Six for Gold

Chapter Thirty-five

“And this business with the sheep was just a trick, Lord Chamberlain? Imagine, Dedi trying to wrest my position away in such a fashion.” Melios’ words smelled of wine. His wig was askew and he kept turning the side of his face with the clouded eye straight at John in a disconcerting manner.

He appeared to be as upset and angry as Dedi had been by the end of John’s visit.

It was only a few hours since John had returned from Dedi’s house and informed Melios about the proposed show of power. The headman must have begun fortifying his courage immediately.

The sun had set. The two men stood outside the barn and overlooked the final preparations. Guards had been posted to keep the curious away. Servants bustled about carrying out orders relayed from John by Melios. The hubbub was reminiscent of a marketplace. The odor of burning torch resin hung on the air.

“No magick is involved,” John reassured the headman. “By dawn we’ll have discovered exactly how it was done and you’ll be rid of Dedi for good.”

“Even so, I’ve ordered everything with a sharp edge locked up.” Melios shuddered and put a hand to his throat.

“When I spoke to Dedi, I indicated that a man such as myself, from Justinian’s court, could not be misled by some Egyptian chickpea. I intentionally hurt his pride by saying this in front of Peter, my servant, who was somewhat puzzled to be asked to accompany me on my visit. I’ve since explained to him why I wished him to be in attendance. My intent was to anger Dedi so much he would insist on another demonstration in order to convince me of his powers. Beyond that, when people are angry they become careless.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

They walked over to the barn.

“The whole place will be lit up as brightly as the inside of the Great Church tonight,” Melios said. “For that matter, I have arranged to have so many guards here, the area will resemble the Hippodrome on race day.”

John refrained from mentioning that some claimed more crimes took place in the Hippodrome during the racing than in the rest of the city. “That reminds me, Melios. You had an argument with the charioteer. Why?”

“Whoever said so is mistaken. I haven’t argued with Porphyrios. I’ve hardly seen Porphyrios. Now if you’d said Scrofa, I admit I’ve exchanged hot words with that rascal. He’s been content to skulk about out of my sight since then. Oh, he didn’t like it when I told him about my acquaintance with the emperor! Let me tell you…”

Suddenly Melios’ voice was echoing much too loudly in a sudden silence. The clamor from the workers had ceased abruptly.

Dedi had materialized out of the growing darkness. He carried a short wooden post, split halfway down. Its wickedly sharp blade pointing upwards, a sword was wedged into the cleft, and kept in place by a rope tying the split halves together.

Servants and guards alike moved out of Dedi’s path.

The magician addressed John and Melios. “Let’s get on with it! You know the routine, Melios! We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

All the color had drained from the headman’s face. Caught by torchlight, sweat stood out on his forehead like drops of liquid fire.

“Yes,” Melios wheezed. “Let’s not delay. This time it is going to be different. Isn’t it, Lord Chamberlain?” He instructed a guard to unbolt the door.

Torch light flickering through the slitted windows bisected its empty interior. Charms hung on the gate of the pen at the far end.

Accompanied closely by John and Melios, Dedi carried his deadly device into the enclosure and tied it securely to the gate. Then John ushered his two companions outside.

“Where’s the sacrificial beast?” Dedi asked.

“Hapymen is bringing it now,” Melios replied. Turning to John he went on. “Don’t imagine I would allow my animal to be unprotected, Lord Chamberlain. You observed the amulets, and exactly as on the previous occasion Zebulon has blessed the beast and Hapymen has made a protective garland.”

“All your precautions will be as ineffective as the last time,” Dedi told him with a sneer.

“I am of the opinion we didn’t use enough flowers of Paion on that occasion,” Melios replied.

A loud, agitated bleating announced the arrival of a small, gentle-faced sheep led by Hapymen. A heavy garland of ruby globular blossoms intertwined with numerous leaves and sprigs of herbs hung around its neck.

Melios began to open his mouth, then clamped his lips together tightly, turned, and lurched off toward his house.

“My master does not appear to be feeling too well, excellency,” Hapymen observed.

