Six for Gold (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-five

“And this business with the sheep was just a trick, Lord Chamberlain? Imagine, Dedi trying to wrest my position away in such a fashion.” Melios’ words smelled of wine. His wig was askew and he kept turning the side of his face with the clouded eye straight at John in a disconcerting manner.

He appeared to be as upset and angry as Dedi had been by the end of John’s visit.

It was only a few hours since John had returned from Dedi’s house and informed Melios about the proposed show of power. The headman must have begun fortifying his courage immediately.

The sun had set. The two men stood outside the barn and overlooked the final preparations. Guards had been posted to keep the curious away. Servants bustled about carrying out orders relayed from John by Melios. The hubbub was reminiscent of a marketplace. The odor of burning torch resin hung on the air.

“No magick is involved,” John reassured the headman. “By dawn we’ll have discovered exactly how it was done and you’ll be rid of Dedi for good.”

“Even so, I’ve ordered everything with a sharp edge locked up.” Melios shuddered and put a hand to his throat.

“When I spoke to Dedi, I indicated that a man such as myself, from Justinian’s court, could not be misled by some Egyptian chickpea. I intentionally hurt his pride by saying this in front of Peter, my servant, who was somewhat puzzled to be asked to accompany me on my visit. I’ve since explained to him why I wished him to be in attendance. My intent was to anger Dedi so much he would insist on another demonstration in order to convince me of his powers. Beyond that, when people are angry they become careless.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

They walked over to the barn.

“The whole place will be lit up as brightly as the inside of the Great Church tonight,” Melios said. “For that matter, I have arranged to have so many guards here, the area will resemble the Hippodrome on race day.”

John refrained from mentioning that some claimed more crimes took place in the Hippodrome during the racing than in the rest of the city. “That reminds me, Melios. You had an argument with the charioteer. Why?”

“Whoever said so is mistaken. I haven’t argued with Porphyrios. I’ve hardly seen Porphyrios. Now if you’d said Scrofa, I admit I’ve exchanged hot words with that rascal. He’s been content to skulk about out of my sight since then. Oh, he didn’t like it when I told him about my acquaintance with the emperor! Let me tell you…”

Suddenly Melios’ voice was echoing much too loudly in a sudden silence. The clamor from the workers had ceased abruptly.

Dedi had materialized out of the growing darkness. He carried a short wooden post, split halfway down. Its wickedly sharp blade pointing upwards, a sword was wedged into the cleft, and kept in place by a rope tying the split halves together.

Servants and guards alike moved out of Dedi’s path.

The magician addressed John and Melios. “Let’s get on with it! You know the routine, Melios! We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

All the color had drained from the headman’s face. Caught by torchlight, sweat stood out on his forehead like drops of liquid fire.

“Yes,” Melios wheezed. “Let’s not delay. This time it is going to be different. Isn’t it, Lord Chamberlain?” He instructed a guard to unbolt the door.

Torch light flickering through the slitted windows bisected its empty interior. Charms hung on the gate of the pen at the far end.

Accompanied closely by John and Melios, Dedi carried his deadly device into the enclosure and tied it securely to the gate. Then John ushered his two companions outside.

“Where’s the sacrificial beast?” Dedi asked.

“Hapymen is bringing it now,” Melios replied. Turning to John he went on. “Don’t imagine I would allow my animal to be unprotected, Lord Chamberlain. You observed the amulets, and exactly as on the previous occasion Zebulon has blessed the beast and Hapymen has made a protective garland.”

“All your precautions will be as ineffective as the last time,” Dedi told him with a sneer.

“I am of the opinion we didn’t use enough flowers of Paion on that occasion,” Melios replied.

A loud, agitated bleating announced the arrival of a small, gentle-faced sheep led by Hapymen. A heavy garland of ruby globular blossoms intertwined with numerous leaves and sprigs of herbs hung around its neck.

Melios began to open his mouth, then clamped his lips together tightly, turned, and lurched off toward his house.

