by Albert Noyer
“No…” Arcadia laughed despite her anxiety. “I thought I would be tending to the complaints of old matrons, like…like Felicitas.”
“The poor woman may be dead when we return in the spring.” Getorius pulled his arm away and held his wife’s cold hands. “Arcadia, wouldn’t you like to hear about some of Papnouthios’s experiments? I admit they were disturbing, yet we can’t bury our heads in the sand and pretend we know everything about surgery. You’ll make a fine medica, but there’s so much more for both of us to learn.”
“Husband, just hold me.” She settled her head against his cheek and shivered again.
Getorius pulled her closer. “It is still cold in here, but once we get under the covers there are ways to warm up. And how many western Romans can say they’ve made love in Egypt?”
Arcadia forced a smile. “My tutor did name Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius.”
“Live Romans,” Getorius corrected. “Right now, I’m only thinking of two.” He squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Cara, all of this will seem less disturbing in the morning. If Abinnaeus is playing false with us, at least we’ll know more about Pulcheria’s intentions from the message she gave to Bardas for us.”
CHAPTER IV
Sergius Abinnaeus appeared for breakfast, striding in ahead of his wife as if heading to a war council. Dorothea followed, holding Miu in her arms. Anger hardened the governor’s expression as he mumbled a greeting to his Latin guests and slumped down on a bench. Dorothea, wearing an exotic hat of minx fur, seated herself opposite him, laid the kitten on her lap and pulled a heavy silk shawl further up around her shoulders.
“Sergius,” she complained, “if we aren’t ready to leave by tomorrow, I insist that you heat this mausoleum. The chill is rapidly affecting my phlegm humor and also Arcadia’s.”
As if he had not heard, Abinnaeus muttered, “It’s already after the November ides and I’ve not left for Hormos.”
Dorothea held Miu up in front of her and spoke to the kitten, “And he worked so late last evening to straighten up.”
Getorius caught the sexual reference in her emphasis of the last three words. Is she saying what I think about her husband? If so, he must have been with the Kushite woman. “Governor, when do you usually leave for Myos Hormos?” he asked to cover any embarrassment on his host’s part.
“Certainly before mid-month.” Abinnaeus ignored his wife’s comment and reached for the bread basket.
Dorothea kept the kitten aloft and turned it toward him. Will you be taking the ‘Serqet’ with you again?”
“Carita, you know that Pennuta is Shandi’s sister. They haven’t seen each other for a year.”
“Yes, the tender love between a sister and brother is an inspiration to all couples, married or not. Isn’t that so, Sergius?”
“Dorothea, you make it sound incestuous.”
“Not ‘Carita, you make it sound incestuous,’ Miu?”
“Stop talking to that infernal cat!” Abinnaeus snapped, then lowered his head to massage his temples. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well, thinking about what treachery could be happening at Constantinople.”
“Xenike!” Dorothea called out to a kitchen slave eavesdropping in the doorway. “Bring hot sweetened wine for the Prefect. It may improve his melancholic humor.”
Getorius deflected the quarreling, “Governor, why is reaching Hormos so important that you can’t lose a day or two in getting there? Is it the weather?”
“You could say that,” Dorothea replied for her husband. “He worries so about his cargo blowing away.”
Abinnaeus flushed, yet controlled his temper. “May I answer the surgeon?” Dorothea made a vague, permissive hand gesture. “Surgeon, the northeast Kaikos wind blows astern in the fall. Galleys leaving India in mid-October arrive at Musa in Arabia by early November. From there cargoes unloaded onto Hormos-bound galleys arrive seven or eight days later. I simply wish to be on hand when they do.”
“From India?” Arcadia asked. “What cargoes are they?”
“Yes, Prefect,” Dorothea half-taunted, “do tell us again what you import.”
“Nothing of interest to women,” Abinnaeus snapped, leaning aside as Xenike brought a pitcher of wine and a cup. He put two boiled eggs, cheese, and olives on his plate, but absently picked at the food.
Dorothea fed Miu bits of his egg. Getorius and Arcadia both thought better than to continue another divisive conversation and concentrated on shelling their eggs. The strained silence abruptly broke when Nepheros hurried into the triclinium. He leaned down to Abinnaeus and whispered in his ear.
