As he spoke he had hoped that the goatkeeper would not ask to be rowed to shore for medical attention and, it seemed, the gods had answered his prayer. For as it transpired returning to the mainland was the last thing that Pythion desired, as he immediately declared to Barnabas.
“Since you’re here, I am supposing that you’ll not mind staying for a few days?” he had said hopefully as he bathed the injured foot in not too clean water from a bucket in the corner.
Barnabas confirmed that he would be happy to do so.
“Then in that case,” Pythion had continued in a stern voice, “I must remind you that this is a sacred island and therefore I shall expect appropriate behavior.”
Barnabas, wondering if word of his stage act involving the enormous phalluses had somehow reached even this remote island, promised solemnly that he would ensure that he did not offend either his host’s hospitality or the goats in any way whatsoever.
“You must swear absolute secrecy about anything you learn here,” the goatkeeper had gone on urgently.
“Of course,” Barnabas had replied, giving his oath while wondering if the man was afraid that he intended to learn the secrets of fortune-telling by goat and then set up a rival oracle in a more frequently traveled spot.
But, he reminded himself as he poured out more vinegary wine and filled their breakfast plates with radishes, it had turned out that Pythion had more to hide than Barnabas since the famous goat oracle was nothing more than a fraud perpetrated upon a gullible public.
Thus it was that Barnabas was now temporarily carrying out the injured man’s role of moving stuffed goats here and there around the island, giving the animals the appearance of life by occasionally venturing out to push them along the stony ground while crawling through what for most people would be knee-high shrubbery.
“Thinking about them goats again, aren’t you?” Pythion asked. “It may seem a bit underhanded, but you know what they say-you can’t fool an honest Christian. It’s all just entertainment, officially speaking, so obviously it’s only pagans we’re misleading. How they’re dealt with in this transitory world is the least of their concerns.”
Barnabas grinned. “If she found out about your efforts, Theodora would be just as likely to ask Justinian to appoint you to a court post than have you executed. She’s always been one to admire a rogue, especially one who’s successful, and you’ve been managed to fool everyone for years.”
“Of necessity, may I remind you?” Pythion parried. “The herd died off during that drought a few years ago. According to tradition, the albino ones are more important than the black ones but they were the first to die.”
“Interesting, that.”
“Yes, but I had just arrived on the island and so I knew that the villagers were terribly impressed that the goats over here were flourishing while over there many of their animals, and even some people, were dying. The goatkeeper at the time was a man of great intellect-not to mention someone who didn’t wish to see a very old custom die with the animals, or so he said to me.”
Pythion stopped to give an admiring shake of the head at the previous goatkeeper’s wily intelligence. “So,” he went on, “as I told you, he very cleverly stuffed the animals’ skins so that there would always be goats on the island and, more importantly, he would still have the job of keeper of the goats. After all, nobody said anything about them having to be live goats, did they?”
“You would make a good man of law, Pythion. He must have really feasted on all that goat meat, though. I wonder how he prepared it?” Barnabas mused, thinking wistfully of all the palace banquets where, after entertaining, he had partaken of many dainty and exotic dishes that seemed now the stuff of dreams.
“Not well enough,” was the reply. “He died not long after I arrived. It was something he ate, apparently.”
Barnabas looked up sharply. “You didn’t mention that before. I thought you said he died of old age?”
“What I said was that he was very old when he died and that was true enough. I suppose I forgot to mention that it happened not long after over-indulging in goat stew. Who knows, perhaps the hot weather tainted it. I advised him to cure most of the meat and even made a smoking frame for him. But he was a hasty man, so I suppose you could say his manner hastened his own death. Still, the only stews I have eaten since then have been made out of rabbits.”
Barnabas pondered his companion’s words. It had not occurred to him before to ask what had originally brought Pythion to the rocky island, whether he too might have been fleeing from a pitiless pursuit. He knew Fortuna could be sometimes be crueler than a cat with a field mouse. Had he then managed to escape Theodora only to find himself on a small island with a herd of stuffed goats, an inadequate food supply, and a murderer?
Chapter Twenty-four
Greetings, dear Aunt Matasuntha.
Has General Belisarius set Ravenna alight yet? I do hope not! Here we just had an awful fire. We would all have been burnt to ashes in our beds if it hadn’t been for Hero’s fire-fighting device. I’ll draw you a picture of it some time. I did draw Hero’s wine machine, as I promised. The top part was easy enough, being like a man, but it was hard to draw its goat legs. Godomar found the picture before I could hide it. He was very angry but I couldn’t help laughing because I made its face look like his.
Anyway, I have decided Hero will come and live in my court when I am queen. He makes all sorts of toys and clever things and knows lots of interesting stories.
But about this strange fire. Bertrada says it was a horrible accident but I don’t think it was. You see, the goats have been foretelling terrible things for some time now. I think the fire must have been what they meant, or at least some of what they meant. But nobody had taken any notice of what they said, so in a way it serves them right. Also there’s an old statue that somehow got broken, but you could hardly call that a disaster. Zeno doesn’t seem at all upset about it although he told me it was given to him by one of his relatives. He says he’s not expecting this relative to visit him in the near future and laughed as if he had said something very funny. Godomar just looked disgusted, but then he looks disgusted a lot of the time. I wonder if he ever laughed when he was younger or if he has brothers or sisters?
But I’m getting away from what I wanted to tell you about the goats. Minthe says they have been making the worst patterns that have been seen for years and years. They’re very clever, those animals, and know much more than most people. Yes, soon the villagers will realize they were not just foretelling the fire but also my departure.
People always seem to find a way to believe the goats are saying whatever it is they want them to say, but in this case they are telling only the truth because when I have gone a lot of people will be in great trouble. I wish I could be here to see it, but then if I were, there wouldn’t be any trouble for them to get into, would there?
So, dear aunt, as you can see, it will be a little while before I can write another letter but I wanted to tell you not to worry. I am going with Porphyrio.
One night recently, I will not say when, I woke up and heard Porphyrio summoning me as he sometimes does. It’s like someone blowing on a great horn, but so far off I can only feel the sound inside me, like when a cart rumbles past. I got out of bed and left the villa. I didn’t have to creep past Bertrada because Porphyrio had cast an enchantment over her. All the way through the garden and the olive grove I could hear Porphyrio calling. Even though it was really dark, I had no trouble finding my way. My feet floated over roots and rocks as if I were a leaf drifting down a stream.