Six for Gold (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-three

Cornelia pulled off her tunic and hung it on a peg. The bath was little more than a roofless cubicle with a slab of limestone in one corner. Slabs of the red sandstone that showed up all over the oasis protected plastered walls to waist height.

It wasn’t much better than bathing in the Nile, Cornelia thought, but at least she didn’t have to share it with passing crocodiles. The only wildlife visible inhabited eroded hieroglyphs in the sandstone—a flock of geese, a falcon, a snake or two. She bent to examine the opening where water drained outside. No scorpions lurked there.

She stepped up onto the slab, lifted the large jug she carried, and let water trickle down over her shoulders. The limestone felt hot against her soles, the water tepid.

There was no way to escape the heat. At least the water sluiced away the sand that accumulated on her skin, finding its way to the corners of her eyes and the back of her neck. She could feel the fine grit when she ran a hand along her arm.

When the jug was empty she stretched her hands up over her head, reaching toward the brilliant blue square of the sky. She shifted her feet, as if the motionless stone beneath them was the back of one of the bulls she had ridden in her days with the troupe.

She wondered if she would ever do that again.

Possibly not. While she was still slim and well muscled, her reflexes were becoming slower.

She was soon dry and reluctantly slipped back into her clothing and went into the house.

She stopped abruptly.

Thorikos scrambled up from his seat. “I can see you’re angry, Cornelia, but spare me the scorpions!”

“Scorpions? How do you know about them?”

“Well, I peeked in that jar in the corner. I assure you I knocked quite loudly before coming in, and there didn’t seem to be anyone here and—”

“So you invited yourself to enter and looked around?”

Thorikos looked ashamed. “I was curious to see what it was like. I’ve been inside Melios’ home, but I haven’t been inside an ordinary house, you see, and…”

“It’s not exactly one of the wonders of the world!”

“Oh, that’s true, but I’m most interested in learning how other people live.”

“That’s why you visited us, to see the inside of the house?”

“Actually, I was just passing by and thought I would ask if there was anything I could be of assistance with…” Thorikos was flustered.

“And perhaps get a glimpse of the house as well? It’s a long walk from the pilgrim camp and rather out of your way,” Cornelia pointed out.

“I went to visit Melios but he had a visitor. I thought it best not to wait.”

Cornelia gave Thorikos a questioning look.

“Melios was having words with someone. By the tenor of the conversation, I doubt he’d be in the mood for visitors.”

“Who was it, Thorikos?”

“It was that charioteer fellow. I heard racing mentioned. They sounded like a couple of partisans arguing the merits of their respective factions. Exactly what was being said I couldn’t say.”

Thorikos shifted his feet. “I wonder if you can help me, Cornelia? It’s about my health. Ever since I set foot in Egypt I’ve been plagued with the most dreadful headaches. I happened to mention them to Hapymen. Would you believe it, it seems he’s very knowledgeable about these matters?”

“I’m sure he didn’t refer you to me for help.”

“It’s about the remedy he suggested. He said the only certain cure was to rub my head with a concoction made of a fried mixture of fish and, I regret to say, a cat.”

“That surprises me,” Cornelia admitted. “Many Egyptians still consider it a sacred animal.”

Thorikos looked mournful. “Indeed. You would not believe the difficulty I had, trying to buy a suitable cat today. What’s worse, while the settlement was swarming with them when we arrived, most of the nasty things appear to have gone into hiding. I’ve not been able to catch one of the few roaming about either, despite no lack of trying.”

“Yes, I can see the scratches on your hands. At least the fish will be easier to obtain.”

“Alas, not so. The sellers in the market are as sly as the cats. They think they can name their own price.”

“They may do so, but won’t necessarily obtain it. Obviously word’s got around of your quest and you’ve been here long enough to be known by sight. Naturally it will cost you more to purchase fish than the amount anyone else in the settlement will be asked to pay.”

