Six for Gold

by Mary Reed

  “Nor do I want to.” Europa dropped her spoon.

  “What’s the matter?” Anatolius asked.

  “We really don’t know what we’re missing, do we? We don’t know what’s happening to everyone. Where’s Thomas? What’s become of my parents? What about poor Peter, not to mention Hypatia?”

  “You’re safe here, Europa,” Francio said. “My home is an island of sanctuary in a perilous sea.”

  “What will you do when Crispin decides to summon you to another interview?” Europa asked Anatolius.

  “The bishop is nothing if not cautious. It’ll take a few weeks for someone to go to Egypt and back in order to consult his contacts there, whoever they might be. We’ll just have to hope John returns to Constantinople before then.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  “I’ve been called many names in my time,” Thomas observed, throwing back another hearty gulp of wine, “but never a demon.”

  “It’s your red hair,” John explained. “Many in Egypt consider it ill omened because their evil god Set’s hair was the same hue.”

  “People will kill you for the strangest reasons. I suppose that was the intent of the fellow with the knife who waylaid me as I passed by some ruin or other. I don’t think he intended to trim my beard.”

  They were sitting on the guest house roof, enjoying the light breeze that had sprung up after sunset. Several lamps cast flickering light, pale imitations of the vast starry vault overhead.

  “I suspect the local residents wouldn’t normally have reacted the way they did,” John replied, “but there have been some strange events recently, and old fears once raised take a long time to die down again.”

  Thomas refilled his cup and gazed into the night. “The comical thing, John, is that I traveled to Egypt to save you. Anatolius sent me, but I’d better tell you the story from the beginning.”

  John and Cornelia listened closely to Thomas’ narrative, starting with when Isis’ employee Antonina had told him the client who’d been talking about relics was a servant of Senator Symacchus, thus setting in motion the chain of events that led to them sitting atop a mud brick house at the edge of the empire rather than in John’s house in the grounds of the Great Palace.

  John restrained himself from chiding Thomas for his reckless stupidity. “So you went to the senator and offered your services in obtaining some mysterious relic?” he asked when Thomas paused.

  “That’s right. He gave me this and instructed me to be at the Hippodrome at sunset on a given day. I’d know the man I was to meet because he’d be carrying the matching piece.”

  He drew from his garment the token in question and handed it to John. “The figure’s been snapped off along with the top part, as you see,” he continued. “There’d be no chance of someone duplicating the missing bit. Very clever idea, wasn’t it?”

  “As you say, Thomas. Further instructions were doubtless to be given at this meeting?”

  “That’s what I was told. I do have some experience in these matters so I was not suspicious when Symacchus insisted on utilizing an intermediary. Now it’s obvious he didn’t seek my expertise, but rather my execution.” He frowned. “But how did you contrive to arrive in the Hippodrome on my boot heels, John?”

  “You’d been going about with the look of a man with a guilty secret,” John replied, “and in Constantinople it’s wise to know everyone’s secrets, particularly when the person involved is your daughter’s husband.”

  “Of course, I should have told you,” Thomas admitted. “But I thought if I could help them obtain this wretched relic, the service would be worth a fair amount of money.”

  “Strangely enough, we might be searching for the same thing, Thomas. Justinian is of the opinion those working against him seek something of value in Mehenopolis. Could it be this relic you heard about?”

  “The orthodox have strange beliefs,” Thomas replied. He looked down into his cup. “It may be it wasn’t just my behavior which caused you to follow me to the Hippodrome, John. Mithra might well have been dictating your steps. I hope He will look out for Europa and the others. It’s extremely dangerous for them right now.”

  “I doubt Mithra has any interest in assisting Justinian! As to those you left behind, Anatolius is much more capable than he often appears and Felix is on the spot too. Now what’s this about you traveling here to save me?”

  “An assassin’s been sent after you.”

  “I’d be more surprised if one hadn’t followed. Naturally, I’ve been on my guard.”

