by Mary Reed
“You have certainly plundered heaven, earth, and the waters for your guests, Melios,” John replied.
“While it is surely but a small thing compared to the wonderful performances at even the humblest gathering at the palace, excellency, when we have finished this dish and while we enjoy more wine and some tempting dates and figs, I hope you’ll find our special presentations entertaining.”
In due course, Melios gathered the attention of his guests by clapping his hands several times. “Now, my friends,” he said, when quiet had fallen, “to complete the evening I have arranged entertainment—”
He was interrupted by enthusiastic shouts of approval. When the noise had died away into the shadows in corners not fully reached by flickering lamplight, he continued with a slight smile. “As I was saying, I have arranged entertainment of a classical nature.”
An equally loud burst of groans met this announcement.
Melios ignored the interruption and pressed on. “First, let me present Thorikos, a traveler who has journeyed through great and terrible dangers, the like of which—”
“You mean he passed through Alexandria?” a man at the far end of the table shouted.
Their host flushed, straightened his wig angrily, and glared at his unruly guest. “Thorikos has graciously agreed to sing for our delectation. In honor of our guest from court, he has selected a composition by Emperor Justinian himself.”
Thorikos stood and commenced to sing “Only-Begotten Son” in a well-modulated voice. John recognized the words Peter sang while scrubbing the floor or chopping vegetables. He was surprised at the choice, since it was clearly a celebration of orthodoxy and unlikely to be well received in a land notorious for its heretical religious thinking.
No sooner had Thorikos finished and sat down again when, at a signal from Melios, one of the company left the room briefly to return with a double flute of yellow wood.
He stationed himself in the oblong space fenced in by the three tables and began to play a melancholy tune, while the rest of Melios’ guests clapped slowly in time.
As the final sad notes rippled away, Melios leaned over to John and spoke in an undertone. “That was one of our traditional airs, excellency. It’s the melody for an ancient hymn once sung in the temple on the Rock of the Snake, but the words have long since been forgotten. Tonight it serves as a fitting lament for my poor sheep and for my time here as headman, for as I told you I intend to make a certain announcement at the conclusion of this gathering.”
“Indeed.” John glanced at Zebulon, wondering what the cleric thought of a pagan dirge being performed immediately after an orthodox hymn.
Zebulon, however, was busy consulting his wine cup.
The flute-player was now joined by two other musicians with sistrums. They began to play a livelier melody, whose soaring notes were soon taken up and lustily sung in the language of the country. John realized it was an example of the type of song men sang while working in the fields, raising water in shadufs, or in this particular instance while harvesting crops. In this almost forgotten part of Egypt, grateful thanks were being rendered to the Nile for its annual life-giving inundations, but the song was closely akin to the songs reapers had sung in the Greek fields of John’s youth.
For a short time he allowed the locked door to his past to be opened, admitting memories he had seldom examined in the years since his life had been brutally changed.
Once, in this very country, he had dreamed of returning to Greece with Cornelia, to live out his days as a farmer.
Would that ever be possible?
Perhaps not, he told himself. Fortuna decreed their destinies, and it was possible neither he nor Cornelia had been marked to till the soil.
He pulled his thoughts away from the dead past and unborn future, and back to the present.
Why, he wondered, did Melios’ guests sing the praises of the Nile in a settlement nourished by the wells of an oasis?
One possible answer appeared on the heels of his thought.
A girl, clothed solely in a fishermen’s net and doubtless intended to remind spectators of that very river, had appeared.
Accompanied by flute and sistrums, she performed a dance consisting mostly of languorous gestures and back bends as her audience loudly voiced its appreciation of her interpretation of the rise and fall of the Nile’s life-giving waters.
“Most interesting, most interesting, Melios, although not what I would call entertainment of a classical nature,” murmured Thorikos.
At that point Hapymen made his contribution to the festivities by grasping the net and hauling the brown, writhing girl out of the room to loud, good-natured complaints from the dancer’s audience and calls for her return.
The musicians resumed their seats as Melios rose unsteadily to his feet, bowed slightly in John’s direction, and then addressed the gathering.
“My friends, this evening I had hoped to recite my panegyric to Emperor Justinian, of whom I was most honored to make some humble personal acquaintance during my visit to our empire’s great capital, as you all know. Alas, recent events have doomed my efforts to complete it. However, I shall soon have ample time to accomplish the task. I have made an important decision which I wish to share with you—”
Realizing the headman was about to announce his flight to a monastery, John got to his feet. “My apologies, Melios, but before you make your news known, there is something I would like to say.”
Melios blinked in confusion. The firm pressure of John’s hand on his shoulder convinced him to sit down.
A buzz of excited conversation broke out and John waited until the company had quieted before he began.
“I promised Melios, our most gracious host this evening, an explanation of certain rather strange events that recently took place on this estate. I’m referring to the fate of two sheep.”