“Exactly so. Still, provided it is not too outrageous I can afford to buy a fish. Getting a cat is the problem. I trust this will not offend you, but I glanced in one or two rooms and happened to see a cat mummy. I was wondering if I could purchase it?”

Cornelia curbed her tongue. Thorikos did look extremely unwell. “I am afraid Cheops is not for sale. I must say I’ve never heard of such a remedy.”

“Is it possible Hapymen was having a jest at my expense? Perhaps I misunderstood my instructions? He has such a thick accent.”

Cornelia laughed. “Of course! Could it be he didn’t say you needed to anoint yourself with a mixture of fried cat and fish but rather meant cooked catfish?”

Thorikos stared in amazement. “Catfish? I never thought of that!”

“No matter. Both you and the local feline population would be better served if you treat your headaches with an infusion of willow or even a poppy potion. And here’s another suggestion.”

“What is that, Cornelia?”

“Don’t creep into people’s houses unannounced. It may be bad for your health.”

***

John and Peter stopped in front of the weird agglomeration of stone, mud, and marble that stretched back into the rubble at the base of the Rock of the Snake. Peter gaped at the limbs of broken statues that formed the doorway, but before John could rap on the door Dedi stuck his sallow, bristly face into the sunlight.

Dedi gazed at his visitors and his fish-like mouth formed a smile that showed off his wildly askew teeth. “Lord Chamberlain, I’m pleased to see you, and your servant too! Tell me, has Melios been scared to his senses by the flying demon I sent?”

“I cannot say,” John replied.

Dedi pursed his mouth in annoyance. “Melios should consider the situation more closely, excellency. A wise man would have long since given up claims to my land. Never mind. Come inside.”

As had been the case during John’s initial visit, they sat in the first room of the tunnel-like house.

“I fear I can only offer you beer today,” Dedi apologized.

Peter took the proffered cup, sampled its contents, and grimaced.

John took a sip. “You’d get used to it in time, Peter. I did. It was only after I reached Constantinople I began to drink Egyptian wine.”

“What is it you want to see me about, Lord Chamberlain?”

“The flaming demon. I believe you just admitted you were responsible?”

“Admitted? I am proud to say I was responsible. It was my final warning to Melios. If he does not accede to my wishes I will be forced to fill the sky with a hundred fiery demons. No, a thousand! And worse besides! Much, much worse!”

The magician’s voice rose in anger. “This settlement belongs to Mehen! His shrine was here long before Melios’ feeble god arrived on the scene!”

John slapped several burnt feathers on the table. “It appears that Egyptian demons have plumage remarkably resembling that of hawks.”

Dedi snatched the feathers away. “What vile trap is this?”

“It’s a common magician’s trick,” John replied.

“Melios is trying to discredit me. Any fool could release a burning bird!” Dedi picked up a feather and waved it at his visitors. “Do you think I don’t have the power I claim? I’ll show you soon enough!”

He muttered what sounded suspiciously like gibberish, then cried out, “Mehen, take this cursed thing away!”

He clapped his hands together. When he drew them apart, the feather was gone.

“It’s up your sleeve,” John remarked. “You’re dexterous, I’ll give you that. If you were thinking of removing it from Peter’s ear, don’t bother.”

Peter clapped his hands to his ears, looking terrified.

“It’s only sleight of hand, Peter,” John told him.

Dedi slumped back down onto his stool. “You’re shrewd, Lord Chamberlain. I can see I will have to be honest with you.” The magician took a long, noisy slurp from his cup. “You have been to the shrine above us. You have looked upon the maze.”

“The entrance to the maze,” John corrected him.

“As you say. You will agree that this is an ancient place, the source of enormous forces?”

“If you mean the talking snake, it’s obvious it has a dried monkey’s head fitted with a wig.”

