Nine for the Devil

by Mary Reed

  John did not bother to point out that trap or not, the Cappadocian’s intentions had been treasonous.

  The Cappadocian took up the story. “Now I have returned to the city with my head still attached. I am convinced since Theodora is gone along with her interference, Germanus here will become Justinian’s leading general in place of that fool Belisarius. I therefore suggested an alliance for mutual benefit. Germanus and I would work well together, wouldn’t you say, Lord Chamberlain? Germanus as conqueror, myself as tax collector helping fund his campaigns. All to the benefit of Justinian. Everyone is aware of how Belisarius has bungled the Italian campaign, and how the present tax authorities have failed to raise sufficient funding for the effort.”

  The story was plausible. As Justinian’s cousin, Germanus had a greater claim to Justinian’s affections than Belisarius, as well as a greater claim to succeed him on the throne. In fact, most expected him to rule after Justinian, although nothing could be made official while Theodora lived. But Germanus must also know the Cappadocian could not be trusted as far as the other end of the garden. So why enlist his aid?

  The general was known to take bold moves in warfare. He was not averse to taking risks. Perhaps he did not intend to wait to succeed Justinian.

  Germanus and the Cappadocian were beaming at John as if he had just announced they were to be awarded high honors, but their smiles were not completely convincing. Germanus’ eyes were narrowed although his back was to the sun, and the Cappadocian’s looked as cold as ever.

  Before John could respond, he noticed the general’s eyes widen as he looked over John’s shoulder.

  John turned. He half expected to see an armed guard rushing at him, blade drawn.

  Instead, he saw Felix, whose expression turned to shock as he spotted John.

  “Ah, another old friend joins us,” Germanus remarked. “No doubt you are now wondering why the Captain of the Excubitors would visit?”

  “I do not think you are turning your house into a barracks for stray excubitors and exiles,” John replied, fixing his gaze on Felix.

  Felix smiled feebly.

  “And you are here because…?” John asked.

  “A very good reason, John. There is no doubt Germanus will be given a suitable command now Theodora is out of the way. You see I am blunt,” Felix said in a defiant tone. “I am hoping Germanus will give me a command. You know how much I want to return to real fighting, not standing guard to perfumed fops and waiting for Justinian to order the execution of another innocent man.”

  So Felix had known where the Cappadocian was hiding, John thought. Was that why he seemed to avoid John in recent days, for fear of being questioned about the lack of information following surveillance of Anatolius’ house?

  “You observe Felix has the soul of a soldier and courage to match,” the Cappadocian remarked. “Particularly considering most men his age would prefer to avoid the battlefield.”

  Felix glared at the Cappadocian. Clearly his allegiance was to Germanus rather than the former tax collector. He turned to John. “Now, my friend, perhaps it is time we discussed what role you shall play in all this.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Hypatia spoke frantically almost before the door was fully open. “Lord Chamberlain! Thank the gods you’re home! Peter’s fallen out of bed!”

  She spun around and ran up the stairs, John close behind.

  The old servant was crumpled on the floor.

  “He cried out,” Hypatia explained. “Then I heard a thump.”

  John knelt down beside the motionless figure. The wrinkled hand he touched felt unnaturally cold. Placing his hand near Peter’s face he could feel a wisp of breath.

  “At first I thought he was dead,” Hypatia continued. “I was trying to get him back into bed when I heard your knock. And yesterday he was doing so well, just like his old self.”

  Just as John had feared. He had seen too many sick and wounded and elderly revive for a day or two before taking their final departure. “Take hold of his feet, Hypatia. We’ll get him back into bed and then I’ll go for Gaius.”

  The limp body, the brown parchment skin, gave an impression of fragility and lightness. In fact, Peter’s body was heavy, awkward and uncooperative. They managed to get him settled with difficulty. Hypatia drew the sheet up around him despite the heat in the room.

  When she leaned over and pushed strands of hair off his forehead, Peter opened his eyes abruptly. He was staring at the ceiling. “Please, may I speak to the master?” His voice was a dry whisper.

  “Of course, Peter,” Hypatia told him, stroking his hair.

  “Alone. If I might speak to him alone.”

  Hypatia straightened slowly. “If that’s what you want, Peter.” There was a catch in her voice.

  When she had gone out John said, “I must go for Gaius. We can speak after he gets here.”

  “No. There’s no time, master. Besides, I just saw him. He was going up the heavenly ladder ahead of me. He called back. Beware! I turned and saw a demon reaching for me. It got its claws into my leg. Ah, it burned like fire. I thought my bones would melt. It pulled and then I was on the floor. I had barely climbed a rung, but now that I have set my foot on the ladder I must go back. The angels will pick me up again very soon. I think I have the good deeds for the tolls I must pay. I have tried to live a Christian life.”

  John pulled the stool to the bedside and sat. Peter was not fully awake, still immersed in his nightmare, he thought. “What is it, Peter?”

  “Will you be able to pay the tolls, master? Or will the demons pull you down into the pit?”

  “There are no demons here, Peter. You are dreaming.”

  “Oh no, master. Demons are everywhere. It is when we finally awake that we see them.”