“What? Zeus Kassios, that can’t have happened!” the governor exclaimed, glaring at his secretary. “Not at my hostelry.”
Dorothea murmured, “Prostitutes soliciting guests again?”
Abinnaeus ignored her ridicule. “Surgeon, that courier who arrived yesterday was found dead in his room, evidently a victim of robbers.”
“That’s terrible!” Getorius glanced at Arcadia, knowing that she also wondered how they now would find Pulcheria’s message.
“Where’s Papnouthios to examine the body?” the governor demanded.
“Excellency…your physician is not…not here,” Nepheros stammered. “He…he is probably at the indigent hospital, conducting experiments.”
“Then, Surgeon, you’ll have to see the courier’s body. That may be just as well. You’ll be a neutral witness and I’ll need to write a report.”
“Of course, sir, my wife and I will help any way we can.”
“No…” Abinnaeus shook his head. “This is nothing a woman should see.”
“Excellency,” Arcadia told him in her most persuasive tone, “I have helped my husband examine a dead body before.”
“Fine, fine, not a time to argue.” He dipped a chunk of bread in his wine, gulped it down, then pushed away from the table. “Let’s get over there.”
* * *
When the group left the pretorium, morning fog had turned into a chilling mist. So indistinct were the shapes of Zeus’s temple and other buildings in the quarter that they seemed to rise out of filmy gray cotton. Only a smell of salt air laced with the odor of overripe fish indicated that Pelusium was located near the sea. Some street torches and corner bonfires were still alight, flickering beacons whose smoke added to the thick haze. Except for a bakery, patronized by shadowy human forms, other merchants along the street had not opened their shops.
Holding on to her husband’s arm, Arcadia shivered. “From this dull light, it would be easy to imagine the world would never brighten up again.”
“I’ve read in Plinius that Pompeii looked like this after the eruption of Vesuvius. Even those scattered lights seem like a glow from volcanic fires.” He pointed ahead. “Avoid those street puddles, cara, to keep your feet dry.”
The doorway and windows of PELVSIOS were rectangles of pale orange glowing through a mist reluctantly beginning to disperse. Abinnaeus strode past a few patrons as Nepheros led the way to a small second-floor room. A high window admitted dim light and revealed a hostelry’s usual furnishings―wardrobe, table, mismatched chairs. On the table, amid pottery cups, a wine jug, and a pair of dice, the wick of a lamp wavered feebly, its oil almost depleted. Scattered clothing and a saddle bag lay on the seat of one of the chairs.
Bardas’s nude body lay on a narrow bed face up, his eyes half-closed. Vomit with the stench of wine and half-digested food had dribbled onto his beard and chest. The dead courier’s face and upper body were a ghastly purplish tint. One leg lay half-bent on the mattress, the other straightened out. At the bed’s left side a pillow had fallen or been thrown to the floor.
Abinnaeus glanced around the room and then bent over the corpse. “The fool drank too much and choked on his own vomit, then was robbed in my own hostelry. That certainly won’t look good in a report I send…” He turned to Getorius. “Surgeon, you’ll sign this as the cause of accidental death for a magistrate at Constantinople.”
“Sir, I haven�
�t examined the man’s body.”
“Examine?” The governor asked, puzzled. “He may have been sodomized, but what is there to examine? The rawest medical intern could diagnose such a death.”
Arcadia controlled her resentment at the patronizing remark. “My husband is not an intern. You asked him to come here because you wanted an impartial witness.”
Abinnaeus reddened at her rebuke. “Woman, don’t you think I’ve seen legionaries die in exactly the same way?”
“With the same purplish discoloration?”
Before the governor could respond to Arcadia, Getorius intervened,, “Sir, with your permission, I would like to examine the man’s eyes.”
“Undoubtedly sanguineus…bloodshot. They always are in these cases.”
“May he?” Arcadia insisted.
Abinnaeus glared at her, but shrugged permission. Arcadia went to help her husband. Getorius first tested the flexibility of Bardas’s bent leg to determine an approximate time of death. The flesh was cool, just becoming rigid.
