Chapter Twenty
Anatolius dipped his kalamos into the ink and continued to write. “Further, let my son Titus be disinherited…”
He was seated at the desk in John’s study, but his thoughts kept straying from the will he’d been commissioned to compose.
How was John faring in Egypt? Would Thomas be able to find him before the mysterious assassin? Then there was the urgent problem of uncovering the identity of the murderer of Symacchus and his servant, not to mention Hektor’s threats and his attempt to take John’s house.
Anatolius forced himself to concentrate on his task. Wasn’t there another provision that had to be included? Oh, yes. The kalamos moved across the parchment again.
“…and also my grandson or granddaughter by Titus.”
Would that adequately cover the situation?
He didn’t want to begin his legal career by garnering a reputation for unreliable advice.
The testator, his first client, owned several bakeries and gloried in the appellation of Little Nero. He’d been sent around by a friend of Anatolius’ late father.
“A coarse fellow,” the friend had confided. “However, he changes heirs more often than his clothes, so you can rely on a bit of steady income from him.”
No doubt Little Nero would change lawyers as quickly as heirs if displeased, and explain loudly to anyone who would listen why he’d done so.
Zoe seemed to be staring at Anatolius. Her large, dark eyes appeared wider than usual, their gaze more penetrating.
Nonsense, Anatolius chided himself. How could that be? Each eye was nothing more than chips of glass.
Why aren’t you looking for the murderer? she scolded him in return. That’s what John would be doing.
Anatolius smacked his kalamos down. “Be quiet!”
“Sir?”
Hypatia stood in the doorway. She carried a large basket suspended from a rope handle.
Anatolius reddened. “My apologies, Hypatia. I was talking to myself. Going to the market?”
Hypatia shifted her feet. “I’ve come to tell you I’m leaving.”
“You’re off to the hospice again?”
“No. I won’t be back, sir.”
Anatolius stood. “Have I offended you in some way?” He wondered if he’d been too familiar with the pretty servant. “If I’ve said anything, inadvertently…”
“No, sir. With the master and mistress gone and Peter and Thomas as well, there’s no place here for me.”
“That’s not true. I’m not your employer, but surely you’d prefer to stay here until John returns?”
“It’s best I leave.”
“You aren’t part of the furnishings, I realize that, but still-”
“There are many who might think I am part of the furnishings and can be used like them, even though I am a free woman.”
“You heard what Hektor was telling me, didn’t you? Are you afraid Hektor will get the house and turn us all out?”
Hypatia looked at the floor. She made no reply.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let it happen. You don’t need to fear Hektor. He holds no animosity towards you. It’s John he hates.”
“Mistress Europa told me the same thing, sir, but I don’t see-”
“Hektor serves Theodora. She loathes John because he has Justinian’s ear and his advice to the emperor often destroys the webs she spins. Naturally, Theodora’s creature would take it on himself to hate John on her behalf.”
“I believe it is also because the Lord Chamberlain owns a house, sir.”
Anatolius asked her what she meant.
“When I worked in the palace gardens I got to know several court pages,” she replied. “They were always trampling the flower beds and uprooting bushes or destroying plantings. It may be they behaved that way because their own lives are so precarious. Once they’re too old to serve as ornaments they’re turned out on the street to fend for themselves, and most of them will never have a home again.”
“That’s true, Hypatia. I never thought of it that way.”
Hypatia dabbed at a tear. “I must go now, sir.”
“What will you do? You’re not leaving the city, are you?”
“I’m staying with a friend. I’m hoping I can get my old job back. The palace gardens are as large as ever, but there aren’t nearly as many hands to tend them.”
Anatolius made a last appeal. “How will Europa and I manage without you?”
“She has already given permission for me to leave, sir,” was the dignified reply.
“At least let me give you a few coins.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need, sir. Mistress Europa has paid me my wages. However, I have something I hope you will accept.”
Hypatia reached into her basket and pulled out a strange creature crudely formed of clay. She set it down beside the doorway. Anatolius saw it had pincers on its front legs and a long, curved, and pointed tail.
“I’ve left others around the house. In Egypt they’re much favored for warding off evil.”
Just what I need for protection, Anatolius thought. Clay scorpions.
Chapter Twenty-one
“This morning I went to clean my master’s boots and there was a scorpion on one of them!”
Peter surveyed the lush greenery of Melios’ estate as he addressed the owner’s head gardener. “I’ve got it trapped in a empty jar for now. It’s fortunate I was a military man. When we were in camp, we soon got used to checking our boots before putting them on.”
The man he addressed, who had introduced himself as Hapymen, bent to pinch a large spike of white flowers rising from what appeared to be an oversized onion. He wore nothing but a skirt of unbleached cloth that fell halfway to his knees. His sunken chest displayed every rib, while sunlight gleamed on the smoothly shaven dome of his skull.
“Very wise of you, Peter. Don’t forget to shake your clothing vigorously as well.”
He hadn’t done so, Peter recalled in alarm. Immediately his garments were infested with crawling scorpions. He could feel their stingers tickling his sides.
No, he realized with relief, that was only sweat.
“Is it true what the gossips say about Melios’ unfortunate sheep, Hapymen?”
“It is. The master donated the dead animal to the pilgrim camp. Being a cautious man, he refused to serve it to the household in case it had also been poisoned. Happily all those who partook of it survived!”
Hapymen spoke with a thick Coptic accent. When they first met, Peter had thought there was something strange about the man’s eyes. They held a look of perpetual surprise. Now, he realized, there was nothing unusual about them. Hapymen’s eyebrows had been shaved off along with his hair, giving him a startled look.
“Could you tell me where I might buy vegetables in Mehenopolis?” Peter asked. “I’ve wasted half the morning searching the market. There was nothing suitable to be had.”
“There’s no need to do that, Peter. If his guests do not dine with him, Melios doesn’t expect them to purchase food, not with a flourishing garden on the estate. Besides which, the very idea would be an insult to his hospitality. No, indeed, he would be very upset to hear of such a thing. Feel free to take whatever you need, but stay away from the beehives. If you disturb the beekeeper’s precious bees you’ll find Apollo has a nasty sting.”
“Do you think he would part with any honey?”
“Yes, he will. You know, his bees seem never to sting him. It’s remarkable. And since we’re on the subject, I would advise you not to mention mutton within Melios’ hearing.”
“Of course. I can see he would not care to be reminded of the, er, incident. Don’t worry, Hapymen. Servants soon learn to practice discretion at the Great Palace.”
He paused. “One more thing. At the market I heard there’s a fellow here who calls himself a magician, and he and Melios are involved in some sort of dispute. I suppose I shouldn’t mention him either?”