by Mary Reed
They had met in Egypt under unlikely circumstances. John was Greek, Cornelia a native of Crete. As a young man, John had run off from Plato’s Academy to see the world and subsequently become a mercenary, while Cornelia had abandoned her home to take ship with a traveling troupe.
Both had eagerly thrown away the settled lives awaiting them. They had had that in common when their paths crossed.
Thieves and cutthroats, pirates and kidnappers for the slave trade stalked roads and seaways. The band of performers and musicians to which Cornelia belonged had use for a man whose talents lay with the sword, so John joined the troupe and stayed at Cornelia’s side.
Cornelia’s displeasure seemed to vanish as swiftly as morning mist on the Bosporos. “It was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” Her tone was wistful.
John smiled at her. “Indeed it was, Britomartis.”
Her hand went to her eyes, as if to wipe away sea spray. “The Lady of the Nets. Who but you would’ve chosen such a name? Not my little thrush or sweet cake.”
“I could never quite think of you as a little thrush.”
“And you always remembered me?”
“Of course I did.”
He did not add that he had tried to forget, during hundreds of nights, over all the years after he had strayed into enemy territory and his Persian captors had robbed him of his future. Reduced to slavery, he managed to catch the emperor’s eye, win his freedom, and rise to a position of power.
Years after his forced abandonment of her, he and Cornelia met again, unexpectedly and briefly. Then he had sent her and his daughter away. The capital was a dangerous place, particularly for the family of a Lord Chamberlain.
He had never expected to see them again, but seven years later, they returned. He had not had time to send them away again before exactly what he feared had happened. Thomas, that supposed knight from Bretania, had become entangled in some sort of trouble and dragged John’s whole family into it with him.
Annoyed, Cornelia tapped her fingers on the rail. “What is this you tell me about sheep killing themselves? What explanation can there be for something that must be nothing but a traveler’s tale? What do dead animals have to do with a murdered senator?”
“I don’t know if there’s a connection.”
John was being truthful. His investigations into amorphous rumors of a plot connected with Egypt had uncovered nothing. The only suspicious behavior he’d noticed belonged to Thomas, who seemed unusually thoughtful, and more guarded in his speech than usual. Then too Thomas had made more than one foray at an odd hour on what struck John as flimsy pretexts.
Finally John had followed him. He did not know what he expected, but it was certainly not to find Thomas standing over the body of a prominent senator.
“Besides, why should you be serving Justinian when he’s just exiled you?” Cornelia went on.
“There’s more to the situation than it appears,” he told her. “The emperor could have sent someone from Alexandria to inquire about the livestock, but the fact is that he has discovered there is something of great value in the settlement, something connected with the matter I’ve been investigating. The problem is that to gain an advantage, he must keep his knowledge of the existence of the plot secret. Unfortunately Justinian, or rather his informant, doesn’t know exactly what this valuable item might be. In a word, while I know nothing about what it is I am seeking, I have not been exiled. Which is not to say it may not be my lot if I fail to accomplish what I have been ordered to do.”
She peered at him as if she might be able to see his thoughts if she stared hard enough. “So your exile is nothing but a story intended to throw smoke in the eyes of…who?”
John hesitated. “Everyone at court. The emperor can’t be certain of the identities of those he needs to deceive because he doesn’t yet know who might be plotting against him.”
“But in that case why were you asking me about Thomas? Is he involved in this plot?”
“I cannot say,” John replied, “although he and Europa are involved indirectly. Why do you suppose those really exiled do not need to be accompanied by guards or confined by bars? Because usually they have families who will serve as hostages.”
“I see. Well, I hope you’ll at least put Peter’s fears to rest, not that I feel any better about the situation. I don’t trust Justinian, and as for Theodora…”
Cornelia turned to look in the direction of Constantinople. When she spoke again, it was to change the subject. “Nikodemos has been showing me how to make different knots.”
She undid the short length of rope looped around her wrist. Frowning in concentration she tied the rope into an intricate knot and displayed her complicated handiwork to John. “It’s a sailor’s skill I thought might have some entertainment value for those who never venture near the sea.”
“And how did you happen to get into conversation with the ship’s captain?”