“I won’t deny that I sometimes resort to illusions. In the great city you come from there are fabulous churches, so I am told. Their ceilings and walls appear to be populated by saints and angels, their space ablaze with gold and gems and colored marbles. In a word, these incredible structures might have come straight from the hand of the Lord himself. But, in fact, they were erected by the emperor to demonstrate heavenly beauty and power in a way that the populace can understand.”

“You are saying you perform your tricks to demonstrate the power of Mehen?”

“That’s right. And why not? Can you imagine the destruction if a real demon descended on Mehenopolis?”

Dedi waved his hands and the burnt feather materialized, an arm’s breadth above the table, and floated gently downwards. Peter quickly drew his cup away.

“Remember,” Dedi continued, “Mehen works through the appointed guardian of his shrine.”

“By which you mean yourself? How were you appointed to such high office?”

“Mehen called me, Lord Chamberlain. Years ago I was a traveling magician, wandering about performing for a few coins.”

“Or frightening ignorant people enough so they’d give you more than a few if only you’d be on your way?”

Dedi reddened with anger, but ignored the comment. “Then something insisted to me that I travel along the Nile. I realized I was being drawn somewhere, as inexorably as the waters of great rivers are attracted to the sea. When I arrived here I camped just outside Melios’ estate, undecided as to whether I should continue on my journey. Ah! But then I awoke in the gray light before dawn next day with a heavy weight on my chest. It was a coiled snake, the very one you saw a few nights ago.”

The magician waved an excited hand. “Then, once I learnt the ruined temple was dedicated to Mehen, I immediately knew I had been sent a sign and that this was where I was meant to be.”

“So why hasn’t Mehen sent an enormous snake after Melios?” John asked pointedly.

“Doubt what I say at your own risk, Lord Chamberlain. The power of Mehen is everywhere in this place. There isn’t a structure in the oasis that doesn’t contain brick or stone from the temple ruins, all of them imbued with the Snake God’s power.”

John noticed Peter staring uneasily at the feather on the floor. “I gather the pilgrim business is lucrative, Dedi. Hardly surprising, is it, with a constant stream of travelers in need of shelter, making offerings, buying supplies and mementos. Naturally you would make such claims.”

“I can see you don’t believe me. Then consider Zebulon. Why does he never win that game he plays? It’s because of his religious beliefs and his blasphemous use of Mehen’s likeness, of course!”

John stood up. “You keep talking about Mehen and his power, Dedi. What I see are shabby illusions any fumbling magician could perform, all of them easily explained. You may be able to mislead many, but—”

Dedi leapt up, as if intending to restrain John from leaving. “You question my powers? Well, why haven’t you been able to explain why Melios’ sheep cut its own throat?”

Peter looked horrified. To hear his master addressed in such an insulting fashion!

“It was just another trick, Dedi.” John’s tone was withering.

“You know it wasn’t!” Dedi waved his hands frantically. “You’re mocking me! Very well, I’ll prove my powers beyond any doubt. I’ll force another sheep to kill itself.”

John took a step toward the doorway. “That’s hardly necessary, Dedi. As I said—”

“I must insist, Lord Chamberlain, if that is what it will take to convince you!”

John sighed. “Very well, then. It shall be arranged as you wish.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Felix strode across the track at the Hippodrome, past the spot where the senator had lain.

He felt out of place on the floor of the stadium. He was used to looking down from the tiers of marble seats which, vacant, now rose all around like marble cliffs.

He had already talked to every person he could find who might have known something about the deceased senator. The conversations had failed to bear out Anatolius’ conviction that a pointer to the murder might be found among Symacchus’ house guests. No one recalled anything noteworthy about the visitors, except that most were Egyptian, but as Felix endured much unenlightening gossip, it occurred to him to explore a different connection.

The Hippodrome might well have been chosen for the fateful meeting simply because it was temporarily unused and only lightly patrolled. Before the plague, however, the races had rivaled the Great Church as the attraction every traveler insisted on seeing. Would Symacchus’ guests have been any different?

