Six for Gold

by Mary Reed

  “He can’t see me? Trying to avoid me, you mean! Get out of my way, woman! I’m his client!”

  The man shoved Europa aside and entered the house. He was a burly fellow dressed in a short tunic and leather breeches.

  It was Little Nero.

  Europa stared in obvious bemusement as Anatolius made appropriate introductions.

  “Now are you satisfied?” the baker asked her, then turned towards Anatolius. “I’ll wager you’ve got your hands full with this one!”

  “I’ve almost finished drafting your will,” Anatolius told him. “The last page needs to be recopied.”

  “So you claim,” growled Little Nero. “Don’t think I’m going to pay you extra for that either. There’s changes to be made anyhow, so you can tear it up and start over. That’s why I’m here. Don’t gawk at me like that! You’re happy to have the work and we both know it!”

  “Changes? Why?”

  “It’s that other viperous son of mine, Situs. I thought he’d learn his lesson when I cut Titus out of my will. I made certain they both knew too, but no! It didn’t do a bit of good. They still expect me to pay all their bills, and complain when I refuse. I swear my sons are nothing but buboes on my long-suffering backside!”

  “If you’ll tell me what amendments you wish to make—”

  “Time’s money! There’s nothing to discuss. Disinherit Situs!”

  “Yes, of course. Now, when you disinherited Titus the reason you gave was that he’d insulted you by reciting a certain poem at the baths.”

  “And what was more insulting, his mockery of me or the fact my son calls himself a poet?”

  “And Situs has affronted you as well?”

  “Exactly! I put him in charge of my largest bakery and the way he’s run it into the ground has been an insult.”

  “I’m not certain that is what the law has in mind when it refers to insulting behavior. As I explained, you can only entirely disinherit a natural heir if you have good cause. As it happens, the emperor promulgated a new constitution explicitly setting forth what cases of ingratitude can reasonably be stated by parents against their children. They include—”

  Little Nero clenched his fists. “Why do lawyers always want to tell you how it works? Does the butcher describe how he cut the cow’s throat? If I visit a whore do I want to hear what sort of pessary she’s using? Of course not! I’m not paying you to tell me about the law, you fool! I’m paying you to do what I tell you to do!”

  “Yes, yes, so long as it is within legal boundaries. Let’s see. Has Situs laid violent hands on you?”

  “In my opinion what he’s done with my bakery is a slap in my face.”

  Anatolius looked dubious and began to run through permissible reasons for disinheritance.

  “Does he habitually associate with criminals, or has he brought criminal accusations against you? I doubt he’s made any attempt on your life?”

  “There, you have it! The perfect reason! The way he’s running the business is killing me!”

  “That would be difficult to prove, I fear. On the other hand, if he’s informed against you or prevented you from making a will…What about this? Does he keep company with actors and buffoons?”

  “No!” bellowed the baker. “I’m the fool who associates with buffoons. Or one buffoon at least. You! I’m not going to stand here pissing away nomismata. If you want your fee paid, then cut Situs out of the will.” He turned on his heel and opened the house door.

  “Where are you going?” Anatolius called after him.

  “I’m off to see Situs. I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him until he lays violent hands on me!”

  Europa slammed the door shut.

  “Don’t worry,” Anatolius told her. “He’ll probably change his mind before I can think of a legal way to disinherit Situs.”

  Europa suppressed a giggle. “What an excitable man! Are all your clients like that?”

  “No, thank Mithra! Don’t worry about it. I’m keeping this old will handy, since going by past experience he’ll change his mind before I get a new one half-written. You’ll see!”

  “I should think you’d have more sympathy for poor Situs, as if he hasn’t suffered enough having Little Nero for a father, and now he’s about to be disinherited.”

  Anatolius smiled. “His paternity is its own punishment, eh?”

  Europa couldn’t stop herself from giggling. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at the son’s predicament, Anatolius, it’s just, well, I didn’t like to ask before, but what have you done to your hair?”

