After an initial hesitation, Porphyrios continued. “I thought it best not to say anything in front of Zebulon, but mention of taxes reminded me about something. The assessor has been asking Melios questions about you.”
“How do you know this?”
“I happened to be at Melios’ house when Scrofa arrived. He requested a private interview so I retired to another room. Their talk became somewhat heated, so much so I could hardly avoid overhearing what was being said. He pressed Melios for details about your movements and the real reason you were here. Not that Melios could supply any information beyond what everyone in Mehenopolis knew. Scrofa had hardly departed when you arrived, so I decided to leave and return later in the day since it was obvious Melios would probably not be available again for some time.”
So John had in fact heard his name spoken as he approached Melios’ house. “I intend to interview Scrofa later this morning. Doubtless he can shed light on his interest in my movements.”
Porphyrios shook his head. “I’m afraid he’ll not be easily found, excellency. According to Zebulon all the tax assessors who visit Mehenopolis take bribes. Just imagine Scrofa’s consternation when he arrived, ready to put his hand out as usual, only to find one of the highest officials of the empire in residence. He must be terrified you’ll discover what’s he’s been doing and report him to the authorities.”
Porphyrios came to a halt and stared thoughtfully at the ditch. Sunlight ran across its water like liquid fire. “Lord Chamberlain, I may as well confess I’ve been lying to you,” he went on. “I’m not an exile. Now that we’re alone, I can reveal the real reason for my visit.”
He scowled. “I was losing one race after another. Finally I discovered someone had buried a curse tablet behind our stables. You’ve probably seen them? Little bits of rolled lead with vindictive magickal imprecations written on them. I threw it into the Marmara. However, since I didn’t know who was responsible-there are many who are jealous of my prowess-I feared he would obtain another and I wouldn’t find it.”
“It’s been some time since races were held in the capital, thanks to the plague.”
“And that gave me the chance to come to Egypt, since I made inquiries and learned the best charms come from this land. My intent is to purchase a protective amulet and thereby change my fortunes once racing resumes. When I heard rumors about a powerful magician in Mehenopolis, I came here.”
“Dedi deals in such things?”
“Right now he’s considering the matter.”
“You’re haggling over the price, you mean.”
“Well…yes…but now you have my story. It isn’t the sort of tale I’d care to have spread around, so you can understand my bending the truth a little.”
***
Peter had almost finished chopping vegetables for the evening meal when Hapymen arrived.
“Your master keeps you busy,” his visitor observed. Sweat ran down his brown chest in rivulets.
Peter half wished he could shed his clothing for the clout of cloth which was all Hapymen wore. It would be much cooler although a lot less dignified.
“It’s the master’s right, but I’m not as busy as I should be.” Peter wiped the blade of his knife on his tunic. “I still haven’t obtained everything I need to make honey cakes. He dines on so little and most of the time doesn’t seem to take notice of what he’s eating. That’s a dangerous practice at the palace.”
“I suppose all that rich food upsets the humors at times?”
Peter’s head bobbed below the table as he bent to rummage in his basket of garden produce.
“That’s true enough.” He reappeared with what he had sought. “As you see, as part of the evening meal I’m preparing onions. The master likes them chopped and boiled. He doesn’t care for elaborate fare. Just between us, I suspect the palace banquets he’s required to attend are a terrible penance to one with such simple tastes.”
“I don’t know that I would care to be present at one either, Peter. Judging by what you’ve said, I wonder if it’s safe to break bread with the emperor.”
“I have myself heard gossip, after a sudden death supposedly caused by tainted fish, that it was not as spoilt as it was claimed to be. Garum sauce covers many sins.” Peter nodded knowingly and resumed chopping.
“But surely you’re not suggesting poison?”
“You must make up your own mind on that, Hapymen, but remember, life at court is not always quite the way it appears.”
“After Melios visited the capital, he requested his cook to recreate some of the fine meals he had had there,” Hapymen remarked. “The attempt wasn’t too successful, although I’m certain that in one case the master confused the ingredients for two separate dishes and thought they were for one.”
“Oh?”
“As I recall, it involved a mixture of eggs and cheese and swordfish, which sounds bad enough, but then the cook was instructed to add cabbage and garlic as well.” Hapymen gave a dramatic shudder. “Quite a few servants were in my vegetable beds that night, picking lettuce to quell their stomachs!”
“Many in Constantinople enjoy that particular meal. Monokythron, it’s called, because it’s all cooked together in one pot. Not that I care for it myself. It’s far too rich for an old army cook like me.”
His visitor laughed. “Speaking of which, it’s as well I stopped by, Peter. You need better onions for your master’s meal. That one’s well past its best. When they grow that large, the flavor becomes far too strong.”
Peter looked dubious. “Yes, well, it’s rather bigger than most as you say. I haven’t been paying as much attention this morning to my duties as I should. Last night was extremely upsetting.”
Hapymen nodded sympathetically. “We’re all out of humor this morning between too much excitement and not enough sleep. I’ll go right now and personally dig you better onions. I’d like your master to taste just how fine my vegetables are! Besides, I know Melios would be furious if he thought his eminent guest had not been served the best his estate has to offer. It’s a matter of pride, isn’t it?”
Peter agreed. “And we servants too play our part in upholding our masters’ honor. I’m grateful for your help.”
Chapter Thirty-two
The first voice Anatolius heard was Europa’s, the next a man’s, loud and threatening.
His kalamos slipped and a blot of ink splotched the final sheet of the baker’s vexatious will. In an instant he was out of John’s study and running downstairs.
He could almost hear Bishop Crispin urging him to leave the city.
“He can’t see me? Trying to avoid me, you mean! Get out of my way, woman! I’m his client!”
The man shoved Europa aside and entered the house. He was a burly fellow dressed in a short tunic and leather breeches.
It was Little Nero.
Europa stared in obvious bemusement as Anatolius made appropriate introductions.
“Now are you satisfied?” the baker asked her, then turned towards Anatolius. “I’ll wager you’ve got your hands full with this one!”
“I’ve almost finished drafting your will,” Anatolius told him. “The last page needs to be recopied.”
“So you claim,” growled Little Nero. “Don’t think I’m going to pay you extra for that either. There’s changes to be made anyhow, so you can tear it up and start over. That’s why I’m here. Don’t gawk at me like that! You’re happy to have the work and we both know it!”
“Changes? Why?”
“It’s that other viperous son of mine, Situs. I thought he’d learn his lesson when I cut Titus out of my will. I made certain they both knew too, but no! It didn’t do a bit of good. They still expect me to pay all their bills, and complain when I refuse. I swear my sons are nothing but buboes on my long-suffering backside!”
“If you’ll tell me what amendments you wish to make-”
“Time’s money! There’s nothing to discuss. Disinherit Situs!”
“Yes, of course. Now, when you disinherited Titus the reason you gave was that he’d insulted you by reciting a certain poem at the baths.”