Mary Reed - Five for Silver

“An interesting thought,” John observed, not entirely certain how to interpret Nereus’ comment.

“These are not the actual Dodona oracle, needless to say. But of the same vintage, or so he was assured. Not that cost ever deterred him. He was about to receive a new oracle and was very excited about it. An antique statue of Hermes, inspired by the one at Pharae. He told me seekers after knowledge made an offering, asked the statue their question, and then covered their ears until they left its presence. The first words they heard when they uncovered them were said to answer their question.”

Evidently, John thought, an auricular oracle.

“It wasn’t just statues and animals, though, sir,” Sylvanus continued with a fond smile. “Our cook complained more than once he had to keep a secret store of eggs and poppy seeds since the master would occasionally take them for purposes of divination, although neither of us know how they could possibly be used to foretell the future. You’ve perhaps noted the laurel bushes are a bit bare? The master would sometimes burn their leaves for the same purpose.”

Sylvanus sighed. “Only last week the house steward mentioned one of the master’s dinner guests had spilt wine and the master immediately prophesized the future from the shape the puddle made.”

“Was he correct?”

“I can’t say. However, no one can deny that Nereus thrived in his business affairs. No matter the weather, he spent an hour in the garden with me every morning consulting the oracles. He often said he had never known them to be wrong. Apis here was a particular favorite. The master paid handsomely for him. Bought him as a calf and happy to do it, since Apis is an exact copy of the bull oracle of old, what with being black and marked with a white square on his forehead.”

He paused to contemplate Apis, who was now quietly chewing at fresh hay. A massive hillock of an animal, the bull flicked its tail slowly back and forth, barely disturbing a twinkling cloud of buzzing flies.

“Do you think oracles really can tell us the future, sir? Apis here, he hasn’t eaten hardly a thing since the master died and usually he has a hearty appetite. Very strange, as I said to Cador only this morning. Cador’s the house steward’s assistant, gone to the country with the others. I shall be joining them as soon as they send a cart back to transfer the animals out there.”

A look of distress clouded Sylvanus’ face.

John commiserated, observing it must be difficult for a man of the soil to find himself stranded alone in a city.

“It’s not that, sir. It’s just that I’d much rather stay in Constantinople. Born here, so I was. I’ve worked in aristocrats’ gardens all my life and, despite my name, I’ve hardly set foot outside the city walls. It’s the thought of all that open space around me that I find disturbing. Fields and fields, with nothing beyond them but more fields, or perhaps a forest. There’s bears in forests, you know.”

“Perhaps you could arrange to stay here as caretaker of the house while various legal affairs are settled, and meantime you could seek another master?”

A look of gratitude spread across Sylvanus’ face as he contemplated the suggestion.

“How does this bull indicate the future?” John asked, quickly, as much to divert the other as from a thirst for arcane knowledge.

“Ah!” Sylvanus’ brown face furrowed into a grin. “It’s very easy. No need for purification rites or anything like that! No, a person wishing to consult Apis on a course of action merely puts the question and offers food. If Apis eats, it means a fortunate outcome to the intended enterprise.” A thoughtful look entered his eyes. “Since Apis found his appetite again just after you arrived, it may well mean you will find whatever it is you seek.”

“I hope so. However, I would like to consult you rather than these oracles. I believe a customs official named Gregory recently visited your master?”

“Gregory? He visited quite often on matters of business, I believe. The master showed him around the garden a few times. He did not seem very impressed.”

The gardener appeared reluctant to say more. John assured him he had nothing to do with customs duties or taxation for that matter. “Gregory was here the day Nereus died?”

Sylvanus looked dubious. “I truly can’t say. I rarely venture into the house when the master has visitors. I wouldn’t want to be tracking mud everywhere, for one thing. There were quite a number of people there that day, from the sound of it. A real commotion. I find it of some comfort, sir, to recall that the master did not die alone.”

“You wouldn’t know, then, who might also have been present to witness Nereus’ will?”

Sylvanus shook his head. “That was none of my business, sir. My business is looking after the master’s oracles.”

“You mentioned Nereus showed them to Gregory, and to other visitors too. His lawyer, for instance?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know who his lawyer might be. I don’t think he’s visited the garden, though, since being a lawyer he would surely have started arguing with the oracles.”

“What about you, Sylvanus? Do you have any notion why Nereus decided to make a new will?”

Sylvanus patted the bull’s flank and looked down into the pond, staring gloomily at the ghostly forms of the fish moving restlessly below its surface. “Everyone in the household knew why. It was on account of his son.”

“An only child?”

Sylvanus nodded. “There is no other family left. Nereus named the boy Triton after the sea god. The master liked to say his own fate was embedded in the name his parents gave him and that because of it he was destined to make his fortune from the sea. Alas, while the mythological Nereus had fifty daughters, the master had only the one son, a lad who contrived to bring him more sorrow than fifty daughters ever could.” The oracle keeper ran his hand through his hair, extracted a straw, and tossed it onto the surface of the pool. Eager fish rose, rippling the water.

“Has Triton followed in his father’s footsteps and entered the shipping trade?”

“Hardly, although that is what Nereus intended. Excuse me, sir. I should not speak ill of his flesh and blood, but we all agreed Triton had finally gone too far. None of us were at all surprised when the master finally carried out his threat to disinherit him.”

***

Hypatia looked up from chopping dill as Peter shuffled into the kitchen. Night had begun to darken the window panes and, having lit the house lamps, Peter carefully set the last one on the kitchen table. Its orange light danced across smoke-stained ceiling and walls, adding to the ruddy glow from the brazier.

“Isn’t it strange how a good lamp and a warm fire make us feel much safer?” Hypatia remarked, emptying a plate of chopped herbs into the pot steaming atop the brazier.

“Unless the lamp gets knocked over and sets fire to the house.” Peter peered into the pot. “You added too much water for that amount of bacon and not enough dill.”

“You heard the master’s order, Peter! I am to cook for the time being. And just as well, since obviously lighting the lamps has tired you out. As for lack of dill, I’ve added all we had.”

“Make sure you slice the rind off that chunk of bacon before you serve it as well. The master has the old soldier’s habit of eating everything placed before him without complaining, and bacon rind is bad for the digestion.” Peter lowered himself on to the kitchen stool. “There is something else I wish attended to, Hypatia.”

The young woman raised inquiring eyebrows.

“When I was lighting the lamps, I almost fell over one of your clay scorpions. It was sitting beside the master’s desk. It’s fortunate for you I saw it before he did. He would not have been pleased.” Peter’s tone made it clear that he was not happy about it either.