  Anatolius’ hand went to his bare scalp. “I had to shave it off for a difficult task to be undertaken.”

  “Those adorable curly locks.” Europa turned the corners of her mouth down in exaggerated sorrow. “What a shame!”

  “They’ll grow back. I hope.”

  “What sort of a task requires a bald head? Does it have something to do with that ridiculous peacock costume?”

  “Francio wouldn’t appreciate you disparaging his taste in sartorial elegance, Europa.”

  Anatolius wondered how Francio was recovering from his encounter with the bowl of eel soup, and from there his thoughts turned to the intruders.

  Rather than the baker, it could have been the same pair at John’s door, calling to look for Anatolius.

  They wouldn’t have wasted time arguing.

  He realized what he had to do. “Europa, there’s something I must tell you.”

  ***

  Europa sat at the kitchen table and listened, as stony-faced as an unsympathetic magistrate, while Anatolius told her everything he knew about her husband’s predicament, John’s trip to Egypt, and his own efforts to solve Senator Symacchus’ murder.

  “In short, Thomas lied to me.”

  “No, Europa. He expected he’d be meeting a man with further instructions at the Hippodrome and then he’d be traveling for a while, just as he told you. Something to do with a relic, he said.” Anatolius took a gulp of wine. He had already consumed a greater quantity than was wise. Raw as it was, for once it seemed palatable. “He was just pretending to know more than he did in order to get the job.”

  “According to what Bishop Crispin told you, Thomas threatened these people, whoever they are. He must have hinted that he knew enough to cause trouble if he weren’t hired. Sometimes I think—” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  Uncertain what to say or do, Anatolius got up and looked out the kitchen window. Constantinople was not a large city. The murderer of the senator, the people with whom Symacchus had been involved, the answers to their questions, all quite possibly lay within sight. Yet despite its limited area, the capital was also a maze, not just of brick and marble, but of conflicting motives, ambitions, and lies.

  “Be careful, Europa. From now on, if I’m not here, don’t open the door unless you’re certain it’s me on the other side.”

  Europa peered into her cup. “I understand about your disguise now, Anatolius. You can’t be sure if the bishop glimpsed you around the palace, and you certainly don’t want him to be able to give a reasonably close description of his mysterious visitor to anyone, but did you think how recognizable those peacocks are?”

  “I know, I know. I won’t be able to wear them in public, or go out with my head uncovered until my hair grows back.”

  “What I meant is what if Francio decides to wear those clothes again?”

  “I never thought of that! I’ll warn Francio when I return them.”

  “It’s all become very complicated.”

  “Yes, I’ve been out of humor trying to piece it together. So far I’ve got a murdered senator, this relic Thomas hinted about, and now it seems Hektor is involved.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Anatolius explained his discovery that Hektor had worked briefly for Symacchus and, it appeared, had been with the men who visited the senator’s house on the night Symacchus had died
and his servant Achilles had disappeared.

  He drained his cup. The wine was having its usual effect, which was to say as one cup followed another his understanding of the problem at hand became clearer and clearer and then, just as he was about to grasp the very essence, the precise explanation, just as he glimpsed it slipping around the next corner, a heavy, soporific fog rolled in.

  “It sounds to me as if you’ve managed to make a good start on solving practically everything,” Europa said.

  “Practically everything is still nothing.”

  Europa began to giggle again. “I’m sorry, Anatolius, but I can’t help it. Without your hair you look just like a poor shorn lamb.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Cornelia pulled off her tunic and hung it on a peg. The bath was little more than a roofless cubicle with a slab of limestone in one corner. Slabs of the red sandstone that showed up all over the oasis protected plastered walls to waist height.

  It wasn’t much better than bathing in the Nile, Cornelia thought, but at least she didn’t have to share it with passing crocodiles. The only wildlife visible inhabited eroded hieroglyphs in the sandstone—a flock of geese, a falcon, a snake or two. She bent to examine the opening where water drained outside. No scorpions lurked there.

