (aka Binyamin)

Chapter Six: Miriam

Chapter Seven: Aquila (aka Binyamin)

Chapter Eight: Miriam

Chapter Nine: Miriam

Chapter Ten: Miriam

II. THE BEGGAR

Characters

Chapter One: December 27, Late Morning

Chapter Two: December 27, Noon

Chapter Three: December 27, Early Afternoon

Chapter Four: December 27, Late Afternoon

Chapter Five: December 27, Early Evening

Chapter Six: December 28, Morning

Chapter Seven: December 28, Afternoon

Chapter Eight: December 28, Evening

III. THE BLACK PEARL

Characters

Chapter One: July 19, Noon

Chapter Two: July 19, Late Afternoon

Chapter Three: July 20, Morning

Chapter Four: July 20, Early Afternoon

Chapter Five: July 25, Late Morning

Glossary of Foreign Terms

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by June Trop

Praise for The Miriam bat Isaac Mysteries

You’ve come through again with another brilliant volume…. Your writing is mind boggling, and the life you create, even dealing with the mysteries and horror of death, explode with a tremendous energy….You are presenting a gift to your readers, spellbinding them with historical settings filled with mysteries.—The Amazing Kreskin

Illustrations

MAP OF ALEXANDRIA

Adapted with permission from Sly, D. L. (1996). Philos’ Alexandria. London: Routledge

Miriam’s Map of Central Ephesus

Miriam’s House: Public Rooms

Introduction

Returning, whether it means going back or giving back, is never easy, at least not in this volume of three Miriam bat Isaac stories. In the first, The Bodyguard, Miriam’s brother, an erstwhile gladiator, returns home to continue serving as bodyguard to the son of a legionnaire who retires to Alexandria. In the second, The Beggar, an old man posing as a beggar returns to Alexandria to find out the fate of the lovechild he left behind when he fled to escape the wrath of Roman law. And in the third, The Black Pearl, Miriam, upon coming into possession of the cache of jewels heisted from the Temple of Artemis, sails with her husband to Ephesus to return the treasure. If, like Miriam, you thrive on pursuing the twists and turns of a baffling mystery while uncovering the guilty longings, secrets, lies, and evil deeds of others, then, as Miriam’s deputy, you will have ample opportunity to engage your curiosity.

And if you are new to Roman-occupied Alexandria during the first century CE, you will experience, along with the splendor of the city, its malignant underbelly. You will blunder through its haunted alleys and wend your way through its shrill parade of macabre creatures. At the same time, the stench of each tumbling tenement and the scratch of every whirling piece of trash will coat the back of your throat with bile. And if you have never been to Ephesus, the capital of the Roman province of Asia, never seen the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the Ancient World, then prepare yourself for the glassy heat of that July summer and the unnerving sight that will turn your celebratory visit into a mystifying tragedy.

Each adventure stands alone. Still, I recommend you read the stories in order. They are connected chronologically such that an event from an earlier story forms the backdrop for a later story. In any case, escape the monotony of everyday life as you accompany Miriam on three of her most daring exploits and find your way to truth and justice.

June Trop

I

The Bodyguard

The Tenth Year of the Reign of

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus [Nero]

64 CE, July

Alexandria ad Aegyptum

Characters

Abasi courier who delivered the pouch to the Quintus Valens Cinnus household

Binyamin Miriam’s twin brother and ex-gladiator a.k.a. Aquila and Agrippa Fortitudo

Bion Phoebe’s husband and expert on analyzing documents

Calisto Miriam’s personal maid

Drusa wife of Quintus Valens Cinnus

Gershon ben Israel old friend of Binyamin’s father

Judah Miriam’s husband and professional jeweler

Miriam amateur sleuth extraordinaire

Orestes and Solon Miriam’s bearers

Phoebe Miriam’s best friend, erstwhile slave, Miriam’s sleuthing partner

Professor Jason medical school physician who investigates mysterious deaths

Quintus Valens Cinnus retired legionnaire, Professor Jason’s best friend, Drusa’s husband

Sergius ex-gladiator, Binyamin’s friend and sponsor

Tullus disabled son of Drusa and Quintus Valens Cinnus

Chapter One: Aquila (aka Binyamin)

The old fart’s eyes were drilling into me. I shouldn’t have risked coming. The games were a bore anyways. I was tired of the wild beast hunts and the roar of spectators whenever a gladiator’s ass hit the sand. And right then, I was sick of those lice-infested clowns, the praegenarii , and the clack of their wooden swords as they mocked the gladiators with their corny antics. Besides, the sun was pricking through the awning of the hippodrome, staring down at me, coating my throat with dust. Time to hit a snack bar.

I joined the stream of bozos funneling through the arch, taking advantage of the break between bouts, most to push their way to the latrines. Shoving past the bookmakers wigwagging to their regulars, I carved my way around the hundreds of sweaty bodies milling about the souvenir hawkers. Finally, I elbowed through the gate and headed toward the sausage vendors. Their stalls were easy to find; they stunk up the air with fennel and fried grease.

Hey, I asked myself, why not just leave after I grab a bite? I’d seen enough of the ludus of Alexandria, the dinkiest gladiator school in the empire, and its lousy troupe of gladiators to last more than a life—

Whoa! That shitty geezer was right on my tail, sharking toward me. I cursed myself over and over for coming, but when I wanna do something, I gotta do it. That’s the way I am. Now that I was back in Alexandria, I was that kid again, skipping school to sneak off to the games. The gladiators were like gods to me then, flexing their well-oiled muscles in the early morning light. And how I thrilled to those waves and applause when I was a retiarius, the kind of gladiator to fight with only a net and trident. No helmet. That was so Claudius, that prick, could watch our faces when our throats were cut. Anyways, my lanista, the manager of my troupe of gladiators, said I was too handsome to fight with a helmet.

