by Mary Reed
“No. I won’t be back, sir.”
Anatolius stood. “Have I offended you in some way?” He wondered if he’d been too familiar with the pretty servant. “If I’ve said anything, inadvertently…”
“No, sir. With the master and mistress gone and Peter and Thomas as well, there’s no place here for me.”
“That’s not true. I’m not your employer, but surely you’d prefer to stay here until John returns?”
“It’s best I leave.”
“You aren’t part of the furnishings, I realize that, but still—”
“There are many who might think I am part of the furnishings and can be used like them, even though I am a free woman.”
“You heard what Hektor was telling me, didn’t you? Are you afraid Hektor will get the house and turn us all out?”
Hypatia looked at the floor. She made no reply.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let it happen. You don’t need to fear Hektor. He holds no animosity towards you. It’s John he hates.”
“Mistress Europa told me the same thing, sir, but I don’t see—”
“Hektor serves Theodora. She loathes John because he has Justinian’s ear and his advice to the emperor often destroys the webs she spins. Naturally, Theodora’s creature would take it on himself to hate John on her behalf.”
“I believe it is also because the Lord Chamberlain owns a house, sir.”
Anatolius asked her what she meant.
“When I worked in the palace gardens I got to know several court pages,” she replied. “They were always trampling the flower beds and uprooting bushes or destroying plantings. It may be they behaved that way because their own lives are so precarious. Once they’re too old to serve as ornaments they’re turned out on the street to fend for themselves, and most of them will never have a home again.”
“That’s true, Hypatia. I never thought of it that way.”
Hypatia dabbed at a tear. “I must go now, sir.”
“What will you do? You’re not leaving the city, are you?”
“I’m staying with a friend. I’m hoping I can get my old job back. The palace gardens are as large as ever, but there aren’t nearly as many hands to tend them.”
Anatolius made a last appeal. “How will Europa and I manage without you?”
“She has already given permission for me to leave, sir,” was the dignified reply.
“At least let me give you a few coins.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need, sir. Mistress Europa has paid me my wages. However, I have something I hope you will accept.”
Hypatia reached into her basket and pulled out a strange creature crudely formed of clay. She set it down beside the doorway. Anatolius saw it had pincers on its front legs and a long, curved, and pointed tail.
“I’ve left others around the house. In Egypt they’re much favored for warding off evil.”
Just what I need for protection, Anatolius thought. Clay scorpions.
Chapter Twenty-one
“This morning I went to clean my master’s boots and there was a scorpion on one of them!”
Peter surveyed the lush greenery of Melios’ estate as he addressed the owner’s head gardener. “I’ve got it trapped in a empty jar for now. It’s fortunate I was a military man. When we were in camp, we soon got used to checking our boots before putting them on.”
The man he addressed, who had introduced himself as Hapymen, bent to pinch a large spike of white flowers rising from what appeared to be an oversized onion. He wore nothing but a skirt of unbleached cloth that fell halfway to his knees. His sunken chest displayed every rib, while sunlight gleamed on the smoothly shaven dome of his skull.
“Very wise of you, Peter. Don’t forget to shake your clothing vigorously as well.”
He hadn’t done so, Peter recalled in alarm. Immediately his garments were infested with crawling scorpions. He could feel their stingers tickling his sides.
No, he realized with relief, that was only sweat.
“Is it true what the gossips say about Melios’ unfortunate sheep, Hapymen?”
“It is. The master donated the dead animal to the pilgrim camp. Being a cautious man, he refused to serve it to the household in case it had also been poisoned. Happily all those who partook of it survived!”
Hapymen spoke with a thick Coptic accent. When they first met, Peter had thought there was something strange about the man’s eyes. They held a look of perpetual surprise. Now, he realized, there was nothing unusual about them. Hapymen’s eyebrows had been shaved off along with his hair, giving him a startled look.
“Could you tell me where I might buy vegetables in Mehenopolis?” Peter asked. “I’ve wasted half the morning searching the market. There was nothing suitable to be had.”
“There’s no need to do that, Peter. If his guests do not dine with him, Melios doesn’t expect them to purchase food, not with a flourishing garden on the estate. Besides which, the very idea would be an insult to his hospitality. No, indeed, he would be very upset to hear of such a thing. Feel free to take whatever you need, but stay away from the beehives. If you disturb the beekeeper’s precious bees you’ll find Apollo has a nasty sting.”
“Do you think he would part with any honey?”
“Yes, he will. You know, his bees seem never to sting him. It’s remarkable. And since we’re on the subject, I would advise you not to mention mutton within Melios’ hearing.”
“Of course. I can see he would not care to be reminded of the, er, incident. Don’t worry, Hapymen. Servants soon learn to practice discretion at the Great Palace.”
He paused. “One more thing. At the market I heard there’s a fellow here who calls himself a magician, and he and Melios are involved in some sort of dispute. I suppose I shouldn’t mention him either?”
“That would be best, Peter. I don’t know why Melios and Dedi cannot get along. It would make things so much easier for everyone. As it is, we all have to tiptoe around them as if they were a couple of sleeping crocodiles. Yet look at me. I serve these same two masters. Do I not look as calm and serene as a sleeping cat?”
