Mary Reed - Ten for Dying

“It’s too late. We passed it during the night.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to see Thomas and Europa and our grandson one last time before leaving. Still, they’ll join us soon.”

“I’m sure Thomas will be a capable estate manager for us.”

Cornelia turned away from the sea. Concern softened her irritated expression. “Oh, John, I can tell you’re brooding. Haven’t we always talked about leaving the city and retiring to Greece? I know you wouldn’t actually have done it. And now see how your sense of duty and loyalty to Justinian has been repaid!”

“He granted me my life and some of my land,” John pointed out.

“Indeed! How generous! And he’s also given you a well-earned retirement you would never have chosen for yourself. That’s how I try to see it.”

“Perhaps you are right.” He didn’t want Cornelia to be upset and he didn’t want to argue. He was glad when she turned away again and silently surveyed the crowded sea. She looked less drawn and exhausted than she had of late, now they were doing what needed to be done rather than anxiously waiting to start. And, he supposed, it pleased her to be going somewhere-anywhere-to be traveling again after years in Constantinople.

They had met on the road. He a young mercenary, she one of a troupe of entertainers, her specialty re-enacting the legendary acrobatics of Crete’s ancient bull leapers. Then circumstances separated them for years, until they encountered each other again in Constantinople and John found he had a daughter he had never known.

Gray tinged Cornelia’s hair and city life had dulled slightly the bronze to which foreign suns had darkened her skin. John knew well the tiny wrinkles around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth where formerly the flesh had been smooth. However, she was as lithe as when he had met her. She looked as if she could still somersault safely from a running bull. He, on the other hand, was much changed.

Probably Cornelia felt caged in the city, like one of the accursed birds twittering ceaselessly below decks. Some type of songbirds, wicker cages full of them. John preferred the ragged cries of the seabirds soaring above.

A swell rocked the ship. John shifted his feet but made no effort to move forward to grasp the rail. He didn’t want to be any closer to the water. The sun’s rays already felt hot.

“I must speak with Hypatia,” John said. “She knows about herbs. I had an idea, suddenly, about what might have happened at the church.”

Cornelia smiled wearily. “You mean you were standing out here alone, agonizing over the mystery until you came up with a solution. I saw her with Peter as I left our little nest. He wanted to get the captain’s permission to use the brazier in his cabin. Apparently he doesn’t trust the ship’s cook to prepare fit meals for us.”

John stepped around the back of the cabin and looked down the length of the ship. Crewmen crowded the deck which steamed in spots as the sun burned away the night’s dampness. During his solitary watch he had watched a sailor prodding at the waters with a long pole, making certain the ship didn’t run aground as it moved away from the bay.

He found Peter looking cross. “Captain Theon is an obstinate man. It isn’t right that the Lord Chamberlain should delay his meals until after the crew are fed.”

“Were I still Lord Chamberlain it would not be the case, Peter.”

“Imagine, a sailor insulting an imperial official,” Peter fumed. “He said he had better things to worry about than who ate when. The way the birds were flying meant bad weather, he said.”

John glanced at the cloudless sky where seabirds circled. “It looks like a fine day to me. And Hypatia…?”

“I asked her to see about getting fresh fish.” He pointed to the prow, where John saw his Egyptian servant talking with several sailors who were preparing fishing lines.

John thanked Peter for his efforts and made way his forward, trying not to trip over the ropes strewn across the deck. None of the crew spoke to him. Passengers were just so many goods to be transported.

The day before, John had been taking inventory of the other travelers. There were two farmers, judging by their rough appearance and clothing. They may have been returning to their native soil after failing to find work in Constantinople. Then again, they might have gone to the city to petition the emperor over matters concerning land or taxation. An ancient woman by the name of Egina and her attendant occupied the makeshift room next to John and Cornelia’s cubicle, almost certainly returning from a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. They heard her reading scripture late into the night in a voice whispering like dry leaves in a winter wind. The last passenger was a young man who appeared to be staying with Captain Theon. Dressed a little too well for travel, John guessed he was a callow scion sent to inspect the family holdings.

Hypatia looked happier than Peter. She had arranged to purchase the pick of each day’s catch, she told John, who couldn’t help reflecting that women seemed better than men at handling life’s unexpected vicissitudes.

When she screwed up her tawny-skinned face to consider the question he put to her, it struck him that she alone, of the travelers on board, looked as if she belonged amidst the sunburnt sailors. “Visions, master? You wish to know which plants could cause visions?”

“I have heard such exist, Hypatia.”

“There is mandrake. Yes, mandrake would do it. But I’ll have to ponder the question further.”

“Could mandrake be prepared so that it could be burned?”

“I don’t see why not, if it were properly dried. But I’m afraid I didn’t bring any mandrake. I do have other herbs and preparations, in case you need something.” She looked puzzled.

“No, I don’t need anything right now, nor am I seeking a vision.” Except, perhaps, for a vision of his uncertain future, John told himself as he returned thoughtfully to Cornelia, who still leaned precariously over the rail, breathing in the sea air.

He detailed his conclusions for her. “So mandrake, or a similar herb, could have been mixed with the incense smoldering in the church. Anyone inhaling the fumes might have seen the human thieves as fiends. Unfortunately I can’t tell Felix now.”

“Oh, John, you had other things to think about! Felix is bound to solve the mystery as soon as he puts his mind to it.”

Gray light fingered the shutters of Felix’s bedroom when he woke from an uneasy sleep populated by dark monstrosities and dreamlike shapes of no particular outline but radiating an aura of dread.

He immediately recalled his encounter with the leper. It took him a moment to disentangle the memory from his nightmares. No, unfortunately, he had not dreamt it.

Anastasia slept on as he hastily dressed and went outside. In the inner garden birds had begun to address the dawn. The sky pearled to rose in the east and not far off the clang of hammers announced artisans had risen even earlier. The air was still and already warm, heralding another day of uncomfortable heat.

Felix raked his fingers through his hair and yawned. He wondered how John was faring. At least the weather was good for sea travel. How long would it take John’s ship to reach Greece? Would the estate where he intended to take up residence be habitable? Perhaps John kept better track than Felix did of his holdings.

There was no point worrying. He couldn’t help John at this point nor could John help him. He’d better concentrate on his own problems.

Suddenly realizing that he had been straightening his hair without thinking, Felix lowered his hand. He couldn’t stop himself from examining the fingers. It was the hand with which he’d grabbed the leper. There was nothing to see. Why should there be? He’d hardly touched the creature. Still, he could almost feel his scalp tingling where he’d touched it.