Five for Silver: A John, the Lord Chamberlain Mystery (6 page)

The furious bear erupted from its prison. In an instant it was on the excubitors like a storm howling in off the sea.

By the time they’d saved themselves their quarry was long gone.

Felix had just sent a number of his men with the tattered net after the bear when the empress made her appearance, properly dressed, albeit in someone else’s fine silks, and accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting.

“Captain Felix! You and the rest of your men escort us to our residence immediately! I must tell the emperor what the chicken had to say.”

Chapter Seven

Nereus’ house looked deserted.

John stood at the foot of a wide street leading off the Strategion. The steeply roofed dwelling on the opposite corner showed no signs of life. Its shuttered windows gave the impression that the entire household was dead, fast asleep, or had sensibly decamped to less dangerous surroundings.

He glanced up the sloping thoroughfare. Not even a stray beggar was visible for its entire length. Yet behind him, one or two of the vegetable sellers who had long been fixtures of the Strategion market hoarsely cried their wares at the foraging seagulls.

On his way through the square, John had noticed goods were sparse. Here a pale man with a racking cough displayed bundles of limp leeks and shriveled radishes allegedly fresh from the country, while there a plump woman shouted praise for her fine chickens. John had a notion Peter would have sniffed in disdain over both the scrawny fowls offered and the outrageous price demanded. The customary noise and the smell of loam and leafage, recalling a country morning, rising above a chattering, colorful crowd, had gone.

Lack of business was not unexpected. Work and food were both increasingly hard to obtain, and many of the desperate broke into deserted homes seeking edibles or the means to buy them, a thought that directed his attention back to the household he had come to visit.

Stepping quickly across the street, he briskly rapped on Nereus’ door. Muted echoes died away in the atrium. Given the futility of his investigations so far, John half expected no answer, but as he began to turn away there came a shouted reply from within informing him he would be attended upon shortly.

Soon the stout door swung open to reveal a stocky, red-faced man dressed in a short, grass-stained tunic and grasping a large pitchfork. He looked like a farmer just in from the fields, an impression reinforced by stray straws caught in his hair.

“May I be of assistance, sir?” the man inquired civilly, his politeness at odds with the implied threat of the sharp implement he carried.

John introduced himself and the other stepped back with a low bow, holding the door wide open.

“Please to enter the house. I fear that I, Sylvanus, am the only person here. All the other servants have gone to the late master’s estate. He is to be buried there.”

“I regret the death of your master, Sylvanus. However, it may be that you can provide—”

A loud bellow from the inner garden interrupted John’s words.

Sylvanus glanced hastily over his shoulder. “Could I answer your questions in the garden, sir? Apis is agitated. The master would not have liked that.”

“Nereus kept a bull in his town house?” John followed the bucolic servant across the atrium, noting the man had tracked dirt across the lively sea scene depicted by the floor tiles.

“Indeed he did. Apis was his most prized oracle!”

As they emerged into sunlight, John’s first impression was of a miniature farm. Several large fish stirred the water of a shallow pool, an iron grate barring their escape into a channel leading to the bull’s enclosure. A quartet of brass plates hung in the tree shadowing the animal’s pen. Beyond that, chickens in a large cage scratched contentedly in the dust.

Trees and tall shrubs had been planted around the garden’s perimeter, all but concealing the peristyles. It would have been easy to gaze up into the blue square of sky and imagine oneself in a secluded country setting.

Apis, standing at the fence of his pen, angrily tossed his head and emitted another bellow. It was a prime specimen of the animal sacred to Mithra, John thought. A long chain attached to a ring circling one of the bull’s legs ran back to another ring set in a sturdy granite post. Nereus had apparently taken precautions to ensure his house wasn’t invaded by the bull, sacred or not.

Sylvanus began to fork straw into Apis’ enclosure. “Well, sir, I know many have wondered why Nereus would keep such odd company in his town house. The fact of the matter is” —he paused to wipe his brow—“he set great store by Apis and the other oracles, and his visitors were always fascinated as well.”

“I see,” said John. “Nereus’ oracles were for the purpose of entertainment?”

Sylvanus shook his head. “To some extent, yes, but chiefly because he was a man of business. His business was shipping and that’s an enterprise more prone to the whims of Fortuna than most.”

