Peter could scarcely contain his excitement. “It is a great fish such as the one that swallowed Jonah. That I should see it!”
John glanced over at Felix, who seemed no less transfixed at the sight. It was nothing but a simple sea beast, John reminded himself, yet he had to admit that there was something awe inspiring about the creature, even when viewed from a distance.
“That must be the famous Porphyrio,” he told Peter. “It will certainly be something to tell Hypatia when we get home.”
His servant looked horrified. “Oh, but I would not dream of mentioning it to her, master. She would be terribly frightened. Indeed, I wish now that I hadn’t seen it. Such a creature, although it was man-made, killed an innocent child. Now seeing this other whale as you journey to seek out the culprit-” the old man hastily sketched the sign of his religion-“how could it be anything but an ill omen?”
***
“The villagers believe that seeing Porphyrio brings good fortune,” Zeno remarked as he watched Hero hammer out a sheet of metal red hot from the forge.
“So I have heard.” Hero quickly discarded his hammer and, dexterously retrieving the tongs held ready under the stump of his arm, grabbed the metal plate and dowsed its glow in a bucket of water. Steam hissed and spat, emphasizing his words. “However, I fear that they may now decide otherwise, given the recent events.”
“Yes, yes, a terrible business, to be sure.” Zeno shook his head sadly, his momentary good spirits destroyed by this reminder of Gadaric’s death. “But Anatolius has often praised John’s reasoning abilities and I for one am confident he’ll soon find the murderer. Then the cloud of suspicion will be raised from us all.” His eyebrows twitched into a scowl as he continued. “It is so tragic to see a child die and in such a manner, but I think it’s best to keep ourselves busy while waiting for the person responsible to be found and punished.” He sighed and changed the subject. “Are you certain that the automaton will be constructed in time for the festival, Hero? There’s only a little more than a week left now.”
Hero laid the metal sheet aside. “It will be ready. Indeed it had better be ready, since Theodora has ordered that the festival is to be held despite the boy’s death. I do admit we are a little behind schedule.” He wiped sweat from his dark forehead. His clothes were wringing wet from the heat of the workshop, while the tight curls on his scalp and the hair of his sparse beard glistened with perspiration.
Zeno plunged ahead enthusiastically. “Straw men are all very well, but mechanical figures, especially those whose movements are not prompted by obvious devices, will be even more interesting and add much to the festival. I’m certain that the villagers will be delighted with them.”
“I hope so, especially as I’ve thought of a method to overcome the difficulty of hiding the mechanism operating the archer automaton. He could be carried on a litter, and its base will serve to conceal the necessary machinery.”
“You’ve solved it!” Zeno’s lined face lit up with excitement. “And now instead of a straggling rabble of villagers dragging their straw effigy up there with very little ceremony except that old song of theirs, I shall organize a proper procession. We’ll have musicians as well, and speeches. The empress will be as enthralled as the villagers.”
He paused and then said with pain in his voice, “Oh, dear, do you think that that might seem callous under the circumstances? I shall have to consult the Lord Chamberlain about it.” He blinked as another thought occurred. “But what exactly do you propose your archer will do?”
Hero smiled. “I’ve devoted some thought to that and decided that when the litter arrives at the cliff top, the figure will draw its bow and fire an arrow out over the water.”
“Didn’t Hero of Alexandria design something like that for a different sort of figure?” Zeno interrupted. “I believe I recall the diagram. You can adapt the mechanism, so that part at least is already done.”
Hero’s smile diminished. “It’s constructing the figure that will be difficult. However, my thought is that as the arrow leaves the bow, it will be the signal for the villagers to throw their straw man off the headland into the sea, thus providing the required symbolic sacrifice for a fruitful harvest, or whatever these ancient festivities were designed to accomplish.”
Zeno agreed that it sounded appropriate and dignified. “I really must invite some palace dignitaries to attend as well. Senator Balbinus for one,” he added. “After all, Castor is his nephew and Balbinus will be very impressed when he sees how well you’ve brought the figures from Castor’s volume to life. Then perhaps he’ll stop lecturing the poor man about wasting so many nomismata on codices and scrolls. Balbinus treats him like some wayward son at times.” He sighed. “But now the senator will spread your fame, my friend!”
Hero had no opportunity to respond since the nursemaid Bertrada ran into the workshop, pulling Poppaea by her hand.
“The whale came back! It’s chasing us!” shrieked Poppaea. Her light curly hair, usually pinned up, was disheveled and her round face was pink with excitement. Zeno thought the little girl appeared as much exhilarated as terrified.
“It’s true,” Bertrada gasped breathlessly. The plaits in her blonde hair were coming loose, as if to match her young charge’s unruly hairstyle. “We saw it! It was swimming right to shore, looking straight at us!”
“It won’t harm you, my dears,” Zeno reassured them kindly. “It’s a creature of the sea and therefore cannot venture on land.”
“Indeed,” Hero added, “the beast can’t do much more than put a pretty flush on your face, Bertrada. But what were you doing, walking on the beach at this hour?”
“It gets so hot later in the day that we thought we’d go to the shore early for a picnic and then look for shells. But it’s true, Hero. The creature was swimming right toward us!” Bertrada pushed back a loose strand of hair, directing a coquettish smile at the brawny man.
Poppaea began to hop up and down and scream even louder before slyly loosening her hair further so that its curls fell down over her plump cheeks. From the corner of his eye, Zeno caught her glancing furtively at him, as if to judge what effect her display of mock hysterics was having.
“Now then, don’t be so loud, Poppaea,” he chided her gently. “You’ll hurt my old ears. It’s just as well Sunilda isn’t here or I would be deaf between the two of you screaming!”
Bertrada looked horrified. “Sunilda! Where is she?”
Poppaea suddenly looked genuinely frightened and burst into tears.
“She was running along right behind us,” Bertrada stammered. “Or at least I thought she was.”
“Don’t worry,” Hero reassured her quickly, “I’ll go right away and find her.”
“No.” Zeno placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’ll go. You have work to do.”
Hero’s jaw tightened with anger. “Do you think I’m incapable-”
Zeno pulled his hand away from the Egyptian’s shoulder as if from the glowing forge. “Sunilda is in no danger,” he said as he turned and hurried out of the workshop.
***
Zeno trotted briskly along the track through the olive grove until his weary legs reminded him he was much older than he had temporarily imagined himself. He emerged, panting, on the headland not far from the spot where Hero’s newest automaton would shortly be staging its first and final performance. From the high ground he scanned the sea, empty now save for an occasional bobbing seabird and the sharply upthrust crags of the island. The beach, running away in a curve toward the village, appeared likewise devoid of life.
Reaching a point where the land sloped more gradually, he made his way down to the beach. He walked along the shore, calling Sunilda’s name repeatedly. His heart pounded from exertion and he began to feel panic swelling with each heartbeat.