by Mary Reed
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.
He chided himself for overreacting as he continued on through the wing of the house housing the private bath where he’d cleansed himself so assiduously.
The noise of hammering was louder in the back courtyard and he could hear workmen shouting to one another. He suspected laborers often chose to make excessive noise in the vicinity of wealthy abodes, a safe way to exact a small revenge on those born luckier than themselves. Felix surveyed the deserted courtyard. He’d apparently beaten his servants out of bed. They had been getting lazy recently. Probably they realized that the master, being strenuously occupied most of the night, would not be expected to make an appearance until late morning.
He was making a mental note to speak to them about being at work at the proper time when he noticed the man lying near the stables, face turned to the back wall.
The leper.
That was his first thought. The leper had crept in. Why hadn’t Nikomachos made certain the gate was secured? But as he forced himself to approach he saw the intruder wasn’t dressed in beggar’s rags. Far from it. The richly embroidered robes were those of a courtier.
Some aristocratic young carouser then, too intoxicated to get home, taking advantage of the first unlocked gate. Not that Felix hadn’t bedded down in similar circumstances.
He didn’t like being reminded of such follies—and not all of them youthful—so he gave the fellow a boot in the ribs. “Wake up, my friend. Time to let the devils in your head have their due.”
The body shifted like a sack of wheat and the head lolled over far enough for Felix to recognize the anonymous courier who regularly delivered illicit packages to the house. The broad ruddy face was bluish now, the mouth no longer wore a sneer. The bruises circling his neck made it obvious he’d been strangled.
“Mithra!”
Felix’s first thought was to regret that John was somewhere at sea now and unreachable. As a military man Felix was expert at creating corpses, not in handling ones that turned up unexpectedly. What about their mutual friend Anatolius, the lawyer? Lawyers were always dealing with inconvenient unpleasantries. True, he and the younger man had had their differences.
He stood there unable to move as if the corpse had grasped his ankle. He tried to calm himself down. What did the captain of the excubitors have to fear from the discovery of yet another murder in the city? He might well fear for his life if it was the captain himself who found the body of a smuggler in his own courtyard, particularly if the captain was working with smugglers and one of the most valuable relics in the empire was involved.
He commanded the excubitors, but not Justinian’s spies.
Felix gave the body another kick, freeing his leg from an invisible grip. “Bastard! Why didn’t I find out who you were?”
He could hear horses moving around uneasily in the stable. Was that a voice from the house? He looked around in a sudden panic. The courtyard remained deserted. But for how long? Nikomachos or one of the other servants was liable to appear any moment. Then what?
He had to get the body off his property.
Oddly, the gate was still bolted but there was no time to ponder that. Felix glanced up and down the narrow passage. To his horror two armed men came round the corner where the alley met the street.
The urban watch!
A routine patrol?
He couldn’t take the chance. He slammed the gate shut and ran back to the corpse. He could drag it into the stable for concealment.
No, too accessible.
He grabbed at the corpse’s garments, stiff with embroidery and jewels, and tugged. The courier had not been a small man. The body barely moved.
Cursing silently Felix managed to get the carcass over his shoulder. It was a skill he’d learned as a young man on the days after battles. Then he had been too glad to be among the survivors to feel the revulsion he now experienced as he staggered toward the house, the dead man’s soft leather boots dangling against his thighs, limp hands flopping at his back.
He managed to reach the back hallway and leaned against the wall, catching his breath. His burden weighed as much as he did. It was as if he was carting a side of beef. He had no notion what to do next and he could clearly hear Nikomachos giving orders to the cook in the nearby kitchen.
The bath.
He forced himself a few painful steps further down the hallway and pushed the door open, keeping his load precariously in place. He felt the burden start to slither off his shoulder. Then the dead man’s hair became tangled in the door latch.
“Mithra!” Felix muttered yet again. He twisted awkwardly and forced himself to tear the longish brown strands loose, animating the lifeless head, making it bob up and down as he tugged at its hair.
Finally the hair came away and the head lolled backwards.
By now Felix was half carrying the corpse in his arms. The glazed eyes stared at him. Just when he began to lower the body, the purpling lips emitted a last hideous sigh.
He let go and the corpse fell and slid down the three steps leading into the water. Felix was certain the splash was audible in the inner sanctums of the Great Palace. Wiping water from his face, he exited the chamber and rushed back to the bedroom.
Chapter Twelve
Anastasia sat up in bed as Felix raced into the room.
“What is it?” Her words were almost drowned by a thunderous knocking on the house door.
“Urban watch! And there’s a dead man in the bath,” Felix gasped. “Stay here. I’ll get rid of them. We’ll worry about the body later.”
He raced out of the room and ran along the passage into the atrium where Nikomachos was arguing with a pair of the urban watch. Felix was certain they were not the same men he had glimpsed coming down the alley. Which meant there were guards at both the back and front.