John agreed it was so.

“Yes,” the other went on with some pride. “I’ve cared for a number of different prophetic beasts over the years. You’ll have noticed the fish—the very same species were consulted in one of Apollo’s temples. Their swimming to and fro predict what’s in store for the inquirer.”

John suggested that if such oracles foretold the future as accurately as the ancients claimed, the knowledge provided would indeed have been most useful to Nereus.

“That’s right, sir!” Sylvanus set aside his pitchfork. “Now it’s true that occasionally the Dodona oracles—” he pointed to the four thin brass plates jingling gently in the breeze “—kept us awake on tempestuous nights, but the master would not hear of them being taken down. Set great store by them, he did, although we never knew how he found out the way to interpret the sound the leather strips make slapping against the plates. He often used to say the Dodona oracles can foretell the future, but who can foretell the wind?”

“An interesting thought,” John observed, not entirely certain how to interpret Nereus’ comment.

“These are not the actual Dodona oracle, needless to say. But of the same vintage, or so he was assured. Not that cost ever deterred him. He was about to receive a new oracle and was very excited about it. An antique statue of Hermes, inspired by the one at Pharae. He told me seekers after knowledge made an offering, asked the statue their question, and then covered their ears until they left its presence. The first words they heard when they uncovered them were said to answer their question.”

Evidently, John thought, an auricular oracle.

“It wasn’t just statues and animals, though, sir,” Sylvanus continued with a fond smile. “Our cook complained more than once he had to keep a secret store of eggs and poppy seeds since the master would occasionally take them for purposes of divination, although neither of us know how they could possibly be used to foretell the future. You’ve perhaps noted the laurel bushes are a bit bare? The master would sometimes burn their leaves for the same purpose.”

Sylvanus sighed. “Only last week the house steward mentioned one of the master’s dinner guests had spilt wine and the master immediately prophesized the future from the shape the puddle made.”

“Was he correct?”

“I can’t say. However, no one can deny that Nereus thrived in his business affairs. No matter the weather, he spent an hour in the garden with me every morning consulting the oracles. He often said he had never known them to be wrong. Apis here was a particular favorite. The master paid handsomely for him. Bought him as a calf and happy to do it, since Apis is an exact copy of the bull oracle of old, what with being black and marked with a white square on his forehead.”

He paused to contemplate Apis, who was now quietly chewing at fresh hay. A massive hillock of an animal, the bull flicked its tail slowly back and forth, barely disturbing a twinkling cloud of buzzing flies.

“Do you think oracles really can tell us the future, sir? Apis here, he hasn’t eaten hardly a thing since the master died and usually he has a hearty appetite. Very strange, as I said to Cador only this morning. Cador’s the house steward’s assistant, gone to the country with the others. I shall be joining them as soon as they send a cart back to transfer the animals out there.”

A look of distress clouded Sylvanus’ face.

John commiserated, observing it must be difficult for a man of the soil to find himself stranded alone in a city.

“It’s not that, sir. It’s just that I’d much rather stay in Constantinople. Born here, so I was. I’ve worked in aristocrats’ gardens all my life and, despite my name, I’ve hardly set foot outside the city walls. It’s the thought of all that open space around me that I find disturbing. Fields and fields, with nothing beyond them but more fields, or perhaps a forest. There’s bears in forests, you know.”

“Perhaps you could arrange to stay here as caretaker of the house while various legal affairs are settled, and meantime you could seek another master?”

A look of gratitude spread across Sylvanus’ face as he contemplated the suggestion.

“How does this bull indicate the future?” John asked, quickly, as much to divert the other as from a thirst for arcane knowledge.

“Ah!” Sylvanus’ brown face furrowed into a grin. “It’s very easy. No need for purification rites or anything like that! No, a person wishing to consult Apis on a course of action merely puts the question and offers food. If Apis eats, it means a fortunate outcome to the intended enterprise.” A thoughtful look entered his eyes. “Since Apis found his appetite again just after you arrived, it may well mean you will find whatever it is you seek.”

“I hope so. However, I would like to consult you rather than these oracles. I believe a customs official named Gregory recently visited your master?”

“Gregory? He visited quite often on matters of business, I believe. The master showed him around the garden a few times. He did not seem very impressed.”

