Free Five for Silver: A John, the Lord Chamberlain Mystery by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer

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.
    Hypatia frowned. “I realize you call my charms superstitious nonsense, Peter, but surely you understand I’m using them to protect the house and all who dwell here?”
    “Them? There are more?”
    “Yes, there are.” She began to launch into a sharp retort, but sensed an unusual anger in the elderly servant’s suddenly flushed face and instead lowered her voice. “I placed one at every entrance and each corner of the house, but I couldn’t get up on the roof to—”
    Peter interrupted with the comment that a woman seen clambering about on the Lord Chamberlain’s roof would certainly have been fine grist for every palace gossip who happened to be passing by at the time.
    “I know these scorpions come from a good heart,” he went on kindly. “However, you need to conceal them. Remember that the master serves a Christian emperor and, in addition, may well have visitors who would not look kindly on such decorations. Besides, it’s my understanding that the scorpion has some significance for Mithrans. The master most certainly does not want his beliefs placed on view, even by accident.”
    He sighed heavily. “I am confiding in this fashion because it may well fall to you to remember all these things one day.”
    “Gaius says there is no cure for the plague. If that’s so, we can only try to scare it away.”
    “You would do better to put your faith in the Lord than in creatures of