  Cornelia’s face registered dismay. “John, the intruder on the night of the fire! It must have been the assassin! But who—”

  “It was Scrofa,” John replied.

  “The tax assessor?”

  “He managed to arrive here just before we did, but that’s not surprising considering we were delayed in Alexandria. When I examined his body earlier tonight, there were marks on the man’s ankles I subsequently realized were strongly suggestive of scorpion stings. Remember, Peter drove the intruder away by throwing his jar of scorpions at him.”

  “That’s something I would have paid a coin or two to see!” Thomas grinned.

  “Furthermore,” John continued, “despite Scrofa telling Cornelia he wished to talk to me, he made no effort whatsoever to do so, and I am not that difficult to find. He was overheard asking Melios about my movements. Then too Cornelia told me she’d seen Scrofa on Melios’ estate the night of the fire.”

  Cornelia gasped. “It’s just as well Dedi’s demon set that blaze. If we’d gone straight home…”

  John stood up. “Cornelia can tell you about our adventures, Thomas. Justinian sent me here to investigate suicidal sheep and that I’ve done. However, since I’m marked for murder, it shows that, just as he suspected, there’s something here of much greater value. And the most important thing in Mehenopolis is whatever is at the center of the maze up there.”

  He looked toward the black bulk of the Rock of the Snake, outlined against the sky by an absence of stars.

  “Dedi knows a great deal about that,” he continued, “so I’m off to interview him right now.”

  ***

  John followed the trembling light of his torch. The pop and hiss of the burning resin carried in the quiet night.

  The path was deserted. Once, he thought he heard the crunch of a footstep other than his own. He swung around.

  No one was there.

  When he approached the bench by the well, he half-expected Zebulon to call out an invitation in a game of Mehen, but the cleric was not to be seen.

  John traversed the pilgrim camp and arrived at Dedi’s dwelling.

  Its owner was not in residence.

  John knocked twice, then pushed the door. It swung open. Perhaps the magician trusted his fearsome reputation to keep intruders out, rather than relying on locks.

  The disembodied marble limbs in the doorframe seemed to grasp at John, animated by the motion of the torch he thrust inside.

  “Dedi?” he called out.

  No answer.

  John stepped through the doorway.

  The room appeared no different from his last visit.

  He decided to take his opportunity to look around.

  Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling in the room opening off the first. It smelled of gardens drowsing in the last hot days of summer. Chests were piled against its wall. The room beyond contained more of the same as well as several amphorae, and from it other rooms marched back tunnel-like.

  John continued on, finally arriving at a narrow chamber where a metal grate not unlike those used to protect shops in Constantinople was set in the floor.

  He bent and shone torchlight through the grate.

  A grotesque visage stared back.

  Glassy eyes glinted from folds of shriveled flesh, and bloodless lips drew away from black gums to reveal uneven teeth.

  It was the false head of Dedi’s reptilian oracl
e.

  John moved the torch further down and saw the snake itself, coiled up beneath the grate.

  The creature didn’t move. It appeared to be asleep.

  Did Hapymen make a potion to keep it docile?

  Beyond, John could see a dark archway opening into a shadowy ascending tunnel.

  He pulled at the grate. It opened slowly upwards, making an alarming racket.

  He began to step down, over the somnolent snake.

  Then a shadow flickered on the wall beside him and before John could decipher the meaning of it his breath was cut off.

  John’s torch hit the floor in an explosion of sparks.

  Reflexively he grabbed at the cord around his neck.

  Someone had taken advantage of the noise of the grate opening to creep up behind him.

  He managed to get his fingers under the cord. His attacker was not skilled in garroting and had not tightened it immediately.

  Patches of darkness flashed across John’s vision.

  He allowed himself to relax and slump forward, then twisted convulsively, slammed his assailant into the wall.

  His ears rang. He lurched out of the attacker’s grasp.

