Six for Gold

by Mary Reed

  Doubtless inspired by thoughts of cooking suppers, Peter was now prattling about finding fish for their evening meal.

  Cornelia watched the shore advance towards them.

  It had changed little since she first visited Egypt, and how many years ago had that been? Flat, unbroken, and mostly featureless, the demarcation between land and water was obscured in a roiling heat haze. A few obelisks poked up from among nondescript rooftops. The obelisks appeared to bend and twist in the heat, as if they were being melted.

  As the Minotaur slid past the lighthouse, between the breakwaters, and into the harbor, Cornelia wondered whether she were dreaming. The bright, wavering scene reminded her of a reflection on water. If she put her hand out, it would all dissolve in ripples and she would wake.

  She directed her gaze toward the crystal-clear waters of the harbor. A lion with the head of a man swam through the depths and vanished under the hull. Then she was looking down on a street lined with pink granite columns. There were monuments too. She drifted above the city like a bird. She let out a gasp of astonishment.

  A startled Peter cut short his ramblings on the possibility of finding nets to catch fresh fish. “Mistress? Are you ill? It’s this dreadful heat! Should you not sit down?”

  The servant’s voice brought her back to reality. She remembered the sunken grounds of the ancient palace, the result of the endless series of earthquakes Alexandria had suffered. She pointed this new, exotic sight out to Peter, who was almost as delighted as he had been by the lighthouse.

  Within the hour, the crew was tying the Minotaur to a dock swarming with raucous humanity. Even then, Cornelia could not quite banish the feeling of unreality, that she had one foot in the present and the other in the past.

  ***

  While the ship was being secured John was accosted by Nikodemos. The ship’s captain was a powerfully built man with skin sunburnt so dark he resembled a bronze bust of an emperor.

  “Lord Chamberlain, my instructions were to transport you to Alexandria and so my business is now complete.” He gave a slight bow. “Let me add that I’ve never before carried a passenger by command of the emperor. It has been an honor.”

  “The emperor is not one to waste time when important matters are concerned.”

  “True, sir.” Nikodemos regarded John with a keen gaze and abruptly changed the subject. “You’ll find this is a fascinating country. The old ways linger and not just in heathen outposts. I’ve heard there are still many in Egypt who worship the sun god of old. Some have said to me that such heretics deserve nothing more than immediate execution and being left out in the open so ravens can dine on their eyes.”

  John was silent.

  “Such vengeful talk must make the patriarch and his bishops become heaven’s runners,” Nikodemos pressed on, “racing to their churches to pray for the souls of both sinner and sinned against.”

  John noted the slight emphasis Nikodemos had placed on certain words.

  Sun god. Raven. Heaven’s runners.

  All of them connected with his own god, Mithra, the Lord of Light whose cult was popular with military men and former military men such as John.

  Cornelia had mentioned Captain Nikodemos was also one such.

  “I wouldn’t want to be a runner in this sun,” John replied. “Rather I’d seek shelter underground.”

  Nikodemos looked relieved. “It’s true then. You are a follower too.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I overheard the big bear of an excubitor who escorted you on board mention Mithra.”

  Someone called the captain’s name.

  Nikodemos grunted. “Must be trouble or else they wouldn’t be looking for me.”

  “Perhaps they need you to knot the ropes.”

  Nikodemos allowed himself a slight smile. “I’m sorry we can’t talk longer. I ask no questions, you understand, but in any event I’ve given back your servant his fare and that of your wife.”

  “There was no—”

  “Since they were required to pay their own way, I suspect you’ll need the coins. Don’t worry, if I see you again you can repay me. Just ask anyone at the docks for Nikodemos. I’m well known here. And please, give my best regards to your charming and talented wife.”

  He turned and started toward the bow, then paused. “You will find Mithra is no further from you in this land than He is in Constantinople.”

  John smiled wanly. If only that were true of his friends and family as well.