  “You have been very ill and in pain, Peter. You broke your leg. Gaius has been treating you. These events have become jumbled up into your dream.”

  Peter slowly turned his head to one side so he was facing John rather than the ceiling. The effort appeared to have been too much for his strength. He closed his eyes and his breath became erratic, a ragged whistling sound.

  When John judged he had fallen asleep and started to rise, Peter’s eyes opened again.

  “Master, I must speak as a servant should never speak to his master, but there is one who is master of both of us and I must…”

  “You are a free man, Peter. Speak.”

  “I fear for your soul. You are a good man. A good Christian but—”

  “I am not a Christian, Peter,” John said in a quiet voice.

  “By your works you are. You live a Christian life. A simple life. You do not crave material things.”

  “I have estates, Peter. I am a wealthy man. I have little use for wealth, but I have not given it all to the poor.”

  “I have never seen you pass a beggar without pressing a coin into his hand.”

  “I worship Mithra, Peter. You know that.”

  “You call him Mithra. I do not think the Lord cares what name you use for him.”

  John gave a thin smile. “I fear a clergyman might disagree.”

  “But why should you care what name you use when you pray, master? Could you not call Mithra Christ? It would not change the way you live your life.”

  “Peter, you know that is impossible.”

  “My god has spoken to me, master. Has yours ever spoken to you?”

  “A general does not speak to his foot soldiers individually,” John replied. “You must sleep, Peter. Gaius will give you something to help you do so.”

  John began to get up again. This time Peter’s hand moved. He managed to draw the Christian sign. “Please wait, master. I will not see you again.”

  “I do not believe that will be the case,” John said, only half-believing
it.

  “The angels are coming to help me back onto the heavenly ladder. Please, master. I do not want to leave, knowing that your soul is damned to suffer forever. Promise me that you will become a Christian in name as well as by the way you live.”

  “Peter, I cannot—”

  “Emperor Constantine was baptized before he died. It is said that only then was God’s true power manifested to him. He threw off the purple and never wore it in his dying days.”

  “Peter, you must realize I cannot worship your gentle god.”

  “Ah! They are here!” Peter’s gaze fastened on the empty air in the middle of the room. “Only promise me, master, and I will leave the world a happy man.”

  ***

  As John left Peter’s room he found Hypatia waiting just outside.

  “I’ll go for Gaius,” he said, and clattered downstairs as she rushed back to the dying man’s bedside.

  When he reached Gaius’ surgery, the door was shut. Gaius did not answer John’s knock.

  He pushed the door open.

  The physician’s portly form sprawled untidily against a wall.

  Drinking again, John thought. It was not the first time he had seen his friend in such a posture.

  The thought had no sooner formed than he realized Gaius was impossibly still. Looking more closely he detected no sign of any of those minute movements of which most are aware without taking particular note.

  Gaius’ neck felt icy to the touch.

  John rolled him over.

  The wide open eyes were glazed in death.

  Two empty wine jars on the table told part of the story.

  He must have been intoxicated to the point of total unreason. Perhaps he had heard a contingent of excubitors coming down the corridor and jumped to the wrong conclusion. If excubitors had truly been coming for him, they would not have left his body lying here.

  Whatever the reason, a tiny green glass bottle lying unstoppered in a corner—the bottle Gaius had said contained poison—told the rest of the story.

  John had seen death countless times but had never got entirely used to it, especially when it came unexpectedly to a friend.

  He went out and found a silentiary, apprised the man of the situation, and ordered him to have another physician sent to tend to Peter. If there was no one readily available on the palace grounds, one could always be found at Samsun’s Hospice.

  He hoped the new physician would be able to help Peter.

  Gaius was beyond help.

  On the way home his legs felt as if anchors were attached to them. Slowly crossing the square he saw Hypatia letting a caller into his house.

  Had Peter died? Had she called for assistance? From whom?

  He realized he was not thinking clearly. He stepped into the atrium to be greeted by an exhausted man in dusty garments. Dirt in the lines of his face and his disordered hair suggested a long ride.

  It must be Cornelia’s messenger.

  “Lord Chamberlain, I’ve just come from Zeno’s estate.”

  “The child has finally arrived! Is Europa well?”

  The messenger gave him a strange look and the breath went out of John’s body.

  “The mistress’ child is late arriving, excellency, and luckily so. I was sent to ask if there has been a mistake of some kind. When will the mistress’ mother be arriving?”

  Chapter Fifty-four

  “I am going to my study. I don’t want to be disturbed,” John told Hypatia as they stood in the atrium. The messenger had left. He had no information to offer except that Cornelia had never arrived at Zeno’s estate.

  “Is Gaius on the way, master?”

  “Gaius is dead, Hypatia. It appears the fool poisoned himself. I’ve instructed a silentiary to send another physician for Peter.”

  He turned and went upstairs to his study, dropped into a chair, and stared blindly at the wall mosaic. He poured a cup of wine, drank it in one gulp, and poured another.

  Cornelia should have reached Zeno’s estate.

  Now he knew why he hadn’t heard from her.

  No, he corrected himself, he didn’t know, because he didn’t know why she hadn’t reached the estate.

