was a man of simple tastes.
“Then he’ll be much happier in a hovel in Egypt.”
Anatolius heard a step in the hallway and glimpsed Hypatia, who vanished in the direction of the kitchen.
Had she been listening?
“Leave, Hektor. You’re not welcome here.”
“What’s the hurry? John won’t be coming back. Our dear empress was correct all along. He was a cunning villain and now he’s been unmasked. Yet who would have guessed he’d go so far as to murder a senator? Whatever could he have been trying to conceal?” Hektor made the Christian sign. “I shall pray for his soul, sinner that he is.”
“Do I have to throw you out?” Anatolius grabbed Hektor’s arm.
Hektor jerked away. “Beware, Anatolius. If I appeal to the emperor—”
“You don’t appeal to anyone now, I’m afraid. Since I was the emperor’s secretary until recently, he knows me well, and I doubt he’d take much notice of whining complaints about me from a prancing fool like you.”
“You mistake me for the person I once was, Anatolius. The terrible accident I suffered was a gift from heaven. The veils of sin were lifted from my eyes and I saw the vanity of earthly things. However, we must also be practical. Even those who serve the Lord must have a place to live.”
“Why don’t you find a vacant pillar to crawl up and take up being a stylite instead of causing trouble for everyone?”
Hektor glared. “Your friend John will not be needing this house again.”
“He’ll be back before too long. How can you possibly doubt it?”
“Being in the confidence of those who are highly placed, I’ve been entrusted with more than a few secrets,” the other replied.
“You mean you’re a keyhole specialist.”
Hektor raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Lord,” he muttered, “please help this deluded paga—”
With a quick movement Anatolius struck Hektor square on the chest, sending him sprawling to the floor.
“I’m impressed! Your prayer’s been answered already! I’ve neglected the gymnasium lately and needed help getting exercise. Shall we continue?”
Hektor scrambled to his feet, fists clenched. “I’ll be back to take possession of this house when your protector is dead, Anatolius!”
His voice was a low snarl. “Until then, I wouldn’t make myself too comfortable here if I were you,” he went on. “It won’t be long until the Lord Chamberlain is on his way to whatever part of hell is reserved for pagans. Indeed, he may be writhing in the flames right now if the assassin has already caught up to him!”
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
“Then he’ll be much happier in a hovel in Egypt.”
Anatolius heard a step in the hallway and glimpsed Hypatia, who vanished in the direction of the kitchen.
Had she been listening?
“Leave, Hektor. You’re not welcome here.”
“What’s the hurry? John won’t be coming back. Our dear empress was correct all along. He was a cunning villain and now he’s been unmasked. Yet who would have guessed he’d go so far as to murder a senator? Whatever could he have been trying to conceal?” Hektor made the Christian sign. “I shall pray for his soul, sinner that he is.”
“Do I have to throw you out?” Anatolius grabbed Hektor’s arm.
Hektor jerked away. “Beware, Anatolius. If I appeal to the emperor—”
“You don’t appeal to anyone now, I’m afraid. Since I was the emperor’s secretary until recently, he knows me well, and I doubt he’d take much notice of whining complaints about me from a prancing fool like you.”
“You mistake me for the person I once was, Anatolius. The terrible accident I suffered was a gift from heaven. The veils of sin were lifted from my eyes and I saw the vanity of earthly things. However, we must also be practical. Even those who serve the Lord must have a place to live.”
“Why don’t you find a vacant pillar to crawl up and take up being a stylite instead of causing trouble for everyone?”
Hektor glared. “Your friend John will not be needing this house again.”
“He’ll be back before too long. How can you possibly doubt it?”
“Being in the confidence of those who are highly placed, I’ve been entrusted with more than a few secrets,” the other replied.
“You mean you’re a keyhole specialist.”
Hektor raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Lord,” he muttered, “please help this deluded paga—”
With a quick movement Anatolius struck Hektor square on the chest, sending him sprawling to the floor.
“I’m impressed! Your prayer’s been answered already! I’ve neglected the gymnasium lately and needed help getting exercise. Shall we continue?”
Hektor scrambled to his feet, fists clenched. “I’ll be back to take possession of this house when your protector is dead, Anatolius!”
His voice was a low snarl. “Until then, I wouldn’t make myself too comfortable here if I were you,” he went on. “It won’t be long until the Lord Chamberlain is on his way to whatever part of hell is reserved for pagans. Indeed, he may be writhing in the flames right now if the assassin has already caught up to him!”
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
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