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 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
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