“He’s from Crete too, and naturally we got to talking. You’d get along well with him, John, since he’s a former military man like yourself. He’s given to wagering, I discovered. Not surprising, though, is it? As he observed, every sailor wagers his life on winds and tides.”
“True enough,” John replied uneasily. So far as he was concerned the knucklebones were rolled the hour he stepped aboard a ship, and kept rolling with the waves until his boots trod dry land again.
“I placed a wager with him myself. It hinged on whether or not he could extricate himself if I were to tie him up.”
“Using that knot he showed you? Perhaps it’s easily undone despite its elaborate appearance?”
“No. I was to tie him any way I wanted.”
John looked thoughtful. “So you’ve been busy tying up the captain?”
Cornelia laughed. “Indeed! When he mentioned this trick had won him more than a few coins, I thought it would be useful to learn. An incantation or two and the captive is free. It would be most impressive. Magick is always popular.”
John smiled to himself. They had only been at sea a few hours and already Cornelia was making plans. “You’re thinking you can resume your old career, and Peter and I might join you? If only it could be so! And what happened with Nikodemos?”
“Oh, he escaped without any difficulty!” Cornelia clapped her hands and rocked backwards on her precarious perch. “I lost the wager, but it was a small price to pay for learning the trick.”
“He explained how it was done?” John’s mouth went dry as a large swell caused the ship to lurch and Cornelia with it.
“After I told him I wanted to use it for an act to be called the Nikodemos Mystery Escape. He was flattered, you see, when I explained the idea would be he was captured by pirates…”
The deck creaked as the Minotaur lurched abruptly. Cornelia gave a cry and began to topple backwards.
John leapt forward and grabbed her. Suddenly her weight was pressed against him. He staggered backwards, arms around her.
His heart was in his throat. “You almost fell into the sea,” he managed to say.
She smiled up at him. “When you ride bulls you learn how to fall in whatever direction you wish, just as when you travel with a troupe, you learn to make a home wherever you find yourself.”
Chapter Six
Anatolius lit the terra-cotta lamp on the table by the door of John’s study. The flame illuminated what the gathering twilight beyond the diamond-paned windows did not. The room was sparsely furnished. A table, a scattering of three-legged stools, a desk, all guarded by a solemn-eyed little girl John called Zoe, who now glowered at him from her wall mosaic.
“Sorry to barge in when John’s away,” Anatolius said to the mosaic girl. “I suppose I’ll end up talking to you myself if I stay in this house long enough. In fact, as you see, I already am.”
He felt like a snail in a strange shell. He told himself to make a note of the image, then remembered he no longer wrote poetry.
The odor
of burnt verse haunted the air.
Lighting lamps was a task for John’s servants. Unfortunately, Peter had left with his master and Hypatia was assisting at Samsun’s hospice, which was still overwhelmed by plague victims. The only person left in the house besides Anatolius was Europa. She had taken to her room as soon as her mother and Peter had left, according to Hypatia. If she had emerged during the day, Anatolius hadn’t seen her.
He was aware of Zoe staring at him. The shifting firelight brought her glass eyes to life.
“Have you seen her, Zoe?”
“Nooooo…” came the whispered reply.
Anatolius stepped back in a panic.
From behind him came a deep, muffled laugh.
He spun around. His hand went to the blade concealed in his robes. Not that the puny weapon would have been any protection, he immediately realized. The figure filling the doorway held an upraised sword. The intruder had his free hand half buried in a bristling red beard, pressed over his mouth to stifle a laugh.
It was Thomas, who glanced back over his shoulder, trod into the room, and sat down.
Anatolius began to speak.
Thomas shook his head. “Let’s not wake anyone. I’m afraid I’m in desperate trouble, Anatolius.”
“That explains why you couldn’t keep yourself from laughing out loud just now.”
Thomas grimaced. “I couldn’t help it. If you’d seen yourself, gaping at that mosaic like it was a demon come to life. Surely you’ve laughed on the bloody field of battle, even though it’s strewn with the limbs of your dead comrades?”
“Actually, I haven’t,” Anatolius replied. And neither have you, he thought. He didn’t believe Thomas’ endless battlefield stories any more than he believed it when the Briton claimed to be a knight.