“My master does not appear to be feeling too well, excellency,” Hapymen observed.

“We can proceed without him,” John replied. “As soon as I’ve searched inside one last time, the animal is to be placed in its pen. I shall then seal the door, and it will not be opened again until I personally do so.”

“As for me, I’m off to get a good night’s sleep,” remarked Dedi. “We’ll see if all these precautions can overcome the power of Mehen.”

***

As the night advanced stars blazed forth, brilliant against the clear sky. John had arranged the guards in two concentric circles. Those in the inner ring closely surrounded the barn, while others formed a human perimeter further out.

It was impossible for Dedi or any accomplice to reach the barn without being seen. Therefore, John thought, the magician was bound to fail and be forced to admit defeat or, more likely, concoct some excuse or other that would deceive no one.

On the other hand, Dedi might well make a reckless attempt from frustration and anger, in which case he would be caught and exposed in the act.

John strode around continually, keeping his own watch and making sure the guards were awake and attentive. Surrounded by armed men in a pool of light in the middle of darkness, he recalled his days as a mercenary.

How many sleepless nights had the younger John spent on watch in an encampment near enemy territory?

This time there were no bands of enemies waiting to ambush during the night, only a charlatan who called himself a magician.

John was not certain what would happen once Dedi was exposed. The magician would be forced to admit how he had accomplished the first killing. Would the answer somehow lead to the information Justinian sought in Egypt?

He would consider the question in the morning.

The hours advanced. John had always thought, whenever he stood watch, that the quality of time changed at night. The hours did not flow forward as they did during the day, but rather lay upon the world in a still pool, until daylight forced them into motion again.

He spoke a few words of encouragement to a boy leaning on his spear. The boy smiled, surprised that the tall, lean Greek could address him in fluent Coptic.

John made another circuit around the barn.

All was quiet. Occasionally a torch popped and threw off a gout of sparks. John half expected a second flaming demon to come shrieking out of the sky, or some other similar diversionary tactic.

He crossed the open space to the verge of the garden, where the smells of smoke and livestock were replaced by that of vegetation. The chirp and buzz of insects within the dark plant life grew louder.

Pale moonlight formed a patch of white behind the trees.

No, it was a robe.

John plunged toward it.

The figure turned to flee. John leapt forward, put his shoulder into the man’s back, and drove him face down into the soft ground, crushing most of a fragrant bed of flowers.

John yanked his prey over. “Thorikos!”

“Lord Chamberlain…I…uh…”

John dragged the traveler none too gently to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I meant no harm!”

“You’re fortunate I saw you before one of the guards decided to test his aim and the sharpness of his spear.”

“Yes, I see that. My apologies, excellency.”

“And why did you attempt to flee?”

“Well, I…er…realized I was trespassing and might not be welcome, although I came here with the best of intentions.”

John treated Thorikos to a stream of Coptic invective that, although only barely understood by its recipient, was still more memorable than many of the sights the traveler had seen during his journeying.

Thorikos suddenly put his hand to his belt. For an instant John thought he might be reaching for a blade. Instead, Thorikos let out a faint cry, bent over and began feeling through the dark vegetation around his feet.

With a gasp of relief, he finally straightened up, holding out a smooth, rounded piece of bone. “Thanks be to the Lord! I thought I’d lost it, excellency. It’s a saint’s knucklebone.”

He stuffed the bit of bone back into his pouch. “You see, Lord Chamberlain, I purchased it at an outrageous price at the pilgrim camp, having heard about the demonstration planned for tonight. I thought it might be useful in helping protect the animal.”

“A touching thought, Thorikos, but surely you don’t believe it’s really the knucklebone of a saint?”

“Of course not! It probably belonged to some lesser holy man. Nevertheless—”

A series of frantic, high-pitched bleats resonated from the barn.

Cursing, John raced back.

He ordered the guard away and yanked the bolt open himself, breaking the wax seals he’d placed on the door.

