by Mary Reed
Poppaea is still sleeping so I have nobody to talk to right now. Zeno doesn’t want to play dodge ball any more, Hero is busy in the workshop and that funny little man Barnabas has run away. Livia sits sobbing by Poppaea’s bed or gets into awful arguments with Bertrada and Calyce. I did try to listen to find out what they were arguing about (and why not, when they never tell me anything?) but Bertrada caught me and scolded me for ages.
After that she took me to the atrium and we sat there for hours and hours doing nothing at all. Captain Felix went by more than once and stared at Bertrada very boldly every time. She just pretended not to notice but she did really. When I asked her about him she scolded me again.
Well, since nobody tells me anything I’m not going to tell them that Porphyrio promised he is going to take me to Gadaric very soon. It was on the morning we went to the beach for our picnic. There was a great flock of seabirds sitting along the shore, just like a white carpet. Poppaea and I ran along the edge of the water scaring the silly things and they went flapping off in a big, noisy cloud.
By the time we had done that, Bertrada had unpacked our picnic basket and we started to eat all the nice things she had got for us. Then we saw Porphyrio, swimming out by the island where the goats live. He sprayed water up into the air, just like Hero’s whale does, or so Hero says. I still haven’t seen it working, you know. Anyhow, the water Porphyrio spouted sparkled like the jewels on Theodora’s robe, it really was very pretty. Then he swam right towards us.
Out in the sea he looks like a toy but when he got closer to the beach we could see how huge he is and Bertrada and Poppaea got scared and ran away. I pretended to follow them but hid behind a bush until I couldn’t see them any more because I knew Porphyrio wanted to speak to me privately.
How Porphyrio and I speak is magick and with his magick he explained how I shall soon meet my brother again. Don’t say anything about it yet as I want to surprise everyone, especially Bertrada. I expect she’ll cry a lot when Theodora finds out and she can’t explain where I went, but it will serve her right for being so nasty to me. After all, she’s just a servant.
Now I am going for a walk in the garden.
Chapter Ten
“Why do you stare at me, Lord Chamberlain?”
Sunilda’s remark took John by surprise. He was speechless for an instant for he was a man seldom taken by surprise, and especially not by eight-year-old girls.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was staring. It must be because you remind me of someone, Sunilda,” he said.
“Almost everyone looks like someone else you know. I’ve noticed that myself. Who do you think I look like?”
They were strolling around Zeno’s gardens, Sunilda leading her companion confidently through the maze of paths. John had intended to take a walk and ponder the situation, made even more complicated by the apparent attempt on Poppaea’s life that afternoon, but Sunilda had come running after him, disrupting his thoughts.
“You look like another little girl I know.” He didn’t care to answer her question more fully.
Sunilda looked round at him with disturbingly wise eyes. “She must be a servant or some other ordinary person, Lord Chamberlain. If she was a great lady, you’d say more about her.”
“She isn’t ordinary but she’s not a great lady either.”
“What makes you think I look like her?”
One difficulty in talking with children, John thought, was that they genuinely expected answers whereas most of the adults he dealt with every day at court only pretended to expect them. “Your eyes are like hers. Very dark and large. Very pretty,” he said.
Sunilda smiled at his reply.
The sun had begun to set. A cool breeze carried the sharp smell of the sea to them, mingling with the light, delicate scent of flowers. The faint rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds returning to their nests had replaced the earlier humming of industrious bees.
“Don’t worry about Poppaea,” John went on. “The palace physician has been summoned. He’ll know what to do. She will soon be well enough to play with you again.”
“You shouldn’t be sad about my brother, Lord Chamberlain,” Sunilda replied as if she had read the way his thoughts were turning. “Everyone is upset about him but it really isn’t necessary.”
John wondered if Godomar had been talking to the girl about the after-life, but said nothing. In this particular case such beliefs would surely be very helpful. Sunilda would, he supposed, feel grief over her brother’s death soon enough.
He had questioned her at length about the picnic but learnt nothing he had not discovered already from a similar interrogation of Bertrada and the cook who had supplied the treats, not to mention the servant who had packed them into the wicker picnic basket. As in any wealthy household, only the most trusted servants were allowed to prepare food. Unfortunately there were any number of ways a determined and clever poisoner could circumvent every precaution taken.
Yet although Poppaea had fallen ill some time after the ill-fated outing, the honey cakes and sweetmeats left on the beach by their hasty departure had no strange appearance or odor. Neither Bertrada nor Sunilda had displayed any symptoms. Moreover, the abandoned treats had been fed to a local farmer’s swine without any visible effects to date.
They had passed through the olive grove and reached the headland. Twilight was fast advancing. John suggested it was therefore time to return to the villa.
“I’ll race you back,” Sunilda proposed. “Zeno says you’re a good runner.”
John laughed. “I used to be, but that was years ago.”
“You aren’t so very old, Lord Chamberlain, and certainly not as old as some people seem to think you are,” Sunilda observed.
“What do you mean by that?” John asked in a suitably serious tone, suppressing a smile.
