Nine for the Devil jte-9

by Mary Reed

  “There’s nothing in Rome these days but Goths and ruins.” Kuria laughed. “You’ve convinced me I would never want to stay at your father’s house even if he’d have me.”

  Vesta drew away from her friend, a look of distress crossed her long face. “I didn’t mean to-”

  “Anyway, never mind what I’m going to do with myself. What about you? Do you think Antonina is going to let that pair of doves you’re looking after continue billing and cooing now that Theodora’s gone?”

  “The marriage is already scheduled.”

  “Do you think Antonina cares? It’s just as well. You don’t want to be a lady-in-waiting forever.”

  “What do you mean, Kuria? I love working for Joannina.”

  “Yes, but you really want to find a husband at court, don’t you? Isn’t that what all ladies-in-waiting want? Well, we’ve talked about it often enough, haven’t we? Not that those of us who are former whores are likely to snag anyone.”

  “Those of us who are homely aren’t likely to find anyone either. Not with all the gorgeous aristocratic women looking for their own men.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly ugly, Vesta. You can make up for homeliness…” Kuria dropped her voice to a whisper. “…in other ways.”

  “Not if you are innocent.” Vesta bit her lip. “Maybe you could teach me what you know. I mean, what it is men like.”

  Kuria chuckled. “Men aren’t particular. It’s not like cooking. It doesn’t take much skill.”

  “That can’t be true. You said you learned some skills, that they taught you something when you came to the city.”

  “Mostly we know how to avoid getting pregnant and what draught to take when we got pregnant despite our precautions.”

  “You’ve been pregnant?”

  “More than once.”

  “How awful! My poor friend. Just thinking about it…and all the men…different men all the time…” Vesta flushed.

  Kuria looked wistful. Her eyes lost their focus, as if they were fixed on something far outside her room in the palace. “There were special men sometimes. They gave me gifts. They told me secrets they wouldn’t share with their wives. It wasn’t all bad.”

  She jumped up from the bed, opened a chest at its foot, and rummaged through silks and enameled boxes. She pulled out a rolled sheet of parchment and handed it to Vesta. “Read this.”

  Vesta unrolled the parchment and her gaze moved across the handwriting.

  When she finished the color had drained from her fact, her hands shook, and her features were suffused by a look of utter horror.

  Chapter Fourteen

  John did not catch up with Gaius but finally tracked him down to his surgery in the administrative complex.

  The physician was professionally noncommittal when questioned about the outlook for Peter. The shock of the injury had unbalanced Peter’s humors, he said, a serious matter in a septuagenarian. He hoped his concoctions would help restore the balance. The bones had not torn through the skin, so there was less chance of infection. That was a positive aspect to the accident.

  The surgery was an airy, whitewashed room brightened by light from windows facing on a wide lawn which ran up to a porticoed structure, another wing of the building where John and Gaius sat. Numerous shelves supported lidded pots alongside jars and bottles containing potions or powdered ingredients. A long bench set under the row of windows held trays of bronze or steel scalpels, probes, bone drills, spathomeles used for mixing and spreading medicinal preparations, hooks, forceps of various sizes, a collection presenting a mute demonstration of the range of treatments a palace physician might be called upon to perform at any time.

  They also reminded John of certain instruments to be found in the torture chambers beneath the palace.

  Gaius looked as if he had been invited to a chat in those subterranean chambers when John began questioning him further about Theodora. The physician groaned, shook his head sadly, and ran a hand over his perspiration-beaded scalp. “Her death is making a lot of us ill. I have a suitable medication.”

  He lumbered over to a shelf lined with large jars full of reddish liquid, which turned out to be wine. He poured some into two smaller jars, seated himself, and pushed John’s inelegant drinking vessel across the table where they sat. “Administer this as needed. It’s a good home remedy for wondering what the empire will come to now that Theodora is dead.”

  John took a swallow. It set the back of his throat on fire. He coughed.