  Something hit him hard in the stomach and he crumpled.

  “You fool! You’ve killed him!”

  It was Dedi.

  “No! He’s just unconscious! I hit him with the end of the spear, not the point.”

  That was Hapymen.

  John kept his eyes closed.

  “And you…why are you here, Porphyrios?”

  “I followed him from Melios’ estate. I realized the Lord Chamberlain had guessed the truth, Dedi. He as much as told me he thought Scrofa’s accident was too convenient.”

  “It wasn’t an accident?”

  “Of course not. Why shouldn’t I have drowned him? And you as well?”

  “Don’t move,” Dedi said, “or Hapymen will put his spear through you as quick as he’d gut a fish. Consider this. If you murder the Lord Chamberlain you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, and it probably won’t be a long span at that.”

  “Doubtless you’re wagering your own on surviving long enough to tell the authorities I was responsible for Scrofa’s death?” Porphyrios sneered.

  “Are you ready to bet yours on how fast you can disarm Hapymen? It’s one thing to kill a sheep. I’m not a murderer. Then again, I know why you came to Mehenopolis. I’d be doing Melios a service if I allowed Hapymen to kill you.”

  “How could that be?”

  “More than one person overheard you threatening the headman, including Hapymen here. I have no notion how much Melios owes your employer, but for a start, that stretch of land he and I have been arguing about for years is going to be mine. I’m not letting it be taken to pay Melios’ creditors. It would hardly be fair. I wasn’t the one gambling at the Hippodrome, was I?”

  “Very well,” Porphyrios replied. “Your logic persuades me to spare John’s life—for now.”

  The conversation continued, but blackness washed the corners of John’s mind. He couldn’t make sense of the words. He felt himself being rolled over.

  “Tie him up, Hapymen,” Dedi was saying.

  “Was it wise to let Porphyrios go?” Hapymen sounded worried.

  “Another corpse would be difficult to explain, but more importantly Mehen has arranged for us to capture the Lord Chamberlain.”

  “But you can’t kill him, master, for the same reason you gave Porphyrios!”

  “Just make certain the knots are as tight as possible,” was the curt reply.

  John felt rope coiling around his body, pinning his arms to his sides. A foot was placed on the small of his back and the bonds tightened.

  “I’ll tell Melios the Lord Chamberlain’s disappearance is Mehen’s doing,” Dedi explained, “but that I can placate the snake god and get his guest back. For a price, that is, and the cost will be the strip of land I want. How can he refuse? John is his guest and Justinian will hold him personally responsible for his safety. Naturally Melios will agree to any terms.”

  John was dragged across the uneven floor.

  “And I’m happy for the opportunity to teach the great Lord Chamberlain a lesson in humility as well,” Dedi added.

  The dark waters lapping at the edge of John’s thoughts welled up abruptly, and this time he could not hold them back.

  Chapter Forty-two

  A loud thump from a bedroom sent Peter rushing down the hallway.

  “Master? Is that you?”

  He found Thomas picking Cheops up off the floor. “Sorry, Peter. The door was open and when I saw it, I couldn’t resist looking closer at the famous cat mummy.”

  Thomas laid Cheops back on the pallet. The whiskered face glared at him with fixed, eternal, feline fury.

  The sun was high enough to send a brilliant shaft of light through the window slit high in the plastered wall. John had been gone all night and now half the morning. Peter briefly clasped his blistered hands together and muttered a prayer for protection of his master.

  “It makes me nervous waiting around, even for divine intervention,” Thomas said. “John wouldn’t be talking to Dedi about whatever’s in that accursed maze for this long. It’s time for action.”

  He slapped the pommel of his sword just as Cornelia stepped into the bedroom.

  She shook her head. “No, Thomas, you’d better stay right here.”

  “Mistress,” Peter ventured. “I believe Thomas is right. Something dreadful must have happened.”