“Everyone treats you as if you were an old man. You can tell by the way they talk to you. They always call you sir or excellency and they’re always careful about what they say.”
“That is just respect for the office I hold, Sunilda.”
“I don’t think Godomar respects you at all,” the girl contradicted. “I heard him telling Livia you were not to be trusted because you were a eunuch. I was not certain what he meant, so I asked Bertrada. She told me that it means you can’t father children but when I asked why, she just said you were badly hurt.”
“That’s true,” John admitted, “but in fact I do have a daughter.”
“But how did you get so badly hurt?”
It was not a question a Lord Chamberlain should have to answer for a little girl, John reflected, but her solemn gaze demanded some response. Still, he could not very well explain to her that he had desired to buy silks for his lover and that, in pursuit of his quest, he had strayed into Persia and been caught, only to be sold back over the border some time later to traders who had come to buy slaves for the palace. Gelded slaves. In the dark hours when he could not sleep he had endlessly debated why Fortuna had decreed that he was not immediately executed upon capture, as was the usual practice. The only answer at which he arrived was that Fortuna had been playing with him. Or perhaps, he suddenly thought, it had been because the Lord of Light, Mithra, had been watching over him.
“A long time ago, I went looking for something I urgently desired,” he finally began, “and I strayed somewhere I shouldn’t have. Across the Persian border, in fact.”
“The Persians are enemies of the emperor and godless heathen,” put in Sunilda.
“Indeed. Well, they caught me and I was wounded most grievously. So you see, Sunilda, when you are repeatedly warned you must not run off or stray away from Bertrada, you must pay attention. Doing so might put you into great danger, just as it did me.”
“There aren’t any Persians anywhere near here,” the girl pointed out. “Why did they hurt you, Lord Chamberlain?”
“Because it would gain them a few coins.”
“
People do many bad things for money. That’s what Godomar says.”
“He is certainly right in that at least.”
Apparently satisfied with his answers, Sunilda grabbed John’s hand. “At least do hurry up a bit even if you don’t want to race!”
She tugged him back along the shadowy path. She at least was not awed by the high court post he held, it seemed. John felt a hint of wetness at the corners of his eyes. He was thinking of another real girl now, not the mosaic Zoe. Far away across the sea his daughter lived with her mother. He might perhaps see them again one day, but by then Europa would be a grown woman. If they ever met once more, he hoped they could spend more time together than they had during their one brief encounter. But he had never known her as a child and the child she had been was already gone, as dead as the boy, Gadaric.
But then, so was the man he had once been, the man who had fathered a daughter.
***
Arriving at his uncle’s estate to see how his elderly relative was coping with the aftermath of Gadaric’s death, Anatolius was greeted by the strange sight of a grim-faced Lord Chamberlain being dragged towards him by a small girl.
“What’s the matter, John?” he asked with a chuckle. “You look absolutely morose. Is your captor here hauling you off to the dungeons?”
Short as she was by comparison, Sunilda nevertheless contrived to appear as if she was looking down her nose at Anatolius.
“Sunilda and I were just having a little talk.” John extracted his hand from the girl’s grasp and handed her over to the servant who arrived in response to Anatolius’ rap on the villa door.
Before going inside, Sunilda turned and gave Anatolius an appraising look. “You are the one Calyce is going to marry, aren’t you?” she remarked suddenly. “I must say that you look very young and not very rich.”
When she had vanished inside John gave Anatolius a questioning look.
“The child is certainly not going to rival those famous goats as an oracle,” Anatolius told him with a grin. “I spent the whole day of the banquet trying to avoid that woman, as you may recall. She’s not unattractive in a patrician sort of way, I suppose, but I’ve decided it’s wise to keep away from those sorts of entanglements.”
“It would appear that the lady in question has other plans,” John remarked dryly.
“Romantic fantasies, you mean. It really is embarrassing, John. A pity, too. I understand Calyce’s family had considerable holdings in Italy but they’ve all been lost to the Ostrogoths. Apparently Theodora magnanimously granted Calyce the privilege of remaining at court in order to serve as one of her ladies-in-waiting. Theodora’s gifts always come with a heavy price.” Anatolius gave a rueful laugh.
The last of the light stole from the sky. One of the torches flanking the doorway flared briefly. Startled, John looked quickly around. His reaction made him realize just how exhausted he had become.
“Being lady-in-waiting to Theodora might be even more perilous than you think,” he said.
“Especially when the two of them dislike each other intensely,” observed Anatolius. “You may think Livia looks like a dove but she’s got a vulture’s temperament, according to Calyce. It seems that Livia has made it plain to her on more than one occasion that she’s convinced that Calyce is one of Theodora’s favorites. You know how women go on about these things, seeing even the slightest comment as a deliberate slight and half the time it’s all unfounded.” He heaved a sigh at the strange ways of the other sex. “However, so far as I can tell the acrimony seems to have arisen mostly because Livia is the one who’s always being ordered to get Theodora sweetmeats at ungodly hours or clean out her carriage or run errands here and there. Livia objects to being forced to be continually fetching and carrying—like a common servant is how she puts it.”