As he reached the pen, he saw the sheep staggering. Its front legs folded, the crimson-chested animal pitched forward and rolled onto its side.

The sword blade anchored on the wooden post glistened wetly.

The ground was speckled with blossoms redder than the flowers in the garland around the dying creature’s neck.

Chapter Thirty-six

Europa nervously cracked open the house door.

“Anatolius? Why are you back so late? I was beginning to get worried—”

The door was kicked violently inward, catching her on the side of the head and flinging her onto the tiles. Dazed, she tried to push herself up. All she could see from her prone position were boots stamping across the wildly spinning floor. Too late, she remembered what Anatolius had told her—not to open the door unless she was certain he was on the other side.

She lay still, peering through half-closed eyelids.

The intruders had leather leggings.

Except, comically, for one, who wore yellow hose and soft leather shoes.

The floor spun faster. The yellow hose no longer seemed so humorous.

She pretended to be unconscious. The thin trickle of blood seeping toward the house door would help the illusion, she thought. The shoulder of her tunic was already soaked. Scalp wounds bled profusely.

“Search the upper floors,” someone ordered. “The men must be elsewhere, otherwise the racket would’ve brought them down here by now. Still, we better be certain they aren’t hiding, trying to be clever.”

There was a muffled query.

“You’ve had your instructions,” snapped the man in charge. “Don’t hesitate to do it, and don’t ask me again.”

Europa tried to control her breathing. As the floor gradually stopped turning she became aware of an agonizing pain in her side, centered on a hard lump. She hesitated to reach down to investigate. Had she broken a rib?

No, it wasn’t a rib.

Through slitted eyelids she watched the yellow hose approach.

“If they aren’t here now,” said their wearer, “they’ll be back soon enough. Then we’ll finish our business and be off.”

The intruders intended to kill Anatolius and Thomas, Europa realized. Thomas was safely away, but Anatolius should have returned long ago.

Yellow hose’s shoe prodded her roughly.

She gasped.

“Ah, so you’re still alive,” he said.

The man in the yellow hose wore a brown robe. The face was a visitor from a nightmare, half human, half demonic.

It was Hektor.

Anatolius had warned her the former court page wanted her father’s house.

Would he kill for it?

It seemed so.

“Should I finish her off, sir?” asked a gruff voice.

“It seems such a waste,” Hektor remarked. Looking down, he addressed Europa. “Tell us where Anatolius and Thomas have gone. I’m delivering a homily on divine grace later this evening and I don’t want to be waiting here all night.”

“We can handle the task of persuading her, sir,” the gruff voice suggested.

“And would you deal with that task as magnificently as you and your idiot friend handled your assignment at Francio’s house? Unfortunately, the only man I can trust to do any such job correctly is currently in Egypt. Go up and help the others search. I’ll call you when you’re needed.”

After the man had gone upstairs, Hektor kicked Europa more vigorously in her ribs.

She sat up groggily.

“Where do pagans suppose they go after they’re dead?” Hektor asked her with a vicious smile.

“Your intention is to kill me?”

“I prefer to think of it as sending you to join your father.”

Europa’s hand moved swiftly, reached behind her, grabbed the clay scorpion on which she’d fallen and flung it straight into Hektor’s face.

The protective charm disintegrated, showering bloodstained fragments onto the tiles.

Then Europa was on her feet, running across the atrium.

Behind her Hektor screamed, “Your death will be slow now! I’ll make certain it’s slow!”

Europa plunged into the darkness of the garden.

Past the pool she ran, toward the unused wing of the house.

Shouts and the clatter of boots followed.

She raced down a corridor and into the room containing the bath.

She was shaking. Her chest burned and her head pounded.

She surveyed the small space. The round bath, the lascivious mosaics, the enormous Aphrodite holding her marble mirror, the circular hole in the domed ceiling through which moonlight slanted.

She ran around the edge of the bath, took a breath, tensed her muscles, and jumped.