Getorius called back to Nepheros, “At what time did we leave Bardas alone with those three men?”
“Time, Surgeon? I…I would estimate somewhere during the second or third night hour.”
“So that would be about ten or twelve hours ago.”
“What three men?” Abinnaeus asked from the chair where he was examining the courier’s cloak and uniform.
Nepheros told him, “Excellency…they were legionaries. To not offend Abbot Isidoros, the bishop prepared a supper that was, may I say, sparse. I suggested we take Bardas to PELVSIOS for food.”
“‘We,’ Nepheros?”
“The surgeon and his wife wished to question Bardas about the Augusta’s ordeal.”
Abinnaeus grunted acceptance of his explanation. “Legionaries, you say? Did they name their unit?”
“Six Ferrata, Excellency.”
“Ferrata? Impossible, that legion is stationed at Lycopolis, three hundred miles south of here. Any sane off-duty garrison member would go to Alexandria, not Pelusium.” Abinnaeus looked toward Arcadia. “Domina, you say you were with the men?”
“I was, and I admit slightly embarrassed.”
He laughed. “Understandably. Do you recall what these ‘legionaries’ looked like?”
“Quite ordinary, but one was Aethiopian.”
“Nigrans?”
“Not unusual, Excellency,” Nepheros interposed. “We have many such men in Egyptian legions as local conscripts.”
“Of course, and I’ve confirmed the crime as banditry and the accidental death of the victim. Abinnaeus held up Bardas’s clothing. “Look here. Uniform tunic and cloak seams slashed to find any hidden coins. Citella…saddle pouch…ransacked.”
“That too?” Arcadia wondered. Bardas said he carried a message from Pulcheria in them. “It…it’s empty?”
Abinnaeus shook out the leather bag. “Domina, see for yourself.”
Getorius said, “Sir, I want to examine Bardas’s eyes.”
Nepheros objected, “Surgeon, there would be no reason to do so now. His Excellency has given us the details of the crime.”
“Robbed while drunk,” Abinnaeus repeated, “then the fool fell asleep while screwing some prostitute. Her leno…brothel-keeper…ah…your pardon, Domina!” He quickly turned to his secretary. “Nepheros, go write that death report to Constantinople. Stress that the courier’s drunken fornication resulted in his death. Say nothing about the robbery but leave space for the surgeon’s signature.”
Convinced that he would not be able to examine the corpse, Getorius asked, “Sir, may we go back with Nepheros?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll talk to my manager here and ask if he knows those ruffians.”
Before leaving, Getorius picked the pillow off the floor, examined it a moment, then replaced it on the bed.
When the three retraced their steps back to the pretorium, the fog had lifted and a hesitant glare of sun attempted to break through the remaining mist. Nearing the temple of Zeus, Getorius decided to confide in the secretary. After all, the man is the only person close to being a friend we have in Pelusium.
“Nepheros, I believe that I would have found retinal bleeding in the courier’s eyes, had I examined him. That and the purple body discoloration would be evidence that Bardas was deliberately suffocated.”
The secretary’s black eyebrows registered surprise. “Can you be positive, Surgeon?”
“I noticed dried vomit stains on the pillow before I put it back on the bed. Someone held it over the courier’s face, then tossed it to the floor. That made it seem like Bardas had choked on his own vomit.”
Arcadia noted, “It was thrown aside to the left of the bed, and thus by a left-handed person.”
“Were any of those legionaries so handicapped?”
“Getorius, I don’t recall.”
“Nor I,” Nepheros confirmed.
“And the saddle pouch was emptied. Nepheros, I wasn’t completely honest with you when we left the tavern. Bardas came to tell me that he carried a message from the Augusta inside his pouch. Now we’ll never know what Pulcheria wrote to us.”
“Surgeon, I appreciate your candor.” Nepheros tried be reassuring, “I’m sure we’ll find that misplaced packet from the Augusta. Here we are at the pretorium. I must begin my report or the Prefect will be furious at yet another delay in leaving.”
“Fine, we’ll go back to the stables and see if the courier’s horse hasn’t been stolen and is still there.”