  Chapter Eight

  “No, the emperor has not answered my request for an audience,” Anatolius told Hypatia. A week had passed since John’s departure, and Anatolius had begun to think he might as well have been sent off to Egypt himself. “I’ve become remarkably unwelcome at the palace.”

  Hypatia had placed his frugal breakfast on the scarred wooden table in John’s kitchen. Now she lingered near the brazier as if awaiting further orders, but really, Anatolius thought, to press him about his efforts on John’s behalf.

  He took a bite of his bread. It was stale. The cheese would not be much better. He ate the same thing every day. John’s storerooms contained little else except the horrid Egyptian wine the Lord Chamberlain favored.

  Hypatia spent her time tending to the sick in the hospice rather than visiting the markets Peter had frequented. Anatolius did not feel he had the authority to order her to do otherwise, even if the markets were still being held in the city. He wasn’t her employer. He was uncomfortably aware he was merely a guest in the house—and an uninvited guest at that.

  He wondered what sort of elaborate repasts Thomas was enjoying now he had arranged to stay temporarily with Francio.

  “Couldn’t you by any chance try to see Justinian again?” Hypatia persisted. “You’ve been his secretary for years. He knows you well, sir. Surely he would agree to give you an audience?”

  “Justinian can be very congenial, Hypatia, but imagining that confers privileges can be a fatal mistake. After a request is refused, the wise man waits a while to make it again.”

  “What about Captain Felix?” Hypatia’s jaw clenched, accentuating sculpted cheekbones in a tawny face framed by hair the color of a raven’s wing. “Surely there must be someone who can help.”

  Anatolius sighed inwardly. Few things cut him as deeply as the disapproval of an attractive woman. “Felix agreed to look into the senator’s murder when I asked him to give a hand, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

  Hypatia pursed her lips in annoyance. “I could make a charm, sir, one that will make the emperor agree to talk to you. Something of the sort used attract the beloved, but not exactly the same. A slightly different combination of herbs.”

  Anatolius smiled. “Hypatia, how can I persuade Justinian to drink a potion? And if I’m supposed to imbibe it, well, I don’t think I’d care to have the emperor pining for me. Especially considering he’s married to Theodora.”

  Hypatia filled Anatolius’ wine cup and set the jug back down on the table with a loud thump, her thoughts plainly written on her face.

  Anatolius resolved to caution John about treating his servants with too much familiarity, if indeed he ever saw John again.

  “Have you seen Europa this morning?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “She intends to remain in her room, sir, as she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “You’d think I was the one who’d sent them all away!” Anatolius blurted in exasperation.

  Anatolius had glimpsed Europa only once since his arrival. She had been walking at the far end of the garden, silent as a shade, finally to vanish into the far side of the building.

  “I see.” He tore another chunk from his bread, chewed, and swallowed.

  Thomas, he thought. Though it seemed everyone else did not wish to talk to him, Thomas would surely be happy to do so.

  ***

  Francio’s servant refilled Anatolius’ cup.

  “You�
��d think the Lord Chamberlain didn’t keep a single jug of wine in his house, the way you’re putting that down,” Francio observed. “Feel free to have as much as you like. Perhaps it will bring you back to your senses, inspire your muse, and banish these gloomy legal pretenses.”

  Francio, Anatolius, and Thomas sat at one end of the polished marble table in Francio’s dining room. The garden beyond seemed to extend inside through opened doors onto walls lushly decorated with coiling vines, exotic flowers, fruits, beasts, and birds, some recognizable—bears, swans, peacocks—and others whose native land lay only in the artist’s imagination. They could never grace Francio’s plate.

  Their riot of colors was repeated in Francio’s short, blue dalmatic with green trim over a long yellow tunic, the ensemble set off by green boots.

  Anatolius took another gulp. “I’m trying to wash away the taste of John’s fine stock.”

  Francio laughed. “I’d forgotten. A lover of wine might say your friend is as abstemious as Justinian. The poor stuff John prefers for his cup isn’t worth drinking.”