  “My patients need it to be strong, considering some of the procedures I must perform,” Gaius explained. “You didn’t think I’d keep my office stocked with anything that had no medical purpose, did you?”

  John regarded his jar dolefully. “I hope you keep a remedy for this remedy on hand. And to think my taste in wine has been criticized…”

  The round table where they sat in a corner of the room could have come from a tavern. It was a table Gaius no doubt felt comfortable using when he talked with his patients, before instructing them to move to the long marble-topped slab in the center of the room. More often than not Gaius would have visited his aristocratic clients at their homes. His surgery was where palace workers who were taken ill or injured would be brought. It was also where those of loftier birth came, surreptitiously, to speak of matters too delicate to be broached at home.

  “I know it’s being whispered Antonina poisoned Theodora because she will not stop the marriage of that unfortunate young couple,” Gaius observed. “Not to mention Antonina’s notorious for her potions and practice of magick. After all, what is an old friendship worth compared to getting the result you want? But as I keep telling you, the empress wasted away. It’s as simple as that. As you said, if she had been a beggar or a grocer’s wife no one would think twice about it. Sad to say, it happens all the time. And, yes, even to empresses. Besides, she was already as good as dead. The disease had poisoned her more horribly than any deadly herb.”

  “Don’t people recover from it, Gaius?”

  “Not in my experience.”

  “Justinian has had two miraculous recoveries, and one was from the plague.”

  “This was different.”

  John nodded. “But even supposing Theodora was bound to die soon, I understand Joannina and Anastasius are to be wed before July is over. They’ve already been betrothed for what? Six months?”

  Gaius gave a snort. “What Theodora called betrothed, you mean.”

  “What I am pointing out is even though Theodora’s death was certain and imminent, Antonina would have had good reason to speed its arrival. The same might be true of others.”

  “Except there was no sign of poisoning,” Gaius retorted. “As I have already told you.”

  “Would any signs have been noticeable given the ravaged state she was in?”

  “Possibly not. You might have a point there.”

  “Did Theodora take any medications aside from those you gave her?”

  “Not in my presence, but I’m sure she did. There was always a jumble of bottles and jars at her bedside. Cosmetics, lotions, ointments, and who knows what else. I tried to keep an eye out to ensure there was nothing harmful, but she didn’t appreciate my examining her things and she was the empress. I warned Justinian to watch that she wasn’t taking too much or this and that I had not prescribed.”

  John leaned back in his straight-backed wooden chair and sipped Gaius’ therapeutic wine carefully. “Tell me this, then. Is there any poison that would mimic the disease Theodora had?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Or cause it?”

  “I’ve never heard of one.”

  “Or make it worse? Something that might not exactly poison but add to the fire that was already consuming her body? Or that might weaken her ability to heal? That might muddle the humors?”

  Gaius laughed. “John, you pose questions Galen or Hippocrates himself couldn’t answer. This disease she had is little understood. Nothing helps. It has been called
the crab. Malignant tumors start to grow under the skin. The swollen blood vessels around the tumor resemble a crab’s claws. It devours the body just as crabs scour the flesh of corpses on the sea floor. But these crabs gnaw from within, like demons. And they keep growing, fattening on the flesh and organs of the victim. You know what I’ve heard? That this monstrous disease was the true child of her union with the King of the Demons.”

  “If people can believe that Justinian is the King of the Demons I suppose they can believe anything.”

  Gaius rose, lumbered to his medicine shelf, and refilled his jar. When he sat down again John saw Gaius’ hands were shaking. “You can’t imagine the torture, John. There were times she would scream until her voice gave out. Dying men on the battlefield roar in agony but their lives bleed away quickly. This disease goes on and on.” He took a long drink, swallowed hard. “You question me about poisons, but supposing an enemy wanted to poison her? How could it have been done?”

  “You know better than I do, Gaius. The method of administering poison might point to the murderer. What methods might you suggest?”

