Recalling her brief conversation with the assessor, Cornelia suspected Scrofa was just as likely to be taking advantage of the commotion to search the house to establish if Melios was hiding undeclared property. “Now you mention it, where has Melios gone?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t have a quotation from the classics appropriate to this occasion? In any event, the Lord Chamberlain seems to have taken the situation in hand. Don’t forget, Cornelia, I am always ready for a game of Mehen.”
A big man appeared on the scene.
“You need some muscle here,” he shouted at John.
It was the charioteer, Porphyrios. He took his place at the end of the line, flexed his sinewy arms, grabbed hold of the next bucket as if it were a wine pitcher, and tossed the water in a long coruscating arc.
A few dark fragments of ash, ringed in bright orange, floated upwards, rotating slowly, and drifted away.
There was a sudden bray of anguish.
Startled, Porphyrios looked around.
The donkey tethered near the barn was trying to back away from a large patch of dried weeds the flying sparks had set afire.
Porphyrios dropped his bucket.
John picked it up. “Untie the donkey, Porphyrios. Quick!” he ordered.
“Me?”
“Yes, you!”
Porphyrios grimaced. “Ah…what about the next bucket…”
Seeing the charioteer’s confusion, Cornelia sprinted over to the distressed animal and set it loose. As it galloped off across the flower beds, Porphyrios doused the smaller fire.
For a little while Cornelia stood and watched John. He worked quickly and efficiently, issuing occasional orders, working alongside the servants, his manner decisive.
Since the fire was soon brought under control, she decided to return to their temporary lodgings. Turning to leave, she saw Thorikos running toward her. Even in the dying firelight she could see he was breathless with exertion and excitement.
“Isn’t this a wonder?” the rotund traveler gasped. “The entire settlement must have seen that flaming demon! What tales I’ll have to tell! Who would’ve thought a dull fellow like me would ever witness such sights?”
Not pausing for a reply he hurried on toward what remained of the night’s drama.
Cornelia decided to take a short cut back rather than following the path. As she moved away from the remains of the blaze, the night closed around her. The sliver of a moon faintly silvered the ground before her.
The hubbub of voices faded. Now she could hear the buzz and chirp of insects.
Walking slowly, she kept her gaze on the ground.
Before long she bent down and picked up what she’d expected to find.
A feather.
***
“Master, is that you?” Peter stuck his head out of his room and peered down the hallway.
There was no answer. The only illumination came from a terra-cotta lantern hanging at the end of the corridor.
He was certain he had heard a footstep.
“Mistress? Have you returned?”
Hadn’t he lit the lamp in the front room?
How long could it have been since he had dozed off?
He made the sign of his religion, picked up the lidded clay jar by his door, and crept out into the hallway.
Yes, there was the sound again, a barely distinguishable indication of movement.
The other door off the hallway opened into the room the master and mistress were using. He glanced in. Dim lantern light spilling in from the hallway slanted across the bottom of the pallet, leaving the rest of the room dark.
Peter edged slowly inside.
There was something on the bed. At first glance it might have been a small reclining figure.
Peter raised the jar, then stopped.
He had made out glassy eyes and a withered snarl.
It was only Cheops the cat mummy.
The light flickered, as if the flame in the lantern had been disturbed by a breeze.
Or by someone passing by behind him. Peter pivoted slowly. The hallway was empty.
He was certain there was someone else in the house. He could feel the other’s presence.
The master and mistress might return at any time. They wouldn’t be expecting someone to be waiting for them.
Waiting with evil intent.
Peter offered a silent prayer, clutched the pot tighter, and moved cautiously toward the darkened front room. As he stepped into it, he spotted a glint of light.
Was it a hungry blade?
He hurled the jar.
It exploded against the wall, sending fragments rattling around the room.
The intruder let out an oath. There was a crash and the house door flew open.
A gust of cool night air rushed in.
The nocturnal visitor had departed in haste.
Peter began to light the lamps. He hoped that before the master and mistress arrived back he would be able to find all the scorpions he had collected in the jar.
He sighed.
He was not certain now how many he had captured.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Anatolius sought solitude by the pool in John’s garden, but found Europa pulling weeds from the herb beds.
As he approached along the graveled path, she looked up from her labor and began to giggle. “Anatolius, where are you going dressed like that?”
“I borrowed this fine clothing from Francio. Don’t you like it?”
“Since you ask, I don’t think those birds are suitable for a lawyer!”
His bright blue garment was embroidered with strutting peacocks, the colors of their tails repeated in the wide border edging neck, sleeves, and hem.
“Indeed. However, we must always dress appropriately for the task in hand.”
“Do you have to appear disguised as a cage full of peacocks now or has Theodora engaged you to spy on her menagerie?”
“I’ll explain later,” Anatolius muttered, aware of how feeble his words would seem.
He had decided it would be best to disguise himself before visiting Bishop Crispin with the pilgrim flasks. He didn’t want the bishop to be able to give a recognizable description of him. It would be safer if no one at court discovered he had been asking what might be termed prying questions.
“You’re very mysterious all of a sudden, Anatolius. Where’s the guileless young man I once knew? Is this newly-found reticence part of your new profession?”
“I wish people would stop questioning my decision to become a lawyer! None of us are in our usual humors with everything that’s going on, are we? I might equally ask what you’re doing tending to the garden.”
“Tending to the plants gets my mind off everything. I’m really worried about Thomas. He should be back by now.” She sighed. “The emperor must value father’s advice. Or must have valued it, before…”
Europa looked at the water gurgling into the pool through what was had once been the mouth of some stone creature now too eroded by time and the elements to identify. She sat down on the marble bench under a nearby olive tree. “Could father have killed the senator?”
Anatolius was shocked. “It’s not in his nature! Surely you cannot think so?”
“Isn’t it? He was a mercenary, wasn’t he? He killed men.”
Anatolius paced over to the side of the pool. “Indeed. In this case, though, it just isn’t possible.”
“Will he be in great danger in Egypt, do you think?”
Anatolius hesitated. “Even so far away, he’s still under Mithra’s protection.”
Europa’s bleak smile showed she had given his pause more weight than his answer. “I have petitioned the Goddess to bring them all safely home. Let’s hope the patriarch doesn’t get wind of that! Gods don’t go away just because the emperor proclaims some law or other.”
“True, but in public we’re all Christians.”
Europa wiped away tears.
“Thomas will be back soon,” Anatolius told her. “Do your best not to worry.”