by Mary Reed
John did not remind the kindly old man that Gadaric would not be able to enjoy such a creation. He had noticed that during Godomar’s graveside remarks Zeno had shifted from foot to foot, looking like a lost child.
The boy’s sister Sunilda, on the other hand, had appeared utterly composed, standing between her nursemaid and Calyce. The women repeatedly wiped away tears and directed concerned looks at their charge, but the child had remained dry-eyed. She appeared bored. Once John thought he saw a hastily suppressed smile begin to form on her lips.
John had now spoken to the kitchen staff and the gardeners, not to mention estate laborers and house servants and slaves, concerning the night of the banquet. Predictably, they had neither seen nor heard anything of assistance, their attention having been occupied with their master’s wealthy, high-born guests. Although this famous senator or that renowned lady had been mentioned in passing, the merest glimpse of the empress had been enough to drive any possibly useful information from their collective minds.
John was contemplating the task ahead when Calyce caught up with him.
“Lord Chamberlain, I didn’t see your young friend Anatolius at the ceremony.” Her mouth was set in a grim line which accentuated her prominent jaw.
“It was necessary for him to ride for Constantinople, Calyce. He asked me to express his condolences to the boy’s family at an appropriate time after the funeral. I should be grateful if you would accept them on his behalf.”
“But of course. How considerate of Anatolius. Poor Gadaric, he doesn’t have much of a family. Or didn’t have, I should say.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Bertrada is only a nursemaid but I’ve tried to help her as much as I could, or at least when I am not waiting on the empress when she’s in residence here. Bertrada’s little more than a child herself, you know, and has to deal with that overbearing man Godomar, although I suppose I shouldn’t have such harsh words for a man of religion.”
“Do I understand Bertrada is an Ostrogoth herself and came from Italy with the twins?”
“Oh, yes. She was in Amalasuntha’s household but there is no family connection as such. Italy became very dangerous for anyone connected with Amalasuntha and Bertrada was fortunate she was sent to Constantinople with the twins when they were taken under the emperor’s protection. She makes a fine nursemaid for them, being their countrywoman. However, she was young when she left Italy and had really had no opportunity to gain an appreciation for the finer, more elegant ways of court. So I’ve tried to take her under my wing and instruct her a little.”
“You and Livia are also originally from Italy?”
“Yes, we are. Indeed, that was the reason Theodora chose us from among all her ladies-in-waiting to stay here with the children this summer.”
Godomar strode past them at a great pace. He said nothing but his gaze lingered on John and Calyce as they walked along together and his mouth tightened.
“Is the prelate also Italian?” John asked as Godomar swept silently by.
“I believe so. Why, Lord Chamberlain, just think! We appear to have almost rebuilt Rome on the shores of the Marmara!”
“Please don’t give Zeno any more wild ideas, Calyce. Tell me, had you met Godomar before you arrived at this estate?”
“No, I hadn’t. I suppose Justinian chose him to tutor the children because of his obvious piety—not to mention his orthodoxy.”
“I haven’t seen Livia this morning,” John noted.
“She’s sitting with Poppaea. The girl still hasn’t woken up. Do you think it’s that awful dwarf creeping about, up to no good? We’re all in danger so long as he is loose.”
“The search for Barnabas continues and Captain Felix’s excubitors are guarding the estate,” John reassured her. “There is nothing to fear. As to Poppaea, Gaius was of the opinion that she would soon awaken of her own accord.”
Calyce looked dubious. “Gaius? You mean the palace physician? I was there when he examined the girl. He was full of talk about an excess of yellow bile. Apply cold compresses, he told us, and meantime if her condition worsens, we are to summon him again. Yet how long has she slept now? And we are merely to apply cold compresses! I think it is past time we sought a physician’s help again. Preferably a different one.”
“Poppaea still sleeps, but her condition has not worsened. Gaius did not think it would. He does have some experience in treating the effects of poison, Calyce. In fact, he told me that in this particular case, Poppaea’s youth will serve her recovery better than any treatment he—or any physician—could administer.”