  She stepped up onto the slab, lifted the large jug she carried, and let water trickle down over her shoulders. The limestone felt hot against her soles, the water tepid.

  There was no way to escape the heat. At least the water sluiced away the sand that accumulated on her skin, finding its way to the corners of her eyes and the back of her neck. She could feel the fine grit when she ran a hand along her arm.

  When the jug was empty she stretched her hands up over her head, reaching toward the brilliant blue square of the sky. She shifted her feet, as if the motionless stone beneath them was the back of one of the bulls she had ridden in her days with the troupe.

  She wondered if she would ever do that again.

  Possibly not. While she was still slim and well muscled, her reflexes were becoming slower.

  She was soon dry and reluctantly slipped back into her clothing and went into the house.

  She stopped abruptly.

  Thorikos scrambled up from his seat. “I can see you’re angry, Cornelia, but spare me the scorpions!”

  “Scorpions? How do you know about them?”

  “Well, I peeked in that jar in the corner. I assure you I knocked quite loudly before coming in, and there didn’t seem to be anyone here and—”

  “So you invited yourself to enter and looked around?”

  Thorikos looked ashamed. “I was curious to see what it was like. I’ve been inside Melios’ home, but I haven’t been inside an ordinary house, you see, and…”

  “It’s not exactly one of the wonders of the world!”

  “Oh, that’s true, but I’m most interested in learning how other people live.”

  “That’s why you visited us, to see the inside of the house?”

  “Actually, I was just passing by and thought I would ask if there was anything I could be of assistance with…” Thorikos was flustered.

  “And perhaps get a glimpse of the house as well? It’s a long walk from the pilgrim camp and rather out of your way,” Cornelia pointed out.

  “I went to visit Melios but he had a visitor. I thought it best not to wait.”

  Cornelia gave Thorikos a questioning look.

  “Melios was having words with someone. By the tenor of the conversation, I doubt he’d be in the mood for visitors.”

  “Who was it, Thorikos?”

  “It was that charioteer fellow. I heard racing mentioned. They sounded like a couple of partisans arguing the merits of their respective factions. Exactly what was being said I couldn’t say.”

  Thorikos shifted his feet. “I wonder if you can help me, Cornelia? It’s about my health. Ever since I set foot in Egypt I’ve been plagued with the most dreadful headaches. I happened to mention them to Hapymen. Would you believe it, it seems he’s very knowledgeable about these matters?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t refer you to me for help.”

  “It’s about the remedy he suggested. He said the only certain cure was to rub my head with a concoction made of a fried mixture of fish and, I regret to say, a cat.”

  “That surprises me,” Cornelia admitted. “Many Egyptians still consider it a sacred animal.”

  Thorikos looked mournful. “Indeed. You would not believe the difficulty I had, trying to buy a suitable cat today. What’s worse, while the settlement was swarming with them when we arrived, most of the nasty things appear to have gone into hiding. I’ve not been able to catch one of the few roaming about either, despite no lack of trying.”

  “Yes, I can see the scratches on your hands. At least the fish will be easier to obtain.”

  “Alas, not so. The sellers in the market are as sly as the cats. They think they can name their own price.”

  “They may do so, but won’t necessarily obtain it. Obviously word’s got around of your quest and you’ve been here long enough to be known by sight. Naturally it will cost you more to purchase fish than the amount anyone else in the settlement will be asked to pay.”

  “Exactly so. Still, provided it is not too outrageous I can afford to buy a fish. Getting a cat is the problem. I trust this will not offend you, but I glanced in one or two rooms and happened to see a cat mummy. I was wondering if I could purchase it?”

  Cornelia curbed her tongue. Thorikos did look extremely unwell. “I am afraid Cheops is not for sale. I must say I’ve never heard of such a remedy.”

  “Is it possible Hapymen was having a jest at my expense? Perhaps I misunderstood my instructions? He has such a thick accent.”

