Anatolius rescued one of the fig-peckers and a bit of tentacle from the wine-dark sea. “Surely vegetables are still available, even if there isn’t much meat?”
“Vegetables? What sort of meal can you make with vegetables? A peasant’s meal!”
“We’ve had this discussion before,” Anatolius grinned. “Justinian manages perfectly well without eating flesh.”
“That’s why he’s ruled by Theodora,” Francio observed. “A little red meat in his diet might do the emperor a great deal of good.” He popped a portion of suspected weasel into his mouth and chewed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Nor do I want to.” Europa dropped her spoon.
“What’s the matter?” Anatolius asked.
“We really don’t know what we’re missing, do we? We don’t know what’s happening to everyone. Where’s Thomas? What’s become of my parents? What about poor Peter, not to mention Hypatia?”
“You’re safe here, Europa,” Francio said. “My home is an island of sanctuary in a perilous sea.”
“What will you do when Crispin decides to summon you to another interview?” Europa asked Anatolius.
“The bishop is nothing if not cautious. It’ll take a few weeks for someone to go to Egypt and back in order to consult his contacts there, whoever they might be. We’ll just have to hope John returns to Constantinople before then.”
Chapter Forty-one
“I’ve been called many names in my time,” Thomas observed, throwing back another hearty gulp of wine, “but never a demon.”
“It’s your red hair,” John explained. “Many in Egypt consider it ill omened because their evil god Set’s hair was the same hue.”
“People will kill you for the strangest reasons. I suppose that was the intent of the fellow with the knife who waylaid me as I passed by some ruin or other. I don’t think he intended to trim my beard.”
They were sitting on the guest house roof, enjoying the light breeze that had sprung up after sunset. Several lamps cast flickering light, pale imitations of the vast starry vault overhead.
“I suspect the local residents wouldn’t normally have reacted the way they did,” John replied, “but there have been some strange events recently, and old fears once raised take a long time to die down again.”
Thomas refilled his cup and gazed into the night. “The comical thing, John, is that I traveled to Egypt to save you. Anatolius sent me, but I’d better tell you the story from the beginning.”
John and Cornelia listened closely to Thomas’ narrative, starting with when Isis’ employee Antonina had told him the client who’d been talking about relics was a servant of Senator Symacchus, thus setting in motion the chain of events that led to them sitting atop a mud brick house at the edge of the empire rather than in John’s house in the grounds of the Great Palace.
John restrained himself from chiding Thomas for his reckless stupidity. “So you went to the senator and offered your services in obtaining some mysterious relic?” he asked when Thomas paused.
“That’s right. He gave me this and instructed me to be at the Hippodrome at sunset on a given day. I’d know the man I was to meet because he’d be carrying the matching piece.”
He drew from his garment the token in question and handed it to John. “The figure’s been snapped off along with the top part, as you see,” he continued. “There’d be no chance of someone duplicating the missing bit. Very clever idea, wasn’t it?”
“As you say, Thomas. Further instructions were doubtless to be given at this meeting?”
“That’s what I was told. I do have some experience in these matters so I was not suspicious when Symacchus insisted on utilizing an intermediary. Now it’s obvious he didn’t seek my expertise, but rather my execution.” He frowned. “But how did you contrive to arrive in the Hippodrome on my boot heels, John?”
“You’d been going about with the look of a man with a guilty secret,” John replied, “and in Constantinople it’s wise to know everyone’s secrets, particularly when the person involved is your daughter’s husband.”
“Of course, I should have told you,” Thomas admitted. “But I thought if I could help them obtain this wretched relic, the service would be worth a fair amount of money.”
“Strangely enough, we might be searching for the same thing, Thomas. Justinian is of the opinion those working against him seek something of value in Mehenopolis. Could it be this relic you heard about?”
“The orthodox have strange beliefs,” Thomas replied. He looked down into his cup. “It may be it wasn’t just my behavior which caused you to follow me to the Hippodrome, John. Mithra might well have been dictating your steps. I hope He will look out for Europa and the others. It’s extremely dangerous for them right now.”
“I doubt Mithra has any interest in assisting Justinian! As to those you left behind, Anatolius is much more capable than he often appears and Felix is on the spot too. Now what’s this about you traveling here to save me?”
“An assassin’s been sent after you.”
“I’d be more surprised if one hadn’t followed. Naturally, I’ve been on my guard.”
Cornelia’s face registered dismay. “John, the intruder on the night of the fire! It must have been the assassin! But who-”
“It was Scrofa,” John replied.
“The tax assessor?”
“He managed to arrive here just before we did, but that’s not surprising considering we were delayed in Alexandria. When I examined his body earlier tonight, there were marks on the man’s ankles I subsequently realized were strongly suggestive of scorpion stings. Remember, Peter drove the intruder away by throwing his jar of scorpions at him.”
“That’s something I would have paid a coin or two to see!” Thomas grinned.
“Furthermore,” John continued, “despite Scrofa telling Cornelia he wished to talk to me, he made no effort whatsoever to do so, and I am not that difficult to find. He was overheard asking Melios about my movements. Then too Cornelia told me she’d seen Scrofa on Melios’ estate the night of the fire.”
Cornelia gasped. “It’s just as well Dedi’s demon set that blaze. If we’d gone straight home…”
John stood up. “Cornelia can tell you about our adventures, Thomas. Justinian sent me here to investigate suicidal sheep and that I’ve done. However, since I’m marked for murder, it shows that, just as he suspected, there’s something here of much greater value. And the most important thing in Mehenopolis is whatever is at the center of the maze up there.”
He looked toward the black bulk of the Rock of the Snake, outlined against the sky by an absence of stars.
“Dedi knows a great deal about that,” he continued, “so I’m off to interview him right now.”
***
John followed the trembling light of his torch. The pop and hiss of the burning resin carried in the quiet night.
The path was deserted. Once, he thought he heard the crunch of a footstep other than his own. He swung around.
No one was there.
When he approached the bench by the well, he half-expected Zebulon to call out an invitation in a game of Mehen, but the cleric was not to be seen.
John traversed the pilgrim camp and arrived at Dedi’s dwelling.
Its owner was not in residence.
John knocked twice, then pushed the door. It swung open. Perhaps the magician trusted his fearsome reputation to keep intruders out, rather than relying on locks.
The disembodied marble limbs in the doorframe seemed to grasp at John, animated by the motion of the torch he thrust inside.
“Dedi?” he called out.
No answer.
John stepped through the doorway.
The room appeared no different from his last visit.
He decided to take his opportunity to look around.
Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling in the room opening off the first. It smelled of gardens drowsing in the last hot days of summer. Chests were piled against its wall. The room beyond contained more of the same as well as several amphorae, and from it other rooms marched back tunnel-like.