Three for a Letter

Chapter Seven

John and his companions rode away from Constantinople at sunrise. Remnants of the ragged mist veiling the Sea of Marmara swirled like white silk around seaweed-strewn rocks and tidal pools along the shoreline. Drifts of broken shells and bleached bits of driftwood undulated at the high water mark. Patches of rough grass and stunted, gnarled trees testified to the winds that regularly scoured the coast.

John took little notice of the scenery, devoting his thoughts to the furious empress back in Constantinople, doubtless conveying her anger to Justinian over the recent tragic events at Zeno’s estate.

“So, John,” Felix was saying, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the clattering hooves of their excubitor escort’s horses, “which of your missions has priority?”

“I believe that finding Barnabas is the key to Sunilda’s safety, so in fact Justinian hasn’t ordered us to march in two different directions as you’ve been complaining ever since we left Constantinople, Felix,” John replied.

“Well, perhaps that’s so. Mind you, if the empress asked him to, he definitely would. She’s got far too much power if you ask me. Take this matter of her support for the Monophysites, for example. The faithful say they’re heretics. Yet the emperor ordered General Belisarus to Italy to bring Ostrogothic Arians to heel. But you won’t find Justinian sending the general into Theodora’s apartments to quell heresy there! Why does he let her get away with it?”

“He’s in love with her.” Breaking off the conversation, John glanced back at Peter. Constantinople was a relatively short ride from Zeno’s estate but he was nevertheless concerned at how Peter was faring.

He had begun to regret his decision to take Peter with him. His intention had been to provide the elderly servant with a visit to the country and a rest from his usual household labors. Instead, Peter had grown visibly more fretful the further they traveled from the city. Perhaps he would be more cheerful after he had rested from the journey.

They were now riding past the high walls of the estate next to Zeno’s. Looking down the coast road, John could see the edge of an extensive olive grove and beyond that the beginning of the road leading up to Zeno’s villa. On the seaward side the land sloped down to the beach, gently in some places, more abruptly in others. Farther in the distance a few smudges of smoke rose lazily into the sky, evidence of a village hidden by the hilly terrain.

Peter was staring glumly out to sea across a headland that dropped abruptly toward the water. A craggy island was visible through the departing mist. No doubt it was the goat island about which the servant had muttered darkly when he learned of their trip, John thought. His servant’s reaction had not surprised him, however, since Peter, good Christian though he might be, was also highly-and frequently-superstitious.

“I must say that I didn’t expect to be enjoying Zeno’s hospitality again quite so soon, Felix!” John observed.

“At least it’s a chance to get away from court for a while,” the other replied, “although from what you’ve told me, it’s obvious the mime accidentally killed the child and then departed as hastily as his miserable short legs could carry him. After all, we all know that the children were only political playing pieces for the imperial couple and worth much more to them than a mere mime-even if Barnabas is Theodora’s favorite-so can you blame him for fleeing? I would have done the same if I were in his boots.”

“If I may say so, master,” Peter put in, “the little boy should have been abed, not wandering about the estate at that time of night.”

“The nursemaid certainly seems to have been somewhat negligent with her charges,” John agreed thoughtfully. “I intend to question her more closely about that when we arrive.”

“Yes, and-” Felix began to reply before Peter interrupted him.

“Master! Look!” he quavered. “Out there beyond the island!”

The party reined their horses and stared as the last shreds of mist steamed into nothingness above the swells of the sea. The water roiled as a huge shape broke the surface. Squinting against the sun, John glimpsed an enormous head and a broad, glistening back. Outlined against the bright sea, the whale moved majestically out of sight around the curve of the island, as silently as an apparition.

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.

He finally stopped at the shrine sitting opposite the island. The shrine was a simple, open-sided, four-pillared structure with a small pedestal sheltered under its flat roof. Soggy ashes lay in a deep bowl set into the top of the pedestal, the remains of a question addressed to the goats that someone had written on a scrap of parchment and burnt before sunrise in keeping with tradition. It was all superstitious nonsense, of course, but entertaining enough.

Zeno blinked. The strengthening sunlight glinting off the incoming waves hurt his eyes. Had Porphyrio really come for the child? Could the sea have swallowed her up? He was struck by an inexplicable sense of doom. He would never see her again. Another young life was gone, snatched away from under his roof.

Then he heard laughter carried on the freshening breeze and he reminded himself that he had known all along where he would find her if he had just paused long enough to think about it.

Minthe’s house sat at the base of a hill that thrust out toward the water. Surrounded by herb beds, her home was a strange dwelling, originally a small half-ruined temple to some forgotten god and now repaired in a makeshift manner.

Minthe and Sunilda were looking out to sea, sitting on a fallen marble column that served as a bench.

“We just talked to Porphyrio,” the girl called to Zeno as he approached.

“And what did he tell you?” Zeno spoke calmly but shot a glare toward Minthe.

“That’s a secret,” replied the girl, wrinkling her nose as if annoyed he’d asked. Though Zeno had heard her laughing not long before, her solemn little face revealed no sign of humor.

“We’ve been having a pleasant little chat, sir,” put in Minthe. “I was just about to bring her back.”

She stood, a short woman but straight and angular, with long silver hair that stirred in the sea breeze. Zeno couldn’t help thinking that her bony face with its high cheekbones must have given her a most striking appearance when she was young. If she lived long enough she would again be beautiful.

“Would you like me to make a protective charm for her?” the woman inquired.