A remarkably skinny cat and one with no fur, Peter thought, but simply nodded agreement. “I have seen your fine handiwork here. What tasks do you perform for Dedi?”
“I help with his magickal performances from time to time. I’m also his cook, which goes hand in hand with gardening, does it not?”
“That’s true.” Peter wistfully recalled Hypatia, whose plantings in the Lord Chamberlain’s garden provided a constant supply of excellent herbs for his kitchen and who furthermore was Egyptian-born.
“Mehenopolis is fortunate, Peter. There’s plenty of money to be made from the pilgrims,” Hapymen was saying. “For many of us, the extra income we earn from supplying them carries us through leaner times, such as when the tax assessor comes calling. Which unfortunately happens every year, as regularly as the Nile rises.”
“I hope you don’t take undue advantage of your visitors!”
His companion grinned. “Many in the cities charge a great deal more than we do for food and shelter and other necessaries. My real trade is as a potter and I have done well selling pilgrim flasks. They’re a fine memento of anyone’s visit.”
“I saw some in Alexandria,” Peter remarked, “but there weren’t any to be seen in the market this morning.”
“I’ll bring you one tomorrow as a small gift I hope you will honor me by accepting. My work makes up in piety what it lacks in beauty, as I would be the first to admit! However, I fear my loyalties are divided this afternoon. I must be off now to Dedi’s kitchen.”
Peter accompanied Hapymen along the path leading toward the main gate of the estate. His companion gestured at the vegetable beds between which they were passing. “If you see anything you need, don’t forget you may help yourself.”
Peter stopped to examine a thick planting of what he guessed was a type of lettuce, although the t
ightly wrapped leaves formed tall spikes. He reached between two to uproot a choice specimen and his hand encountered something hard.
Stooping, he looked closer.
Staring up from the lettuce was a bearded man no taller than Peter’s knees, clothed in mummy-like wrappings and painted black. The effigy’s hands were below his waist, holding the base of the enormous protuberance Peter had grasped.
Peter released his grip with a cry of disgust.
Hapymen laughed. “That’s just a statue of Min. He’s our ancient god of fertility, as you can clearly see. He’s standing among the lettuce because it can inflame the passions, if such aid is needed. I doubt your master wants anything like that, though, since I’ve caught a glimpse or two of his wife!”
***
John drew his hand back from a pale thigh.
When there was no response from inside the dwelling, he rapped at the peculiar door frame again.
It was constructed from pieces of broken statuary. A knee served as a corner while an irregularity along one side turned out to be the curve of a back.
Dedi’s house stood at the base of the Rock of the Snake, at the end of a path twisting through a grove of palm trees. The long, uneven structure poking out of the rubble at the bottom of the outcropping was a weird agglomeration of rock, mud brick, and pieces of sculpted marble.
Dedi finally materialized out of the dim interior. The magician was unnaturally short, not much taller than one of Theodora’s dancing dwarves. Bristles, rather than a proper beard, covered his sallow jaw. He had a mouth like a carp, filled with teeth which protruded from his gums at every conceivable angle.
“Lord Chamberlain! I was expecting you to call! I’ve set out refreshments, if you would care to step inside?”
John smiled, unimpressed by the magician’s pretended prescience. He couldn’t place the man’s accent. Persian, or some Arabic tongue, possibly an obscure African tribal dialect, or just the result of the crooked teeth.
“Don’t think I’m a prophet, excellency,” Dedi said, vanishing back inside. “The whole oasis is abuzz with news of your arrival. Flies on a dung heap are as nothing compared to it!”
John had to bend to avoid the shapely calf forming the lintel. It was cool inside. Breezes wandered in through open windows, stirring air redolent with the delicate scents of dried herbs and the more piquant odors of onions and garlic. The interior proceeded back, the front room opening directly into another and that, so far as John could tell, into yet another.
Dedi offered John a stool and presented him with wine and a plate of dates before pouring himself a libation.
“I am supposing you wish to talk to me about my work here, excellency?”
Clothed in a dusty brown robe, Dedi did not give the impression of being a wonder worker. He looked as if he would be at home behind a plow.
“I wish to complete my inquiries as soon as I can.”
Dedi beamed. “Then I shall be brief and try not to waste too much of your time. I can guess what it is you wish to talk about, for you have no doubt heard of my magickal powers?”
“I’m told you’ve made such claims.”
Dedi looked disappointed. “Claims? Excellency, please let me speak plainly. Although I do my little performances purely for entertainment, it does not mean they are nothing more than tricks or illusions.”
“Aren’t you treading on dangerous ground? Magicians tend to be frowned on by the authorities.”
“Do you mean because I might be seen as irreligious? I believe magick is the best argument for the reality of miracles. If I can work magick then why not a relic of the church? Miraculous cures connected with them are not unknown. And as far as oracles go, there has always been one in Mehenopolis. I didn’t carry it here on my back! If we respect the Delphic oracle without condemning those who visit and study it, why should the same forbearance not be extended to the oracle of Mehen?”