Agrippa, Agrippa Fortitudo!

His voice pierced my eardrums like an icepick. Agrippa Fortitudo was my tag as a gladiator. That’s what I meant about taking a risk. I was supposed to have been killed in the arena eight years ago.

Panic mushroomed in my chest. He was close enough for his shallow breath to foul the back of my neck. I tried to ignore him, but if he continued to shriek, a crowd would gather, and worse yet, draw one of those shit-eating soldiers. No way was that prune-puckered dude gonna leave me alone. Sure enough, a moment later he was poking me between my shoulder blades. So, I turned around and pitched him a scowl.

Ma Zeus, I knew him! Underneath that receding cap of silver curls was the moth-eaten version of Gershon ben Israel, aglitter with gems, reeking from verbena, and draped in a gaudy silk robe. A phony if I ever saw one. Another of Papa’s ass-kissing buddies, all of them full of crap, just like my dear departed father.

Sir, you must be mistaken. My name is Aquila—

Say again? His head springing forward like a turtle’s, he squeezed together the wrinkles across his forehead and cupped his ear.

That’s when I remembered the Khamaseen winds, those hot, sand-filled windstorms that blow across Egypt in the spring. They must have burned out most of his hearing. With a furrowed brow, I threw up my hands and shook my head as if bewildered.

But he just took my hands and leaned into me. Don’t you remember me?

I snapped my head back as if he’d struck me. Oh yeah, I can ham it up better than any of those sissy actors, Thespis included. Just one of the many tricks I’d learned to deflect my father’s wrath.

Who me, Papa? I’d say, dropping my voice and blinking my eyes like a shitty cave dweller. You think I did what? Jumped out the window to relieve my lust with Zenon’s daughter? Where? In the pantry of her father’s cookshop? How could that be? I was right here studying geometry. Honest. Then I’d shake my head and tighten my lips as if to hold back a moan of pity. That fuckin’ tyrant wouldn’t even send me to a collegium iuvenum to study martial arts. Oh no, he wanted me to learn the family business so I could waste my life counting money like him.

Don’t you remember me? Gershon repeated. His voice had dropped to a croak. "And even if you don’t, I remember when you were just a little-known contender about to be pitted against…uh…uh… Orcus! Yes, Orcus, the betting favorite and most popular gladiator in the empire."

I had to hand it to Gershon. He was a fucker-upper, fuckin’ up my plan because that’s what a fucker-upper does, but he was also an aficionado. And Orcus? He may have been the favorite, but he’d never faced me. That sucker, not a slave, prisoner a’ war, or criminal but a hire like me, was just hours away from freedom, fighting his last bout before the contract with his ludus ended. Round and round we went: the flight of my net, the thrust of his sword. Me pressing every minute to my advantage until he was worn out. Then my net flew one last time. He couldn’t escape. When his legs got caught, I closed in with my trident. The stadium suddenly, eerily silent, the fans stunned as I got the nod to plunge my pugio into his chest.

I was about to laugh like a hyena when, springing out of that memory, I realized I’d better do something about Gershon before he ruined everything.

* * *

Okay, so I was gonna have to tell that busybody something. Raising my palm to silence him and then beckoning him with a couple of arm rolls, he accompanied me to that teahouse near the Gate of the Sun, the Juno Regina. I figured anyone with any breath left would still be at the games. Besides, by now my throat was lined with sandpaper, and my lips were making a popping sound whenever I opened my mouth.

So, he shambled along while I tsk-tsked, shaken by how much that fogy had aged. All I saw was a lumbering old man with sagging jowls, a swinging dewlap, and a forward stoop, panting to keep up as we followed the curve of the city wall to the plaza with the teahouse.

Kicking aside eddies of trash and a dozing loafer slumped in a puddle of shade across the threshold, I peeked inside. Gershon wasn’t the only thing to have hit the skids. The Juno Regina was now just a graffiti-scarred courtyard smothered in the heat with a cracked mudbrick floor, a tattered canopy, and scattered planters of dried-out pomegranate trees. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention the army of flies feasting on a counter of rancid cheese, moldy sesame cakes, and shriveled grapes.

Good enough. The place was deserted. Extending my hand to invite Gershon to enter, I pointed first with my chin to a table in the corner and then with my finger toward its far chair. Now that I’m in Alexandria, I sit with my back to the entrance to avoid having to tear a new asshole in every bozo who recognizes me. Come to think of it, I should have done that to this old goat. Instead, I had to watch him rub his palm across the seat of the chair, arrange the folds of his robe, sit down like a pussy, and smooth away the wrinkles in his skirt.

I rapped my knuckles on the table and then joggled—and almost broke—the branch off one of those stinking trees while shouting for service. All I wanted was a krater of honey-sweetened wine—anything but pomegranate! Ha!—and plenty of it. A dough-faced boy with constantly moving eyes and wearing the gray, coarse woolen tunic of a slave shuffled over and bowed like we were in Nero’s palace. I gave him the order and told him to make it snappy, whatever good that would do.

Gershon started screeching right away. What are you doing here? You were killed in Pompeii!

I patted the air to calm him.

It didn’t work.

Your sister had an honorable burial for you with mimes, musicians, and professional mourners. She commissioned an everlasting monument to you in the Jewish cemetery not far from here—

For each point, he jabbed his bony forefinger at me as if that deed alone should have made me dead.

Inscribed with your record as a gladiat—

Listen, I said. I could hear the desperation in