Six for Gold (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

On his way to John’s storeroom, Anatolius decided to explore the house further.

There had never been any need for him to venture beyond the study, garden, or kitchen, since Peter had always been close at hand, ready to fetch wine or provide a meal for John’s few guests.

Besides which, he was bored. The baker’s unfinished will, still waiting on the desk in the study, only added to the attraction of a walk around the house.

He was surprised to discover that a corridor, beyond a doorway at the far corner of the garden peristyle, led to a series of deserted and nearly empty rooms. Dim light filtered in from the garden. The floors were covered in veils of dust which showed the passage of small creatures, while Anatolius’ boots left larger tracks of bright mosaic.

One room held a number of wooden boxes. Upon investigation he found they were filled with scrolls. Lifting a tag attached to one, he saw it was a ledger belonging to the tax collector who had owned the house before John, but who, having fallen from imperial favor, had subsequently lost his head.

The scrolls should be in possession of the imperial treasury, Anatolius thought.

There was a rumble. At first he mistook it for the sound of a cart passing by. When it came again he recognized thunder. The dim light was fading.

There was another sound. A scraping.

A startled mouse scuttling away?

Anatolius looked through the archway to the next room and saw movement in the gathering shadows.

A pale shape.

He stepped through the archway warily.

The other gave a low, startled cry.

“Europa!”

The young woman’s plain white robes hung loosely. Anatolius could make out the points of her shoulders. Her face was gaunt.

“I’m sorry if I surprised you, Europa,” Anatolius said. “I thought I’d do a little exploring.”

“I was looking around myself. Why does father own such a large place when he spends all his time in the kitchen or the study?”

She was right, Anatolius realized; John was usually either beside his brazier, like a peasant farmer, or reading and communing with Zoe in his study like a philosopher.

“The Lord Chamberlain is required to have a large house,” he said.

“Is that one of Justinian’s laws?”

“Well, no, I was jesting.”

“I hear you’ve taken up the law.”

“Yes, I am no longer the feckless poet who showed you around the city so many years ago.”

“I had forgotten that.” Her tone was suddenly icy.

Still, thought Anatolius, her delicate features were perfection and her eyes dark pools.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t express myself well, Europa. I didn’t mean…that is, I realize you’re a married woman, and, well, I admit I was attracted when we first met…”

The sudden clatter of torrential rain overhead broke the ensuing silence.

Europa sighed. “I spoke too sharply. I was thinking about Thomas, and worrying about my parents.”

“I understand. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here now that Hypatia’s gone. I seem to be making everyone uncomfortable these days.”

She gave him an appraising look. “I’d like to show you something I discovered.”

She led him to the end of the corridor, and opened the door there. “Look at this!”

Anatolius found himself staring into a luxurious bath. It was obvious it had not been used for years.

Rain poured through a circular opening in the domed ceiling, dimpling the leaf-strewn greenish water of the round marble pool which occupied most of the room. A voluptuous and much larger than life statue of Aphrodite stood beside the bath. She leaned forward, one knee bent, to gaze into an oval marble mirror which the sculptor had thoughtfully made horizontal, providing a useful shelf for perfume bottles or cups of wine.

During all the time Anatolius had known him, John had patronized the Baths of Zeuxippos. Many preferred the camaraderie of the baths, but for John it meant not company but exposing to the public the wounds about which he never spoke. The more Anatolius learnt of his friend the less he seemed to know him.

The rain hissing into the bath chilled the air.

Europa gestured toward the walls. “Look at the mosaics. If Peter peeked in here those angels of his would need to carry him off immediately.”

As Anatolius’ eyes became more accustomed to the gloom he began to discern details. He felt his face flush. The subject of the mosaics indicated they had been created by the same artist who had created the wall mosaic in John’s study. In that rural scene he had tilted many of the tesserae in an ingenious manner so when night fell and they caught the lamplight, viewers might almost imagine they could see debauched, pagan gods cavorting in the clouds. Here, nothing had been left to the imagination. Madam Isis could have sent her girls to view them for amorous lessons.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the wife of the previous owner of this house declared that since Theodora had a private bath, then she would have one too,” Europa remarked as she pulled the door shut. “At least Thomas will be back soon. He said he’d be gone no more than a few weeks.”