  “I should’ve insisted on going with him!” Thomas muttered. “Nothing speaks more persuasively to a rogue like Dedi than a sharp blade!”

  He stepped forward, but Cornelia blocked the doorway. “You intend to venture out after your reception last evening? It would be better to remain indoors until John decides the best course of action. We won’t know what it is until he gets back.”

  Thomas grumbled, but accepted the wisdom of her words.

  “If Dedi’s up to further trickery there’s no point confronting him. He’d be expecting it and doubtless have some story or other prepared,” Cornelia continued.

  “But mistress—”

  “Don’t worry, Peter! John may well have had a sudden notion of other paths to explore and decided to pursue his investigations further, the middle of the night or not. You and Thomas stay here, in case he returns while I’m gone.”

  She pivoted and vanished down the hallway.

  Thomas looked glum. “Cornelia’s right. Everyone is so excitable here, and you never know what might happen. Even so, all this skulking about is getting tiresome. Ever since that night in the Hippodrome I might just as well have been locked in one of Justinian’s dungeons.”

  Peter suggested Thomas might feel better after he’d had something to eat. A hearty meal was his solution to many problems of a worldly nature. He retreated to the kitchen and began to sort through vegetables.

  His thoughts returned to John. Something terrible had befallen the master. Peter was as certain of it as if he had been granted a vision.

  Perhaps heaven had spoken to him?

  Would a vision come from outside? Could one’s thoughts be mistaken such a visitation? Might it appear to him as a phantom or a disembodied voice?

  John had gone to question Dedi about whatever was in the maze.

  What could be hidden there? Most likely some blasphemous artifact. Hadn’t the place been a pagan shrine?

  Yet a fragment of weathered wood might still be a piece of the True Cross even though sold by a charlatan.

  Peter had witnessed the crippled pilgrim cured. The man was carried into the shrine and walked out.

  One of faith might brave the maze and be rewarded with what he sought.

  Peter dropped the leeks he had been holding and strode out of the kitchen.

  ***

  John came awake at the bottom of the sea.

&nb
sp; He was drowning.

  Then he realized he could breathe, although with difficulty since his throat was swollen.

  Impenetrable darkness surrounded him. Not a hint of illumination revealed his surroundings. He was aware only of powdery dust against his cheek.

  He remembered being bound.

  During the process he had recalled the trick Cornelia had insisted on teaching him, one learned from Captain Nikodemos on the Minotaur during their journey to Egypt.

  She had been thinking of employing it in an act to garner a few coins in some village square. Nikodemos used it to win bets.

  John wondered if it might not be worth much more.

  His life.

  His captors thought he was unconscious. They didn’t notice he kept his arms rigid, and slightly away from his body. Dim light helped conceal the maneuver. It had gained him enough slack so that now he was able to work one arm free, scraping skin off his wrist, and then the other.

  After what seemed like a long time he extricated himself completely and got to his feet.

  How strange that Nikodemos had been a Mithran.

  A soldier of Mithra served the god, not the other way around, but perhaps sometimes…

  John blinked, and ran a hand across his eyes.

  He could not see his fingers.

  He groped at the dark, found no obstruction, and took a step forward, half expecting to trip over some obstacle.

  He thought uneasily of Dedi’s snake. His boots could be close to a reptilian head for all he knew. For that matter, the place of his confinement could be crawling with scorpions.

  He took another reluctant step forward and his outstretched fingers encountered a rough vertical surface.

  Not mud brick. Stone.

  Gingerly, he reached up. The ceiling barely above his head was also constructed of stone.

  He stepped carefully to one side, his outstretched hand again eventually meeting what he supposed was another wall. Moving slowly in case Dedi had set a trap, he made a complete circuit of the space in which he found himself.

  There were openings in each wall although no door frames, and neither did his fingers encounter any ridges in the walls where blocks had been fitted together. The walls not only felt uneven, they also bulged slightly outward—or perhaps the corner angles were not square.