Mary Reed - Five for Silver

“That’s Hypatia’s voice!” Anatolius suddenly declared. “I wonder if this is the room where this favorite patient of hers is-”

He stepped quickly back from the doorway.

“Mithra!” he cursed and hastily ushered Crinagoras outside.

***

“I’m not surprised John isn’t here, but the news I have is important. I’ll wait.” Anatolius was crossing the atrium on his way to the garden before Thomas could reply.

“There’s no one here but Peter and myself,” Thomas informed him as he followed.

Dusk had settled over the city. Light from torches set in the garden’s peristyle glinted on foliage, leaving the deepening shadows beneath trees and bushes untouched.

Anatolius dropped on to the bench beside the pool, “I saw Hypatia at the hospice a little while ago. I would have thought she’d be back home by now.”

“She will be here soon. Gaius lends her an escort home, if I can’t meet her myself,” Thomas replied. “However, just to change the subject, what do you make of that strange object?”

He pointed to the olive tree. A brass plate to which three or four short leather strips were attached hung from a branch. Taking the odd contraption down, he handed it to Anatolius. “I bought it from one of those vendors of trifles you see here and there.”

Anatolius glanced at the object and handed it back. “Not many sell portable oracles, I would think.”

Thomas looked disappointed as he hung the plate back on the branch. “You know it’s a reproduction of the oracle at Dodona?”

“I’d read its description, yes, but this is the first example I’ve actually handled. Why did you buy it?”

Thomas grinned in an embarrassed fashion. “It’s a lot of nonsense, of course, but I thought it would amuse Europa.”

“It’s often difficult to purchase suitable gifts for ladies.” Anatolius sounded wistful. “Mind you, most of the ones to whom I’ve presented tokens of my affection would scorn such a simple and useful item. They’d be much more interested in perfume and jewelry or fine clothing, things like that.”

“Then apparently being a barbarian has its advantages.” Thomas tapped the plate, listening to the leather strips slapping against it.

“It will only work correctly when the wind blows,” Anatolius remarked. “Why do you suppose it will amuse Europa? Is there some uncertainty in her future? A decision yet to made?”

“She will make the right decision,” Thomas confidently predicted and turned to look at John, who was approaching quietly from the house. “Lord Chamberlain, you have a visitor. I must depart to consult someone about a certain matter, so I’ll leave you to talk.”

John glanced at the brass plate, then looked after the retreating Briton. He asked Anatolius if he knew where the oracle had been found.

“Thomas mentioned he purchased it from a street vendor. Why do you ask?”

“Nereus’ house was broken into and one of his Dodona oracles is missing.”

“And you think that someone desperate to purchase food stole it and sold it to Thomas?”

“It seems a reasonable explanation, doesn’t it? A plate is easily carried.”

“From your gloomy demeanor I don’t need an oracle to predict your investigation isn’t going well.”

John sat down beside Anatolius and briefly recounted his day’s efforts, including his visit to the bookseller turned innkeeper for the dead.

“I’m not surprised to hear about Scipio’s newest commercial venture,” Anatolius observed. “He’s always struck me as more interested in coins than words. Oh, he fancies himself a shrewd businessman, but a really shrewd businessman would be selling wine or bread or shoes-anything but literary works. Do you believe this cart driver you sought really died of the plague? It seems very convenient to me. There were no visible wounds, I take it?”

“No. Still, next time you see Crinagoras, you should strongly advise him to stay on guard. He might want to retain Thomas in his employ for a while as well.”

“Yes, I’ll tell him. But are you really surprised one of the remaining witnesses would be carried off by the plague? I’d have wagered more than one of them would meet the same end. It’s almost a race between you and death, John. Are there any of the five witnesses still left alive you haven’t interviewed?”

Five for silver, John suddenly thought uneasily, remembering the strange fortune-telling rhyme he had heard so long ago in Bretania. Five witnesses left alive and silver in plenty to be had, given Nereus’ wealth. “Only this holy fool who seems to be everywhere and nowhere.”

“Perhaps you should try following Crinagoras. The fool seems to be following him around. First he’s at Nereus’ house, then Theodora’s banquet. Crinagoras tells me that Scipio tried to convince him he should write a chronicle of the fool’s antics. The bookseller’s taken an interest in the rascal, calculating people will want to read about him and his outrageous goings-on. He has a point, I will say, but Crinagoras refused to entertain the notion. He’s become quite distressed of late. He keeps telling me the holy man won’t let him alone.”

“You say the fool was at the empress’ banquet at Justinian’s Blachernae estate?”

“That’s right. I was going to tell you about it.” He recounted the fool’s performance. “If Theodora had thrown the fool into the imperial dungeons, you’d know exactly where to find him. As it is, he could be anywhere in the city or half way to Egypt by now. However, there is one mystery I have solved for you, even if it has nothing at all to do with Gregory’s murder.”

“And what might that be?” John leaned forward, picked up a pebble, tossed it into the pool, and watched rings spreading out toward the edge of the basin.

“When I was at the hospice this evening I saw the young man to whom Hypatia has become quite attached, and I’m sorry to say it’s that disgusting young court page Hektor.”

“If you’re looking for Hypatia, I sent her home with a guard less than an hour ago.” Gaius looked up from the tray on which he was arranging what appeared to John to be undersized butcher’s tools.

“It’s just as well she isn’t here.”

Gaius wiped a fine-toothed saw on a none too clean cloth. “You’re as enigmatic as ever, John. I don’t suppose you’ve visited at this time of night to chat. What is it?”

The physician looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. The circles under his eyes might have been deep purplish bruises.

“Do you know anything about this favorite patient of Hypatia’s? Have you treated him yourself?”

“I’ve been concentrating on those suffering from the plague. My colleagues are very capable and really, with burns like that, all you can do is bathe them well in water and vinegar and keep the victims supplied with pain-killing potions.”

The physician rubbed his face wearily. “Then too we’ve had a sudden influx of patients who are half dead, but won’t die,” he went on. “At least not until they really get the plague. All of them are convinced they already have it, and from talking to them I gather they took massive amounts of what was purportedly hellebore, hoping for a quick end. Whatever it was, it wasn’t poisonous enough to do the job. I imagine the purveyor of poison will be in some danger once his disgruntled customers get well enough to seek him out again.”

“Doubtless a refund of whatever they paid will be the least of their demands,” John observed, making a mental note to convey this startling development to Isis as soon as possible.

At John’s request Gaius escorted him to the patient’s room.

Inside the hospice it might have been midday since the halls were just as crowded, the cries of anguish were ceaseless as ever, the bustling attendants as numerous. Death and illness paid no heed to the hour.