  Cornelia laughed. “Of course! Could it be he didn’t say you needed to anoint yourself with a mixture of fried cat and fish but rather meant cooked catfish?”

  Thorikos stared in amazement. “Catfish? I never thought of that!”

  “No matter. Both you and the local feline population would be better served if you treat your headaches with an infusion of willow or even a poppy potion. And here’s another suggestion.”

  “What is that, Cornelia?”

  “Don’t creep into people’s houses unannounced. It may be bad for your health.”

  ***

  John and Peter stopped in front of the weird agglomeration of stone, mud, and marble that stretched back into the rubble at the base of the Rock of the Snake. Peter gaped at the limbs of broken statues that formed the doorway, but before John could rap on the door Dedi stuck his sallow, bristly face into the sunlight.

  Dedi gazed at his visitors and his fish-like mouth formed a smile that showed off his wildly askew teeth. “Lord Chamberlain, I’m pleased to see you, and your servant too! Tell me, has Melios been scared to his senses by the flying demon I sent?”

  “I cannot say,” John replied.

  Dedi pursed his mouth in annoyance. “Melios should consider the situation more closely, excellency. A wise man would have long since given up claims to my land. Never mind. Come inside.”

  As had been the case during John’s initial visit, they sat in the first room of the tunnel-like house.

  “I fear I can only offer you beer today,” Dedi apologized.

  Peter took the proffered cup, sampled its contents, and grimaced.

  John took a sip. “You’d get used to it in time, Peter. I did. It was only after I reached Constantinople I began to drink Egyptian wine.”

  “What is it you want to see me about, Lord Chamberlain?”

  “The flaming demon. I believe you just admitted you were responsible?”

  “Admitted? I am proud to say I was responsible. It was my final warning to Melios. If he does not accede to my wishes I will be forced to fill the sky with a hundred fiery demons. No, a thousand! And worse besides! Much, much worse!”

  The magician’s voice rose in ange
r. “This settlement belongs to Mehen! His shrine was here long before Melios’ feeble god arrived on the scene!”

  John slapped several burnt feathers on the table. “It appears that Egyptian demons have plumage remarkably resembling that of hawks.”

  Dedi snatched the feathers away. “What vile trap is this?”

  “It’s a common magician’s trick,” John replied.

  “Melios is trying to discredit me. Any fool could release a burning bird!” Dedi picked up a feather and waved it at his visitors. “Do you think I don’t have the power I claim? I’ll show you soon enough!”

  He muttered what sounded suspiciously like gibberish, then cried out, “Mehen, take this cursed thing away!”

  He clapped his hands together. When he drew them apart, the feather was gone.

  “It’s up your sleeve,” John remarked. “You’re dexterous, I’ll give you that. If you were thinking of removing it from Peter’s ear, don’t bother.”

  Peter clapped his hands to his ears, looking terrified.

  “It’s only sleight of hand, Peter,” John told him.

  Dedi slumped back down onto his stool. “You’re shrewd, Lord Chamberlain. I can see I will have to be honest with you.” The magician took a long, noisy slurp from his cup. “You have been to the shrine above us. You have looked upon the maze.”

  “The entrance to the maze,” John corrected him.

  “As you say. You will agree that this is an ancient place, the source of enormous forces?”

  “If you mean the talking snake, it’s obvious it has a dried monkey’s head fitted with a wig.”

  “I won’t deny that I sometimes resort to illusions. In the great city you come from there are fabulous churches, so I am told. Their ceilings and walls appear to be populated by saints and angels, their space ablaze with gold and gems and colored marbles. In a word, these incredible structures might have come straight from the hand of the Lord himself. But, in fact, they were erected by the emperor to demonstrate heavenly beauty and power in a way that the populace can understand.”

  “You are saying you perform your tricks to demonstrate the power of Mehen?”

  “That’s right. And why not? Can you imagine the destruction if a real demon descended on Mehenopolis?”