  “The wines of my native land are far superior,” put in Thomas.

  “I didn’t know there were vineyards in Bretania,” said Francio with interest.

  Thomas looked askance. “You haven’t heard of them? I am amazed their fame has not traveled this far!”

  “What splendid tales this fellow tells,” Francio remarked to Anatolius. “A veritable rustic Homer! I’m considering abandoning Trimalchio’s feast for a banquet based on the sort of meals eaten in this court Thomas has described to me.”

  He frowned. “We shouldn’t be so jovial, considering the Lord Chamberlain’s predicament,” he went on. “However, as things stand the further away from Constantinople he is, the less danger he’s in, except perhaps for running the risk of dying of boredom so far from beauty and culture.”

  Servants padded in and out the room so quietly and inconspicuously that the bowls they brought might have appeared before the diners by magick.

  To Anatolius the salad seemed bitter. Its greens bore a suspicious resemblance to the broad-leafed weeds that proliferated in the neglected gardens near the palace administrative offices. He didn’t know their names. No doubt Hypatia could identify them immediately. Perhaps he would ask her.

  Francio announced the main course. “I’d hoped to serve lobster, but my supplier ran afoul of the authorities. Instead, we have a special treat. It’s what I call Harbor Chicken in Poseidon’s Special Sauce.”

  He signaled to an attendant, who removed the salad and set heaped plates before the diners.

  Anatolius contemplated his meal. It resembled a coin pouch swimming in pungent sauce.

  “It’s boiled gull,” he accused.

  “Well, if you must be so crude…” Francio was hurt. “Do you know how hard it is to keep a respectable table these days?”

  Indeed it was, Anatolius thought, when a self-confessed epicure offered his guests noxious weeds and seabirds drowned in garum sauce.

  Thomas attacked the repast with gusto.

  “You and Thomas appear to be getting along well,” Anatolius ventured.

  “I feel fortunate to have him as a guest. He’s already given me several banquets’ worth of excellent anecdotes. You know how it is at court, a good story can be more valuable than gold. My servant Vedrix is getting jealous.” Francio inclined his head toward the young wine server stationed at the door and added in a whisper, “He thinks Thomas is competing with him for my affections.”

  Anatolius glanced at the servant. He was a dark, sturdy, sullen fellow outfitted in classical style, resembling a young man who had stepped out from the painting on an ancient Greek vase.

  Thomas dropped his heavy silver knife and wiped his rust-colored beard with the back of his hand.

  Anatolius decided it was time to question Thomas again. “Could we speak in confidence? Could Vedrix leave the room?”

  Francio instructed the man to do so and then turned to Anatolius. “My servants are very discreet, but I always humor my guests. Well-known for it, in fact. What did you want to discuss?”

  “Thomas has of course explained why he requested temporary lodgings with you?”

  “Oh, yes, and it’s all very exciting! However, he hasn’t revealed how it came to be that he found himself in the Hippodrome at that particular time.”

  “That’s what I’d like you to clarify, Thomas.”

  “It’s as I told you a few days ago, Anatolius. I heard about an employment opportunity while I was guarding Isis’ door.”

  Fidgeting like an impatient child, Thomas recounted how he had overheard a loose-tongued servant bragging to one of the girls at Isis’ establishment about his master’s plans to surreptitiously obtain a fabulous relic that would astound the city.

  “I’ve never heard such braggarts as I’ve heard in that place,” Thomas concluded.

  “Who was this servant?” asked Anatolius.

  “Isis won’t allow the names of any of her guests to be bandied about. He was a young man, but completely bald. He and Antonina were standing in the corridor and she kept rubbing his head. For good luck, or so she said,” Thomas sniggered.

  “You doubtless hear a lot of fascinating stories at your work. It must be like having a vast library of human experience at your fingertips.” Francio sounded wistful.

  Thomas nodded. “Standing by the door all night, unless a brawl breaks out there’s not much to do but listen. My ears pricked up when I heard mention of a relic. As I’ve told you, I’m somewhat of an expert there.”