Anatolius looked away, hoping she hadn’t caught his sudden scowl. It pained him to think the lascivious mosaics had turned her thoughts to the uncouth barbarian. Why were women invariably attracted to men of the coarsest sort?

“Try to be patient,” he advised her. “These things often take longer than might be expected.”

Europa’s mouth drew into a thin line. The expression reminded Anatolius of her father. “These things? What things? Thomas isn’t one to go into details about his work. What exactly is this business that took him away so suddenly?”

“I’m not entirely certain, Europa.”

A peal of thunder overhead shook the floor.

If Anatolius had not been trying to suppress his poetic instincts, he would have taken it as an admonition from the gods.

Chapter Twenty-three

From high above the footpath zigzagging up the precipitous face of the Rock of the Snake there came a dull, reverberating boom.

John, Cornelia, and Peter looked upwards.

They had almost completed the arduous climb. In some spots the path was little more than a narrow rut. In others, crude stairs had been carved from the rock face. The party had started out just after sunset, their way illuminated by lamps set along the path.

Below, John could make out the lights of the settlement and Melios’ estate, piles of embers glowing in the blackness. Beyond Mehenopolis stretched an ocean of darkness, except to the east where the distant Nile, illuminated by the torches of boats and barges and the fires of villages lining the banks, hung like a fiery necklace in the void. The sky was clear and stars shone more brilliantly and steadily than they ever did over Constantinople.

Again they heard the resounding boom.

“Is that thunder, master?” Peter asked.

“I should think not,” answered Thorikos, toiling along behind them. “It’s just Dedi’s gong announcing a performance is about to begin. Magicians and soothsayers do so love their gongs!”

They had encountered Thorikos resting at a bend where the path widened for a short length. The portly traveler struggled to keep up with them, panted continually and wiped his perspiring forehead, but beamed with excitement all the same.

“Porphyrios told me it doesn’t rain in this land for entire generations,” Thorikos went on, with more enthusiasm than breath. “And just as well, said I, since everything’s built out of dried mud, not to mention I would hate to catch a fever after being up here on a wet night.”

From the base of the outcropping, the ruins on its top, a victim of some ancient downpour, resembled a mound of jagged, broken pots discarded by a lost race of giants. By the time John and his party arrived at the plateau and passed through the gap in its partially eroded wall, darkness had shrouded the building. A fire in the space before them cast flickering shadows against a facade constructed of blocks of red sandstone incised with hieroglyphs, interrupted by a high, dark doorway framed with wooden beams.

“That’s the entrance to the maze,” said Thorikos. In the firelight the traveler’s round face appeared scarlet from the exertion of the climb. “Not very impressive, is it? I hope I haven’t come all this way for nothing.”

Looking around, John noticed the flat area in which they were standing was scattered with rubble. The doorway before them must have once been inside a larger structure from which building material had been scavenged over the years. Part of it might well have found its way into the wall of Melios’ house, quite possibly having made several stops between leaving the temple and arriving at his estate.

The crowd in the clearing resembled one that might fill a marketplace near the docks in Alexandria, all ages and all manner of dress, similar only in that very few were Egyptian. Thorikos greeted several people by name.

“I’m staying at the pilgrim camp,” he explained to Cornelia. “Just think of me sleeping in a tent in the desert! It’s terribly cold and uncomfortable, of course, and my friends at home will never believe it! I gather this is a popular destination because it isn’t really famous yet. Naturally, everybody wants to visit the wonder no one knows about!”

“Do you intend to venture into the maze?” Cornelia asked.

“I considered it, as I have been feeling a little unwell, but decided not to. What if I got lost and couldn’t be found again? I suppose whatever ailment I have doesn’t require a miracle to cure it. Or not yet, at least.”

Once again the gong was struck. The sound issued from the temple’s dark doorway, the interior space amplifying the note and creating an eerie confusion of echoes.

Two men strode past carrying a pallet and placed it next to the fire. The weathered man they carried looked familiar.

“That’s the beggar we saw on our way into Mehenopolis,” said Thorikos. “I saw him again in the pilgrim camp. He told me he’d collected enough from the charitable for the offering he wanted to make in order to enter the maze. He’s hoping to be healed.”

