by Mary Reed
Anatolius glared. “Pretend I am John. Would you lie to him?”
Felix buried his face in his cup and took another long drink. “I’m not lying!”
“Weren’t you expecting that courier? Justinian seems to think so.”
“I…I…meant I had nothing to do with the courier being dead. No idea who he is.”
“What about the fact that his cloak was found at your house. In the servants’ quarters, I was told.”
“You don’t believe it was really found there, do you? Narses must have brought it with him, supplying his own evidence.”
“Then you don’t think the courier’s wife actually identified the cloak as belonging to him?”
“I don’t know that he really had a wife, whoever he was. She’s probably a fabrication.”
“That may well be. I wasn’t told any more than you know. Unfortunately the corpse that at one point was on your property and was later found behind a statue of Aphrodite elsewhere in the city is not a fabrication. You do admit you found the body?”
Felix paused, confused. “Did I? Oh, yes, I suppose I have.”
“Palace rumor says you’ve taken to drink and gambling again. You’re up to your helmet in debt.”
“People at the palace will say anything.”
“Anything is exactly what goes on at the palace.”
Felix tugged at his beard. “All right. Yes. It’s all true. Or was. I’ve sworn to cut down my drinking and I haven’t placed a wager in weeks.”
“Because you can’t afford to or no one trusts you enough to take your wagers? At least you admit your problems. That’s a start. Now I want to know the details, how you see them.”
Assisted by much prompting, Felix obliged.
By the time he was finished Anatolius looked as if he was attending Felix’s funeral rather than talking to him across a table at a tavern. “Let us review what we know. Perhaps it will suggest a road to follow.”
Felix mumbled his wish that John were in the city to assist.
“Indeed, but he isn’t so we must do the best we can all by our poor selves, a simple lawyer and the captain of the excubitors.”
“Former captain.”
“I stand corrected. Justinian has not rescinded your demotion.” Anatolius tilted his chair back until it rested against the wall. “Now, as I understand it, embroiled in certain arrangements we will not mention, you discovered one of your colleagues in this enterprise dead on your premises. There was an official visit but you managed to conceal the evidence, and then removed the body but were seen in the act of disposing of it. Meantime, the deceased’s wife notified the authorities, or so we have been told. This led to the second official visit and subsequent arrest. Along with the guards finding that damning cloak.”
“That sums it up very well. I swear, the man was not wearing that cloak when I first saw him.”
“What was he wearing?”
Felix tried to remember. He closed his eyes and tried to blot out the suddenly distracting noises of the tavern.
“Certainly you can’t have forgotten finding a corpse in your courtyard. It must have been very startling. Or wasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes. I was shocked. That’s just it. The only thing that made an impression on me was that there was a dead man lying against the wall. It must have driven everything else straight out of my mind.”
“But you said you remembered he wasn’t wearing the cloak so—”
“That’s right. Now I recall. His robes were embroidered rather ostentatiously, even for a courtier. That’s what caught my attention.”
“You can’t remember any more details? Could the fancy clothes have included a jeweled cloak?”
Felix shook his head. “No. I’m certain.”
“Do you suppose one of your servants stole the cloak and hid it?”
“What? Found the body and took the cloak, without alerting me?”
“How many month’s wages could a cloak like that be sold for?”
“I see what you mean. I hadn’t considered that, what with fleeing for my life and expecting to be tortured to death momentarily.”
“Quite understandable. You should look into this when you get home. But let’s continue. Meantime, Porphyrius—as renowned and respected as he is wealthy—has you beaten—or so you claim—and threatens that unless you produce the relic recently stolen from the Church of the Holy Apostles there will be dire consequences.”
“And hangs a man to show he does not make idle threats,” Felix added.
“I should like to know why this particular man was chosen. But you said he was, unfortunately, not recognizable. Then there’s the man with jingling clothes from whom you took instructions. Who, like Porphyrius, may or may not be the leader of this enterprise we do not specify. So many things are unknown, and so little of what we know makes sense.” Anatolius paused to take a sip of wine. “The natives of Hell, I think we can discount. I am willing to believe you haven’t been dealing with demons, aside from those who emerge from wine jugs.”
Felix started to retort but bit his lip. Anatolius had saved his skin, and he might well require the lawyer’s assistance to keep it.
“If you promise to supply me with a list of your creditors we’ll say no more about that,” Anatolius told him. “You might not think any of them have a hand in any of this, aside from driving you to become involved in dubious matters for financial reasons, but I’m not so sure.” He pulled out his coin pouch preparatory to paying for their drinks, and gave it a shake. It reminded Felix of the Jingler. “Money is the mother of lawyers.”
“There’ll be no problem with me paying you, Anatolius.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking that no matter what problem clients come to me with, it usually all started with money. I wouldn’t charge a friend. Look, from what you’ve told me we have roads leading to the Hippodrome, the palace, and possibly to an unknown person who could be anywhere directing matters. Not to mention the church authorities naturally wish to have their treasure restored and Justinian ordered you to assist in finding it. There is some irony in that. The kind of irony that puts one behind iron bars.”