Rounding the spina, Felix saw a man with a spear standing in the middle of the track. Heavy-jowled, with a thick neck and hooded eyes, he wore a tunic resembling a stained sack. He pushed the spear tip into the dirt gently, as if probing with a surgical instrument. He withdrew it, shuffled forward, and prodded again. For a few arm’s lengths behind him, the hard earth appeared dimpled, riddled with punctures. There were a couple of larger holes, of the sort a dog might dig, with soil piled beside them.

As Felix approached, the man began to dig more vigorously. He bent down and plucked from the ground what looked like a clod of earth.

“Droserius!”

The man turned at the sound of his name.

“Captain! It’s you. I was afraid it was one of your men interrupting my work again.”

“I’ve explained to my patrols that you have legitimate business here, Droserius.”

“Yes, very legitimate, but they are always curious. Mostly looking for tips on the chariot teams for when racing resumes. Look, I’ve unearthed another crime.”

He tapped the clod of earth against his spear. Dirt fell away, revealing a metal cylinder as long as his finger. Tossing his weapon aside, he gently unrolled the thin lead sheet. “Remarkable how people still dare to break the law by putting curses on the race teams, isn’t it?”

Droserius rubbed his find on his tunic, leaving yet another streak of grime, and handed it to Felix.

It was a curse tablet. A demon with a contorted face, a long tail, and a rooster’s crest had been crudely incised into the lead, along with an inscription.

Felix squinted at it. “I release you, demon, from the bonds of time. I charge you, from this hour bring a pestilence onto the Greens. Torture them! Flay their horses! The charioteers Glarus and Primulus, crash them! Destroy them!” He didn’t attempt to articulate the magickal incantation which followed:
Ziugeu. Diaronco. Baxcu. Oeeora. Cagora. Aaiereto
.

He handed the tablet back to Droserius. “It’s easy enough to tell who’s being cursed, but there’s never any way to discover who buried the things. I hope you’ll finish soon. There’s nothing in here that needs guarding now, but when the races start—”

“Do you expect to have repaid me what you owe by then?”

“Surely you’ve already turned more than enough profit in this enterprise to allow me a fair amount of credit against that?”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t want to be seen giving anyone preferential treatment, Droserius.”

“Who is going to question the captain of the excubitors? Are you looking to be promoted? What position do you seek?”

“I wouldn’t turn down a military command,” Felix admitted.

“Why would you want to go rambling around the ruins of Italy? Or worse still, far-off deserts?”

“I’ve been stuck inside the palace for too long, spending all my time looking at walls. Some nights I dream I’m on a march with nothing but the hills around me.”

“Never mind. It won’t be long before the racing starts up again. That’ll provide enough excitement for anyone.” Droserius contemplated the lead sheet. “Charioteers pay good money for a curse tablet with their name on it. They can destroy it and avoid whatever’s been wished on them. However, I may not be able to sell this one. Glarus is dead. His chariot’s axle broke, and it happened right where we’re standing. I saw it myself. It was as if an invisible hand erupted from the track and snapped it in half. Cost me a fortune. He’d just arrived from Thessalonika, and no one had heard of him. No one knew about his skill and so I placed a heavy wager on his first race.”

“Whoever concealed that tablet here must have heard about him, else how could they know his name?”

“That seems obvious. I just hope it wasn’t the fellow who made off with my money. I may have to put this back. I don’t think Primulus can afford it. He’s been down on his luck of late and now I see why. On the other hand, if he removed the curse he might regain his former promise. No one else would be expecting that, so it would give me some scope for wagering. However, I can’t take any bets from you on his races, Captain. It wouldn’t be ethical.”

“I won’t be wagering again, Droserius.”

“No? It’s always good to have a break once in a while. Whets the appetite.” He closed his hand around the small cylinder. “I shall keep this one for now, I think. What stories lie beneath our feet, Felix. A secret history of intrigue and rivalry, of ill will and bad fortune. A gold mine to one who knows how to work it.”