“We can proceed without him,” John replied. “As soon as I’ve searched inside one last time, the animal is to be placed in its pen. I shall then seal the door, and it will not be opened again until I personally do so.”

“As for me, I’m off to get a good night’s sleep,” remarked Dedi. “We’ll see if all these precautions can overcome the power of Mehen.”

***

As the night advanced stars blazed forth, brilliant against the clear sky. John had arranged the guards in two concentric circles. Those in the inner ring closely surrounded the barn, while others formed a human perimeter further out.

It was impossible for Dedi or any accomplice to reach the barn without being seen. Therefore, John thought, the magician was bound to fail and be forced to admit defeat or, more likely, concoct some excuse or other that would deceive no one.

On the other hand, Dedi might well make a reckless attempt from frustration and anger, in which case he would be caught and exposed in the act.

John strode around continually, keeping his own watch and making sure the guards were awake and attentive. Surrounded by armed men in a pool of light in the middle of darkness, he recalled his days as a mercenary.

How many sleepless nights had the younger John spent on watch in an encampment near enemy territory?

This time there were no bands of enemies waiting to ambush during the night, only a charlatan who called himself a magician.

John was not certain what would happen once Dedi was exposed. The magician would be forced to admit how he had accomplished the first killing. Would the answer somehow lead to the information Justinian sought in Egypt?

He would consider the question in the morning.

The hours advanced. John had always thought, whenever he stood watch, that the quality of time changed at night. The hours did not flow forward as they did during the day, but rather lay upon the world in a still pool, until daylight forced them into motion again.

He spoke a few words of encouragement to a boy leaning on his spear. The boy smiled, surprised that the tall, lean Greek could address him in fluent Coptic.

John made another circuit around the barn.

All was quiet. Occasionally a torch popped and threw off a gout of sparks. John half expected a second flaming demon to come shrieking out of the sky, or some other similar diversionary tactic.

He crossed the open space to the verge of the garden, where the smells of smoke and livestock were replaced by that of vegetation. The chirp and buzz of insects within the dark plant life grew louder.

Pale moonlight formed a patch of white behind the trees.

No, it was a robe.

John plunged toward it.

The figure turned to flee. John leapt forward, put his shoulder into the man’s back, and drove him face down into the soft ground, crushing most of a fragrant bed of flowers.

John yanked his prey over. “Thorikos!”

“Lord Chamberlain…I…uh…”

John dragged the traveler none too gently to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I meant no harm!”

“You’re fortunate I saw you before one of the guards decided to test his aim and the sharpness of his spear.”

“Yes, I see that. My apologies, excellency.”

“And why did you attempt to flee?”

“Well, I…er…realized I was trespassing and might not be welcome, although I came here with the best of intentions.”

John treated Thorikos to a stream of Coptic invective that, although only barely understood by its recipient, was still more memorable than many of the sights the traveler had seen during his journeying.

Thorikos suddenly put his hand to his belt. For an instant John thought he might be reaching for a blade. Instead, Thorikos let out a faint cry, bent over and began feeling through the dark vegetation around his feet.

With a gasp of relief, he finally straightened up, holding out a smooth, rounded piece of bone. “Thanks be to the Lord! I thought I’d lost it, excellency. It’s a saint’s knucklebone.”

He stuffed the bit of bone back into his pouch. “You see, Lord Chamberlain, I purchased it at an outrageous price at the pilgrim camp, having heard about the demonstration planned for tonight. I thought it might be useful in helping protect the animal.”

“A touching thought, Thorikos, but surely you don’t believe it’s really the knucklebone of a saint?”

“Of course not! It probably belonged to some lesser holy man. Nevertheless-”

A series of frantic, high-pitched bleats resonated from the barn.

Cursing, John raced back.

He ordered the guard away and yanked the bolt open himself, breaking the wax seals he’d placed on the door.

As he reached the pen, he saw the sheep staggering. Its front legs folded, the crimson-chested animal pitched forward and rolled onto its side.

The sword blade anchored on the wooden post glistened wetly.

The ground was speckled with blossoms redder than the flowers in the garland around the dying creature’s neck.