Felix licked his lips, dry despite all the wine he’d consumed. “So what do you advise?”
“Given all you’ve told me, speaking as a lawyer, I have to tell you that the only reasonable course of action is to flee the city immediately.”
Felix stared at him, speechless.
Anatolius went on. “But as your friend, if you prefer to stay, unwise as that may be, I am prepared to make some inquiries and see if I can help. Perhaps I can find out who the dead man was.”
Felix nodded his assent. Anatolius put coins on the table. He paused. “Felix, apart from legal matters…you can’t become a slave to Bacchus again. You’re not as young as you were. You’re ruining your health. You look terrible. Look at all the bruises and cuts and the red patches on your hands and cheeks. When I first saw you I feared the torturers had already begun their work. Your payment to me will be a promise to imbibe less. Imagine it is John admonishing you. You know he would if he were here.”
“I told you I’ve sworn off overindulgence. But a drink now and then keeps one calm.”
“Find a better way to stay calm.” Anatolius got up to leave. “And come to think of it, maybe you should visit Isis. You spent plenty of time at her establishment in the past.”
“We both did, Anatolius. But she’s not running a brothel anymore. Why would I visit her refuge for former prostitutes?”
“To let Isis give you some advice on how to mend your ways, my friend. I am serious. If Isis could change her ways to such a great extent, surely you could change a few things about your behavior.”
Felix stayed at the table for a while after Anatolius had gone. He had no intention of visiting Isis. It would be embarrassing for both
of them, he imagined. Besides, he wasn’t a prostitute in need of reforming. He was a man who enjoyed his wine.
His thoughts were interrupted by shouts, laughter, and curses. A number of Blues crowded through the doorway.
Though Felix remained rooted to his chair his heart was racing. He had totally forgotten. It had not even occurred to him while he rambled on to Anatolius.
During the night, while he awaited his fate in the cell, the deadline Porphyrius had set for the return of the Virgin’s shroud had passed.
Chapter Thirty-two
The javelin hissed past Felix’s shoulder and buried itself in the forehead of the figure sagging against Athena.
General Germanus, who had flung the weapon, strode across the flagstones to the statue of the goddess and admired his aim before yanking the projectile from the crudely painted face. Then he turned angrily toward Felix.
“Are you trying to kill yourself? You almost walked into my throw. Did you suppose I could call my javelin back once I’d let go of it? What are you doing here?”
“My apologies. I needed to see you urgently.”
Germanus stalked across the garden to the edge of the colonnade where another javelin lay, along with a bow and arrows. He was engaged in target practice with the dummy propped up against the statue of Athena. His enemy consisted of a faded garment stuffed with straw, now protruding from numerous wounds, and topped by a similarly stuffed sack on which were daubed simplistic representations of eyes, mouth, and nose.
“Haven’t I made it plain, captain, that when I need you I will summon you?”
“I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t necessary, general. I find myself in certain difficulties.”
“This is of importance to me?”
Surely, thought Felix, Germanus must have heard about him being relieved of his command. Should he say anything about it? The javelin whistled past Felix again and thunked into the dummy. The shaft quivered, jutting from one painted eye.
“Could we possibly sit somewhere?”
Germanus walked past him to the target and jerked the javelin free. “Well,” he snapped, “are you just going to stand there like a stuffed tunic? I might mistake you for my target.” He placed the point of his javelin on Felix’s chest. “How did you get those cuts and bruises? Have you been brawling, or have you found a very spirited mistress?”
He grinned, showing his big, square teeth to the guards, who laughed in appreciation of his jest.
Felix felt his face grow hot.
“General, my only concern is to be ready to assist you when required. You told me you needed information that might be harmful to Belisarius. But presently, I fear I am being impeded due to certain…uh…certain circumstances, and I…”
Germanus laughed. “Do you think I require your assistance in convincing the emperor to remove Belisarius from his command? The word I have is the great coward is sailing up and down the coast, too frightened to land. He hasn’t taken his armies out of sight of the sea in years. He won’t fight without an escape ship at his back.”
Felix nodded. One didn’t disagree with Germanus. Yet the assistance of the captain of the excubitors was not to be lightly dismissed. Many powerful aristocrats and office holders would oppose Belisarius’ removal. Who could guess what lengths they would go to? Then too, once in charge of the Italian campaign, Germanus would need commanders personally loyal to him, with more reason to want him to succeed than to wish for the return of Belisarius.
But there was no point in Felix telling Germanus what he already knew. What he didn’t seem to know—or more likely knew but didn’t care about—was that Felix had lost his position. He must suppose that Felix still had the loyalty of his men. And now had a grudge to nurse, in addition to being desperate, and so might prove even more useful.
If so he would assist Felix.
He had to. Who else could?
“General, all I require is for you to have a word with the emperor or with Porphyrius, and the difficulty is solved.”
“Porphyrius? What’s he got to do with me?” Germanus turned his back and strode away toward the colonnade and the weapons piled there. Felix went after him. He caught up when the general stooped to exchange his javelin for the bow.