“I want to ask you about another sort of story, Droserius. It involves the murdered senator. Were you here the day Symacchus was killed?”

“As I’ve already explained to your inquisitors, I always leave well before sunset. All those empty seats seem filled with phantoms once the moonlight hits them.”

“Do you know anything about Symacchus?”

“Only what everyone else knows, Felix. He was devout to a fault, wasn’t he? I would not be surprised to hear the night you found him was the first time he’d set foot in the place.”

“What about his guests? I don’t imagine he discouraged them from coming to the races?”

Droserius picked up his spear and gestured with it toward the seats. “The Hippodrome holds thousands of spectators. How many of them could I know?”

“You and your cronies are on always on the lookout for wealthy foreign chickpeas. You wouldn’t think a hawk could spot a dead mouse on a hillside, but it does. What about the question?”

Droserius laughed. “Now that you mention it, there was an Egyptian fellow who was staying with Symacchus. Some big fish from an exceedingly small pond. A place called Mehenopolis.”

“What was his name?”

“Melios.”

“You have a good memory.” Felix was suspicious.

“It’s hard to forget someone who owes you as much money as he owes me.”

“He wagered heavily?”

“And lost. Hercules himself couldn’t have dragged that fellow away from the races. And he never paid up. I got off lightly compared to some I could mention. This was a couple of years ago.”

“Why did you trust him to settle his debt? He was, after all, a stranger to you.”

“He was staying with the senator. A man like Symacchus wouldn’t offer hospitality to a dishonorable man. Or so I thought.” Droserius thrust his spear into the ground.

“Did you lend Melios money?”

“I have a weakness for assisting those who aren’t rich enough to invest in their luck, as you know, captain. Besides, Melios said he was in the city to present a petition to the emperor concerning some grievance or other. As far as anyone could ascertain, that was true. There was a lot of money involved, so with the stroke of his pen, Justinian was going to gild the fellow’s backside.”

He paused. “I thought he was a good risk. I was wrong.”

***

The body on the pallet lay as still as if death’s vast weight had already settled into the flesh. Glittering like gems sewn to the edge of a courtier’s robe, the gaze moved back and forth while the leaden face remained immobile.

“I thought I was climbing the ladder to heaven and you were a demon tollkeeper.”

“It’s me, Tarquin. It’s Hektor. Remember we were friends when we were both court pages? I’ve had an accident.” Hektor turned his head to one side, to give the dying man a better view of his profile.

“Hektor?”

“I found you not far from the docks, huddled in a doorway. The Lord must have directed my steps.”

“You speak of a Lord? The one you offered the chicken to that night when we were young? The dark one? No, you can’t persuade me. This is a snare. Don’t hurl me into the pit, I beg of you.” Tarquin’s hands, curled into claws, trembled.

“You’re not dead, Tarquin. You’re safe with me in the Hormisdas. What happened to you? I thought you’d been taken into the household of—”

“He tired of me. They all tire of me eventually, and yet what other way did I have to survive? Am I to burn in the eternal flames for it? Have mercy!”

“I’m not here to throw you into the flames, Tarquin.”

“I didn’t want to die on the street. I had nowhere else to go.”

“You haven’t died and you won’t.” The swellings on the sick man’s neck showed the lie. Hektor looked round as the door behind him creaked open, letting a shaft of light into the dim, smoky room, accompanied by a burst of noise from the crowded corridor beyond.

Bishop Crispin shut the door behind him. “Ah, finally I’ve tracked you down, Hektor. Where have you been keeping yourself?” His gaze moved to the pallet.

“As you see, I’ve been tending to an old friend.”

“Oh yes. Very praiseworthy. Now, I must ask you about a peculiar visitor of mine. A bald-headed fellow dressed all in peacocks. Does that suggestion anyone you know?”

