Six for Gold

Chapter Seventeen

Melios barely looked at John’s introduction. He broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, glanced down, and then up again. “You are John, Lord Chamberlain to Emperor Justinian? I am honored, excellency, deeply honored.”

John’s host had the leathery skin of a desert ascetic stretched over the plump body of one born to privilege. A helmet-like wig of traditional cut framed the headman’s face and thin lines of kohl drew attention to brown eyes, one clouded by that affliction Egyptians called a rising of water. However, the spotless white linen he wore might have been stolen from the back of an ancient Greek sculpture.

To John, Melios appeared to be a man with his feet planted, unsteadily, in two cultures.

“As you see, the emperor has sent me here to look into the matter of your sheep,” John said.

“Why would the emperor be interested in my flock? It was declared and taxed accordingly last year. Is there an accounting problem, some difficulty of that kind?”

“Nothing of that nature.” John wished the knot he had to untie was as mundane as correcting tax rolls. “What interests Justinian is the strange way they’ve died. It should be explained in my introduction.”

Melios unrolled the scroll again and peered at it. “The writing is minuscule. I fear I do not see so well in this light. To think that my poor beasts, scratching out an existence almost beyond the very border of the empire, would be discussed in the Great Palace. They are such humble animals compared to the tigers and peacocks gracing the beautiful mosaics lining imperial corridors! I suppose I should not be surprised. There must be little that escapes Justinian’s attention.”

“Where did these deaths occur?”

“There was only one, excellency, but that was quite enough for me. Furthermore, it cut its own throat rather than decapitating itself, but these reports do gain in the telling and retelling, don’t they? In any event, the unfortunate animal killed itself in its pen.”

“I wish to examine where it happened.”

“Certainly. I’ll show you the gardens on the way.”

John followed Melios outside and around the back of the house. Moonlight silvered the path.

“My servants must labor ceaselessly to maintain these gardens,” Melios said. “As Horace put it, you may force out nature, yet she’ll insist on running back.”

He indicated a curved planting of cornflowers. “I realize this garden is as dust compared to the palace grounds, but I flatter myself that here I have created an inferior mirror of the lush greenery which our exalted and blessed rulers traverse in the coolness of evening, despite the constant problems we face here in maintaining sufficient irrigation.”

The identification of plants was a skill which eluded John, although he could see the array was well tended. “In Egypt water is wealth, and here it is obvious you have spent it wisely.”

Melios smiled. The palms bordering their path gave way to shaggy trees with thick, gnarled trunks.

“Sycamore figs,” explained Melios. “And those bushes with the big red blossoms are Paion’s flowers, named after the physician who used them to cure the gods of their wounds. You will know that, being a man of learning. I had them imported to protect my livestock, having heard they have that power. I regret to report the blooms do not glow in the dark as common gossip has it, although if they did we could set tubs of them indoors and save a great deal of the money spent on lamp oil.” He chuckled. “But then I am a Christian, so perhaps the plants refuse to work their pagan magick for me.”

“I suspect you would enjoy talking to my gardener, Hypatia. She has a vast knowledge of herbs.”

“Is that so? My head gardener is just the same. For example, see that bed of squill over there? He concocted a mixture from them for a persistent cough one of my house staff had last winter, and it cleared it up right away. He’s currently treating my rheumatic knees with the same useful plant, although so far all it’s done is make patches of my skin raw. Still, I shall persist. If it should become too painful, he can make poppy potions to alleviate my misery.”

They came to an open area graced with a small pond, around which were scattered an assortment of outbuildings. A hobbled donkey lay near a stack of straw, not far from a long, low barn built of mud bricks. John noted light wavering from the building’s narrow windows, which were hardly a hand wide and set high in the walls.

The barn was guarded by a man who wore no armor and was protected only by a loincloth. However, the spear he carried announced both his authority and intent.

“That’s where the sheep are penned at night,” Melios said. “I keep all my livestock in this part of the estate.”

