Anatolius quickly described the results of his most recent visit to Constantinople. “I fear I learned more about the price of parchment than I did about Castor.” As Anatolius related his futile interviews with various city merchants first one bird sleepily called, then another. From the direction of the village there came the confident crow of a rooster.
When the young man’s report began to approach epic proportions, John halted him with a word of thanks. “Clearly you were very thorough in your inquiries.”
“I did learn something from Pulcheria, but even then it was about Barnabas and not Castor.”
“Pulcheria?”
“She came to your house and nearly scared Hypatia to death.”
“Pulcheria’s scars are visible. In that regard, Fortuna treated her less kindly than some. But what were you doing at my house?”
“Checking on Hypatia’s safety, nothing more than that, John. You know I have cast myself at Calyce’s feet.”
“Only too well. Now, what is this about Barnabas?”
Anatolius related the entire conversation, something for which John noted the young man had a particular facility. It was doubtless born from several years’ experience in accurately recording Justinian’s words, a task requiring an excellent listener and a better memory than most.
They had reached the headland where Paul’s stone hut overlooked the sea. Their feet stirred silvery wisps of mist hovering here and there just above the rough grass.
“So that’s how Barnabas assembled his collection of scrolls and codices, by stealing them? That’s very interesting.”
“At the prices mentioned to me he could hardly have afforded to buy very many, I assure you. But what’s so interesting about that?”
John was distracted from their conversation. Was that a movement? The faint moonlight limned bushes along the coast road but failed to penetrate into their dark mass of leafy branches. Even so, he could distinguish a shape, a figure, the pale oval of a small face.
“Sunilda!”
He ran forward.
Suddenly the ground disappeared from under his feet. He had just enough time to realize he had stepped into the ditch but not enough to extend his arms to fully break the impact of his fall before he slammed down on one knee, then onto his hands, their palms scraping painfully on stony ground.
For an instant he was dazed. Then he pushed himself up to his knees, the burning wetness of blood soaking through his garment and grit stinging in his abraded skin.
What had attracted his attention was not a small, pale face but rather a clump of white seabird feathers clinging to a branch waving slightly in the sea breeze.
***
Paul shuffled out of his stone dwelling carefully carrying three cups of wine. The steady breeze from the sea carried the tang of salt. The three men might have been standing at the prow of a great ship instead of on a weedy outcropping.
“If I knew where Minthe’s gone, I’d suggest you consult her about a poultice for that, excellency.” Paul handed a cup to John, who took it gingerly in his injured hand.
John looked in the direction of Minthe’s house. Already the air was noticeably warmer. Soon the night would be gone. Rays from the still invisible sun rising beyond the island caught its jagged peaks, tinting them with reddish gold.
He asked the former fisherman to tell him more about Minthe, now that Sunilda was not present to eavesdrop.
“Well, Minthe certainly knows every use for all the herbs and healing plants the Lord has given us,” Paul replied slowly, “although she also thinks she can interpret the future, which is another matter entirely. Only the Lord knows our futures.”
John said that he was interested in the woman’s personal history.
Paul shrugged. “I’m not one to put my nose uninvited into the affairs of others, sir.”
“You’ve lived here a long time?”
“That’s so.” Paul drained his cup and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Even so, no one seems to know very much about her.”
“People always gossip,” put in Anatolius.
“They do indeed. One thing that’s caused a lot of talk is that she never goes near the church. Some claim she wouldn’t dare, that she’s a demon. Mind you, more than one person who’s whispered that abroad has asked her to put a question to those goats she pretends to speak for.” He held up his hand, extending a crooked forefinger. “But you see that? I ran a fishing hook through it. Minthe pulled it out and dressed the wound with some strange-looking mess. Three days later the skin was healing, yes, even though I’ve seen more than one man lose a finger after an injury like that.”
“Has she been accurate when interpreting the messages of the goats?” Anatolius wondered, looking toward the sea. “Is that why people consider her a demon?”
“I think she’s encouraged that rumor herself,” Paul admitted. “Fear keeps people away from that blasphemous hovel of hers and she has always liked her privacy.”
“But she doesn’t seem to mind Sunilda’s visits,” John pointed out.
“I can’t explain that, excellency. She’s a woman, of course. Women like children, don’t they? Or perhaps she’s getting lonely, living on her own for so long. Me, now, I’ve spent most of my life out there on the water, so solitude and I are old friends. What some may fear, others love. Many men are afraid of the tempest, but sometimes I wake up during the night in a panic because my pallet is lying still. I’m afraid I’ve run aground, you see. I suppose in a way I have.”
Strange to imagine, John reflected, that someone might actually fear not sailing on the vast bosom of the sea. “So Minthe has no family?”
“No. She’s not from the village,” Paul said, “and now I think about it, it must be twenty years since she showed up here. That house she lives in was once a temple. It had been in ruins for as long as anyone can remember. You can probably find bits of it in walls all over the village. A stone here, a stone there, very handy indeed it was. In fact, it’s said the marble for the path to the church came from there as well.”
“Just think of that, John,” commented Anatolius. “All those devout worshippers treading on stones that once echoed to blasphemous abominations.”
John silenced his tactless young friend with a glance.
“The Lord triumphs over all,” Paul replied simply, ignoring the young man’s attempt at humor.
“So Minthe simply appeared and moved into the ruin?” John prompted him.
“That’s right, sir. Let’s see, it was at the end of the winter, a very wet winter it was, with rain pouring down day after day and keeping people indoors more than usual. I’d mended all my fishing nets twice over.”
Paul squinted toward the sea, whose swells were beginning to flash in the strengthening sunlight. “One day the rain stopped,” he continued, “and there was smoke blowing along the beach. The woman had moved in. During the rains she’d transformed the place. Piled up stones, boarded up gaps, repaired the roof. It was like magick, which is probably what she wanted us all to think because she immediately started healing with potions and herbal remedies. She’s lived there ever since.”
“And did she wear her hair exceedingly long then as she does now?”
Paul gave John a puzzled look. “I suppose she did. She’s still a striking looking woman, even though she’s aged. I can’t deny that.”
John was already turning to go back to the coast road. He had to speak to Poppaea again.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Potions? Do you mean Poppaea has been subjected to the ministrations of an ignorant village herbalist without her mother’s knowledge?” Godomar had risen from the chair in which he had been seated reading scripture aloud when John and Anatolius entered Poppaea’s room.