  Where was she?

  What had happened to her?

  His first thought was court intrigue. Had someone abducted her, to protect themselves, to discourage his investigations?

  If so, why hadn’t he heard from them? Were they waiting to see if John suspected them? If they saw he was ready to level an accusation, then they would offer Cornelia in return for his cooperation.

  Germanus had already subtly threatened him. However, the general had not mentioned Cornelia during their conversation about which part John wished to play in the proposed new regime.

  Had John’s answers been satisfactory?

  There was no way around it. John would have to go to Zeno’s estate.

  But what could he do there? Mostly likely the answer was right here in the palace.

  “Lord Chamberlain.”

  He swiveled around to see Hypatia in the doorway.

  “I ordered you not to disturb me, Hypatia,” he snapped.

  A rail-thin silentiary dressed in a dark green tunic moved past her. John recognized the man as one of Justinian’s personal staff.

  “It is not the servant who disturbs you, Lord Chamberlain, but the emperor. Justinian demands your presence in the imperial audience chamber.” The silentiary sounded regretful, as if apologizing for the curtness of his message, bowed, and departed.

  John rubbed his face wearily.

  If he took a horse from the imperial stables immediately and rode south, he would be able to beat any pursuers to Zeno’s estate. But what assistance would he be to Cornelia if he was eluding arrest? And if he were thrown into the dungeons for disobeying Justinian he’d be of even less use.

  He had no choice.

  ***

  Night was falling as John left the house. Striding across the palace grounds, he felt an ever-lengthening shadow of useless investigation stretching behind him as another fruitless day began to die.

  The declining sun gilded the grounds golden-red, added fleeting beauty to palace buildings and flower beds, colored the water in ornamental ponds and fountains, limned the edges of bushes and trees, tinted the high windows of the audience chamber golden, now slowly deepening into orange-red.

  Was it significant Justinian had chosen to summon him to the lavishly decorated chamber where emissaries and statesmen were granted brief speech with the emperor, emerging overwhelmed by the sight of beaten gold wall panels interspersed by mosaics depicting the triumphs of Justinian’s generals, the sculpted green marble pillars supporting the roof, and Justinian’s canopied throne flanked by armed excubitors?

  John turned a corner and saw Narses lying in wait, a dwarfish spider dressed in bright blue, waiting by a web represented by the polished oak door of the chamber.

  “I see we have both been summoned to the emperor’s presence, Lord Chamberlain,” Narses observed. “I suspect Justinian is becoming impatient. My advice is to accuse one of Theodora’s attendants of murdering her. They all had ready access. Consider. They are open to bribery, being but stupid girls, and not at all important. Easily replaced, and nobody will miss them. More importantly, since I hear your investigation does not go smoothly, it will save your head being parted from your body.”

  “I will accuse no one without proof,” John replied.

  “Very well. Adhere to your principles. Bleached bones have no principles. I will be enjoying a fine meal long after you are gone. Shall we go in together or would you care to follow me?”

  John shrugged. “If the honor of being first appeals, take it.”

  Narses smiled. “Together, I think. Silentiary, anno
unce us!”

  The two men entered the chamber and began to prostrate themselves as Theodora had always required, but Justinian waved them to desist. He was pacing, red-faced with rage, at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne. John did not think he had ever seen the usually taciturn emperor so visibly angry.

  “What have you been doing, Lord Chamberlain?” Justinian shouted. “I ordered you to investigate my wife’s death and you have discovered nothing. In the meantime, while you muddle about the city, the identity of the murderer is delivered to me by a mere palace guard.”

  “Excellency?” John said.

  “An hour ago I was handed clear evidence of who was responsible for our dear empress’ death. It is my former secretary, Anatolius.”

  “Surely not the same man known to be a very close friend of the Lord Chamberlain?” Narses put in.

  “The same man, as you well know, Narses,” Justinian said in a cold voice. “Is this what you have been doing, Lord Chamberlain, trying to hide the guilt of your friend?”

  “I cannot believe Anatolius is guilty,” John replied. His tone was firmer than his conviction. Given the events of the past few days and Anatolius’ devious behavior, could he really be certain?

  “Personal beliefs are all very well,” Narses pointed out, “but perhaps we should base our opinions on the evidence.”

  A pleased smile crossed Justinian’s face. “Exactly, Narses. The evidence is very strong.”

  “Allow me to talk to Anatolius, excellency,” John said.

  “There will be no need for you to interview him,” Justinian replied. “Your investigation is ended. He is about to be arrested and will confess to my torturers before he dies. If he refuses to reveal everyone concerned in my wife’s death, he will be questioned with increasingly harsh methods until justice is served.”

  “May we respectfully ask the nature of this evidence?” Narses gave a sly sidelong glance at John.

  “It was found in the room formerly allotted to the empress’ lady-in-waiting Kuria. It is a copy of a scurrilous poem about my beautiful Theodora, signed by Anatolius and dedicated to his vile mistress. Narses, you told me this disgusting screed has been in circulation for years. It is definitely Anatolius’ handwriting. Is Narses’ claim true, Lord Chamberlain?”