Thorikos stood and commenced to sing “Only-Begotten Son” in a well-modulated voice. John recognized the words Peter sang while scrubbing the floor or chopping vegetables. He was surprised at the choice, since it was clearly a celebration of orthodoxy and unlikely to be well received in a land notorious for its heretical religious thinking.
No sooner had Thorikos finished and sat down again when, at a signal from Melios, one of the company left the room briefly to return with a double flute of yellow wood.
He stationed himself in the oblong space fenced in by the three tables and began to play a melancholy tune, while the rest of Melios’ guests clapped slowly in time.
As the final sad notes rippled away, Melios leaned over to John and spoke in an undertone. “That was one of our traditional airs, excellency. It’s the melody for an ancient hymn once sung in the temple on the Rock of the Snake, but the words have long since been forgotten. Tonight it serves as a fitting lament for my poor sheep and for my time here as headman, for as I told you I intend to make a certain announcement at the conclusion of this gathering.”
“Indeed.” John glanced at Zebulon, wondering what the cleric thought of a pagan dirge being performed immediately after an orthodox hymn.
Zebulon, however, was busy consulting his wine cup.
The flute-player was now joined by two other musicians with sistrums. They began to play a livelier melody, whose soaring notes were soon taken up and lustily sung in the language of the country. John realized it was an example of the type of song men sang while working in the fields, raising water in shadufs, or in this particular instance while harvesting crops. In this almost forgotten part of Egypt, grateful thanks were being rendered to the Nile for its annual life-giving inundations, but the song was closely akin to the songs reapers had sung in the Greek fields of John’s youth.
For a short time he allowed the locked door to his past to be opened, admitting memories he had seldom examined in the years since his life had been brutally changed.
Once, in this very country, he had dreamed of returning to Greece with Cornelia, to live out his days as a farmer.
Would that ever be possible?
Perhaps not, he told himself. Fortuna decreed their destinies, and it was possible neither he nor Cornelia had been marked to till the soil.
He pulled his thoughts away from the dead past and unborn future, and back to the present.
Why, he wondered, did Melios’ guests sing the praises of the Nile in a settlement nourished by the wells of an oasis?
One possible answer appeared on the heels of his thought.
A girl, clothed solely in a fishermen’s net and doubtless intended to remind spectators of that very river, had appeared.
Accompanied by flute and sistrums, she performed a dance consisting mostly of languorous gestures and back bends as her audience loudly voiced its appreciation of her interpretation of the rise and fall of the Nile’s life-giving waters.
“Most interesting, most interesting, Melios, although not what I would call entertainment of a classical nature,” murmured Thorikos.
At that point Hapymen made his contribution to the festivities by grasping the net and hauling the brown, writhing girl out of the room to loud, good-natured complaints from the dancer’s audience and calls for her return.
The musicians resumed their seats as Melios rose unsteadily to his feet, bowed slightly in John’s direction, and then addressed the gathering.
“My friends, this evening I had hoped to recite my panegyric to Emperor Justinian, of whom I was most honored to make some humble personal acquaintance during my visit to our empire’s great capital, as you all know. Alas, recent events have doomed my efforts to complete it. However, I shall soon have ample time to accomplish the task. I have made an important decision which I wish to share with you-”
Realizing the headman was about to announce his flight to a monastery, John got to his feet. “My apologies, Melios, but before you make your news known, there is something I would like to say.”
Melios blinked in confusion. The firm pressure of John’s hand on his shoulder convinced him to sit down.
A buzz of excited conversation broke out and John waited until the company had quieted before he began.
“I promised Melios, our most gracious host this evening, an explanation of certain rather strange events that recently took place on this estate. I’m referring to the fate of two sheep.”
With a glance down at Melios, who now looked extremely uneasy, John continued. “The first death occurred before my arrival. The second, as you are all doubtless aware, occurred last night. The unfortunate animal was confined to a closely guarded and locked barn and was, furthermore, protected with various charms and a blessing as well as a collar of certain flowers and herbs said to provide protection. Nevertheless, like the first, it was an apparent suicide, having cut its own throat. Dedi, who claims to practice magick, has taken credit for both mysterious deaths.”
An uneasy murmur rose around the tables.
John held up his hand for silence. “Melios, am I correct in saying Hapymen provided the collar?”
Melios nodded silently.
Zebulon observed pointedly it was wiser to put one’s trust in heaven than in amulets or charms and here was a perfect example of misplaced faith.
“I have personally examined the dead animal,” John continued. “Dedi does not possess the powers he claims to hold. You have my word he cannot harm any of you, unless of course he attempts to sink a blade between your ribs.”
Melios gasped. “But excellency…”
“The protective garlands that Hapymen-who also assists Dedi on occasion-so handily provided for the animals had several cut bulbs of squill laced into them. You may recall telling me a preparation from the same plant, administered for your rheumatism, had blistered your skin, Melios. It did the same to my servant’s hands when he mistook squill bulbs for onions and chopped some in order to cook them.”
John glanced around the room. “The sheep was encumbered with a heavy garland fastened tightly around its neck, and naturally soon experienced such intense irritation of the skin of its throat it attempted to alleviate the itching by rubbing itself on the only sharp thing available to it.”
“The sword!” Melios breathed. “Summon Hapymen here!” he shouted. “And as for-”
He was interrupted by a thunderous knocking on the house door.
Guests began to rise to their feet, hands on blades, as a terrified servant rushed into the room.
“Master, we’ve just received word! The tax assessor’s been found drowned!”
***
“At first I mistook it for a log,” Porphyrios told John. “But there was something familiar about the shape…He was floating face down. Must have fallen in and drowned. I was about to go for help when one of the villagers came by, so I sent him to raise the alarm.”
They stood beside the ditch, staring down at the drowned man whose sightless eyes regarded the starry sky with a steady gaze. Behind them lights moved in the darkness and the low muttering of an unhappy crowd came to them on gusts of a rising wind. Melios had instructed his guards to block the road, to prevent anyone interfering with the body. The headman had chosen to keep his distance as well.
John bent down for a closer look. Scrofa had obviously been dead for more than a day.
“Scrofa wasn’t a popular man, excellency,” the charioteer continued. “I fear the authorities will be bound to suspect murder, and whatever the truth of it there will be reprisals on Mehenopolis. Fortunately I’ll be on my way soon.”
“You’ve been able to obtain what you sought?”
“A charm against curse tablets? Sadly, no. Dedi refused my request. It’s probably just as well. I’m inclined to think he’s not as powerful as he claims to be.”
John moved his lantern above Scrofa, illuminating first the waxen face, wet hair clinging close to the skull, then the torso, and on down across legs whose red-splotched ankles testified to the powerful grip of the charioteer who had dragged the unfortunate tax assessor ashore.