Mary Reed - Three for a Letter

Peter was staring glumly out to sea across a headland that dropped abruptly toward the water. A craggy island was visible through the departing mist. No doubt it was the goat island about which the servant had muttered darkly when he learned of their trip, John thought. His servant’s reaction had not surprised him, however, since Peter, good Christian though he might be, was also highly-and frequently-superstitious.

“I must say that I didn’t expect to be enjoying Zeno’s hospitality again quite so soon, Felix!” John observed.

“At least it’s a chance to get away from court for a while,” the other replied, “although from what you’ve told me, it’s obvious the mime accidentally killed the child and then departed as hastily as his miserable short legs could carry him. After all, we all know that the children were only political playing pieces for the imperial couple and worth much more to them than a mere mime-even if Barnabas is Theodora’s favorite-so can you blame him for fleeing? I would have done the same if I were in his boots.”

“If I may say so, master,” Peter put in, “the little boy should have been abed, not wandering about the estate at that time of night.”

“The nursemaid certainly seems to have been somewhat negligent with her charges,” John agreed thoughtfully. “I intend to question her more closely about that when we arrive.”

“Yes, and-” Felix began to reply before Peter interrupted him.

“Master! Look!” he quavered. “Out there beyond the island!”

The party reined their horses and stared as the last shreds of mist steamed into nothingness above the swells of the sea. The water roiled as a huge shape broke the surface. Squinting against the sun, John glimpsed an enormous head and a broad, glistening back. Outlined against the bright sea, the whale moved majestically out of sight around the curve of the island, as silently as an apparition.

Peter could scarcely contain his excitement. “It is a great fish such as the one that swallowed Jonah. That I should see it!”

John glanced over at Felix, who seemed no less transfixed at the sight. It was nothing but a simple sea beast, John reminded himself, yet he had to admit that there was something awe inspiring about the creature, even when viewed from a distance.

“That must be the famous Porphyrio,” he told Peter. “It will certainly be something to tell Hypatia when we get home.”

His servant looked horrified. “Oh, but I would not dream of mentioning it to her, master. She would be terribly frightened. Indeed, I wish now that I hadn’t seen it. Such a creature, although it was man-made, killed an innocent child. Now seeing this other whale as you journey to seek out the culprit-” the old man hastily sketched the sign of his religion-“how could it be anything but an ill omen?”

***

“The villagers believe that seeing Porphyrio brings good fortune,” Zeno remarked as he watched Hero hammer out a sheet of metal red hot from the forge.

“So I have heard.” Hero quickly discarded his hammer and, dexterously retrieving the tongs held ready under the stump of his arm, grabbed the metal plate and dowsed its glow in a bucket of water. Steam hissed and spat, emphasizing his words. “However, I fear that they may now decide otherwise, given the recent events.”

“Yes, yes, a terrible business, to be sure.” Zeno shook his head sadly, his momentary good spirits destroyed by this reminder of Gadaric’s death. “But Anatolius has often praised John’s reasoning abilities and I for one am confident he’ll soon find the murderer. Then the cloud of suspicion will be raised from us all.” His eyebrows twitched into a scowl as he continued. “It is so tragic to see a child die and in such a manner, but I think it’s best to keep ourselves busy while waiting for the person responsible to be found and punished.” He sighed and changed the subject. “Are you certain that the automaton will be constructed in time for the festival, Hero? There’s only a little more than a week left now.”

Hero laid the metal sheet aside. “It will be ready. Indeed it had better be ready, since Theodora has ordered that the festival is to be held despite the boy’s death. I do admit we are a little behind schedule.” He wiped sweat from his dark forehead. His clothes were wringing wet from the heat of the workshop, while the tight curls on his scalp and the hair of his sparse beard glistened with perspiration.

Zeno plunged ahead enthusiastically. “Straw men are all very well, but mechanical figures, especially those whose movements are not prompted by obvious devices, will be even more interesting and add much to the festival. I’m certain that the villagers will be delighted with them.”

“I hope so, especially as I’ve thought of a method to overcome the difficulty of hiding the mechanism operating the archer automaton. He could be carried on a litter, and its base will serve to conceal the necessary machinery.”

“You’ve solved it!” Zeno’s lined face lit up with excitement. “And now instead of a straggling rabble of villagers dragging their straw effigy up there with very little ceremony except that old song of theirs, I shall organize a proper procession. We’ll have musicians as well, and speeches. The empress will be as enthralled as the villagers.”

He paused and then said with pain in his voice, “Oh, dear, do you think that that might seem callous under the circumstances? I shall have to consult the Lord Chamberlain about it.” He blinked as another thought occurred. “But what exactly do you propose your archer will do?”

Hero smiled. “I’ve devoted some thought to that and decided that when the litter arrives at the cliff top, the figure will draw its bow and fire an arrow out over the water.”

“Didn’t Hero of Alexandria design something like that for a different sort of figure?” Zeno interrupted. “I believe I recall the diagram. You can adapt the mechanism, so that part at least is already done.”

Hero’s smile diminished. “It’s constructing the figure that will be difficult. However, my thought is that as the arrow leaves the bow, it will be the signal for the villagers to throw their straw man off the headland into the sea, thus providing the required symbolic sacrifice for a fruitful harvest, or whatever these ancient festivities were designed to accomplish.”

Zeno agreed that it sounded appropriate and dignified. “I really must invite some palace dignitaries to attend as well. Senator Balbinus for one,” he added. “After all, Castor is his nephew and Balbinus will be very impressed when he sees how well you’ve brought the figures from Castor’s volume to life. Then perhaps he’ll stop lecturing the poor man about wasting so many nomismata on codices and scrolls. Balbinus treats him like some wayward son at times.” He sighed. “But now the senator will spread your fame, my friend!”

Hero had no opportunity to respond since the nursemaid Bertrada ran into the workshop, pulling Poppaea by her hand.

“The whale came back! It’s chasing us!” shrieked Poppaea. Her light curly hair, usually pinned up, was disheveled and her round face was pink with excitement. Zeno thought the little girl appeared as much exhilarated as terrified.

“It’s true,” Bertrada gasped breathlessly. The plaits in her blonde hair were coming loose, as if to match her young charge’s unruly hairstyle. “We saw it! It was swimming right to shore, looking straight at us!”

“It won’t harm you, my dears,” Zeno reassured them kindly. “It’s a creature of the sea and therefore cannot venture on land.”

“Indeed,” Hero added, “the beast can’t do much more than put a pretty flush on your face, Bertrada. But what were you doing, walking on the beach at this hour?”