Calyce gave a sniff of disdain. They walked in silence for a while. “And when will Anatolius be returning?” Calyce finally asked.
“Soon, I’d think. Tell me, Calyce, is Bertrada trustworthy?”
“Trustworthy? Certainly. A bit flighty, perhaps, but she is young. She has handled the twins very well. They were a difficult pair of children, Sunilda in particular. She seems to live in a world of her own invention.”
“I’ve noticed that. Could it be due to Bertrada’s influence in some way?”
“Oh no, excellency. My only concern for Bertrada, although really it’s none of my business, well…I shouldn’t say.”
“What is it that worries you?” John prompted her.
“Well, it’s this inexplicable fancy she’s taken to the excubitor captain, Felix.”
***
As Felix approached a bend in the flagstone path he detected the sound of running. He drew his sword as he looked keenly around.
Despite the light remaining in the sky, dusk had already settled under the surrounding shrubbery and insects had begun their discordant night songs.
A small form crashed through the bushes. Felix leapt back, raising his sword. Then he himself looked down at Sunilda, who returned his surprised stare with a wide grin.
The girl uttered a piercing shriek and then bolted away down the path behind Felix just as John strolled around the bend after her. He seemed remarkably untroubled by his charge’s flight. Turning to look after the child Felix saw the reason for the Lord Chamberlain’s unconcern. Bertrada was approaching.
Sunilda raced to her nursemaid’s side and clung to her tunic, hopping up and down and looking over her shoulder in mock terror.
“It’s a bear,” she cried. “Help! Help! A big bear’s going to get me.” She began screaming again but the screams dissolved into laughter.
Bertrada leaned over. Her blonde hair swung down fetchingly as she put her slim arms around the girl. “Oh, my! You’re right!” she smiled. “But he’s such a handsome beast, don’t you think? He won’t harm us. See, he’s putting away his sword. Why, we might even be able to lure him home and keep him for a pet.”
Sunilda giggled. Felix felt his mouth go dry. He stood speechless, tugging at his beard.
“It’s a pity you don’t have any honey, Bertrada,” John smiled. “You could have lured that bear away with it! Still, Sunilda and I have had a fine walk.”
“Yes, we talked the whole way,” the girl said, suddenly solemn.
The nursemaid wondered what topic could have occupied them for so long.
“Philosophy,” Sunilda told her.
The two men looked after Bertrada and her small companion as they vanished along the shadowy path toward the villa. Felix wished now he had not confessed to John how much Bertrada reminded him of Berta. The Lord Chamberlain did not say much, however, but merely stared thoughtfully into the thickening shadows and then, after a word of encouragement, left Felix to complete his patrol and departed down the path himself.
Felix continued through the darkening garden. As he marched along, he turned his bushy-haired head this way and that in a semblance of alertness, but in fact King Khosrow could have led half of the Persian army past under his nose and would still have remained undetected. No matter how much he tried, Felix could not put Bertrada out of his mind. He muttered a curse or two and then began tunelessly humming a marchin
g song.
The figure appeared before him as silently as an apparition, a glowing vision set against a dark background of shrubs. And as impossible as it seemed, she was completely naked. Her form was more perfect than Felix could ever have imagined.
It was also sculpted in marble, he realized, even as he felt his heart jump like a rabbit in a snare.
All the same, as he passed by the statue he couldn’t help but touch her reassuringly cool hip. The ancient Greek artist had certainly done a remarkable job, he told himself, although the effect had been aided more than somewhat by his, Felix’s, unrestrained imaginings.
And his imaginings now turned to other matters.
Felix felt uneasy. Who or what threatened the little girl? As commander of the men guarding the palace, he was accustomed to shadowy enemies that could not be confronted directly and honorably on a field of battle, but in this instance the enemy seemed even more nebulous, not to say ludicrous. He and his men had been dispatched to secure an estate against a venomous dwarf who seemed invisible, able to come and go at will. How would his next attack materialize? By poisoning the entire household? Or letting loose another mechanical device to wreak mayhem?
