“Murders, Anatolius. Jealousy has killed many a man.”
“Yes. Murders. It is getting complicated. It’s possible, I suppose, but I must say I’m dubious about the idea.”
“One thing seems certain at least. Whoever killed Symacchus also killed Achilles. It is too much of a coincidence that two men from the same household were strangled within hours of each other. Anatolius, I owe you a favor for getting me home safely from that tavern the other day, but if Justinian discovers how many excubitors I’ve had searching for a servant supposedly carried off by demons…”
“John told you he didn’t murder the senator, and how could he be responsible for this murder when he was arrested immediately?”
Felix scowled. “As far as everyone else is concerned, since Justinian has said he’s responsible for Symacchus’ death, naturally makes it so, or at least for all practical purposes.”
The captain ran an agitated hand through his beard. “But you’re missing the main point, Anatolius. Don’t you see? It was Achilles who came to tell me what was happening in the Hippodrome. Someone wanted Senator Symacchus dead, and further for some reason wished the senator’s body found exactly when we did. Obviously, this person intended to ensure the messenger sent to bring us to the Hippodrome wouldn’t be able to identify him later and took appropriate action. He’s certainly thorough, I’ll give him that.”
“Nevertheless, whatever it takes to untangle this mystery, I think you’ll agree we must see justice done. I’ve been wondering if Justinian sent John off to Egypt for his own protection. But if so, why?”
“I’d suggest Theodora’s involved,” Felix replied. “We all know she’s hated John for years. In fact, according to rumor he’s no safer on his way to Egypt than he is at the palace.”
“What are you talking about?”
Felix paused. “You don’t know? Of course not, since you haven’t been spending time at the palace lately. It’s being whispered that an assassin’s been sent after John.”
Anatolius’ fists clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“It’s just a rumor, although a plausible one, I admit. More than one man’s been sent away in disgrace so the messy business could be accomplished out of sight of the capital.”
From where they stood, Anatolius could make out the mouth of the Golden Horn. A solitary ship was entering it, haze boiling around its outline. He wondered if the vessel had come from Egypt.
“Even if it’s true, Felix, John’s been gone several days. He should have reached his destination by now.”
Chapter Fifteen
How strange, thought Peter. Every passenger was disembarking at the same place.
He had risen early, before coils of mist swirling over the river had dispersed as the sun strengthened. Now the acrid smell of cooking smoke drifted from a settlement strung out beside the landing place.
Already shadufs rose and fell. On the journey up the Nile, they had become a familiar sight, buckets at the end of sapling arms dipping into the river and rising, dripping, to empty their precious cargo into channels watering narrow patches of cultivated land.
Peter was not the only early riser aboard.
First he had run into the rosy-faced traveler Thorikos, arranging his small mountain of baggage on deck. Then Porphyrios the charioteer had appeared and commenced pacing up and down, flexing his muscles-limbering up for the land journey, as he put it. Finally, Apollo had begun to laboriously roll beehives to the ship’s rail nearest shore.
They had been on the Nile for days, the north wind at their back a stronger force than the lazy, southern current. Peter soon lost track of the number of villages they had sailed past, each a nondescript straggle of mud huts clustered beside the river whose annual inundation brought them life each year. Beyond, beginning at their back walls, a vast emptiness stretched as far as the eye could see.
The river was busy and their passing boat caused little notice, other than an occasional hail from a child running along the steep bank paralleling their vessel, hoping for a coin or a piece of bread to be tossed ashore.
Reed boats of an ancient pattern bobbed here and there on the slow-moving water as fishermen cast their nets in the broiling heat, but most of the shipping was commercial. For a while they had journeyed behind a boat hauling a cargo of large blocks of sandstone, doubtless destined for an imperial monument, church, or other official edifice.
At sunset the boat had tied up in the shallows. Like his master, Peter slept with a blade close to hand. He had been ashore only once since they left Alexandria, accompanying John to a small riverside market where they purchased several portions of smoked fish, a small sack of raisins, and a handful of shriveled figs to augment the meager fare provided on board.
“Are you going to Mehenopolis too, Peter?” asked Apollo, pausing in his work. He was dressed like the laboring peasants Peter had seen everywhere on their journey, being clad in nothing more than a loincloth.
“I stay there for a time every year,” the beekeeper continued. “See that smudge over on the horizon to the right? That’s the rock marking the oasis.”
Peter peered in the direction indicated. “A rock? In the middle of the desert?”
“There’s a lot of them. More importantly, there’s water there.”
Peter asked if their destination was large.
“It’s not a big settlement, but it’s popular with pilgrims.”
“Pilgrims?”
“Surely you’ve heard about the snake oracle? That’s why that outcropping I pointed out to you is called Tpetra Mphof. It means Rock of the Snake. I thought your master and mistress were on their way to see it, like Thorikos.”
“No, the master is traveling for business reasons.”
“I’m here on business too. As I told you, it’s one of the settlements I visit every year. I graze my bees there. The headman, Melios, is very fond of honey. I suppose he could hardly avoid that, with a name meaning sweet.” Apollo laughed. “Melios runs the settlement, or tries to at least. He’s the largest landowner there. Talk has come down the river he’s offended someone who wishes him ill, someone who’s using magick against him.”
Peter gazed at his companion with astonishment. “It can’t be possible to harm anyone that way, can it?”
“Then how else could it be his are the only sheep who have beheaded themselves?”
There was a splash. Apollo pointed in the direction of the sound. “Did you see the size of that crocodile? They’re attracted by the prow of our boat. Remember what Porphyrios said about them, Peter! Be careful!”
Keeping his distance from the dangerous side of the vessel, Peter left the beekeeper, who resumed his task. At the stern, John and Cornelia waited to disembark. The boat had approached as near to land as was prudent. Now several smaller craft bobbed toward them.
“That looks most unsafe to me, master.” Peter eyed the low craft that arrived first, steered by a weathered ancient whose long white garment was soaked to the waist after he waded into the river to launch his vessel. “I should imagine a crocodile would have no trouble at all leaping into it. Or it might even capsize!”
“Never mind, Peter,” Cornelia put in quickly. “Even if it does, we’re close enough to shore to be able to get safely to land.”
Peter nodded absently, staring at a large dog standing on the bank, eagerly lapping up water.
“You’re all disembarking here?” asked a booming voice.
The charioteer was as enormous as his voice. The big, deeply lined face evidenced middle age, but the muscles in his arms resembled thick ropes. “I’ll wager you’re bound for Mehenopolis as well,” he went on. “You can’t get anywhere else from here, except further into the desert! It looks as if we’ll have quite a caravan!”
***
In fact, the anticipated caravan turned out to consist of a single donkey cart.