He didn’t like the implication.
Nikomachos blocked their path, gesticulating violently with his one arm. The two visitors, who were youthful and pink-faced, looked taken aback by the spectacle.
“What is it?” Felix snarled. “Why did you wake me up at this hour?”
The one apparently in command turned a startled face toward Felix. The skin which appeared pink from a distance was, up close, a mass of red blotches. The result of youth, not leprosy. “We…we have orders to search this house…sir.”
“Search my house? Hasn’t anyone explained to you boys that I am captain of Justinian’s excubitors? What possible reason can there be to search?”
The blotchy guard licked his lips and stammered. “Trouble has been reported.”
“Trouble? Do I look as if I need a pair of fools wet behind the ears to deal with trouble in my own house?”
It was probably not the best choice of words since Felix himself was still literally wet behind the ears from the bath water into which he’d dropped the body.
The guard banged the butt of his spear on the tiles. “Stand aside, sir. We must follow orders.”
Nikomachos stepped over to Felix’s side. “If I may speak to my master in private—”
The point of the spear immediately prodded his chest.
“No, you may not! Get back to your quarters.” Blotches evidently found it easier to order a servant about than an excubitor captain. But just as obviously he intended to carry out his mission. He addressed Felix, his voice firmer than before. “The orders of the City Prefect take precedence in this situation, sir.”
Nikomachos made a slow exit while Felix desperately tried to think of a way out of his dilemma. What would happen when they discov
ered the corpse? Was that what they were looking for? Or was it the stolen relic? Or hadn’t they been given any hint of what they were supposed to find?
“You will allow me to accompany you,” Felix said. “I have too many valuables here to allow strangers to wander around unobserved.” It was easy enough to sound angry but putting a note of unconcern into his voice was more difficult.
Still, the house was large. The intruders might flag before covering every room or lose track of where they had looked if their host led them on a circuitous route, which he proceeded to do.
The guards showed little interest in his office, except to prod the wall hangings. They passed through the dining room with a quick glance under the table. In the garden they bent to peer beneath bushes or poked at them with their weapons. Apparently they were not looking for something small. They couldn’t be searching for the relic.
The sun had surmounted the wall of the house and now blazed down. Dew steamed away in wispy tendrils. Felix took the guards in one direction, then another. He escorted them down a side corridor to the servants’ quarters. Each room was the same, a chair, a chest, a bed, a cross on the wall, and little more. Only Nikomachos had anything approaching decoration in his space: some tattered wall hangings, a wood inlaid table with random bits of small crude statuary of the sort found at the edges of the empire, along with several rather ornate chests.
The servant stood in one corner and glared at the guards.
Blotches picked up what might have been a weathered clay frog covered with Egyptian hieroglyphs. No, Felix corrected himself. It didn’t look anything like a frog. A cat, certainly. It was only the frogs in the mausoleum that had brought the image of a frog to mind.
“All the objects you see are tokens of military campaigns I served in,” Nikomachos informed the guards stiffly. “In your line of work, you will never possess such things.” The way he sniffed as he pronounced “your line of work” made employment in the urban watch sound several steps below cleaning the public toilets.
Blotches made no reply. Felix noticed he didn’t bother to open any of the chests. Was he thinking that a body wouldn’t have fit in any of them? He must have been told there would be a body here, Felix decided.
He directed the guards back into the garden and along a roundabout path, intending to return to the atrium. As they followed Felix through the peristyle, Blotches stopped. “We’ve seen the dining room already. What about that hall?”
“Oh, yes. I’m certain there’s nothing hidden in any of the guest rooms, let alone my bedroom.”
Felix was obliged to open the doors to a series of luxurious, seldom-used rooms which he never bothered to inspect for months on end. He was half-afraid there might have been something left in one of the rooms, given he’d already found a body in his courtyard. Momentarily he considered pretending there was a valuable object missing, blame the guards, claim they’d distracted him to allow an accomplice to sneak in, create a scene. At least he’d buy himself time. But for what?
“This is your bedroom, sir?” The quaver that had been evident in Blotches’ voice upon his arrival had turned to a tone of mockery. The two youngsters leered at each other. And no wonder. The bed and its sheets resembled the site of an earthquake, the air was thick with Anastasia’s exotic perfume, her cosmetics and a big silver comb were strewn on a bedside table.
However, as they examined the wall hangings, searching to see if they concealed anything Felix found nothing comical about the scene. Because it lacked one important thing.
Anastasia!
She must have fled.
Was it surprising? Why should a woman from the palace who’d only known him a few days let herself be implicated in who-knows-what?
But she did know what. Felix had blurted everything out to her. All about the smuggling and the missing relic. He’d even stupidly told her just now about the dead man.
If she tried to leave through the back gate, as she usually did, she’d be surprised to find her way blocked by a pair of guards.
Or would she?
Who had sent the authorities after him?
