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“It wouldn’t have been possible, excellency. There were guards posted all night and the area was well lit to boot. Any intruder would have been seen immediately.”

Huya, the man who addressed John, was lean and dark. Like the guard on duty the night before, he was clothed only in a scrap of cloth, the working attire for so many in this land-a far cry from the robes men wore to work in the great palace.

“And the door remained locked all night, according to Melios. Is it possible someone might have heard a suspicious sound from inside and decided to peek in? Or perhaps it was suggested that the door be relocked, just to make sure it was secure?”

“No, excellency.”

John entered the barn. The interior consisted entirely of a corridor flanked by rows of identical low-walled pens. He looked into the nearest, then scanned the rest of the building. So far as he could tell, each enclosure had a shallow stone trough. Aside from that, they were featureless boxes.

The sheep nearest the door began to bleat plaintively. Its neighbor joined in. Soon the whole place was in an uproar.

John questioned Huya further.

It was from him that he learnt Melios had not related the complete story.

Dedi, it seemed, had not only predicted the death but had also issued a challenge. He would demonstrate his power by forcing the animal to kill itself, despite any precautions Melios undertook to protect it.

“Apart from the guards,” Huya said, “the master ordered charms hung in the pen as well as a protective garland for the animal. Zebulon also blessed it before it entered the barn.”

“And how did it manage to slit its throat? I see nothing here sharp enough.”

“Dedi brought a sword wedged in a split post. It was tied to the gate of the pen.”

“Who put it there?”

“He did, but he was escorted in and out by two guards. Nobody else went inside before the building was locked. We had been on watch for a while and then suddenly we heard a terrible sound. We rushed in but we were too late. The sheep lay dying, blood gushing from its neck and staining the sword blade.”

“Is there something else, Huya?” John asked. “You’re obviously uneasy. What is it?”

“Excellency, it’s Dedi. There are evil powers abroad in the world, and his magick is stronger than iron bolts. What if he finds out I have been speaking with you?”

John assured the guard there was a reasonable explanation, one that in time would be revealed.

The solution would doubtless shed light on matters more vital to the empire than a lost animal.

However, he felt disappointed. He had half-hoped the extraordinary story related by Justinian might, upon investigation, prove to be nothing more than common trickery on the part of Melios. Yet what reason could there be for the headman’s actions, if such was shown to be the case?

On the other hand, demonstrating Melios’ untrustworthiness could well have been vital in discovering the plot Justinian feared.

It was time to interview people other than those directly involved in events on the estate.

***

John found Apollo in the garden near the edge of the estate, keeping watch over his temporary apiarium. The cylindrical clay beehives were lined up in horizontal piles of six along the boundary wall next to a bed filled with exotic flowers. Bees buzzed in and out of the small holes at the front of their homes, and looped intricate paths among the showy blossoms nearby.

The dark-skinned beekeeper was dressed, like Huya, in nothing more than a scrap of cloth around his loins. It occurred to John that were he in charge of bees he would have preferred to keep more of himself covered.

“That’s right, my beauties, make haste to gather your harvest,” Apollo admonished his bees. “Lord Chamberlain, salutations! And the same from my charges here. I know many find it comical that I talk to them, but they are just showing their ignorance. Quite a few people tell their bees of all household happenings, good or bad.”

“I’ve heard of the custom. However, I’m hoping you can tell me about certain matters relating to imperial business.”

Apollo gave a low bow. “I would be honored to assist in any way I can.”

“You journey with your beehives to Mehenopolis each year?”

“Yes, excellency. I travel along the Nile so my bees can enjoy the spring flowers as they come into bloom. Melios allows me to stay on his estate, as you see. I’ve been coming here for at least ten years. He charges no rental, but I always give him a gift of honey before I leave.”

John studied the profusion of colorful flowers. Alive with bees, the flowers bobbed and swayed as if stirred by a brisk wind. “I’m partial to honey cakes myself,” he admitted with a slight smile.

“My beauties’ gold has medicinal use too,” Apollo boasted. “In fact, Melios is treating that cloudy eye of his with a concoction of honey and tortoise brains. Last year I suggested he keep bees himself. He agreed it would be a fine plan were it not for the fact he’s terrified of them. That’s why my hives are set as far from his house as possible.”

John asked the beekeeper if he had been on the estate the night of the incident in the barn.

“No, excellency. I wasn’t. In fact this is the first time I’ve been here since it happened.”

He paused. “I have noticed one thing that’s different this year. Melios seems to be afraid of Dedi. The last time I was here he was just angry with him. However, I’m not surprised he should fear the magician, after that strange business. Next time it might be Melios’ neck. I advised him to obtain a protective charm for himself. Some dismiss them as superstitious folly, but what I say is if their use brings comfort to the troubled, can it be so very bad?”

John recalled the children he had seen in Alexandria who wore little except amulets. “The people here still put great store by magick, it seems. Zebulon must consider such beliefs as distressing as Melios finds Dedi.”

Apollo snapped off a large, globular, red blossom and held it out on his upturned palm. Almost immediately a bee alighted on the flower.

The beekeeper peered at his charge fondly as it busied itself. “Zebulon has labored here for years and as diligently as my little friends, but he finds his efforts fall on stony ground. As I’m sure you’ve learned, Zebulon fled from Antioch many years ago. The orthodox can unfortunately be most intolerant. Here Zebulon has food and lodging and a ready audience for his sermons, although I believe Melios recently had to speak severely to him about wasting the servants’ time with that strange game of his.”

The bee flew away and Apollo dropped the red blossom as he glanced over John’s shoulder and along the path.

Peter approached, carrying a rush basket brimming with greenery.

“Master, I’ve just harvested some fine vegetables for the evening meal, and I was hoping Apollo could spare some honey.”

“Certainly,” Apollo replied. “However, I’ll need your help, with your master’s permission.”

John agreed. He’d intended to question Apollo further about the denizens of Mehenopolis. Often someone who visited a place only occasionally could see it more clearly than a permanent resident. However, that could wait.

Apollo picked up a torch lying beside the stacked hives. At the touch of a striker it produced a billowing plume of smoke.

He handed the torch to Peter. “Hold that to the rear of the hive when I remove the back. As soon as the smoke gets in, the bees will retreat through their front entrance, and then I can reach inside and steal their wealth.”

At close quarters, the piled hives emitted an almost palpable humming. Peter leaned as far away from the chosen cylinder as he could and extended the smoking torch.

“Don’t worry,” Apollo assured him. “Bees know nothing of leisure. Unlike the faithful, who are instructed to work only six days for their gold, my beauties labor every day. In fact, their sole joy is work. They’ll happily replace what we take. Just think, if we were bees, the emperor’s tax assessors would bring us immeasurable pleasure.” He deftly detached the back of the hive as he spoke.