Next to the well a man in a rumpled, undyed robe sat half-asleep on a stone bench, waving his hand now and then to disperse insects buzzing around his head.
As Cornelia approached, he called her a greeting, his voice strong and mellifluous.
“Salutations!” Cornelia returned.
When the man stood briefly to offer a hint of a courtly bow, she saw he was tall. He had deep-set eyes, a nose jutting like an escarpment, and black hair that flowed down to broad shoulders.
“I am Zebulon. Welcome to Mehenopolis.”
As Cornelia drew closer she saw that Zebulon was older than he had first appeared. Gray streaked the dark hair, and his enormous hands were veined and gnarled and trembled slightly.
She introduced herself and accepted his invitation to sit down, noting the stone bench had been formed from a broken block of red sandstone, its intact surfaces carved with hieroglyphs.
“It’s not often I see a female pilgrim,” Zebulon told her with a smile, “and beyond that, one bold enough to talk to a stranger.” There was the hint of a Syraic accent in the man’s Greek. “If you have time to spare, would you care to engage in a board game?”
Cornelia couldn’t conceal her surprise. She had received many propositions during her years with the troupe, but never to play that particular sort of game.
Zebulon laughed. “I see you are wondering what I mean.” He leaned sideways and groped behind the bench, finally producing an alabaster board and a cedar box, which he laid on the sandstone between them.
Cornelia examined the heavily incised circular board curiously. If this was a popular local form of entertainment, it wouldn’t hurt to know something about it.
“How is it played? I see it looks like a snake coiled on itself with its head in the middle, and that there’s segments marked off from the tip of its tail to its head. Is the idea to win by being first to move from tail to head?”
Zebulon nodded. “It’s called Mehen and you have described it perfectly.”
He opened the box and set two ivory pieces, one a recumbent lion and the other a crouching lioness, on the tip of the serpent’s tail.
“We toss a coin to see how many segments we move. I’ll explain the formula as we go along. Now, I believe I have a nummus. Yes, I do. If you would like to take the first turn?”
Soon their leonine markers were racing along the snake’s tail, first one getting ahead a few spaces and then the other.
“Do you see many pilgrims here?” Cornelia asked. She grinned as her lioness leapt forward two segments. “And if I may ask, how did that building behind us burn down?”
Her opponent picked up the coin. “That was once my little church. One night a few months ago it caught fire, but unfortunately it could not be saved. I wasn’t here at the time, having been called out to administer spiritual comfort to a sick pilgrim, and by the time I arrived back, well…”
He flipped the nummus with a practiced air. “Ah, I see heaven favors me, for I now draw ahead!”
Handing Cornelia the coin he resumed his narration. “I hope to have the church rebuilt in due time, although it seems that day draws ever further away. Until it’s risen again I spend most of my time playing Mehen. Melios houses and feeds my old bones from charity and I perform occasional duties of a religious nature for his household and for others who need them.”
Cornelia, catching the sad note in his voice, looked up from the board, hand poised over her lioness.
“No doubt the pilgrims keep you busy?”
“Would that it was so, Cornelia, but the majority are more interested in the maze. Then too, a fair number of them also come to see Dedi’s magick tricks.”
Cornelia moved her piece and handed the coin back.
“I’ve heard the maze mentioned, but nothing about a magician called Dedi.”
Zebulon fingered his board piece. The tremor in his hand seemed more pronounced. “So you are not here to visit the maze or to consult Dedi?”
Cornelia shook her head, saying nothing.
Zebulon settled back, the game temporarily forgotten. “The maze is carved out under the old temple you can see up on the rock. Mehenopolis was once the center of a snake cult. Of course, that was long before the empire became officially Christian.”
He swatted a fly away and continued. “Mehen was the snake god of the ancients, a healing god said to perform many wonders for his followers, provided they could find him in the center of the maze. That’s why this settlement is named Mehenopolis.”
“And pilgrims still come here to worship this snake god?”
“Worship? Not exactly, no. They mostly visit because of superstition or from desperation. Some attempt to tread the maze, for it is said the sick will be cured if they can reach its heart unaided.”
Cornelia observed that did not seem such a difficult task.
“You think not? The maze is enormous and being hewn out of solid rock it’s impossible to see one’s way since pilgrims are not allowed to take torches. They must make the journey on faith alone. Inevitably one of the local residents has to go in and rescue them. I myself have never seen anyone healed in all the years I’ve lived here. Not that that discourages anyone, it seems.”
He leaned forward, a fierce light in his eyes. “Yes, the sick believe if they can reach the central chamber guided by faith alone they will emerge into daylight healed. But faith in what, Cornelia? A blasphemous snake god, or Dedi, who oversees the maze, not to mention claiming to be one who can work magick and a healer himself to boot? Better to put their trust in heaven, I tell them, not that many listen. This is a battle I have been fighting ever since I was exiled here over twenty years ago.”
“Exiled? How very odd! I recently met a man, a charioteer, who’s just been exiled here as well.”
Zebulon smiled benignly. “It may not be as odd as it seems. Consider. If the emperor orders someone to be exiled, wouldn’t he send them to such an obscure place that even its name will soon pass from the memories of the exile’s friends and supporters? Then too, if Justinian decides to send the next person away to the same place, it’s possible he’s already forgotten where the previous unfortunate is now living, and which of his courtiers would be brave enough to remind him? Not that one necessarily needs an imperial order to choose exile.”
He tossed the coin lightly into the air and clapped his hands with delight when he saw how it fell. “Ah! Speaking of Justinian, I see the emperor is uppermost, so that means my piece is due three times your last move, that will be, let me see, six, yes, and…” His hand rapidly tapped the miniature lion around the remaining segments to land triumphantly on the snake’s head. “…This time I win!”
Cornelia would not have expected a religious man to sound quite so gleeful about his victory.
Zebulon noticed her expression. “Forgive me. It’s just that no matter who I play, I always seem to lose. I shall mention this victory to Dedi next time we speak. He may take it as a sign the church is still powerful and then perhaps I can use it to persuade him to give up his pretence of being able to work magick for the ignorant.”
Cornelia lost the snake game to an effusively appreciative Zebulon twice more before she managed to extricate herself from its coils to return to the guest house.
Peter would soon be preparing the midday meal and if it went uneaten it would upset him, for the elderly servant had been doing everything in his power to maintain the usual routine of John’s household.
***
As she hurried along, Cornelia wondered just how skilled a magician Dedi might be. Preoccupied with her thoughts, it was a little while before she realized the big, dark-robed man approaching along the road was staring at her. Usually she sensed the interest of strangers immediately.
She was also able to tell, as she could now, when they intended to accost her. There was something in their posture that alerted her before they spoke. It was a skill she had soon developed as a woman who performed in public and thereby often drew unwanted attention.