“Porphyrius has threatened to kill me.” He knew it was dangerous to make accusations about a wealthy and powerful man, but what choice did he have? John might have been in a strong enough position to assist Felix but he was far away.
Germanus’ expression did not change. He selected an arrow, placed it in the bow, and pulled back, testing, apparently more interested in the tautness of the string than Felix’s predicament. “You come to me to accuse a prominent and respected citizen of threatening your life? Why would Porphyrius do such a thing?”
Felix stared past Germanus toward the target. The dummy’s hideous painted face, straw bursting from its forehead and one dead black eye, might have been the half-formed visage of a devil. “It’s all a misunderstanding. He thinks I have the Virgin’s shroud.”
Germanus lowered his bow. “You’re mixed up in the theft?”
“Of course not.”
“But Porphyrius thinks you are?”
“Yes. Why, I don’t know.”
“So it is a minor matter. A few words will smooth it over?”
The tightness in Felix’s chest relaxed. “Yes. Exactly. I hesitated to tell you the whole story but I know you are a fair man.”
“And the little matter of you being thrown into the dungeons under suspicion of murder? That, I take it, is too insignificant to mention.”
The breath went out of Felix.
“Do you think I’m stupid, ex-captain? Do you imagine a man who drinks and gambles and mixes himself up in crimes, a man suspected by the emperor of murder, can be of any use to me?”
“But it’s not true. It’s a misunderstanding. A word from you and my position will be restored.”
Germanus showed his teeth in a snarling smile. “I thought it was you who was supposed to assist me. Get out of my sight, ex-captain. Leave the city immediately and never approach me again.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Everyone knows that demons breath darkness, which is why they need to keep to the shadows during the day, and why if one ventures into a demon’s lair it is best to do so during the daytime.
This common knowledge was the reason Dedi didn’t wait for night before invading Antonina’s mansion. He felt safer relieving its guard of his key and strolling through the back gate in the middle of the afternoon.
The guard was slumped on his stool making wheezing, grunting noises, dead to the world thanks to the potion the Egyptian magician had easily dropped into the inattentive fellow’s wine jug, the same potion he’d used to drug the doorkeeper of the mausoleum. Magicians were well practiced at sleight of hand.
As soon as Dedi was inside he slipped through the shrubbery around the exposed, sun-drenched courtyard. From outside, the trees visible above the high walls had made it obvious most of the grounds behind the mansion consisted of gardens. He peered out at the courtyard. Short as he was, there was no need for him to crouch to keep his head below the carefully trimmed greenery. A servant emerged to empty a bucket of water.
Dedi loped away, keeping to the shelter of ornamental bushes, flower beds, arbors, and clusters of tall, frond-like grasses. Scattered vegetation cast light shade here and there, but insufficient for a demon to breath properly. He was not surprised to see Antonina’s garden featured a large collection of satyrs in all shapes and sizes, in granite, marble, bronze, copper, and porphyry, every material imaginable except flesh and fur. Or so he hoped.
What resembled a miniature Greek temple jutted from the back of the house. The roses blooming nearby did not quite conceal the smells of herbs, incense, and smoke emanating from the peculiar structure. There were other odors, str
ange and pungent, evidence of substances that Dedi knew should never be coaxed into existence. This no doubt was Antonina’s workshop, where she brewed the nostrums she gave to her wealthy friends—and also practiced her magick.
Dedi’s fish-like mouth puckered in disapproval. Why did the rich insist on dabbling at what others needed to do to earn a living?
Not far away, he located the servants’ entrance to the main house.
This was the place he needed to access, the servants’ quarters, where the demon disguised as Tychon lurked.
He pulled a small clay pot from his robe, unstopped it, and shook some of its contents, a fine gray dust, in the doorway. Then he knelt and traced an intricate pattern in the dust with his forefinger while reciting an incantation.
Dedi had concocted the magickal substance by burning Tychon’s woven belt, stolen at the baths, and combining the ashes with several ingredients. The ingredients, it was true, could be purchased at any number of shops along the Mese, but one needed to know the precise amounts and combinations and the guttural words of the incantation had never before been heard in Constantinople.
At least by human ears.
When he was finished Dedi stood and scuffed at the pattern, obliterating merely its physical presence, then moved silently into the house. There was no sign of anyone, so he continued to cast spells in each doorway he came to until his pot was empty.
Laughter shrilled from around a corner of the corridor.
Dedi tucked the pot back into his garment and skittered off, unheard and unseen.
Now he only needed to wait. As soon as Tychon passed through one of the doorways, the spell would encircle him as surely as the belt had encircled his waist and the demon would be in thrall to the diminutive Egyptian.
Dedi found a well-concealed spot beneath a huge clump of rose bushes, lay down on the soft earth, and dozed.
Chapter Thirty-four
Felix lay flat on his back, gazing upward.
His bed was a ship caught in a maelstrom. The fluffy clouds on the ceiling whirled madly, the pretty painted birds circled like vultures. His stomach heaved but there was nothing left to eject. He gagged and choked.