“Vale, then…” Nepheros paused. “I regret this happened while you were guests.”
Arcadia said, “The real regret is with the courier’s family, if he had one.”
“Indeed, Domina, I shall add that to my report.” The secretary glanced down the street, then confided, “You must excuse his Excellency…the governor will be more rational by midday.”
“We understand, along with a delay in leaving for Hormos, this has been upsetting.”
The couple went back to the hostelry in a sun beginning to warm the harbor air. They passed vendors that now were open and attempted to sell them food.
The inn’s stable area smelled of fresh alfalfa, dried hay, and manure. An arched portico on one side was divided into horse stalls. Just inside the door, a dirty-faced boy sat on a barrel chewing a crust of bread. A wooden cup of water sat on the floor.
Getorius found a bronze coin in his purse and held it up. “You could buy olive oil for that bread if you had this.”
The urchin’s eyes widened on seeing the money, but he shook his head that he did not understand.
“He doesn’t know Latin. Arcadia?”
“I’ll ask him in Greek where the horse is that was brought in last evening.” She smiled at the boy. “Aghori, pou ine alogho?”
On hearing a question in his language his face brightened in a smile. He pointed toward the far end of the stable. “Eki.”
“Down there?” Getorius handed him the bronze. “Efharisto…gratias.”
Most of the stalls were empty, but at the second one from the end a mare looked around at the couple, then went back to munching alfalfa.
“This would not be the mount on which Bardas left Constantinople,” Getorius reasoned. “He would have changed horses at the post stations.”
Arcadia noticed a four-horned saddle straddling a partition board. “But not the courier’s saddle. That one may be his.” She went to examine the stiff cowhide seat. One side bore a cavalry unit symbol TAU and the burned-in name, ΒΑRDAS. “This is the courier’s…here’s his name.”
Getorius wondered, “What good will that be able to do us?”
“Husband, I just remembered something. I believe Bardas said the letter was in his saddle, not the saddle pouch.”
“Then it’s possibly concealed inside the leatherwork.” Getorius felt hopeful again as he ran his fingers over the leather seat. The padded covering was cut into small sections stitched together over a wooden frame with four corner
horns. After pressing parts of the surface, he shook his head. “I…I don’t feel anything inside.”
Arcadia noticed new threads along the edges of a sewn panel at the front of the right horn. “This stitching looks as if it had been recently replaced.”
“Then the letter could be hidden under there!” Getorius nodded his head toward the boy. “Go charm that ten-year-old with your Greek, while I undo enough of this binding to feel inside.”
As he used his belt dagger to pick out the waxed threads, Getorius heard his wife singing one of the Greek children’s songs that her tutor had made her memorize. Arcadia never imagined she’d use that song in a situation like this. When three sides of the patch were free, he lifted the flap and felt a packet inside with his fingers. This may be it! Bardas thanked Tyche for finding us and perhaps his luck flowed onto me!
Getorius pulled out a purple-dyed calfskin pouch sealed with the Augusta’s initials. Hand shaking, he hid the message in his purse as he came back to Arcadia. “I…I have the letter. Let’s read it inside our room.”
As the couple passed Zeus’s abandoned temple, they saw Papnouthios coming their way. Squinting in the sunlight, the physician strode across the street to accuse Getorius.
“Surgeon! Nepheros said you usurped my authority and examined the body of the dead courier.”
“Usurped? You weren’t in the pretorium, so the governor asked me to accompany him to a room where Bardas was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Papnuothios snickered indulgence at Getorius’s diagnosis. “The man choked on his own vomit.”
“Is that what Nepheros told you?”
“The secretary was there and saw what had happened.”
Reluctant to explain what Abinnaeus wanted kept quiet, Getorius nevertheless added, “I found vomit stains on a pillow where it had been held over the man’s face while he slept, or had passed out from overdrinking.”
Arcadia asked, “Sir, where were you? The governor wanted you there.”
Papnouthios scowled at being questioned by a woman, and turned to Getorius, “Perhaps I was hasty in accusing you, but I received startling news very early this morning and hurried to the temple of Sobek and Isis.”
