Six for Gold (10 page)

John, a follower of a god Melios would have regarded as equally blasphemous, took an almond from the bowl. “On the other hand, I imagine the local inhabitants do gain some financial advantage by selling food and lodgings to visitors?”

“Indeed! Yet even this extra wealth brings problems. More houses, more goods, and more livestock. These additional possessions naturally add up to more taxes. Confronted by the current rates, I do think that our glorious emperor would surely agree with Tiberius Caesar, that it is the duty of a good shepherd to shear his sheep, not to skin them. This is why I took my case to Justinian himself. How can he be certain what his officials are getting up to so far away? I suspect many of them regularly inflate the taxes due and keep the overpaid amounts.”

“There are very severe penalties for such actions,” John pointed out.

“Yes, indeed. Even so, as you know, I traveled to the capital and there I presented a petition at the palace, requesting relief. However, while I am content to patiently await the emperor's benevolent action on my behalf, Dedi has put it abroad he has some plan whereby he can arrange for Mehenopolis not to be taxed at all. I do not believe such a thing is possible, but naturally this has led to talk of late about his becoming headman.”

John noted it would take a very great magician to avoid the emperor's taxes entirely. “Dedi presumably is quite wealthy himself?”

“Definitely. There again, perhaps heaven smiles, excellency, for a day or so ago, even as Dedi boasted of this plan of his, the imperial tax assessor arrived for his annual visit rather earlier than usual. I fear those who live here will be shocked when they find out the sums they will have to pay into the emperor's coffers. I know that I was! Even though I have but a modest estate and few animals, according to the assessor's demand you would think I owned half the Great Palace!”

“The fuller our coffers the more burdensome the taxes,” John offered. “It is something all of us have in common, at least.”

“You grasp my predicament, but of course you would, being such a close advisor to Justinian. As you are also aware, not everyone pays his fair share, thereby placing a bigger burden on the honest. Dedi, for example, always pleads poverty in public, especially when tax assessors are within earshot.”

An indignant note entered Melios' voice. “He is also not above spreading vicious slanders for his own ends either. Why, it has come to my ears he's lately been claiming I was killing my sheep in order to avoid paying taxes on them! It's absolutely untrue, excellency! As I told you, it was only the one that died, and it cut its own throat. And consider this. Dedi had warned me the sheep would kill itself. How did he know if he didn't have a hand in it?”

“You hadn't mentioned a warning before,” John replied.

Melios ran his hand through what remained of his hair. “Didn't I? Well, excellency, you know how these magicians are, always claiming they predicted this or that after the fact, or else predicting everything under the sun beforehand so that whatever happens they can take the credit for foreseeing it. I didn't think it was worth mentioning.”

He glanced at his glossy fingers before wiping them on his garment. “It's a mixture of rosemary oil and crocodile fat,” he explained. “My head gardener makes it for me. It's said to encourage the hair to keep sprouting. As Martial tells us, there is nothing more contemptible than a bald man who pretends to have hair.”

He paused. “If I may say so, I wouldn't concern myself with Dedi, excellency. He's just a fraud, taking advantage of the gullible in any way he can.”

Chapter Twenty

Anatolius dipped his kalamos into the ink and continued to write. “Further, let my son Titus be disinherited…”

He was seated at the desk in John's study, but his thoughts kept straying from the will he'd been commissioned to compose.

How was John faring in Egypt? Would Thomas be able to find him before the mysterious assassin? Then there was the urgent problem of uncovering the identity of the murderer of Symacchus and his servant, not to mention Hektor's threats and his attempt to take John's house.

Anatolius forced himself to concentrate on his task. Wasn't there another provision that had to be included? Oh, yes. The kalamos moved across the parchment again.

“…and also my grandson or granddaughter by Titus.”

Would that adequately cover the situation?

He didn't want to begin his legal career by garnering a reputation for unreliable advice.

The testator, his first client, owned several bakeries and gloried in the appellation of Little Nero. He'd been sent around by a friend of Anatolius' late father.

“A coarse fellow,” the friend had confided. “However, he changes heirs more often than his clothes, so you can rely on a bit of steady income from him.”

No doubt Little Nero would change lawyers as quickly as heirs if displeased, and explain loudly to anyone who would listen why he'd done so.

Zoe seemed to be staring at Anatolius. Her large, dark eyes appeared wider than usual, their gaze more penetrating.

Nonsense, Anatolius chided himself. How could that be? Each eye was nothing more than chips of glass.

Why aren't you looking for the murderer? she scolded him in return. That's what John would be doing.

Anatolius smacked his kalamos down. “Be quiet!”

“Sir?”

Hypatia stood in the doorway. She carried a large basket suspended from a rope handle.

Anatolius reddened. “My apologies, Hypatia. I was talking to myself. Going to the market?”

Hypatia shifted her feet. “I've come to tell you I'm leaving.”

“You're off to the hospice again?”

“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 tightly 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.