Six for Gold

Chapter Eleven

“The next thing I knew I was lying in the alley and…” Peter’s voice cracked as he forced the words out. “…The last few coins were gone, master.”

The servant hid his anguished face in his hands.

Peter, Cornelia, and John sat in a wide doorway on a street not far from the hostelry where they had spent the night.

The sun had passed its zenith, but heat still lay honey-like upon Alexandria. The city seemed quiet, John thought. Had they already become accustomed to its raucous patchwork of sounds-the rattle of carts, the cries of hawkers, the screams of dusty children who wore amulet necklaces and little else?

John looked at Peter appraisingly. “You’re not hurt?”

Peter picked a flat, oval seed from his scanty hair and tossed it into a rut nearby. “Fortunately I fell into a heap of rotten melons.”

A brown bird dropped from nowhere and flew off with the discarded seed.

“It was better than I deserved for my carelessness,” Peter went on. “I don’t think the thief meant to harm me, and he left my satchel. Except…” His voice trailed off again.

“Never mind, Peter. It was an excellent idea to bring silks to sell. Let’s see them,” Cornelia told him.

With obvious reluctance Peter pulled the satchel open.

The shriveled head of a mummified cat glowered out.

“The thief took them, mistress, and left this as payment. I was going to throw the nasty thing away, but somehow the way it seemed to look at me…”

Cornelia chuckled. “It’s adorable, Peter. I won’t let you abandon the poor thing. What should I call him? How about Cheops?”

“It’s clear who’s responsible,” John said. “Show me this emporium, Peter. I will resolve the matter with Pedibastet quickly enough.”

John began to stand. Cornelia placed a hand on his arm. “This isn’t Constantinople, John. You have no authority here.”

“I’m certain I can do a good enough impersonation of a high official to frighten Pedibastet into returning Peter’s coins!”

“Dressed in those rags?”

John looked down at his threadbare, stained tunic. “You’re right. It’s a pity I don’t have one of my ceremonial robes.”

“If you did, we could sell it for more than enough for our boat fare to Mehenopolis,” Cornelia said.

The trio fell silent for a time.

“But master, why would the emperor order you to a place on imperial business with no means of getting there?” Peter finally asked.

“A good question,” John replied with a thin smile. He did not care to mention that Theodora was responsible for their lack of funds. The change in arrangements ordered by Justinian worried him. It would worry Peter and Cornelia even more.

Cornelia soon spoke sharply. “It seems to me Justinian does not care how you arrive at Mehenopolis. In fact, it’s entirely possible he didn’t want you to arrive at all.”

It was true. Theodora’s interference in John’s exile had been peculiar. Was it possible she had acted with Justinian’s blessing?

John put the thought out of his mind. “More importantly, at this point we have to find our fare to get to Mehenopolis. They always need workers to load wheat on the docks. I can do that.”

“Master!” Peter burst out. “The Lord Chamberlain should not be carrying sacks about like a common laborer! I would be-”

“By the Goddess!” Cornelia interrupted. “John, don’t you remember how we earned our keep the last time we were in this land?”

“I haven’t forgotten. You were part of a bull-leaping act and I helped guard the troupe.”

“Not just bull-leaping. Remember there was also a magician called Baba? An engaging rogue, but always a crowd pleaser.”

“We don’t have a magician with us, mistress,” Peter timidly pointed out.

“Baba taught some of his knowledge to the other performers,” Cornelia replied. “He said a magick trick is like a coin in the hand. You’d never go hungry with something of the kind to entertain and astonish people. I could teach you and Peter one or two of them.”

Peter looked alarmed. “My apologies, mistress, but I am not certain such an act would be a Christian thing for me to do.”

“We don’t have time to learn magick,” John added.

“That’s so,” Cornelia admitted. “What about a bit of play-acting? We sometimes did that, you’ll recall, and you could easily-”

John raised his hand imperiously. “Cornelia, I’m not a performer.”

“How can you say that? You take part in all those elaborate processionals to the Great Church and the Hippodrome and other such tedious ceremonies without looking bored. Of course you can act!”

***

“I am Empress Theodora, and I demand you fetch the Lord Chamberlain immediately! There is an extremely delicate problem of great urgency that requires his immediate attention!”

The visibly trembling old man thus addressed bowed obsequiously and scuttled off.

The imperial speaker peered up toward the tip of the obelisk beside which she stood, and slowly stroked the monument’s warm sandstone. “I’m glad to see Egypt, and it seems Egypt is glad to see me.”

A few onlookers guffawed. Cornelia adjusted her crown, which John had cut from a dried melon rind. Although she spoke Coptic nearly as fluently as John, she had chosen to speak in Greek, realizing that in this part of Alexandria, so near to the docks, most passersby would speak that language.

“Now that I’ve traveled all the way from Constantinople,” she continued, “what would my loyal subjects like to hear about? My charitable works on behalf of former prostitutes? Or would you prefer I relate my theological discussions with the Patriarch?”

“Tell us about the chickens and the grain,” someone yelled.

Peter, playing the empress’ aged servant, had returned and now held his hand up to the side of his mouth and addressed the growing audience in a loud whisper. “Don’t insult the empress by mentioning her past indiscretions! She’s a good Christian now, you know.”

Then, his orthodoxy offended by the line he had spoken, he added, “Even if she does believe the monophysite heresy that Christ has not two natures, but only one, and that fully divine.”

“We all agree with the empress here, old man,” retorted one of the now considerably larger crowd.

“And knowing Theodora, if He really had two natures she’d bed them both,” offered another.

A flurry of other remarks followed.

“How many bishops has she got hidden in the Hormisdas Palace now?”

“At least she claims they’re bishops…”

“I wonder what kind of services they offer her?”

Peter covered his ears in horror.

The shouted demand came again. “Tell us about the chickens and the grain, empress!”

Cornelia stamped her foot. “It’s always that wretched matter! Do you really believe that in my youth I would strip off my garments, lie on the ground, and allow chickens to peck grain from my private parts? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Peter stood silently by, until he noticed Cornelia glaring at him. “Ah…” he muttered, “…er…Highness, I just heard the chickens…ah…talking.”

“Talking chickens?” Cornelia clapped her hands. “This is truly a miracle! And what did these remarkable fowl say?”

“Dinner’s on the empress!”

This brought forth coarse laughs and applause.

“Highness, here is the Lord Chamberlain!”

The crowd began to titter as a tall, thin figure in a tattered tunic approached with obvious reluctance from behind the obelisk.

A few wits continued to add their comments to the performance.

“If that’s a Lord Chamberlain I’m a pharaoh.”

“What cave did you drag him out of?”

“In Constantinople they starve their Lord Chamberlains and dress them in rags, didn’t you know?”

“What is this most urgent problem, highness?” asked John.

“A most intimate matter, Lord Chamberlain. It concerns the emperor’s heir. I wish you to arrange for the child to be presented to the court with appropriate ceremony.”

“Heir? But surely everyone knows there can be no heir?”

Cornelia gave John an exaggerated scowl. “I do not understand your meaning. Make yourself clearer immediately.”

“Highness, everyone knows the emperor is not a man, but a faceless demon and therefore incapable of siring children in the usual fashion.”

“True,” Cornelia purred, giving the obelisk a tickle, “but I am an unusual woman. Servant, bring the imperial infant here at once.”

Peter bowed and presented his satchel to Cornelia. She pulled out a diminutive figure wrapped in what might have been swaddling clothes, but when she held it aloft the withered, whiskered face of Cheops the mummified cat glared reproachfully at the audience.

The first coins landed beside John’s boots.