Felix turned and began to march back along the path. He had gone only a few paces when he spotted the second figure moving across the garden. For an instant he wondered if it was his overactive imagination at work but at the crack of a dry twig as the figure stepped forward, Felix knew this was not a vision.
Barnabas!
He sprinted toward the intruder.
Then he realized that the figure was not as short as the mime but rather more the height of the nursemaid who had been tormenting his thoughts until recollection of the accursed dwarf had driven her out of them.
The figure had long, light-colored hair.
It was Bertrada.
Running swiftly up, he lightly grabbed her arm to turn her around. “Bertrada, you shouldn’t be out here alone! You know it’s dangerous!”
The face that turned up toward his was wrinkled. The light hair was not blonde, but rather silver.
“My name is Minthe,” the woman informed him with quiet dignity.
***
Calyce was waiting at the back of the villa as Minthe had said. The herbalist had scorched Felix’s ears on the way there. Didn’t he know she would be treating Poppaea?
Felix had quickly regained his senses. “But if you’re going to be healing the girl, why do you have to come skulking in like this, not to mention in the dark?” he asked shrewdly.
“Poppaea’s mother has expressed some misgivings about the origin of Minthe’s skills,” Calyce explained. “So we thought this would be the best way.”
Minthe was blunter. “The truth, Captain Felix, is that if she knew I was here, Livia would not allow me to set foot in the poor child’s room. Yet it is my potions that will bring her daughter back to full health. I’ve come to see how she’s doing. She will be awake soon, and there are certain mixtures to be prepared for her.”
“Livia is distraught and hardly knows what she is saying right now. She’ll be grateful to you in the end, you’ll see,” Calyce assured the woman.
Felix’s orders from Justinian had not included instructions concerning dealings with Theodora’s ladies-in-waiting. After their brief discussion and reassured that Minthe was expected, Felix allowed them to go inside, glad to see them go. Glad to be entirely free of women, young, old and in-between for a while, he thought wearily.
The torches set in brackets by the villa door sputtered and flared. Something brushed his cheek, as lightly as a memory. It was a moth, now circling one of the torches, its fluttering shadow on the wall looking larger than a bird’s.
A vision of Bertrada returned, painfully, to flutter in his mind’s eye. No, what was he thinking, he scolded himself. The well-loved face smiling in his memory was Berta’s.
Surely there could be no other man in the whole of the empire so sorely distressed.
Chapter Fourteen
Anatolius felt his throat tighten as Senator Balbinus’ wife stepped into the reception room with a whisper of fine silk. The embroidered hem of her white dalmatic, its broad blue edging matching a narrower strip of decorative border at the neckline, floated behind her like memories and old regrets.
“Lucretia! I didn’t expect to see you!” Anatolius blurted out. She regarded him silently.
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” he admitted, forcing a smile. “I was hoping for at least a glimpse of you. It has been some time since we last met.” He ended in a forlorn tone, “Actually I’m here to see your husband.”
Did his former lover’s pale patrician face betray some fleeting emotion or was it only his imagination? Anatolius had put this visit off and gone to his office instead. No matter what assignment John might give him, his duties to the emperor came first, he had told himself, but the fact was that as he neared the city his eagerness for this reunion had begun to turn to fear.
“Yes, it’s been a very long time,” Lucretia said. The neutrality in her tone pierced him as sharply as a blade. It was more terrible than the coldness he had dreaded he might hear. “Please sit, Anatolius.” Lucretia sank down into the cushions of a couch. “I have ordered wine be brought for you.” Her voice still held the same husky quality he recalled too well.
The young man sat awkwardly next to her, his stiff posture betraying his unease. “Thank you. The senator will be here soon?”
She shook her head. She still wore her dark hair in ringlets, Anatolius noted. “He is attending a business meeting.”
“Then I had best not linger, Lucretia.”