  “There are only so many ways poison could be administered, and I can’t see any of them applying in this case. Some methods I’ve heard about are simply ludicrous and wouldn’t work. My favorite is smearing one side of a knife with poison so the meat cut by the contaminated edge is fatal but not that touched by the other side. If that was possible we’d all use our personal blades to cut our meat, but then what if the entire dish was poisoned? Even so, Theodora did not partake of solid food in the last week, not even mashed fruit and she was very fond of that.”

  John recalled the fruit Vesta had brought to the sickroom. But the two ladies-in-waiting had eaten it, and they showed no signs of poisoning. Still, it was a possibility. “Could a slow-acting poison be introduced into fruit?”

  “There are ways,” Gaius admitted. “A tiny hole in an apple can reveal either the presence of a worm, careless handling, or the presence of poison. I’ve heard of melons being put in a poison bath so they absorb the noxious substance, but that sounds highly improbable to me. And poisoned weapons are all very well but would be impossible to get into that sickroom, what with the guards and attendants and Justinian there all the time. He hardly left her side.”

  “Do the imperial couple take antidotes regularly?”

  “You’re thinking of mithridatum, aren’t you? Oh yes, that complicated concoction is an imperial tradition, ever since the formula was brought back to Rome. Fifty-four different ingredients, some in minuscule quantities.”

  “Is it effective?”

  Gaius shrugged. “Pliny said that it was a monstrous system of puffing up the medical art and I tend to agree. However, Justinian is convinced he’s been poisoned endlessly in the natural course of events, and since he has not died then the mithridatum must be effective.”

  “Except in Theodora’s case.”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s what he thinks.” Gaius’ pouched eyes narrowed and his broad face reddened to match the color of his bulbous nose. “Unless he suddenly concludes I used the wrong formula, forgot the rhubarb or acacia juice, or didn’t prescribe enough, or did so at the wrong intervals. In which case, Mithra help me.”

  “You said she might have taken medications prepared by someone other than yourself?”

  “I’d be surprised if she didn’t. Antonina used to make cosmetics for Theodora. I think she had resumed as a gesture of friendship. Not that Theodora had any use for cosmetics in her state. She may have prepared and sent painkillers. The ladies-in-waiting used to bring gifts for the empress from various people. It wasn’t any business of mine.”

  Gaius took another gulp of wine. He licked his lips nervously.

  “You couldn’t dictate what was brought into Theodora’s room, Gaius. No one would expect it of you. Others spent much more time with her than you did.”

  “Yes, I hope Justinian sees it that way. It’s very foolish accepting preparations from people not trained as physicians. Mistakes are easy to make and beyond that, how do they know the person preparing something to be taken or applied hasn’t been bribed to poison it? Anyone can obtain poison. It’s possible to grow deadly plants anywhere. I have a few in my herb garden here on the palace grounds. I grow them to supply material for the preparations I prescribe. Some plants are like Janus, two-faced. The same ones can be used for good or ill, to kill or cure.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Take belladonna, for example. A tiny amount will bring about death, yet it’s useful for treating headaches and women’s problems. Or how about henbane? A very good painkiller if used in appropriate fashion, but otherwise a person taking too much will soon be beyond the reach of bodily pangs. By all means imbibe a quantity of hemlock if you want to leave the world, yet I also prescribe it to treat disorders of the skin.”

  “Your garden is accessible to anyone who cared to visit at night to gather certain plants in secret,” John observed.

  “Yes, it is. Hypatia tends to it. She occasionally makes herbal preparations for me, so she too may well come under suspicion. It’s probably best she’s under your protection, so far as any of us can protect anyone or ourselves.”

  John had not considered Hypatia might also be in danger. Was there anyone in the city who was not, one way or another? He scanned the room. “A poisoner wouldn’t necessarily have to be an herbalist,” he pointed out. “He could steal whatever he needed from your shelves “

  “True,” Gaius set down his jar. His hand trembled uncontrollably. “And just about everything here could be fatal given in the wrong amount.”