“And how does Calyce view it?” John asked with a slight smile.
“Oh, she agrees it’s true. She says it’s because Livia has no real skills or talents. She can’t cook tasty tidbits or arrange Theodora’s hair or embroider as beautifully as Calyce does. Personally I think Theodora keeps Livia running about so much because the poor plump woman’s just not suited for physical activity. She gets out of breath and red in the face and so on. With her nasty sense of humor, it would be just the sort of thing Theodora would delight in.”
“Judging from all this information, I gather you were not entirely successful in evading the romantically inclined Calyce?”
“Sadly, no.” Anatolius’ expression clouded. “You mentioned peril, John. What did you mean by that?”
“Apparently Theodora also kindly decreed that Livia’s daughter serve as a playmate for the twins and today someone tried to poison her,” John said, quickly describing the attempt on Poppaea’s life.
“She was definitely poisoned? It couldn’t have been over-ripe fish or green fruit, that sort of thing?”
John shook his head. “It’s unmistakable. She’s sleeping now but it isn’t a natural slumber.”
“And here I was, putting aside my labors to see how my uncle was coping only to find out it appears he has yet more worries on his hands.” Anatolius looked at John with concern. “Will Poppaea recover?”
“That remains in Mithra’s hands. Gaius has been sent for and will no doubt have some notion of what needs to be done.”
“Perhaps you could also consult Hypatia,” Anatolius suggested. “She has considerable knowledge of herbs.” He suppressed a sneeze. “I’m starting to think I should seek some remedy from her for this dreadful affliction. It always seems to come upon me as soon as I venture beyond the city walls.” He paused as a new thought struck him. “John, is it possible that Barnabas could be behind this new attack?”
John replied that he had initially dismissed the possibility since he had been convinced Barnabas had fled. ”However,” he went on wearily, “now I’m not so certain he’s gone. Yet we cannot find him even though we’ve looked everywhere on Zeno’s estate.”
“Have Felix’s men searched Castor’s estate next door?”
“Castor? He attended Zeno’s banquet, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he was seated on the other side of Theodora. I’m surprised you noticed him, John. She has a way of overshadowing everyone in her vicinity and Castor is not the sort who calls attention to himself. In fact, I suspect he would have preferred to be communing with a volume from his library rather than chatting with the empress.”
John observed that there were many who would prefer not to get into conversation with Theodora. “I intend to pay Castor a visit as soon as possible,” he added.
“I don’t think he’s in residence right now. There were only one or two lights visible in his villa when I passed by his gate a little while ago.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“Not for Castor. He always dismisses most of his servants and leaves the place practically deserted while he’s off on one of his business expeditions. He’s almost as careless in his own way as Uncle Zeno although at least he’s had the sense to surround his estate with a good high wall.”
John’s fatigue was suddenly suffused with anger. “Zeno didn’t mention Castor was away! If the place is as deserted as it sounds, Barnabas could easily be hidden somewhere over there without the estate manager’s knowledge.”
“Zeno and Castor have been friends as well as neighbors for a couple of decades, John. I saw a lot of him during my visits here when I was a boy because he was always dropping in to hear about Zeno’s latest enthusiasms. But even so, I do think that with everything that’s been happening, Zeno wouldn’t have realized he’d gone off on one of his trips.”
John agreed tiredly that Anatolius was probably correct. The young man turned to go into the villa but John hesitated at its entrance, staring into the darkness in the direction of the neighboring estate.
“There’s no point searching in the dark, John, and especially not after all the time that’s passed,” Anatolius pointed out. �
�We can pay the place a visit tomorrow morning.”
John agreed reluctantly, realizing that raising a fresh commotion would only serve to warn the mime—if indeed he was hiding on Castor’s estate—while giving him the opportunity to escape under cover of darkness.
He wearily followed Anatolius into the treacherous vestibule in which he had been trapped that morning. As he stepped through its small space he thought he heard the grinding of gears and paused as Anatolius entered the atrium.
Anatolius looked back over his shoulder in puzzlement. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“No,” the other replied. The odd sound must have existed only in his imagination. “Nothing’s wrong, Anatolius. We’ll visit Castor’s estate tomorrow. If it holds any secrets, they will doubtless wait until then.”
Chapter Eleven
“A banquet for the mind.”
According to Anatolius, that was how Zeno had described his neighbor’s library. Briarus, the manager of Castor’s estate, threw open the room’s plain wooden doors with a flourish as if he were indeed ushering John and Anatolius in to sample a feast of rare delights.
The room itself was attractive enough although not impressive, at least to those accustomed to the palace. The library’s furnishings were simple. Chairs surrounded a long polished table in the center of the room and a single richly upholstered couch sat beside the wall where tall, latticed windows looked out over a garden smaller but more orderly than Zeno’s overgrown grounds. Bright morning sunlight streamed in across an equally tidy array of flowers and foliage depicted on the tiled floor and along the lower portion of painted walls which were otherwise a subdued blue and punctuated by niches at waist height.
It was what filled the wall niches and lay scattered on the table that might have brought a word of admiration to the lips of Justinian himself.