No sooner had she landed on Aphrodite’s mirror than she leapt up lightly, gripped the goddess’ smooth shoulders, climbed onto them, and launched herself upward again.

For an instant she dangled at arm’s length from the rim of the aperture in the ceiling, until her feet found the head of the statue.

With a final despairing push she pulled herself out into moonlight and slid down the far side of the dome, hidden from anyone in the garden.

She could not linger. Her pursuers would doubtless now be racing back through the atrium and around to that side of the house.

She dropped to the ground and ran through shadows to a stand of firs some distance away, from which she surveyed the cobbled square separating the house and the excubitors’ barracks.

Anatolius usually took the path leading around the corner of the barracks.

How could she warn him?

It seemed strange that none of the excubitors were investigating the disturbance at the Lord Chamberlain’s house, hardly a spear’s throw from their lodgings.

But then Hektor was known to be Theodora’s creature. No doubt orders had been given no notice was to be taken of anything that might happen that night in the Lord Chamberlain’s dwelling.

Making a quick decision, she slid away into the deeper concealment of the confusion of shrubbery behind her.

***

Anatolius let out a sigh of relief as he finally came within sight of the barracks. He hadn’t intended to be away so long, and doubtless Europa would be getting anxious about him.

All the way back, as shadows massed under colonnades and spread out into the streets, he had felt nervous. Every beggar in a doorway had been lying in wait for him, only pretending to be asleep.

Now he was safely back on the palace grounds.

As he approached the barracks, a figure leapt from the bushes bordering the path.

His blade was in his hand before he recognized a familiar face.

“Europa!”

“Quick,” she whispered. “Into the bushes. Hektor and his men are waiting to ambush you at the house.”

Anatolius grasped the situation immediately. “There’s no point calling the excubitors out if he’s involved. We’ll have to go to Francio’s house.”

They ran through deserted imperial gardens, taking the most direct route to the Chalke. As they loped along, Anatolius prayed Hektor had been over-confident and had overlooked stationing any of his men there.

Soon they slowed to a walk and approached the great bronze gate of the palace. The guard on duty looked them over and then stood aside to let them pass.

Suddenly, he lowered his spear into their path, barring their way.

“Anatolius! It’s you!” The guard grinned broadly. “You’re panting as hard as if you’ve just run twice around the Hippodrome. After the thief who stole your hair, were you? All the ladies will ignore you now!”

He laughed and raised his spear.

Then they were safely out of the palace grounds and moving swiftly along the Mese.

Anatolius led Europa into a series of alleyways and narrow spaces between buildings, through squares too small to allow a cart to turn around, and along decrepit, roofless colonnades. Their route twisted and turned.

“Are we lost?” Europa wondered.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been this way plenty of times. Besides, you can never really get lost in the city at night. Not with the Great Church for a beacon.”

Anatolius looked up toward the slice of night sky visible between the brick warehouses pressing in on either side. “See, just over there the sky’s brighter. That’s the glow from the windows in its dome.”

There was no sign of pursuit.

When they reached Francio’s door, Vedrix ushered them inside.

Francio had recovered sufficiently from the attack of the eels to be up and about again. He clucked sympathetically at the sight of the blood-bedaubed Europa.

Anatolius explained the situation.

Francio tapped his nose in annoyance. “So, it seems my visitors gathered together a few of their friends and paid a call on you. They are going to start a fashion for swathing the head in strips of white linen.” He ran a hand over the wrappings still adorning his head. He was dressed, uncharacteristically, in matching white.

“We’ll get that attended to right away. You’ll be as stylish as I am in no time,” he told Europa. “Might I suggest you adopt the same sort of headwear, Anatolius, until your hair grows back?”

“We don’t want to put you in danger, Francio,” Anatolius said. “But if we could—”

“I’ll hide you in the servants’ quarters.”

“Felix has given me some useful information. I’m going to risk paying Bishop Crispin another visit. I think I can change his mind about talking to me.”