“Certainly not,” Zeno snapped. “We mustn’t undo all of Godomar’s tutoring, Minthe. And as for you, young lady,” he said, trying without much success to look and sound severe, “I fear I must forbid you to wander about unaccompanied until we can be certain it’s safe to do so.”

The child hopped down from her perch. “I know what you’re thinking, Zeno. It’s about Gadaric, but you don’t need to worry. Why, what do you suppose Minthe and I were laughing about just now? But don’t ask. That’s a secret too!”

***

Peter followed John to the front door of Zeno’s villa. Having posted excubitors along the paved drive leading up from the coast road, Felix accompanied them, but even though they were protected, Peter glanced around the lush surroundings with increasing trepidation. As they passed through the gardens, he had noticed several statues of horrifying blasphemy set here and there among the riot of flower beds as well as numerous shrubs pruned into the likenesses of fantastic creatures. A bronze mechanical owl that unexpectedly hooted at the visitors from its perch on a marble tree stump near the wide terrace in front of Zeno’s house had given him a terrible fright.

Worse, the villa’s polished wood door had swung open as the men stepped up to it, but no servant waited in the exceedingly narrow and unusually short vestibule. The door had opened of its own accord.

Peter trod stoutly forward anyway, determined to accompany his master to the end, even into Hell itself.

He was therefore not completely surprised when the outer door thudded shut behind them without apparent aid, but he was certainly shocked when the lamp set in a wall alcove sputtered and suddenly died, leaving the vestibule in darkness.

Felix cursed in a disgustingly obscene manner and John uttered a short, sharp phrase in a foreign language that, going by the tone his master used, Peter was happy he was not able to translate.

There was a grating squeal and the marble beneath Peter’s feet vibrated in the manner that the pavement of a forum moved when a heavy cart passed by. The inner door of the vestibule opened a crack, spilling some light into the space in which they were trapped.

It stopped moving.

Felix stepped to the door and tried to force it open, his shadow swimming around the now dimly lit vestibule as he struggled. Instead of obliging, the door clanked shut again.

“Stand away,” he finally growled. His sword came out of its scabbard. “This could well be a trap.”

He pounded on the inner door and shouted a command that it be opened in the emperor’s name, his voice booming around the enclosed area.

Again the floor vibrated slightly and again the door creaked open just enough to allow a little light to enter.

Footsteps approached and then a woman’s voice spoke reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, you in there. It keeps jamming even though Hero’s tinkering endlessly with the mechanism. I’ll have you out very quickly.”

A thinly shaped object was thrust through the narrow illuminated opening. Felix raised his sword but the object proved to be an iron bar with which the woman on the other side proceeded to lever open the recalcitrant door.

Their rescuer had dark hair dressed in an elaborately rolled fashion. Her silk garments were obviously not those of a servant.

“We keep this useful item to hand,” she explained with a hint of a smile, setting the bar back against the wall as the erstwhile captives emerged into Zeno’s bright atrium.

“Thank you, Calyce,” John said with a slight bow.

The woman looked surprised. “Lord Chamberlain! We spoke only briefly on the night of the tragedy. You have an excellent memory for names and faces.”

He smiled. “A very useful skill, considering many of my court duties.”

Calyce bent to place a wooden wedge under the inner door. “We generally keep it open this way,” she explained, “but it must have been knocked aside by accident.”

Felix was looking around suspiciously, sword still half raised. “There seem to be rather a lot of accidents on this estate,” he remarked dourly, finally sheathing the weapon.

“What about the outside door? Have there been problems with it?” John asked the woman.

She shook her head. “No, it’s only the inner one that’s given occasional difficulty-at least up until now.”

“Calyce! What are you doing?” Another woman swept into the atrium in an impatient flurry of rustling robes. She was shorter than Calyce and as plump as a dove. She sounded angry.

“I am admitting guests, Livia.”

“That is a servant’s duty! The empress would be appalled to learn that one of her ladies-in-waiting had decided to act as a doorkeeper.”

“Livia, my felicitations,” John intervened. “We spoke on the night of the banquet, didn’t we? I’m afraid Zeno’s servants are not so attentive today as they were then. Indeed, they all appear to be otherwise occupied at present. However, I can find my way now that Calcye has so graciously released us from our temporary imprisonment.”

“Thank you, Lord Chamberlain,” replied Livia. “Needless to say, I shall have a very stern word with the servants about their negligence.”

Having been spared the need to resolve the dilemma of whether an empress’ lady-in-waiting should wait upon the emperor’s Lord Chamberlain, the two women then departed into the depths of the villa, muttering irritably at one another.

Felix looked even more annoyed than the women. “I doubt that was an accident, John,” he said bluntly as soon as Livia and Calcye were out of earshot. “Surely even Zeno must be tired of all these malfunctioning mechanisms by now? It seems extremely suspicious to me.”

John agreed it was certainly very odd.

Much relieved, Peter finally spoke. “If I may say so, master, visitors should always be escorted immediately to the presence of the master of the house and not abandoned to stand around in the atrium. After all, you never know what some of them might get up to if they’re left alone to wander about the halls.” He gave a sniff of censure but did not offer his entire opinion, which was that apart from Zeno’s estate being a stew of blasphemy and black arts, its master apparently oversaw it very carelessly, not to say with dangerous negligence.

Following his own master and Felix down the corridor, Peter prayed silently that they were not walking straight into disaster. But then, with the arrival of the Lord Chamberlain and a captain of the excubitors, not to mention a contingent of trained military men joining forces with the guards already present, what could possibly compromise the safety of the estate?