Thorikos paused and wrinkled his brow. “Please don’t imagine I believe such blasphemy but it’ll make a fine cautionary tale when I return home.”

The chattering crowd began to congregate around the fire.

“I’m going closer,” Thorikos said. “I’ve come this far, so I might as well take a few more steps and get the best view.” He bustled away.

Hapymen emerged from the ruined temple carrying a table and a sack. He arranged items from the sack on the table and vanished again.

“That’s the gardener I was telling you about,” Peter said to John.

John noticed how Peter’s gaze kept moving toward the fire. “Go closer if you want, Peter. I’m content to stay here.”

“Thank you, master.” The servant made his way forward, sat down beside the man on the pallet, and was soon deep in conversation with the sufferer.

Cornelia remained at John’s shoulder. “I’ll be interested to see if Dedi uses any of Baba’s old tricks,” she remarked.

John scanned the crowd. A few were dressed in rags barely suitable for a desert hermit, while others wore garments far too fine for climbing outcroppings.

Hapymen returned with a large, lidded basket which he set beside the fire. When he had departed again, the gong sounded once more. A cloud of thick, luminescent smoke billowed from the ruin’s doorway, roiled outwards, and dissipated, revealing the diminutive figure of Dedi.

The healer and worker of magick held up his arms. “Welcome!” he shouted. “Shortly the favored among you will be permitted to consult the oracle. Before that, however, I must address certain important matters of which I have become aware.”

Assuming a severe expression, Dedi looked around the crowd until his gaze fell on John. “I know there are those among you who doubt my abilities. For them, I will demonstrate the powers which I claim are genuinely mine.”

“What powers are those?” someone called out. “Would you care to wager on how genuine they are?”

Dedi’s crooked-toothed mouth puckered into a smile. He picked up two items from the table. “Certainly I’ll wager with you, my friend. As you see, I am holding one coin in each hand.”

The coins flashed in the semi-darkness as he held them up to catch the firelight. He stretched his arms straight out on each side at shoulder height, so that his hands were as far apart as possible. “Shall we wager you will pay me twice their value if I cannot cause one coin to join the other without bending my arms? Yes? We are agreed? Very well!”

Dedi shouted a few unidentifiable words, and then, keeping his arms stiffly extended, swiveled to one side, bent slightly at the knees, and dropped the coin from his left hand on the table. Then he swiveled the other way, and picked up the coin with the hand of his still rigid right arm.

A roar of laughter rose into the night sky as the unlucky wagerer picked his way forward and tossed Dedi a few pieces of copper, giving the magician a rueful grin.

The magician bowed and strutted in front of the flames, a tiny figure attached to an enormous shadow. When the merriment had subsided, Hapymen reappeared bearing a pottery bowl which he set on the table. He remained standing beside Dedi.

Dedi tapped the bowl. “Here is an attractive vessel made by my assistant, Hapymen. I may say that he is an excellent potter, whose wares are of a finer quality than many of you can obtain in your native lands. What’s more, he needs your business. His wife is always complaining that coins seem to leap out of his hands as if by magick!”

Several in the audience guffawed loudly.

Dedi nodded his head knowingly. “I can tell some of you face similar domestic situations. But then, it doesn’t take a seer to guess that. If you would be inclined to assist Hapymen with his household expenses, and I trust you are, he also offers fine pilgrim flasks such as are sold in Alexandria.”

Dedi leaned forward, glanced around, and went on in a conspiratorial tone. “Things are getting so difficult, my friends, poor Hapymen may be reduced to begging. He won’t be able to make a living at it, I fear.”

The magician shook his head in exaggerated sorrow. “No, you see, there is a problem with the begging bowl. Coins may be thrown in,” he said, suiting action to words by tossing one of the coins he held into the bowl. “But they leap right out!”

As he spoke, the coin in the bowl flipped upwards, and landed on the table. Hapymen grabbed the coin, bowed, and departed speedily, waving his prize in triumph, pursued by surprised gasps and delighted laughter.

John noted that Peter was smiling as he watched Dedi intently. It would be instructive to see if the servant, being closer, had seen through the trick.