“All very reasonable, Dedi, except that officials are often not logicians. You must be aware of your personal danger if the authorities misunderstand your performances. However, I have not been sent to remonstrate with you over that. My interest is in the matter of Melios’ sheep. He seems to think you had something to do with its strange demise.”
Dedi chewed thoughtfully on a date plucked from the pottery plate. “I’m flattered that news of my magick has reached such exalted ears, the more so as Melios insists on denying its power.”
His face darkened in anger. “In confidence, excellency, the headman has been trying to claim ownership of Tpetra Mphof, the shrine, and its maze for years. We’ve had endless arguments about who owns the property. My land stretches around most of the base of the outcropping, and Melios inherited the remaining plot. That’s where the pilgrims’ camp is located. He charges them shameful fees for the privilege of staying there.”
“The demands of commerce often clash with sentiment, religious or otherwise.”
“I fear so, but after being waylaid and beaten within an inch of my life more than once, but unable to prove who had ordered it—although I know full well it was Melios—I have been forced to take matters into my own hands. No doubt you are already aware of this, so I will not deny it. I told Melios if he did not immediately stop his attempts to intimidate me and take my land I would be forced to show what I could do in retaliation. He laughed in my face!”
Dedi’s tone grew more indignant and his mouth worked like that of a fish thrown up on shore. “I informed him it was unwise to force me to demonstrate my magickal powers. He said he did not believe in them, that it was all pap for the ignorant, and challenged me to prove otherwise. I proceeded to do exactly that.”
“You’re claiming that Melios’ sheep didn’t kill itself. You’re admitting it was you who killed it? By magick?”
Dedi nodded and popped another date into his mouth.
John stared at the magician. He had journeyed halfway across the civilized world to find…what?
A murderer who confessed to a crime that was an impossibility.
Chapter Twenty-two
On his way to John’s storeroom, Anatolius decided to explore the house further.
There had never been any need for him to venture beyond the study, garden, or kitchen, since Peter had always been close at hand, ready to fetch wine or provide a meal for John’s few guests.
Besides which, he was bored. The baker’s unfinished will, still waiting on the desk in the study, only added to the attraction of a walk around the house.
He was surprised to discover that a corridor, beyond a doorway at the far corner of the garden peristyle, led to a series of deserted and nearly empty rooms. Dim light filtered in from the garden. The floors were covered in veils of dust which showed the passage of small creatures, while Anatolius’ boots left larger tracks of bright mosaic.
One room held a number of wooden boxes. Upon investigation he found they were filled with scrolls. Lifting a tag attached to one, he saw it was a ledger belonging to the tax collector who had owned the house before John, but who, having fallen from imperial favor, had subsequently lost his head.
The scrolls should be in possession of the imperial treasury, Anatolius thought.
There was a rumble. At first he mistook it for the sound of a cart passing by. When it came again he recognized thunder. The dim light was fading.
There was another sound. A scraping.
A startled mouse scuttling away?
Anatolius looked through the archway to the next room and saw movement in the gathering shadows.
A pale shape.
He stepped through the archway warily.
The other gave a low, startled cry.
“Europa!”
The young woman’s plain white robes hung loosely. Anatolius could make out the points of her shoulders. Her face was gaunt.
“I’m sorry if I surprised you, Europa,” Anatolius said. “I thought I’d do a little exploring.”
“
I was looking around myself. Why does father own such a large place when he spends all his time in the kitchen or the study?”
She was right, Anatolius realized; John was usually either beside his brazier, like a peasant farmer, or reading and communing with Zoe in his study like a philosopher.
“The Lord Chamberlain is required to have a large house,” he said.
“Is that one of Justinian’s laws?”
“Well, no, I was jesting.”
“I hear you’ve taken up the law.”
“Yes, I am no longer the feckless poet who showed you around the city so many years ago.”
“I had forgotten that.” Her tone was suddenly icy.
Still, thought Anatolius, her delicate features were perfection and her eyes dark pools.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t express myself well, Europa. I didn’t mean…that is, I realize you’re a married woman, and, well, I admit I was attracted when we first met…”
The sudden clatter of torrential rain overhead broke the ensuing silence.
Europa sighed. “I spoke too sharply. I was thinking about Thomas, and worrying about my parents.”
“I understand. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here now that Hypatia’s gone. I seem to be making everyone uncomfortable these days.”
She gave him an appraising look. “I’d like to show you something I discovered.”
She led him to the end of the corridor, and opened the door there. “Look at this!”
Anatolius found himself staring into a luxurious bath. It was obvious it had not been used for years.
Rain poured through a circular opening in the domed ceiling, dimpling the leaf-strewn greenish water of the round marble pool which occupied most of the room. A voluptuous and much larger than life statue of Aphrodite stood beside the bath. She leaned forward, one knee bent, to gaze into an oval marble mirror which the sculptor had thoughtfully made horizontal, providing a useful shelf for perfume bottles or cups of wine.
During all the time Anatolius had known him, John had patronized the Baths of Zeuxippos. Many preferred the camaraderie of the baths, but for John it meant not company but exposing to the public the wounds about which he never spoke. The more Anatolius learnt of his friend the less he seemed to know him.