The gardener appeared reluctant to say more. John assured him he had nothing to do with customs duties or taxation for that matter. “Gregory was here the day Nereus died?”

Sylvanus looked dubious. “I truly can’t say. I rarely venture into the house when the master has visitors. I wouldn’t want to be tracking mud everywhere, for one thing. There were quite a number of people there that day, from the sound of it. A real commotion. I find it of some comfort, sir, to recall that the master did not die alone.”

“You wouldn’t know, then, who might also have been present to witness Nereus’ will?”

Sylvanus shook his head. “That was none of my business, sir. My business is looking after the master’s oracles.”

“You mentioned Nereus showed them to Gregory, and to other visitors too. His lawyer, for instance?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know who his lawyer might be. I don’t think he’s visited the garden, though, since being a lawyer he would surely have started arguing with the oracles.”

“What about you, Sylvanus? Do you have any notion why Nereus decided to make a new will?”

Sylvanus patted the bull’s flank and looked down into the pond, staring gloomily at the ghostly forms of the fish moving restlessly below its surface. “Everyone in the household knew why. It was on account of his son.”

“An only child?”

Sylvanus nodded. “There is no other family left. Nereus named the boy Triton after the sea god. The master liked to say his own fate was embedded in the name his parents gave him and that because of it he was destined to make his fortune from the sea. Alas, while the mythological Nereus had fifty daughters, the master had only the one son, a lad who contrived to bring him more sorrow than fifty daughters ever could.” The oracle keeper ran his hand through his hair, extracted a straw, and tossed it onto the surface of the pool. Eager fish rose, rippling the water.

“Has Triton followed in his father’s footsteps and entered the shipping trade?”

“Hardly, although that is what Nereus intended. Excuse me, sir. I should not speak ill of his flesh and blood, but we all agreed Triton had finally gone too far. None of us were at all surprised when the master finally carried out his threat to disinherit him.”

***

Hypatia looked up from chopping dill as Peter shuffled into the kitchen. Night had begun to darken the window panes and, having lit the house lamps, Peter carefully set the last one on the kitchen table. Its orange light danced across smoke-stained ceiling and walls, adding to the ruddy glow from the brazier.

“Isn’t it strange how a good lamp and a warm fire make us feel much safer?” Hypatia remarked, emptying a plate of chopped herbs into the pot steaming atop the brazier.

“Unless the lamp gets knocked over and sets fire to the house.” Peter peered into the pot. “You added too much water for that amount of bacon and not enough dill.”

“You heard the master’s order, Peter! I am to cook for the time being. And just as well, since obviously lighting the lamps has tired you out. As for lack of dill, I’ve added all we had.”

“Make sure you slice the rind off that chunk of bacon before you serve it as well. The master has the old soldier’s habit of eating everything placed before him without complaining, and bacon rind is bad for the digestion.” Peter lowered himself on to the kitchen stool. “There is something else I wish attended to, Hypatia.”

The young woman raised inquiring eyebrows.

“When I was lighting the lamps, I almost fell over one of your clay scorpions. It was sitting beside the master’s desk. It’s fortunate for you I saw it before he did. He would not have been pleased.” Peter’s tone made it clear that he was not happy about it either.

Hypatia frowned. “I realize you call my charms superstitious nonsense, Peter, but surely you understand I’m using them to protect the house and all who dwell here?”

“Them? There are more?”

“Yes, there are.” She began to launch into a sharp retort, but sensed an unusual anger in the elderly servant’s suddenly flushed face and instead lowered her voice. “I placed one at every entrance and each corner of the house, but I couldn’t get up on the roof to—”

Peter interrupted with the comment that a woman seen clambering about on the Lord Chamberlain’s roof would certainly have been fine grist for every palace gossip who happened to be passing by at the time.

“I know these scorpions come from a good heart,” he went on kindly. “However, you need to conceal them. Remember that the master serves a Christian emperor and, in addition, may well have visitors who would not look kindly on such decorations. Besides, it’s my understanding that the scorpion has some significance for Mithrans. The master most certainly does not want his beliefs placed on view, even by accident.”

He sighed heavily. “I am confiding in this fashion because it may well fall to you to remember all these things one day.”