  “Including your cure for anxiety about the fate of the empire,” John tapped Gaius’ empty jar.

  “Quite right, John. But can you blame me?”

  There was a shouted order from the hallway.

  “This way!”

  Gaius leapt up at the loud thumping of what could only be several men wearing military boots running down the corridor.

  An excubitor appeared in the doorway.

  He continued past, followed by five others in a hurry.

  As their footsteps receded John’s gaze turned to Gaius, and to the shelf upon which the physician’s hand rested. Gaius’ fingertips were almost touching a tiny green glass bottle.

  John gave his friend a questioning look.

  “For pain,” Gaius said.

  “It’s poison, isn’t it?”

  “To avoid the pain that can be inflicted by the imperial torturers. I am only too familiar with the unspeakable agony a human body can be made to feel. A devilish hand assisted in creating our flesh. No decent entity would have made it capable of experiencing such pain.”

  Gaius sat down at the table. “Do you know the terror I’ve been going through? Remember, I had the knowledge and the opportunity to kill Theodora. I sit here and wait for excubitors to appear and pray they put a sword through me cleanly rather than dragging me down to the torturers. I keep my pain medication near me at all times. A very powerful poison. If they arrested me in this room it would be a corpse they’d be dragging outside.”

  He reached for his jar of wine but John pushed it out of his reach.

  “Try to stay calm, Gaius, and for Mithra’s sake, stay away from the wine. You need your wits. Excubitors are always racing about. You can’t be going into a panic every time you see an armed man coming in your direction. It’s the wine that takes your reason away.”

  “But I am an obvious suspect and obvious suspects are being-”

  “You had no reason to wish Theodora dead and every reason to want to keep her alive. How many years have you treated both the emperor and empress? You could have murdered either long ago. Justinian would have no reason to suspect you.”

  “What reason did the emperor have to order the silversmith’s delivery boy thrown off the seawall this morning? Just because the poor child somehow blundered into the imperial quarters by accident.”

  John got up as Gaius stood. The physicia
n swayed slightly. His color had changed from red to chalky white. “You’ve started me thinking, John. All this talk about poisons, and who might have got poison into Theodora’s hands. I had not given it enough consideration. But clearly, Antonina has the skill, the personal connection. If Justinian wants a murderer I’d advise him to look in Antonina’s direction. She can concoct a poison as well as I can. Expose her as quickly as you can, John, before it’s too late for me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Manuel, cook for Empress Theodora, locked the storeroom in which were secured victuals and spices for dishes destined for the imperial couple. He nodded a goodnight to the guard stationed at the iron-banded door and went out through the series of long basement vaults that served as the palace kitchens. A skeleton night staff moved through the red shadows cast by the scattered braziers in operation at this late hour. From some distant chamber came a monotonous echoing thump as a servant chopped vegetables-parsnips perhaps-for a soup to be simmered through the night. No, onions. Manuel could distinguish the smell of freshly chopped onion, recognizable even in an atmosphere redolent of banquets past. The sooty whitewashed walls exuded the odor of meats broiled over the years and expensive spices few tongues in this part of the world would ever taste.

  The cook was swarthy complexioned or else the smoke through which he moved day after day had soaked into his pores. He was as emaciated as a man who never came within sight of a square meal. When asked how that could be, Manuel joked that in the constant heat from dozens of massive braziers, he continually sweated off the morsels he sampled.

  He stopped to speak to Petrus, who took charge during the night. His second-in-command was covered in loose feathers from the chicken he was plucking. One of the slaves should have done the job but Petrus enjoyed plucking and gutting chickens.

  “That new assistant hasn’t been back?” Manuel asked.

  Petrus shook his head. “Just as well. He insisted he knew all about cooking. Always had his nose in one of the pots. I had to keep explaining that he hadn’t been hired to cook but to clean and haul supplies off the delivery carts.”