With a glance down at Melios, who now looked extremely uneasy, John continued. “The first death occurred before my arrival. The second, as you are all doubtless aware, occurred last night. The unfortunate animal was confined to a closely guarded and locked barn and was, furthermore, protected with various charms and a blessing as well as a collar of certain flowers and herbs said to provide protection. Nevertheless, like the first, it was an apparent suicide, having cut its own throat. Dedi, who claims to practice magick, has taken credit for both mysterious deaths.”
An uneasy murmur rose around the tables.
John held up his hand for silence. “Melios, am I correct in saying Hapymen provided the collar?”
Melios nodded silently.
Zebulon observed pointedly it was wiser to put one’s trust in heaven than in amulets or charms and here was a perfect example of misplaced faith.
“I have personally examined the dead animal,” John continued. “Dedi does not possess the powers he claims to hold. You have my word he cannot harm any of you, unless of course he attempts to sink a blade between your ribs.”
Melios gasped. “But excellency…”
“The protective garlands that Hapymen—who also assists Dedi on occasion—so handily provided for the animals had several cut bulbs of squill laced into them. You may recall telling me a preparation from the same plant, administered for your rheumatism, had blistered your skin, Melios. It did the same to my servant’s hands when he mistook squill bulbs for onions and chopped some in order to cook them.”
John glanced around the room. “The sheep was encumbered with a heavy garland fastened tightly around its neck, and naturally soon experienced such intense irritation of the skin of its throat it attempted to alleviate the itching by rubbing itself on the only sharp thing available to it.”
“The sword!” Melios breathed. “Summon Hapymen here!” he shouted. “And as for—”
He was interrupted by a thunderous knocking on the house door.
Guests began to rise to their feet, hands on blades, as a terrified servant rushed into the room.
“Master, we’ve just received word! The tax assessor’s been found drowned!”
***
“At first I mistook it for a log,” Porphyrios told John. “But there was something familiar about the shape…He was floating face down. Must have fallen in and drowned. I was about to go for help when one of the villagers came by, so I sent him to raise the alarm.”
They stood beside the ditch, staring down at the drowned man whose sightless eyes regarded the starry sky with a steady gaze. Behind them lights moved in the darkness and the low muttering of an unhappy crowd came to them on gusts of a rising wind. Melios had instructed his guards to block the road, to prevent anyone interfering with the body. The headman had chosen to keep his distance as well.
John bent down for a closer look. Scrofa had obviously been dead for more than a day.
“Scrofa wasn’t a popular man, excellency,” the charioteer continued. “I fear the authorities will be bound to suspect murder, and whatever the truth of it there will be reprisals on Mehenopolis. Fortunately I’ll be on my way soon.”
“You’ve been able to obtain what you sought?”
“A charm against curse tablets? Sadly, no. Dedi refused my request. It’s probably just as well. I’m inclined to think he’s not as powerful as he claims to be.”
John moved his lantern above Scrofa, illuminating first the waxen face, wet hair clinging close to the skull, then the torso, and on down across legs whose red-splotched ankles testified to the powerful grip of the charioteer who had dragged the unfortunate tax assessor ashore.
Finally John stood and looked toward the settlement. “I see Melios has obligingly sent someone to take Scrofa back.”
“He’ll be more welcome there in his present state than he was when he strolled this way,” Porphyrios remarked.
The charioteer turned and saw the approaching donkey, ridden by a young servant. “Well…um…Lord Chamberlain,” Porphyrios stammered, “I’d better be off.”
“Not yet!” John grasped the man’s bulging forearm. He could easily have wrenched away, but his attention was engaged by the small beast which had reached them.
“Do…do you…er…want me to assist the young man in getting the body on the…?”
“That will not be necessary, Porphyrios,” John replied quietly. “However, you will explain immediately why a charioteer is terrified of donkeys. I noticed your reluctance to approach one during the fire, and now I recall you sat at the back of the cart that brought us here from the river. It was less fear of the inhabitants of the beehives piled up behind the driver than of the donkey trotting in front. Am I not correct?”
“Please…please…Lord Chamberlain…if you will allow me to step away…I’ll explain…just…just…”
John released the man’s arm and walked along the road a few paces. Porphyrios followed obediently.
“Does your fear extend to horses?” John asked.
“I avoid them as much as possible, but donkeys most of all.”
“It must be difficult at times, particularly when traversing crowded city streets. What is your real business in Mehenopolis?”
“Although I was never a charioteer, excellency, I am in fact employed by the owner of a racing team. I was dispatched here to collect a large sum from Melios. He lost several huge wagers betting on races at the Hippodrome during his visit to Constantinople.”
He gestured to his belt. “I told him these reins would end up tied tightly around his neck, to frighten him into settling the debt. He asked me for a day or two to find what he owes.”
“I observed the painting of the Hippodrome was much more recent than the rest of Melios’ frescoes,” John replied. “Even so, it’s been a year or two since his visit. Why is your employer in such a hurry to collect the debt now after waiting so long?”
Porphyrios looked back at the donkey as it disappeared into the distance bearing Scrofa’s lifeless form. “It came to his ears Melios petitioned the emperor about a tax dispute. Few are able to reduce their taxes, and Melios had drawn attention to himself. Once the imperial tax assessors had the headman in their grasp, there wouldn’t even be bones left for the rest of his creditors to pick over.”