  At Anatolius’ prodding, and despite numerous interruptions from Francio, Thomas recounted how Antonina had finally been persuaded, although still refusing to provide a name, to identify her customer as belonging to Senator Symacchus’ household. Thus had Thomas found his way to the senator’s door.

  Anatolius saw clearly what had subsequently happened. “So in short, you offered to sell the senator your services in obtaining this relic, not to mention keeping your mouth shut about it afterwards? From the senator’s viewpoint, it was as much a threat as an offer!”

  Thomas scowled. “I thought it was a very reasonable one, and so did the senator. However, as I said, he was cautious. That’s why I was given a certain little item I showed you a few days ago.”

  “Take his word for it, Anatolius,” said Francio. “The man’s memory is perfect. He can describe to you every bit of armor worn by every foe he’s killed.”

  “And probably each man’s eye color as well. It’s time I returned to John’s house. Francio, are you taking all the precautions I advised?”

  “I think I can see my house is properly guarded.”

  “Thomas, keep trying to remember anything that might be useful. If you recall something, Francio will get word to me. You must remain hidden for now.”

  “How is Europa?” Thomas asked.

  “Well enough.” Anatolius didn’t mention he had not spoken to her. He turned to Francio. “Thanks for your assistance. I count it a great favor.”

  Francio spooned the remaining sauce off his plate. “As Publilius Syrus put it,” he replied with a grin, “treat friends as if they may one day be enemies.”

  Anatolius looked surprised.

  “Not you. It’s what’s on my spoon.” Francio flourished the silver utensil. “I commissioned a set of them, to be decorated with various quotations. It’s to stimulate dinner conversation, should it lag.”

  “Are they all taken from Publilius Syrus?” Anatolius wondered.

  “Yes. Originally I engaged a court poet for the job. One Crinagoras. Do you know him? Unfortunately, to accommodate the length of his verse my guests would have been forced to eat with spears.”

  Anatolius chuckled. “Thank you again, my friend.” He picked up his own spoon and read its lettering. “I am advised that accepting favors sells my freedom. It’s all very puzzling. I suppose I should try to talk to Felix next. I feel quite l
ost.”

  Chapter Nine

  Peter trudged through the network of alleyways behind the harbor in Alexandria, clutching his satchel to his chest. He had crept out of the hostelry before dawn. Now the sun beat down on his uncovered head. The sparse gray hair covering his scalp felt hot to the touch. The master and mistress would have missed him hours ago, though he had planned to accomplish his mission before they realized he was gone. Now, no doubt, they would be worrying about him.

  Peter had not loosened his protective grip on his satchel all morning. The bag contained silks he had packed before their hasty departure. There had been no time to prepare properly for the journey, but silks could be folded small, were light, and, being of great value, were easily converted to coins. It had been kind of Nikodemos to return the boat fare, but judging from the cost of their first night’s lodgings in Alexandria, the sum regained would not be nearly enough to cover their needs.

  Unfortunately, he had not been able to find any establishments dealing in fine fabrics. Perhaps that was not surprising so close to the docks. Nonetheless he was amazed he had not, at least, run across a brothel whose employees and patrons might be interested in his wares. Or so he supposed. Now elderly as well as devout, Peter’s experience of brothels and their inhabitants was some years behind him.

  Aside, that is, from infrequent exchanges with John’s old friend Madam Isis, who occasionally visited John to chat about former times. She, like John, had once lived in Alexandria, or so she claimed. Surely Isis would know where to find a brothel in this city even after being away from it so many years?

  She might have lived near the docks, he thought, might even have purchased items from the now old men he saw everywhere, squatting beside their merchandise.

  Their stock in trade was mainly edible, even if barely so in some cases—sticky dates and figs encrusted with dust, pungent onions marred by an occasional rotten patch, cucumbers displaying small fuzzy patches of gray mold, and cabbages wilting from the heat.