Six for Gold

Chapter Thirty-seven

From the flat roof of the guest house the oasis appeared as a choppy sea of palm fronds, interrupted by fields outlined by irrigation ditches and the few dusty streets of Mehenopolis. Beyond, dun-colored desert sands shimmered in the heat.

“I was happy we slept up here last night,” Cornelia said to John. “The stars were magnificent. We’ll have to continue sleeping on the roof. It’ll be like old times, lying together beneath the heavens.”

“Not exactly like old times.” John had turned on his stool to face the upthrust cliff of the Rock of the Snake.

“We can only be what we are. If we spent our time regretting the endless things we’re not, we’d never do anything else. I found this philosophy most helpful when Europa was difficult to manage.”

John stared fixedly toward the ruined temple. “Our daughter is the best reason we have to return to Constantinople as soon as possible.”

“Thomas can take care of her.”

John turned his gaze away from the rock outcropping. He had erred in not explaining the situation to Cornelia immediately, when he spoke to her on the ship. His first thought had been to protect her peace of mind. It had been a misjudgment he had not been able to bring himself to correct. Now it was time.

She listened in silence while he told her how he had followed Thomas, discovered him in the Hippodrome next to the senator’s body, instructed him to flee, and then drawn the excubitors away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything,” John concluded. “I thought it would be simpler, for all of us, if I kept it to myself.”

Knowing Cornelia, John feared she might be angry.

“Why would Thomas kill a senator?” was all she said.

“He didn’t. The matter was deliberately arranged to make him appear guilty.”

John explained how he had seized the opportunity to create a pretext for the emperor to exile him without raising undue suspicion.

She leaned over and kissed him.

He looked at her in surprise.

Cornelia laughed. “Now, John, admit it. Your first thought in the Hippodrome was to save Europa’s husband, wasn’t it?”

“Thomas is a reckless fool!” John paused and then smiled faintly. “Then again I was a reckless fool once myself. If I’d not insisted on seeking out silks for you and thereby strayed into Persian territory, if I hadn’t been captured and taken away…”

“We would have long since quarreled bitterly and gone our separate ways, young hotheads that we were,” Cornelia said firmly.

John was silent. Again his gaze went toward the ruins atop the outcropping thrusting up into the brilliant blue sky. “Melios is frantic over this latest death. He’s now talking about using the banquet he planned to officially announce that he’s entering a monastery.”

Before Cornelia could reply, Peter climbed up through the trapdoor to the roof, bearing a platter of fruit.

“I apologize for the meager fare, master. I fear tonight I’ll only be able to serve the remains of yesterday’s evening meal, as it’s difficult for me to cook right now.”

As Peter put his burden down on the rooftop beside them, they saw his hands were covered with huge blisters.

“Did you burn yourself?” Cornelia asked with quick concern.

Peter reddened. “I was careless while preparing a meal, mistress. I’ve obtained a healing salve from Hapymen. He also kindly provided this fruit for you. Hypatia often claimed melons are plumper and grapes more succulent here than anywhere else, and going by these examples, I believe she’s correct.”

Cornelia sampled a few grapes and said she agreed.

“Though I must say, mistress, I have not been impressed with some of the vegetables. The lettuce, for example…and the onions too,” the elderly servant rushed on. “The larger ones have a tendency to develop too strong a flavor. Hapymen cautioned me before I cooked them and just as well. Otherwise the entire dish would have been ruined. As you see, their juice irritated my skin very badly.”

“You’ll be back to your pots and spoons before your fire gets cool,” Cornelia said.

Peter hesitated. “Master, could it be-”

“No, it’s nothing to do with magick,” John reassured him quickly.

A subdued rumbling caught their attention. From their elevated position they could see a cart bearing the body of a sheep trundling toward the gate of the estate.

“Is it the poor beast that died last night?” Cornelia wondered.

“It must be,” John confirmed. “Melios said he intended to send it to the pilgrim camp.”

“Nothing is allowed to go to waste in an oasis,” Cornelia observed. “Not even a sheep done to death by magick. All those amulets and the protective garland you described didn’t do it much good, did it?”

Without replying, John leapt to his feet and vanished through the trapdoor.

He sprinted outside, ran past two naked children playing in the dirt, and hailed the driver of the cart.

The driver halted at John’s command, and watched him as, without a word, he began to examine the garland of wilted flower and greenery still encircling the dead sheep’s neck.

As he suspected, several squill bulbs had been halved and were tightly attached to the underside of the collar, arranged so that their cut sides pressed against the sheep’s throat.