“Stay a little while longer, Anatolius. Tell me all about your latest escapades. I hear that you have visited Severa Flavia quite often lately?”
Anatolius reddened. “She is a very gracious lady.”
Lucretia smiled. “It seems you have learned discretion. She often dines here as my guest and has mentioned your affectionate nature increasingly of late. Alas, she is not as careful with her confidences as you seem to have become with yours.” Her voice was warmer, with that hint of breathiness that he so fondly recalled. She patted his knee playfully.
Anatolius was thankful for the distraction of the arrival of the servant bringing wine. He got up from the couch, cup in hand, to inspect the reception room’s frescoes.
They had obviously been inspired by tales taken from mythology. Here, a handsome Narcissus leaned down to admire his reflection in a tranquil pond. There, Paris presented the golden Apple of Discord to voluptuous Aphrodite while Athena and Hera looked on vengefully. In the background the misty towers of Troy slumbered peacefully, unaware of their terrible fate.
Relieved to move away from Lucretia and be less tormented by the musky sweetness of her familiar perfume, he took a hasty sip of wine and stared at a scene showing the abduction of Proserpina. “What wonderful artistry,” he said with the poet’s appreciation for beauty. “I have rarely seen finer.”
“Neither have I, Anatolius. My wife chose the scenes to be depicted and I am well pleased with the artisan’s work.”
Senator Balbinus strode into the room. His regal features were familiar to everyone at court but Anatolius noticed only how much older the senator was than Lucretia.
“I am happy to see you extending hospitality to a guest, Lucretia, although I would have preferred that you asked him to return when I was at home. Servants will gossip.”
“Anatolius has come to see you on a matter of business,” she replied serenely.
Anatolius set down his cup on the table by the door. “Senator, I regret the intrusion but I am here on an errand of some urgency.”
“I shall leave you gentlemen to your discussion,” said Lucretia. Eyes averted, she brushed past Anatolius and disappeared down the hallway, leaving only a faint memory of her perfume.
Balbinus had helped himself to wine and was pacing back and forth. His deliberate tread and stiff
ly set shoulders expressed his disapproval of Anatolius’ irregular visit to his wife, but he said nothing more, contenting himself with inviting the young man to state his business. “However, I would appreciate it if you could declare it quickly for I have another meeting soon and must not be late.”
Anatolius hastily gathered his wits. “I have the honor to convey a personal request from the Lord Chamberlain.” His formality covered his severe discomfort at being discovered chatting with Lucretia even though, as he reminded himself, their affair had ended before she married Balbinus.
Ah, but was it truly over came a whisper from the depths of the past. Pushing such treacherous notions aside, he quickly outlined John’s request for information that would be of assistance in locating Balbinus’ nephew.
The senator was not helpful. “Castor often travels, Anatolius, and when he does he does not provide me with his itinerary. Indeed sometimes he does not visit my wife and me for a month or more. He is not a gregarious person. We are more liable to receive a note from him than a personal visit.”
“He does seem the sort of scholar who is most comfortable with word delivered by the pen,” Anatolius acknowledged. “You haven’t seen him during these past few days?”
“If I had I would have said so, would I not? And before you ask, no, Castor and I have not fallen out. Our relationship is amicable enough, even though I feel I must lecture him now and then on his—well, on his lack of worldliness, his intellectual extravagance. There is nothing my nephew doesn’t know about, or at least have an opinion on, except getting along in the world in which he finds himself. So I have tried to be something of a father to him.”
Balbinus fell silent. Anatolius was taken aback by the senator’s sudden vehemence, but before he could give it much thought, the man began speaking again with his usual bluster. “I’m sure you have heard of my brother Bassus, Castor’s father, or at least know his reputation,” he said. “Everyone at the court considers him a dreadful embarrassment to my family. My brother died much too young, of course, and I barely knew him. He barely knew himself. Had he lived longer he might have become wiser. Needless to say, over the years I have done my best to see that Castor avoided his father’s fate. But then, we all have our weaknesses, don’t we?”