He motioned the guard to slide back the barn door’s iron bolt. “The building is secured after nightfall and watched over until dawn.”

Melios’ voice trailed off as he stepped into the barn and picked up the clay lamp sitting on a shelf beside the door.

“I see you have taken every precaution to prevent unauthorized persons entering,” John said.

Melios swung the lamp around. Its diffused light flowed across lines of low-walled pens filled with sheep. There were a few bleats of protest.

He walked to the far end of the barn and tapped the wooden gate of a small enclosure. “This is where we found the animal that died, excellency.”

John noted the pen was empty.

“We don’t use it any longer,” Melios explained. “There is talk among the servants it is accursed. I have no opinion either way.”

“I will need to examine this barn in daylight.”

“Of course you are welcome to search any part of my estate or any of its buildings at any time you choose, excellency.”

They returned to Melios’ house, a building whose walls featured foundations of red sandstone with the rest of the structure constructed of the omnipresent mud bricks.

Melios showed John into the reception room. “I realize you will want to join your family in my guest house, but first, if you would not mind remaining a little longer…”

He indicated a well-cushioned chair crouching low to the floor on carved lion paws. John accepted the seat and a cup of wine.

“I regret the liquid essence of our dusty vines cannot match the wine you are accustomed to imbibe, excellency.” Melios poured himself a generous libation.

“The wines of Egypt are my favorites, although I regret few appear to believe it,” John replied with a smile.

Melios beamed, took a few hasty gulps, and adjusted his heavy wig with a pudgy hand.

John glanced around. The room was sparsely furnished with a few stools and unpadded chairs. His was the only cushioned seating. Other than that, the room contained an alabaster chest and another with polished wooden panels. An unlit bronze, three-legged brazier stood in the corner, reminding him Egyptian nights could be surprisingly cold.

The walls, by contrast, were crowded with frescoes depicting scenes in Alexandria and Constantinople.

Melios saw the direction of his gaze. “You must go past the Great Church every day, excellency. You may be surprised to hear I have seen it myself. I once visited Constantinople, like my father before me. It is a wonderful city.”

“When was this journey?”

“A year or so ago, before the accursed plague struck. I had to travel there on business. Such a huge place! The noise! And the crowds! I’ve never seen so many people in one place at once. No, not even in Alexandria! It seemed to me there were enough people in the Hippodrome alone to fill all of Egypt.”

Melios looked with obvious fondness at a misshapen representation of the Hippodrome, whose fresher appearance suggested it had been more recently painted than the rest of the fresco of Constantinople. “I’ll wager the sight of the Hippodrome in such an unexpected place must have brought back pleasant memories?”

“Vivid memories at least,” John admitted.

“I was even fortunate enough to see the imperial couple in a procession,” Melios went on. “What a marvelous sight! All those silks and jewels and the emperor so handsome and the empress exceedingly beautiful, although I must admit it was difficult to see them very well with the excubitors surrounding them, and all those palace officials and courtiers hovering about like butterflies. I have penned many verses about that glorious day.”

He leaned forward. “And even more surprising than that, I have met Justinian. Yes! Few can say that, eh, Lord Chamberlain? I was ushered into his august presence!”

John nodded. “The emperor mentioned that meeting to me when I last had an audience with him.”

Melios was thunderstruck. “He mentioned me?” He chuckled with delight. Then his expression became serious. “That explains how he knows about my misfortune. He has had his eye on this humble settlement ever since our meeting.”

“That I cannot say, Melios. I know he is interested in learning how a sheep might kill itself while locked in a barn. You have no explanation?”

“I think…” Melios began to speak, but stopped.

For a heartbeat John was convinced he would be offered a hint or an indication of a way to a solution, but his host instead concluded: “…If I may say so, Lord Chamberlain, the animal cannot be brought back to life and so I believe the event is best forgotten as soon as possible.”