“And so he wanted to collect his debt from Melios before Scrofa could take any assets that might be available?”
“That’s correct, excellency,” the other admitted miserably, “but unfortunately the assessor was already at work in the settlement when I got here.”
“However, with Scrofa now gone, you’ve got a better chance of collecting on Melios’ debt. At least until the next assessor arrives. How very convenient for your employer—and not a curse tablet in sight.”
A look of distress crossed Porphyrios’ face. “I never thought of that, but yes, I suppose it’s true. Scrofa’s death does look suspicious, doesn’t it? Maybe the emperor—”
The charioteer was interrupted by a sudden shout from a man running toward them.
“Save yourselves while you can, sirs! Dedi’s set loose another demon! This time it’s walking the streets!”
Chapter Forty
“When your conclusions proved correct?” asked Europa.
“Of course Crispin wouldn’t admit anything,” replied Anatolius, “but from his reaction I could see I was on the right track. He claimed he had to attend a service and could not spare more time. Then he said he’d send for me in due course for further conversation, as he put it.”
Francio laughed. “Watch out! He might try to persuade you to his religious viewpoint, Anatolius.”
The trio were seated in Francio’s dining room. Anatolius had just completed a description of his visit to the Hormisdas and gone on to explain how he had reached his deductions concerning the events that had led to two deaths and John’s journey to Egypt.
Europa picked up her spoon and pointed it at Anatolius. “So your reasoning was the wording of the will demonstrated Symacchus, probably the most orthodox man in the city, viewed Crispin with great esteem whereas most would expect him to consider the bishop a raging heretic? And it was from this you deduced Crispin had converted Symacchus, who began aiding him in an attempt to obtain a relic from Egypt? And how did the senator hear about this relic?”
“According to Diomedes, from Melios, one of the senator’s many visitors from that country.”
Francio asked who Melios might be.
Anatolius beamed. “Ah! Mithra smiled on our labors, for Felix discovered this Melios lives in the very settlement where John and the others went!”
Francio stared down at his plate, as if reading some meaning from the geometric pattern in the ceramic. “I’ve thought of another possibility, Anatolius. The senator might have been disposed of because he had rashly spoken with Thomas, a man who lives in the Lord Chamberlain’s house.”
“And John is Justinian’s closest confidant,” Anatolius agreed. “Eliminating Thomas by arranging for him to be caught with the senator’s body would also mean grave suspicion would be cast upon John for harboring a murderer. I doubt whoever was responsible could have foreseen John himself being accused of the senator’s death, but it must have been an even better result from their point of view.”
“You’re forgetting the most important thing,” Francio pointed out. “This mysterious murderer will doubtless attempt to kill anyone who knows anything at all about what’s going on, which now includes all three of us. Dear me, this isn’t the sort of conversation to whet one’s appetite, is it?”
Europa ignored the remark. “What could this relic be and why do they want it? The churches here are already bursting with old bones and such like.”
“I’m hoping John can enlighten us when he returns,” Anatolius replied. “It can’t be a coincidence Justinian sent him to the very settlement where Melios lives.”
A savory odor filled the air as Vedrix carried in a silver bowl filled with meat in a dark sauce. A ladle protruded from the steaming mixture.
“Let us put aside th
is gloomy conversation and celebrate your successful visit to the bishop.” Francio gestured at the bowl. “Please help yourselves from this most amusing dish. The markets might be empty but the spice of imagination is inexhaustible!”
Anatolius peered into the bowl and blanched at the sight of tentacles coiled artfully around lumps of meat floating in the thick sauce.
“There wasn’t much to be purchased today,” Francio went on. “A rather mature octopus, a couple of fig-peckers, and an under-nourished partridge. So my cook and I devised this cunning dish. I call it The Wreck of the Ark.”
Europa gingerly ladled out one of the lumps and dropped it onto her plate. She poked at it dubiously with her spoon. “What’s that, Francio? Partridge?”
Francio leaned for a closer look. “I’m not certain. Oh, there’s also something in it that Vedrix caught in the garden, so that could be a tasty tidbit of weasel.”
Europa put a hand up to her mouth. “A weasel?”
“I wouldn’t swear to it on oath in a court of law, you understand.”
Europa pushed her plate away.
“Condemned without a trial,” Anatolius remarked. “Barring Francio’s testimony, I believe I could have conclusively proved these lumps are all portions of a succulent hare.”
Francio looked disappointed as he traded plates with Europa. “There’s more than one in this city tonight who’d be glad to have weasel boiled in sauce.”
Anatolius rescued one of the fig-peckers and a bit of tentacle from the wine-dark sea. “Surely vegetables are still available, even if there isn’t much meat?”
“Vegetables? What sort of meal can you make with vegetables? A peasant’s meal!”
“We’ve had this discussion before,” Anatolius grinned. “Justinian manages perfectly well without eating flesh.”
“That’s why he’s ruled by Theodora,” Francio observed. “A little red meat in his diet might do the emperor a great deal of good.” He popped a portion of suspected weasel into his mouth and chewed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
