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He didn’t want the avian intruder to get upstairs, where there would be no escape and its panic would foul the floors. It was already perched halfway up the stairway, so Anatolius trotted forward, waving his hands. The bird took flight in a small explosion of pinfeathers, but fortunately fled into the garden.

Anatolius followed. Looking up, he saw the bird dwindle and vanish into the deep blue rectangle of sky framed by the roof of the peristyle.

Hypatia was working in one of the herb beds. Her hands were black with dirt and her tawny face, sheened with perspiration, glittered like polished marble.

At his greeting, she brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead, carefully using the back of her hand. Nevertheless, the gesture left a streak of grime. “I’m almost finished here, sir, and as soon as I get cleaned up I’ll see what I can find for the evening meal.”

“Don’t worry. You’re overworked, Hypatia. What have you been pruning?”

“It’s fennel and dill, sir. The fennel’s got into the dill and if it’s left there it will weaken the stock. Dill needs the light in the center of the garden, so I’ve been digging up the fennel plants to move them further away.”

“That sounds like an excellent solution.” He was trying to think of something else to say when she gathered her tools and went into the house.

Anatolius strolled around the garden for a time and then returned upstairs.

He decided to put away the will he’d been working on and go to see Thomas again.

When he entered the study he saw someone bent over the desk, studying the documents scattered there.

The figure straightened and turned, revealing a scarred ruin of a face whose skin resembled that of a fowl left on the spit too long.

“Hektor!”

“What are you doing, Anatolius, creeping around the Lord Chamberlain’s former residence? You startled me!”

“I’m staying here in his absence.”

“Indeed? And so it’s true this is your new line of business?” Hektor plucked a document up by a corner as if it were something distasteful. It was the will.

Hektor let it drop. “You’ve gone from being Justinian’s secretary to sweating in the employ of bakers. Such a pity.”

The former court page was dressed in spotless white garments decorated with embroidered squares depicting Christ on the cross and the risen Christ.

Unfortunately there was no finery in the empire that would draw attention away from the disfigured face.

“You have no right to be here, Hektor,” Anatolius snapped.

“I expected the house to be abandoned after the Lord Chamberlain’s enforced departure, and the carelessly unlocked house door gave me no reason to think otherwise.”

“It’s still occupied, as you see.”

“You’re not doing a very good job, are you? What if I were a common criminal?”

“Instead of an uncommon one? Well, if you haven’t come to scavenge whatever you can steal like some carrion-eater then why are you here?”

“I intend to take possession immediately.” Hektor glanced around the room. His gaze lingered on the wall mosaic. “It’s a most desirable property and could be furnished attractively. The Lord Chamberlain’s notion of comfort is not mine.”

Anatolius observed that John was a man of simple tastes.

“Then he’ll be much happier in a hovel in Egypt.”

Anatolius heard a step in the hallway and glimpsed Hypatia, who vanished in the direction of the kitchen.

Had she been listening?

“Leave, Hektor. You’re not welcome here.”

“What’s the hurry? John won’t be coming back. Our dear empress was correct all along. He was a cunning villain and now he’s been unmasked. Yet who would have guessed he’d go so far as to murder a senator? Whatever could he have been trying to conceal?” Hektor made the Christian sign. “I shall pray for his soul, sinner that he is.”

“Do I have to throw you out?” Anatolius grabbed Hektor’s arm.

Hektor jerked away. “Beware, Anatolius. If I appeal to the emperor-”

“You don’t appeal to anyone now, I’m afraid. Since I was the emperor’s secretary until recently, he knows me well, and I doubt he’d take much notice of whining complaints about me from a prancing fool like you.”

“You mistake me for the person I once was, Anatolius. The terrible accident I suffered was a gift from heaven. The veils of sin were lifted from my eyes and I saw the vanity of earthly things. However, we must also be practical. Even those who serve the Lord must have a place to live.”

“Why don’t you find a vacant pillar to crawl up and take up being a stylite instead of causing trouble for everyone?”

Hektor glared. “Your friend John will not be needing this house again.”

“He’ll be back before too long. How can you possibly doubt it?”

“Being in the confidence of those who are highly placed, I’ve been entrusted with more than a few secrets,” the other replied.

“You mean you’re a keyhole specialist.”

Hektor raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Lord,” he muttered, “please help this deluded paga-”

With a quick movement Anatolius struck Hektor square on the chest, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“I’m impressed! Your prayer’s been answered already! I’ve neglected the gymnasium lately and needed help getting exercise. Shall we continue?”

Hektor scrambled to his feet, fists clenched. “I’ll be back to take possession of this house when your protector is dead, Anatolius!”

His voice was a low snarl. “Until then, I wouldn’t make myself too comfortable here if I were you,” he went on. “It won’t be long until the Lord Chamberlain is on his way to whatever part of hell is reserved for pagans. Indeed, he may be writhing in the flames right now if the assassin has already caught up to him!”

Chapter Seventeen

Melios barely looked at John’s introduction. He broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, glanced down, and then up again. “You are John, Lord Chamberlain to Emperor Justinian? I am honored, excellency, deeply honored.”

John’s host had the leathery skin of a desert ascetic stretched over the plump body of one born to privilege. A helmet-like wig of traditional cut framed the headman’s face and thin lines of kohl drew attention to brown eyes, one clouded by that affliction Egyptians called a rising of water. However, the spotless white linen he wore might have been stolen from the back of an ancient Greek sculpture.

To John, Melios appeared to be a man with his feet planted, unsteadily, in two cultures.

“As you see, the emperor has sent me here to look into the matter of your sheep,” John said.

“Why would the emperor be interested in my flock? It was declared and taxed accordingly last year. Is there an accounting problem, some difficulty of that kind?”

“Nothing of that nature.” John wished the knot he had to untie was as mundane as correcting tax rolls. “What interests Justinian is the strange way they’ve died. It should be explained in my introduction.”

Melios unrolled the scroll again and peered at it. “The writing is minuscule. I fear I do not see so well in this light. To think that my poor beasts, scratching out an existence almost beyond the very border of the empire, would be discussed in the Great Palace. They are such humble animals compared to the tigers and peacocks gracing the beautiful mosaics lining imperial corridors! I suppose I should not be surprised. There must be little that escapes Justinian’s attention.”

“Where did these deaths occur?”

“There was only one, excellency, but that was quite enough for me. Furthermore, it cut its own throat rather than decapitating itself, but these reports do gain in the telling and retelling, don’t they? In any event, the unfortunate animal killed itself in its pen.”

“I wish to examine where it happened.”

“Certainly. I’ll show you the gardens on the way.”

John followed Melios outside and around the back of the house. Moonlight silvered the path.

“My servants must labor ceaselessly to maintain these gardens,” Melios said. “As Horace put it, you may force out nature, yet she’ll insist on running back.”