“He’s good at manipulating the crowd,” Cornelia observed. “A little humor puts them off guard, and working by firelight is convenient for concealing sleight of hand. What do you suppose he’d say if you wished to ask the oracle the puzzle on Melios’ estate?”

Scarcely had she spoken when Dedi, having astonished a man of bucolic aspect by producing three small stone scarabs from the latter’s ear, assumed a grave expression.

“Now that I have shown that I can indeed do all I claim, we will see if the oracle will favor us with a pronouncement.”

There was an excited murmur as he removed the lid from the basket beside the table, knelt down, and removed what was inside.

In the confusion of shadows and firelight, it was difficult to see what was happening. Cries of astonishment and terror began to ring out as Dedi got back to his feet.

The magician had draped a snake around his shoulders. The reptile was enormous and looked larger still compared to its diminutive handler. Though the size was startling, what was more shocking was its human face.

The crowd fell as silent as the stars overhead. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the crunch of Dedi’s feet as he paraded back and forth, a grotesque silhouette in front of the flames.

The creature truly lived. The firelight sparkled in its scales as the massive body rippled.

Dedi grasped the beast just behind its dreadful head and held it up. The face was tiny and wizened, half concealed by a fall of lank, black hair. Baleful eyes stared out at the crowd, their gaze cold and deep as the night sky.

Some of the crowd averted their eyes. Hands flew up to cover faces. Others fell to their knees or made the Christian sign.

Finally Dedi spoke. “Who wishes to consult the oracle of Mehen?”

To John’s surprise, it was Peter who climbed to his feet.

“My friend here, sir, has a request!” Peter blurted out. “He’s been crippled for years. He wishes to know if he will ever find a cure.”

Dedi lifted the snake higher. Firelight lapped over it. The reptile moved its head to-and-fro, then down and forward, as if fixing its gaze upon the sick man.

Peter’s eyes were wide and filled with the reflection of the fire.

The snake spoke. It did so without moving its shriveled mouth. The sound was wavering and high pitched, neither entirely human nor animal. It might have been coming from a great distance, as would the voice of a god.

“He who hath faith to brave the maze shall be granted his cure by the great god Mehen.”

John gave Cornelia a sidelong glance. She was smiling. Evidently, like John, she was not deceived by Dedi’s skill at throwing his voice. John was particularly impressed by the man’s impudence in presenting a snake with a patently false head as an oracle.

Dedi immediately dropped the reptile back into its basket. Clever, thought John. The oracle had not been on display long enough for the crowd to get over its initial shock.

The magician accepted the beggar’s donation, and the pallet-bearers carried the man toward the temple entrance.

“Now we shall soon see if Mehen chooses to honor us with a demonstration of his powers,” Dedi announced.

Hapymen appeared to bear away the basket. Excited conversations broke out and people moved toward the temple entrance.

Dedi mingled with his audience for a while. John noticed that more than once brief conversations were followed by donations.

After a time, Dedi strolled over to John and Cornelia. “I picked you out of the crowd, Lord Chamberlain. Height can be a disadvantage if you wish to go unnoticed.”

The magician turned toward Cornelia. “I noticed your lady as well. Beauty holds a similar disadvantage. And how did you both find the performance?”

“Most impressive,” John replied, “as a performance. On the other hand there are explanations for every wonder we’ve seen tonight.”

“You are a difficult man to convince.”

John offered a thin smile. “It’s like the matter of Melios’ sheep. Given enough close observation, every puzzle can be logically solved, even one such as that. No magick was involved, despite what Melios and others believe.”

Dedi pursed his fish-like mouth. “I draw my power from Mehen, Lord Chamberlain, and Mehen’s powers are beyond imagining. These powers, once unloosed, are not always fully controllable, as I have tried to explain to Melios on more than one occasion.”

Shouts of amazement interrupted him as the crippled beggar who had entered the maze on a pallet shuffled out, smiling and looking down at his feet as if he’d never seen them before.

Dedi waved an arm toward the healed man. “You see, Lord Chamberlain. He walks. Compared to such a miracle, forcing an unfortunate animal to kill itself is a trifle!”