“What are you talking about?”
“John. Is he terribly angry at me?”
“He isn’t here.” In a furious undertone, Anatolius related all that had happened in Thomas’ absence. “So John has been exiled,” he concluded, “and Peter and Cornelia followed him. I expect we’ll never see them again.”
Thomas’ face had gone as white as bone and suddenly his big shoulders shook. He drew in a great, sobbing breath, as if to steady himself before speaking.
“For one thing, John didn’t kill the senator,” he said. “I was at the Hippodrome and can swear an oath he’s innocent.”
“You were there?”
“Yes. And no, before you ask, I didn’t murder the senator either.”
“I don’t think you’re a murderer, Thomas. A naive fool, yes.”
“I appreciate your confidence. I’ll knock you down for the insult another day.”
“What happened, Thomas?”
“I had some business at the Hippodrome. When I got there the senator was already dead, or at least it looked to be the case. I was just bending down to be certain when John appeared out of nowhere and pushed me aside. ‘Go’ he said. ‘Run.’ I took his advice and just as he raced off in the other direction, Felix and his excubitors appeared. ”
“Then what?”
“As it was getting dark, I continued on to Isis’ establishment and—”
“You went to work?”
Thomas shifted on his stool. “I had to, didn’t I? I owe Isis money to repay that loan she gave me. And I’m trying to save as much as I can so that Europa and I can—”
“But you left John in the Hippodrome with a corpse and excubitors pouring in! How do you think it must have looked?”
“Well, you can hardly go out the door without stumbling over a dead body right now,” Thomas pointed out. “Besides, John is well thought of by Justinian, so I thought he’d have no difficulty persuading the emperor that neither of us had anything to do with it.”
“If you’d shown your face here after your work was over, you’d have found out a lot sooner that the situation is much graver than you could possibly think. And where have you been all day anyhow?”
“Oh, here and there.”
Anatolius got up and looked out the window. The cobbled square below was deserted. Beyond the barracks at the far edge of the open space, the palace grounds spread out their eclectic collection of administrative buildings, churches, and houses set amid groves, hidden gardens, and ponds. With the coming of night windows here and there glowed like 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.”
“Very sensible of him.”
“I 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.
“This 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?”
“It 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.”
“But 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.
“By 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.
“He isn’t a guard, he’s a friend,” Anatolius said.
Francio looked dubious. “This ruffian?”
“Thomas is a member of John’s household.”
“Truly? 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.”
“Francio, 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
“Faster, 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.
“Hurry, master! L
ook!” 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.
“The Lord’s sun is behind us!” Peter cried, horror written on his face. “Another sun is rising!”
John smiled to himself. Peter’s view of the world was somewhat more apocalyptic than one might expect of an elderly army cook. “That’s the lighthouse in Alexandria.”
Peter stared at him. “We’re nearly there? The waters are treacherous? To think we’ve come all this way, only to run the risk of being drowned!”
“We’ll be safely in the harbor before you know it.”
Peter nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
***
The heavenly sun had fully risen by the time the Minotaur came within sight of the source of its man-made twin. Peter, convinced that his prayers for their salvation from wreck had been answered, chattered excitedly to Cornelia.
“The lighthouse is impressive, mistress, but what could have possessed the builders to give it such a strange shape? A square base beneath that tier with so many sides and a cylindrical tower at the top? It looks like the Tower of Babel!”
“Perhaps the architects got into an argument about what form it should take and to satisfy everyone used all their suggestions? A compromise in stone?”
“I never expected such a sight!” Peter went on. “It may be we’ll see the pyramids as well.” He shaded his eyes and peered upwards. “There’s a statue on the lighthouse roof! Whose could it be? How do they get fuel all the way up there? It must take a great deal to keep a fire going every night.”
The nearer they drew to the harbor the faster flowed Peter’s words. “I wonder if the people looking after the fire ever cook their supper on it? The master says there’s an enormous bronze mirror reflects the firelight out to sea.”
Cornelia laughed, then a cloud seemed to pass over her features, and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them they glistened. She did not tell Peter his endless stream of questions reminded her of Europa when her daughter had been a child.