“He doesn’t sound like anyone at court.” Hektor frowned. “Then again, I no longer spend much time among those who indulge in such sartorial vanities.”

“Of course not, but I’d hoped you might recall this man. His demeanor struck me as suspicious.”

Hektor stared thoughtfully into the gloomy recesses of the room. “I may need to take some action,” he muttered.

Crispin stepped nearer to the sick man. He looked down at Tarquin, then up at Hektor, distress in his face.

“I fear there is nothing to be done.”

Even though Hektor’s words were spoken softly, Tarquin heard them. “What’s that you’re saying? I am going to die here?”

“Let’s not speak of such things. You need to rest.”

“Yes, yes, but before that I must tell you. I’ve had a vision, a dream. Hektor. You will be rewarded for your works. You won’t die on the street, Hektor. Heaven has told me so.”

***

A young man in a flowing cloak forced back the bull’s head and buried a dagger in its neck. A snake, a scorpion, and a dog joined in the attack on the dying animal.

Felix stood in the shadows and contemplated the bas relief at the front of the mithraeum. It depicted Mithras slaying the Great Bull, the moment of creation.

He turned as Anatolius entered the narrow underground chamber. “Sorry about asking you to meet me here, Anatolius, but under the circumstances I thought it best if we weren’t seen talking.”

“You’ve discovered something useful?”

“I think so.” Felix glanced around, with the instinctive caution of the military man. They were alone. The guttering light from an oil lamp sitting on a stone bench animated whorls of yellow stars painted on the vaulted ceiling. “I’ve been making discreet inquiries about Senator Symacchus’ Egyptian visitors. I’ve heard enough gossip to enliven dinner parties for the rest of my life.”

“But what did you find out that would be useful to us?” Anatolius broke in.

“Apparently most of the senator’s guests were distant relatives or friends and acquaintances of distant relatives, who’d heard that the senator’s door was always open to Egyptian travelers who arrived in Constantinople, be they businessman, dignitary, or pilgrim.”

“That’s common knowledge.”

“I’ll wager it isn’t common knowledge that one of his visitors, a rascal named Melios, ran up big debts gambling on the races and returned to Egypt without paying!” Felix went on to detail the story Droserius had told him

“How reliable is your source?”

“He got his knowledge first hand.”

“First hand? He’s a gambler, you mean. Is that how you obtained this information?”

Avoiding Anatolius’ gaze, Felix studied the bas relief of Mithra as if he’d never seen the god before. “Sometimes you can’t be too dainty about who you talk to when you’re investigating. You know that as well as I do.”

“You’ve gone back to wagering, just like I said!”

Felix grunted and looked at his boots. “Just a coin here and there, for the sport. At least you won’t find me fleeing the city with creditors at my heels baying for my blood. Besides which, it was necessary for the task in hand.”

“Was there any mention of relics in connection with this Melios? I can’t see how he would have anything to do with this whole business.”

“As I said, Symacchus’ guests were a boring lot. Melios was the only one I was able to find anything out about.”

“He was from Egypt, of course. Where?”

Felix furrowed his brow. “Droserius did tell me. Some long name. I’m not sure. Mehen something or other, if I recall.”

“Mehenopolis?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“That’s where John was sent. So there must be a connection.”

Anatolius let his gaze wander to the sacred scene behind the altar. There was always something to ponder anew about the symbols of their religion—a raven, a scorpion, a snake, a lion and a cup, an ear of wheat growing from the tip of the bull’s tail, the god’s two torch bearers.

There was as much written in these images as in all of Justinian’s legislation.

The over-riding message, however, was plain. All life had sprung from the Great Bull’s death.

“Anatolius,” Felix said quietly. “Tread lightly. And now I have a question for you. Is there a new requirement for a lawyer to be bald? Although it’s not a bad idea at that, since it prevents disgruntled clients from grabbing his hair, the better to cut his throat.”