What was he thinking? He didn’t suspect Anastasia, did he? After all she was…well…what was she? Except a tireless bed partner? Felix only knew she served at court.
Even if she wasn’t involved in a plot against him, what would she do when the guards blocked her way? The easiest thing would be to tell them she had been going to report a crime.
To report a dead man. A murdered man.
“We’re done here, I said. Aren’t you listening?” It was Blotches.
“Yes. I know. I hope you’re satisfied.” Felix found himself looking frantically up and down the hall as he left the bedroom, expecting more guards to appear at a run. “You’ve seen the whole house now. My servants will be in an uproar all day. I’ll accompany you back to the atrium.”
Blotches looked down the hall.
“That side passage.” He pointed his spear in the direction of the short passage to the bath. “We didn’t check there.”
“Of course you did,” Felix snapped. “That was the first place I took you. Don’t you remember? You don’t think I have time to escort you around the entire house again, do you?”
But the two guards were already striding away.
“There’s nothing there.” Felix’s voice came out in a croak. “Wait, I think the door’s locked. I’ll need to get the key.”
They rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of the closed door to the bath. As soon as they opened the door and stepped inside to where they could see down to the water level, they’d spot the floating corpse.
Blotches tested the latch and gave Felix a meaningful look. “Unlocked. You have a bad memory this morning, sir.”
Felix was certain the youngster was struggling to conceal a grin as he yanked at the latch. Out of inspiration, he could only look on in impotent horror.
As the door swung open there was a heart-stopping shriek that went on and on, echoing around the chamber behind.
The doorway was entirely blocked by Anastasia, who was entirely naked. Arms outspread, hands clutching the opposite sides of the door frame, she made no effort to cover herself but simply screamed and screamed with an effort that made her whole body quiver.
Blotches and his companion backed away in confusion, muttering apologies, faces as scarlet as a couple of abashed schoolboys.
Felix stepped forward, pushed the door shut, and as the screaming subsided turned a thunderous look on the two youths. “Well?”
Blotches licked his lips and swallowed. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir. I believe we’ve seen everything now.”
Chapter Thirteen
Felix shook his fist at Anastasia.
“No!” She shoved the fist away. “No more micatio!”
He shook his fist again anyway, shouted “Three!” and opened his hand extending two fingers, just in case Anastasia relented and reciprocated.
She didn’t. Instead she got up from the dining room table and stared out into the long twilight shadows creeping across the garden. “I can’t bear to play that stupid game again. Besides, unless you’re gambling on it, where’s the interest?”
“There’s the strategy. I noticed you kept showing one finger so I showed two and guessed the total would be three. I suppose you thought I was bound to guess you’d stop showing just the one eventually and—”
“I couldn’t be bothered to lift more than one finger, Felix.” She shook her hand. “My wrist is sore from micatio!”
Felix helped himself to some figs from a platter on the table. “Well, have some more to eat then. It isn’t dark enough yet.”
“I’m not hungry. After spending all that time in the bath, with that hideous thing…I may never feel like eating again.”
“It’s only a corpse, Anastasia. I’m still sorry you ha
d to display yourself to those—”
She turned, her hands balled into fists. “Oh, Felix! I saved your life and you’re fretting over me exposing myself to a couple of youngsters?”
Felix ran a hand through his beard. “Well…”
The grim line of her mouth suddenly softened into a smile. “It is rather touching, my big bear.” Immediately her face fell again. “But you can’t imagine what it was like half expecting to feel a cold, wet hand on my naked back.”
After Felix had shown the flustered urban watchmen out, she had been waiting for him in bed, trembling. They had made love until Felix was worn out. Then they had made plans.
Felix had to dispose of the body, but it would have to wait until darkness, when there was less chance of being observed. Once they decided what to do they had to bide their time. They walked in the garden, Felix ate and tried to encourage Anastasia to do the same. They played micatio. They also listened for a knock on the house door, announcing the authorities had arrived to conduct a more thorough search.
“I often wish I had never come to this city,” Felix said.
Anastasia gave a small lady-like snort of disapproval. “How often have you told me you were thrilled to escape that farm in Germania?”
“True enough. As soon as I could walk, my father had me patrolling the fields.”
“As soon as you could walk?”
“Well, I may have been a little older. He had me protecting our borders from wolves. I was armed with a sharpened stick.”
“What was your father thinking? What could a child with a sharp stick do against a wolf?”
Felix smiled, remembering. “Oh, there weren’t any wolves. Our farm was part of a settlement around a Roman fort. Most of what we grew we sold to the army. My father wished he had led a more exciting life. He had entertained Roman officers at dinner from time to time and I listened to their stories. When I patrolled the fields I imagined I was guarding the Persian border.”
“You did spend some time at the border, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and during the middle of night, staring out over that desolate landscape, I remembered watching for wolves to emerge from the woods. The difference was, there really were Persians among the crags and ravines.”
