“I can’t say. That’s why I was curious. I heard no singing. Pagans in the old days would sing more lustily than we monks, so I understand, not to mention other lusty matters.”
“My master was not doing anything unlawful, of that I can assure you.”
Stephen looked disappointed. “You saw nothing at the temple, then? Saw no one on your way there?”
“No.”
Stephen smiled. “Then my curiosity will have to go unsatisfied. You are a good and loyal servant, Peter. I should have been attending to my own business rather than trying to get a peek at what might have been blasphemous doings. We must never give in to our foolish weaknesses. I shall need to do penance for it and for thinking ill of your master. Now I shall fetch you a poppy potion for your pain.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself. My wife is knowledgeable about those matters.”
The thought of Hypatia brought back to Peter the sight of her walking along the twilit ridge next to Philip. How he wished his fall had erased that from his memory. But it was best he know, wasn’t it? He needed to acknowledge his own surrender to foolish weakness. “May I see the abbot before I leave?”
“Certainly. I shall take your request to him.”
***
It did not occur to Peter until he was shown into the abbot’s study that it was the middle of the night and he would be interrupting his sleep. He apologized profusely. When the abbot assured him that he had been awake anyway, waiting to hear Peter was comfortable, he apologized further.
The abbot hovered solicitously while Peter lowered himself with care onto a bench in front of a table buried beneath codices. The codices, some bound in leather and others between boards, were piled so high and haphazardly it seemed a minor miracle they didn’t all slip off and slide down to the floor.
“Evidence of my scholarly endeavors,” the abbot explained. “There is so much of interest in the world and our lives are so brief. Are you able to read?”
“Yes. I taught myself long ago.”
The abbot nodded his approval as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. “It is a fine thing to be able to read.” To Peter, peering at him through twin pillars of codices, he resembled his rescuer Stephen if the younger monk had been left outside to weather for thirty or forty years. His round, cheerful face was reddened and lined. Deep furrows in his high forehead and dark creases radiating from the edges of his pale, watery eyes told of countless late night hours spent pondering the written word.
“I am very grateful to Stephen,” Peter said. “If not for him, I don’t know what would have become of me.”
“A fine young man. He is one of those who attend the ailing and elderly in our hospice and a favorite with our residents. Those who are lost on the dark roads the elderly often wander down smile when he appears, even if they can no longer speak or remember their own names. He is a blessing to all. I would not be surprised if in due course he succeeded me as abbot.”
“I wish to ask a favor on his behalf,” Peter said. “Stephen said he should not have been indulging his curiosity when he found me. I hope you will not be too harsh with him.”
To Peter’s surprise the abbot chuckled. “I will refrain from exacting punishment altogether. His curiosity about such matters might be partly my fault because I too have an interest in the ancient religions.” He waved a hand at the tottering stacks between them. “It is remarkable how many and various are the delusions we humans have believed at one time or other.”
Delusion? Was the abbot reading Peter’s mind? Peter stared at the other, anguish suddenly etched on his face. “I am afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“I have deluded myself. Because of this, I have committed a terrible sin.” Peter drew a trembling hand over his face. The physical aches from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet were nothing compared to the pain he felt in his heart, or was it in his soul?
“If it would help you to tell me more?” The abbot’s voice was kindly.
Peter took his courage in his hands. “I married a young woman, an Egyptian. We have both served the same master for years. She is barely half my age, and at the time I was ill. Perhaps she felt sorry for me, but I have come to realize it was not fair to her. I succumbed to pride and covetousness and lust. How can I complain now she prefers someone younger? How can I rectify my error?” To Peter’s horror tears began rolling down his cheeks.
“Remember, Peter, a husband and wife become one flesh. The marriage union is sacred.”
“But I have noticed she talks to a young watchman on my master’s estate a great deal. Do you think she is miserable, waiting for me, an old man, to die?”
“Young persons talk to each other but it means nothing. Try to conquer your jealousy, Peter. As for being old, you are as vigorous as a spring lamb compared to the sad state of some of our hospice residents. My advice is to talk to your wife quietly about your concerns and pray for the health of your marriage.”
Chapter Twelve
The City Defender had departed, four of his men carrying the body of Theophilus in a blanket. Cornelia sat in the bedroom, staring at Cheops as John came in, a cylindrical wicker work basket in his hand. He sat down beside her. “I hid it in the barn after sending word to Megara to notify the City Defender of Theophilus’ death.”
“Why? Is it important? It’s just a shabby old basket.” Cornelia’s response betrayed both exhaustion and exasperation.
“It could be very important. There’s nothing unusual about the basket but when I found it next to Theophilus it was decorated with these.” Reaching into the neck of his tunic, he pulled out several strips of dark blue cloth.
Cornelia looked at them and then at John.
“They were tied to the basket,” he explained. “Strictly speaking they should be purple ribbons but I suppose these were as close as could be managed at short notice.”
“Scraps of blue cloth? Baskets? Do you mean we have to worry about someone with deranged humors lurking in the bushes and popping out now and then to leave gifts for us?”
John gave a thin smile. “This is hardly a gift, Cornelia. It’s a sacred basket, a cista. It resembles those used during the rites of Demeter.”
“You mean the City Defender was correct and Theophilus was murdered during a pagan ritual?”
“That’s what the basket would doubtless suggest to many.”
Cornelia’s jaw tightened in anger. “Or would have suggested, if the City Defender had found it with the dead man. I see why you removed it.”
“Leaving the basket with the body was an inspired act of malevolence. So I brought it back and hid it in plain sight, knowing the house and barn would be searched. As indeed they were. Without the strips of cloth it appears to be nothing more than another old basket.”
“Was there anything inside?”
John opened the lid and showed her the empty interior. “Not when I found it. During an actual ritual it would have contained a serpent.”
“I hope it didn’t contain a snake tonight. I would not like to think a poisonous snake had taken up residence in the ruins.”
“It would not necessarily be poisonous.”
“But who brought the basket to the temple?”
John stared into the basket as if the answer might be written on the bottom. “Theophilus or his murderer or someone wishing to perform a ritual or wanting to make it appear someone else had been performing one, or-”
“Or it might have been left there by accident by one of the men shoring up the temple foundations. There’s shade inside, a good place to have a bite to eat while taking a break from digging. Perhaps you were too long at court, John. Everything appears to be a plot of some kind.”