She picked up her pace, meaning to pass the man quickly, but he stepped forward and blocked her path.
“Aren’t you the woman traveling with the Lord Chamberlain?”
The man was wide-shouldered and had the battered face of a pugilist. A scar bisected one cheek. His heavily embroidered garments would have been suitable at the court in Constantinople.
“Let me pass,” Cornelia ordered.
“My apologies,” he replied. “I should have introduced myself. I am Scrofa, one of the emperor’s tax assessors.” He bowed.
Cornelia realized the man’s profession explained the grand clothing. “Is there a tax on exile now?” she asked.
“Certainly not.”
“Then what do you want?”
“An audience with the Lord Chamberlain. I believe you are staying on Melios’ estate?”
“Anyone in the settlement can answer that question. No doubt John will be happy to talk to you if you request it.”
“I wish everyone were as happy to talk to me. Being a tax assessor is quite a challenge. To think of such ingratitude, when the emperor asks so little for the beneficence he returns.”
“His beneficence is hardly in evidence in Mehenopolis,” Cornelia observed. “There’s a church that was burnt down a while ago, for example, and it’s still-”
Scrofa scowled. “Pardon me, but if it was not for the grace of Justinian and the presence of imperial troops within a few days’ travel, Melios would be up to his neck in trouble dealing with raids and attacks on the pilgrims coming here.”
“By the sound of it, am I to understand that Melios did not give you much of a welcome?”
Scrofa sighed again. “It is ever the lot of the tax assessor to be treated with scorn, if not worse, and Melios was most impertinent. However, since the Lord Chamberlain is a powerful man, and one who moreover is close to the emperor, if he were to give instructions to Melios, I am certain there would be less obstruction to my carrying out my duties.”
Cornelia stared at the assessor. She felt heat rising in her face. When she spoke her voice was cold. “I fear John is far removed from the emperor right now. Further removed even than you, in fact. You might better seek to have a word with your imperial master on John’s behalf.”
Scrofa made no attempt to follow when she strode away.
***
Melios frowned. “You wish to know about Dedi? Where did you hear the name of that rogue? I fear I can find little good to say about him, Lord Chamberlain.”
John briefly outlined what Cornelia had related about her conversation with Zebulon.
They sat in Melios’ reception room. From John’s perspective, the fresco of the Great Church looming over his host’s shoulder was an unpleasant reminder of all he had left behind, undone. The headman had eschewed his wig this morning, revealing a glistening scalp that boasted a few unruly patches of hair.
“It appears Dedi is someone few praise,” John observed.
Melios chewed unhappily on a handful of almonds before answering. He was obviously choosing his words with care, but his feelings were evident in the tone he used.
“Dedi is the cause of my being in a difficult situation, excellency. He arrived from who knows where several years ago. At the time I had been headman for over ten years, and I’d always carried out my duties in a fair and just manner. Oh, you might hear the occasional complaint. That’s just human nature.”
“Even the emperor has his critics,” John observed.
“Yes, that’s it exactly! Anyway, before Dedi appeared we did not have as many pilgrims as we see these days. One or two travelers would make their way here every so often to visit the ruins, which have some interest to those who study antiquities, but that was about the extent of it. Now it’s sometimes difficult to feed all our visitors, not to mention there’s definitely been a rise in thefts and assaults.”
John sympathized, mentioning the latter problem was akin to those experienced in Constantinople as the capital’s population had grown.
“It is evident you understand my position completely,” Melios replied. “This sort of thing will always become a problem as residents increase in number. However, in Constantinople the pilgrims come to worship at the Great Church or to pray before sacred relics. Here, however, we have been saddled with a man who claims to perform magick and one who, furthermore, attracts crowds which are dangerously close to worshipping a snake god.”
John, a follower of a god Melios would have regarded as equally blasphemous, took an almond from the bowl. “On the other hand, I imagine the local inhabitants do gain some financial advantage by selling food and lodgings to visitors?”
“Indeed! Yet even this extra wealth brings problems. More houses, more goods, and more livestock. These additional possessions naturally add up to more taxes. Confronted by the current rates, I do think that our glorious emperor would surely agree with Tiberius Caesar, that it is the duty of a good shepherd to shear his sheep, not to skin them. This is why I took my case to Justinian himself. How can he be certain what his officials are getting up to so far away? I suspect many of them regularly inflate the taxes due and keep the overpaid amounts.”
“There are very severe penalties for such actions,” John pointed out.
“Yes, indeed. Even so, as you know, I traveled to the capital and there I presented a petition at the palace, requesting relief. However, while I am content to patiently await the emperor’s benevolent action on my behalf, Dedi has put it abroad he has some plan whereby he can arrange for Mehenopolis not to be taxed at all. I do not believe such a thing is possible, but naturally this has led to talk of late about his becoming headman.”
John noted it would take a very great magician to avoid the emperor’s taxes entirely. “Dedi presumably is quite wealthy himself?”
“Definitely. There again, perhaps heaven smiles, excellency, for a day or so ago, even as Dedi boasted of this plan of his, the imperial tax assessor arrived for his annual visit rather earlier than usual. I fear those who live here will be shocked when they find out the sums they will have to pay into the emperor’s coffers. I know that I was! Even though I have but a modest estate and few animals, according to the assessor’s demand you would think I owned half the Great Palace!”
“The fuller our coffers the more burdensome the taxes,” John offered. “It is something all of us have in common, at least.”
“You grasp my predicament, but of course you would, being such a close advisor to Justinian. As you are also aware, not everyone pays his fair share, thereby placing a bigger burden on the honest. Dedi, for example, always pleads poverty in public, especially when tax assessors are within earshot.”
An indignant note entered Melios’ voice. “He is also not above spreading vicious slanders for his own ends either. Why, it has come to my ears he’s lately been claiming I was killing my sheep in order to avoid paying taxes on them! It’s absolutely untrue, excellency! As I told you, it was only the one that died, and it cut its own throat. And consider this. Dedi had warned me the sheep would kill itself. How did he know if he didn’t have a hand in it?”
“You hadn’t mentioned a warning before,” John replied.
Melios ran his hand through what remained of his hair. “Didn’t I? Well, excellency, you know how these magicians are, always claiming they predicted this or that after the fact, or else predicting everything under the sun beforehand so that whatever happens they can take the credit for foreseeing it. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”
He glanced at his glossy fingers before wiping them on his garment. “It’s a mixture of rosemary oil and crocodile fat,” he explained. “My head gardener makes it for me. It’s said to encourage the hair to keep sprouting. As Martial tells us, there is nothing more contemptible than a bald man who pretends to have hair.”
He paused. “If I may say so, I wouldn’t concern myself with Dedi, excellency. He’s just a fraud, taking advantage of the gullible in any way he can.”